“Yes, indeed. The footmen have cleared the drive as best they can. The candles are lit in the ballroom. The floor properly chalked and Cook tells me she’s ready for the buffet at midnight.”
“And the ice sculpture I wanted?” The very idea of her outlandish little surprise for the center of the buffet table eased her doldrums.
“He is, I must say myself, superb. He stands with one hand inside his coat,” Simms said, a smile racing across his worried face. “His scowl apparent, as you wished.”
“Wonderful,” she said though she did not feel so grand. Perhaps later when her guests chuckled over the little emperor melting away before their eyes, she’d cheer up. “I want all three announcements of wedding engagements to be the brightest moment of the evening. We’ll drink every drop of champagne. We need it. Heaven knows, we’ve survived enough surprises to make this party notorious. I’d like to think we’d be remembered for the loving matches we’ve inspired.”
Simms’s usual chipper expression melted like hot wax. “I agree.”
“Do you?” she countered him. “Is some new matter amiss? Aside from rendezvous and arrests and the shooting…and what else? The kidnapping. Arguments between father and son. And guests leaving early to brave the snowstorm? Is there something else I should know about?”
“No, my lady. We are…serene.”
Then as if his shoes had caught fire, he bowed and fled.
Serene?
She grumbled. Simms was usually measured and blunt. To a fault. He was not serene.
Nor was she.
She could imagine the newspapers recounting this house party. She’d hoped for praise. What she’d get was “Infamous Scandals at Lady Marsden’s!” Or “Three Weddings, Two Arrests and an Abduction…plus an unhappy marquess, an escaping lady and a grumpy duke and…”
Ba!
And a Partridge in a Pear Tree.
Oh, fie! She gathered her skirts.
She’d worry about that later. For now, she had to pry Harlow out of his megrims.
* * *
Men like Harlow had always intrigued her. Her husband, often indomitable, had been one such similar creature. She’d loved him madly—and pricked him often when he was too hoity-toity for his own good. Though he had discovered her in London as she trod the boards in a few very poor plays and swept her away to marry him, she credited his instincts about her character and the rightness of their mutual love more than his impetuosity. But as with others, his sense of superiority could scrape against any humility he’d acquired through trial or error. His arrogance could get the better of him. And it was no wonder.
Privileged from birth, men of great titles and estates were reared from their first breath to hold power. Those who had enough intellect and charisma kept it easily. They did right by most, starting with their family and extending to those who worked for them. But every once in a while, another mortal challenged all they held dear. Disaster drew nigh, more often to the one lower on the social rung. Some noblemen matured from the confrontation. Others did not…and they withered, destroying all in their path.
Harlow should be among the former.
But she feared the latter.
At the door to the parlor, she paused. She disapproved of men who sulked. Would that she could strip off her corset. She’d welcome a whalebone to prod the man into action. A bottle of brandy might substitute. But she rejected the idea. Alcohol would not cure his problem. Only smother his wounds.
She knocked. Loudly. Twice. He did not answer, but it was her house and so she entered.
Facing him, she noted his body was lax. His black and silver hair wild from his constant raking. His eyes were hooded and sad, but alight from the flames in the hearth. “Are you finished feeling sorry for yourself?”
“No! The carnage on the battlefield always looks grim afterward.”
“Especially if you haven’t figured out how you made such a muck of it.”
He winced. “Spar with me, will you?”
She swished her skirts aside as she took the matching Chippendale chair opposite his own. “I’d rather join you.”
“Why? Do you have a list of woes?”
“You don’t live to my age—or yours—and not acquire a few.”
He shifted in his chair, his rueful eyes darting to hers. “Tell me yours.”
Ah. Well. That was a long list. “We haven’t time for all of those.”
“No?” He was in an argumentative mood. “Tell me your three most grievous sins.”
“Woes are different from sins,” she pointed out. “I venture to say, Harlow, that you have woes. Not sins.”
“Theo would disagree with you.”
She brushed her palm along the soothing silk of her gay emerald Christmas gown. “I doubt he said that.”
“You know him well, do you?” It was a challenge.
“I’ve met him a few times over the past decade. Socially, but nonetheless, I do believe I know a few aspects of his character, yes.” She also knew of his son from the woman who had loved him since she was eighteen. But this was no time to describe any of that.
Harlow leveled his gaze on hers in solemn interest.
“He is a curious young man.”
Harlow frowned.
This, it seemed, surprised him. “He regularly attends lectures in London about Russia. He also has a keen interest in agriculture. He believes improvements in agriculture will come not only from water conservation but also natural improvements to the soil, such as adding guano to it, but also from such new methods as crop rotation.”
Harlow scowled at her and focused on the flames once more.
Time for another credit to Theo. “He deliberated for a long while to choose a governess for his Violet last year. Has the woman been useful?”
This had Harlow examining her for a long minute. “Very. Little Vi loves the lady.”
“As she should. As she might, especially since her step-mother is no longer here to hug her and pet her. Nor is that lady here to cuddle her own little Suzanna.”
“How do you know this? About the governess, I mean.” He was skeptical.
“That young woman was a teacher at the parish school here in Brighton. Our Delphine who often volunteers there, knew her and had her here often to supper. I liked her. And I was delighted for her when she went for her interview with Theo and he hired her.”
This awakened remorse in him and he leaned forward. “I told him not to hire her.”
“So I learned. You wanted one from your own parish, as I understand it?”
“I did. But I am pleased to learn this one’s background.”
Gertrude nodded and then pursued the matter that would clarify his own failure. “Why did you not know that yourself?”
He spread wide his hands. “Ha. Funny you ask. You see, I did not inquire about her. I was too affronted that Theo did not take my recommendation.”
“And yet over the years, he has taken other recommendations from you.” She waited as she knew this statement would attack the very core of his problem with his son.
“He did.” He rose from his chair, his action slow and labored. “He was dutiful in that first marriage.”
“Indeed,” she said, though she knew Theo’s action had broken her friend Penelope’s heart.
“He didn’t love her.”
She heard the question in his voice. “No.”
He put a hand to the mantel, did not face her and asked, “Was she good to him?”
Gertrude stiffened. She’d known the first girl Theo had married. Spoiled but reared to do her duty as much as was the man she married, Margaret had learned over time to love her husband. To tell Harlow how the girl had been a termagant the first year or so of their marriage would solve nothing now. It would only serve to make Harlow more remorseful. “She was.”
He spun toward her, curious. “How do you know this?”
“I have friends.”
“Magpies.”
Bearing with his criticism,
she rolled a shoulder. “You asked for information. Would you prefer I not tell you what I know?”
He sagged. “No. Not now. I need…I need perspective.”
“My thought entirely.”
“What do you know of his second wife?”
“A kind and gentle woman.”
“She loved him?”
Hmm, that girl’s affection for Theo was not the problem in that union. Gertrude stared into the fire. “She did.”
“But?”
She tipped up her head, surprised he’d read her reticence. “Why do you ask? You did not arrange that marriage. Theo did.”
Harlow dropped his gaze to the floor.
Oh, my. He’d take the second marriage’s problems as also stemming from his own actions—and she should help him turn loose of that weight.
“Tell me, Gertrude. Please.”
“She loved to spend money. On clothes, carriages, new furnishings. Theo worked like the very devil to keep up with her debts.”
“I don’t believe you! He would have told me.”
“Would he? Why?” She could not believe he did not know the noble nature of his own son. “Theo pays his own way. Makes his own money. Manages his own lands to high return. Has he ever asked you for money? A loan? Investment advice?”
That set him back. “No. He hasn’t. Theo…Theo solves his own problems.”
“Exactly.”
“As he is doing now.”
She nodded.
Harlow took a seat and sighed. “It seems I am in need of an education.”
Satisfied he hadn’t yelled at her and left her house and her in a huff, she sighed. “A small one, yes.”
He actually smiled and cocked a brow at her. “Very well. Your turn now.”
“To do what?” she met him grin for grin.
“You were going to tell me your three greatest sins.”
“Woes, Harlow. Woes!”
“All right. Now. Tell me.”
“I’ll give you one now. One at the ball. And one in the morning.”
“Ah. You assume I am staying?”
“You cannot leave now, dear sir. The roads are covered in this new snowfall. They are troublesome, I tell you. And you might as well know.” She sighed. “Your son took my best horse to follow his lady love who left earlier in a hired coach.”
He shot from his chair. “You gave him a horse?”
“Would you have preferred I let him walk?”
He ran both hands through his hair. “Why didn’t you stop him?”
She cast him a speaking look.
“Yes. Well. Ridiculous idea. Ridiculous.”
She could agree but why make Harlow feel worse? “I had one of my footmen follow Lady Goddard’s coach on horseback.”
“Why? Is the hired coachman not trustworthy?”
“He is. Very.”
He shook his head, astonishment on his face. “Where did she go?”
“To her home most likely. To London. On the Lewes Road. If she can get very far. But there’s a coaching inn not far along. And my footman has not yet returned. So there you have it.”
“You’ve no idea where the lady’s gone? Trudy!”
She put up a hand. “I know. I didn’t ask. I should have. Foolishness. But when you are in love—”
“And Theo followed her?”
“After he left you, yes.”
“Well, hell’s bells. One comfort is Theo knows a good horse.”
“Well done then!” She put her hands to her thighs and rose. “We can bet they are not dead.”
He cursed. Then barked in laughter. “Are you quite mad?”
“May I answer that tomorrow or the next?”
He opened his mouth, exasperated.
But she was more so. And she had work to do. Guests to see to. “I know you are worried. But hear me. My ball begins in three hours. I’ve ordered a light supper and Griff’s valet to come serve you in my rooms.”
“And do I remain in your rooms? In your good graces?” He toyed with a smile.
For that, she was grateful. Harlow could rebound from confrontation. A good beginning to his reformation. “You do, sir.”
“I don’t know why.”
She grinned at him. “You learn the errors of your ways. So why wouldn’t I welcome such a man into my boudoir?”
“Oh, Trudy. I do love your forgiving nature.”
She winked at him. “I don’t hold grudges. Affects the digestion.”
“One…burps,” he added.
“Or belches.”
“Sometimes…worse!” She cringed.
“In good company, too!”
She chuckled. A man who could learn from his mistakes and do so quickly was a man to treasure.
“Let’s go up.” He took her arm and wound it around his as they strolled toward the hall. “Now you owe me one woe of yours. You promised.”
“Hmm. Yes. Here it is. Make of it what you will. When I was young I suffered from chills in winter. Nearly died.”
“Thank God you did not.”
“Agreed. I’ve had a good life.”
“Which,” he pointed out, “is not yet over.”
“Thankfully! But I think of all my friends who have not the opportunity to complain about their advanced age.”
“There is that. And your woe?” he persisted.
“I never became a cook.”
He stopped at the foot of the staircase and had a good laugh. “You love to eat.”
“I do.”
“And everything you do consume looks very good on you, my dear.”
She cocked a brow. “Even at my age?”
“No talk of years, your said. Think of all the poor buggers who can’t complain how old they are!”
“There is that.” She climbed the stairs, satisfied as a cat after cream.
“I shall prove how young we both are later.”
She had visions of waltzing with him as if once more she were twenty and in love. She nearly tripped on the carpet as it flashed across her mind that she wasn’t twenty. But she might be in love with him. A man who could change was a gem. Rare. Priceless. Dare she try to keep him? Or merely entertain him? With her body and her wit. She had to try. “You mean when we dance in my ballroom?”
He wiggled his brows. “Or your bedroom.”
“You are a wicked man, Harlow.”
“Tell me that later, I hope.” He pointed up the stairs. “Shall we?”
Chapter 7
“I do believe this is my dance, my lady.” Harlow winked at her as her step-son Griff turned her over to him at the edge of the dance floor.
Griff had opened the dancing with Gertrude and they’d beamed at each other from start to finish. Her step-son was thrilled with his own news at this party, that of his engagement to the woman he’d always loved, Marjorie, her niece by her sister. Gertrude was delighted with all her successes—perhaps even a few of the notorious events—at this party. Her ballroom was full, as was her house from front door to servants’ hall. In over two years, she’d not witnessed such a delight. Her renewed success as a doyen of Brighton society flashed through her.
What mattered at the moment was Harlow’s invitation to dance. He was resplendent in his formal black evening coat and trousers and his crisp white stock. Her mouth watered at his comeliness. The black matched his curly hair and the white offset the silver at his temples. The duke of Harlow was a splendid companion. A man who loved his family and wished to learn from his mistakes. If he still bore the lines in his face from his worry over his son’s disaffection, he had decided he could do naught tonight or tomorrow. During their intimate little repast in her rooms, Gertrude had persuaded him to stay and enjoy the rest of her party.
Harlow offered his arm, but tipped his head when she did not reply quickly. “Shall we?”
“We’ve never danced together.”
“I’m sure we’ll outdo them all,” he assured her with a grin.
She recalled watching Harlow dan
ce with his wife many years ago. The man moved with grace and timing. She wanted to be an excellent complement to him. “But in the past decade or so, I have danced only with Griff.”
“Well then,” he said and patted her hand, “we must change that.”
She fixed him with an honest look. “If I falter—”
“Ah, Trudy, that I doubt. I saw you command the floor with Marsden. Besides, I myself may present the challenge. Tonight is the first I’ve danced since my wife took ill six years ago. But with you, I’m confident we’ll show them how it’s best done. And if we make a muddle of it, I promise to ease us toward the garden.”
Pointing her fan toward the garden doors, she chuckled. “Harlow, it’s cold outside.”
“All the better to warm you, my dear.”
That she would not argue with. Not now. She inclined her head in agreement.
At that, he brooked no objection but led her into the first position and off they went. He was all ease and light. All constant rhythm and bright tempo. She floated in his arms. And beamed at him.
Her nieces in the arms of their fiancés came out and whirled across her ballroom floor. Her other guests, pairing off in delightful ways with new interests or their married partners, followed.
The musicians filled the golden room with the joy of the season. The candles burned brightly. The greenery lent fragrance to the room. Through the hours, Gertrude exchanged news with her house guests and shared congratulations and season’s greetings with her friends and neighbors who’d braved the snowfall to come this evening.
At midnight, she was ready to lead them all into the dining room for the supper.
Harlow, ever attentive, was there at her side. In her rooms, he’d asked to accompany her for the supper and the dance. Of course, she’d agreed. She liked having a man seek her favor. It had been so long since a man pursued her that she’d forgotten the thrill of it. Only after she and Harlow had had their little moment in Margate had she dreamt of such and hungered for it.
Now that he was here, dancing with her, laughing with her, sharing her friendships with her guests and doing so with such gusto did she see that there might be more to their relationship than Margate. And this Christmas party. Could she hope to keep him? Or would she lose him to convention, his estates and his duties and his family? As she would resume her own, if only until Griff came home to take up the tasks he’d left to her.
Aunt Gertrude's Red Hot Christmas Beau: Christmas Belles, Book 6 Page 5