A Reformed Rake (12 page)

But what did the future hold? Madame would send an express by special courier to Françoise’s grandfather. She’d request information as to the next step in putting the girl under his protection. Perhaps he would insist they travel north and meet him somewhere up in the wilds of Northumberland where, according to Sir Frederick, he resided most of the year in the most primitive of castles and only rarely entered society. Or perhaps that island off the coast of Scotland which had been mentioned? Even the provincial society prevalent in Edinburgh or, farther south, in York might be forbidden to Frani.

Then there was herself, her future ... it was all so difficult, not knowing what was to become of one. As a servant—a well-paid and well-loved servant, but still a servant—one had so little control over one’s life. Would she be needed? Would the grandfather continue her generous salary and keep her on as Françoise’s companion? There was a new wife, too, Frani’s grandmother-in-law, who would have her own ideas which must, surely, be taken into account by a new husband. A new wife might not wish another young and not unattractive lady—even one so tall as Harriet—taking up residence in her husband’s home.

Harriet paced and thought, her mind worrying at the alternatives if her position with Madame were lost. She was surprised when a tap at the door announced the maid, an under-footman following with cans of hot water. “Is it so late? I did not hear the dressing bell...”

“It hasn’t rung, Miss.” The maid drew in a deep breath. “Compliments of his lordship and would you mind very much attending him a wee bit early in the library, Miss,” said the maid, clearly parroting a message she’d carefully memorized.

“I will go down as soon as I can dress myself.”

Bemused, Harriet washed quickly. Despite her youth, the maid, Annie, had a deft hand with hair and Harriet, looking at her grey gown with the narrow lace outlining the modest neckline, thought she looked very well. Not a la mode, but neat and properly attired for what she was: Françoise’s companion. When she was ready, she knocked lightly at Madame’s door, asking the maid to wait a moment. When answered from within, she entered. Madame lay against pillows.

“Are you feeling better, Madame?” asked Harriet.

“Much better. Another day or two, and I will be my old self,” added the French aristocrat, although both knew it would take much longer. Madame smiled.
“You
will keep your eye on Françoise and see that she not embarrass me, will you not?”

It was less a question than a statement of a belief which soothed Madame’s mind. Harriet felt a glow at the confidence placed in her. “I will do my best, Madame, but,” Harriet laughed, “I fear Lady Halford will not aid and abet such modest proper behavior. Our hostess, Madame, is a minx.”

Madame chuckled. “Two minxes make for multiple mischief.” She smiled. “There, I have made a joke in English, have I not? You can only do your best, Harriet. Have no concern for me; I will sleep now. The housekeeper has mixed me a mild dose of laudanum. Go off and enjoy your evening, child.”

“You are too generous, Madame.”

“No. I sometimes think not generous enough. You were a godsend, Harriet. When my daughter-in-law died, I was already too old to have charge of a wild chit like my granddaughter. You have done our family excellent service. Whatever Frani’s grandfather determines to be her future, what is to be done with her,
you
will not suffer. I’ll see to that.”

“Thank you.” Harriet felt a flush warming her cheeks at the compliment, but ignored it. She also ignored the lifting of a burden of worry. She still had work to do and, as she’d pointed out, with Elizabeth for friend, Françoise would be more of a handful than ever. But, even though she would not think about it now, her concern for her future was greatly eased by Madame’s promise.

Harriet followed the maid down to the ground floor. The girl tapped at the library door, opening it immediately after and holding it for Harriet to enter. She thanked the girl quietly and heard the door close behind her. Her host stood, his arm on the mantel, his eyes on the fire, but straightened and turned as she entered. He bowed to her. “Miss Cole. I hope all is well with your party.”

“I’ve just come from Madame’s room. She has eaten and will sleep soon. You wished to tell me something?”

“I wished information concerning the problem with my great niece-in-law,” Lord Halford smiled and his eyes twinkled. “Such an awkward relationship, but such a delight to gain a new and formerly unknown relative.”

“You are generous, my lord. Not everyone would be willing to admit such distant connections into the family.”

“Were the connected not so delightful, perhaps it would be more difficult,” admitted his lordship with that smile Harriet was coming to like. “Sir Frederick tells me you can give me the history behind the comte’s persecution of the child.”

“I can.” Harriet folded her hands before her and began. “They met at a house party where he discovered she is descended from those who once owned the French estate his father was given to support his new title. Perhaps I should tell you that this happened in Italy. Madame retired many years ago to Lake Como since the winter cold of the Swiss Alps, where the family went when it escaped the Terror, is not good for her.”

Harriet went on to describe the comte’s appearance soon after that party at their door and his impertinent refusal to be put off from attendance on Françoise wherever they met thereafter.

“Madame, you understand, after the first morning call, gave orders he was to be refused further admittance to her home. She didn’t like him. When, within three weeks of meeting Françoise, the comte approached Madame with the marriage offer, Madame made enquiries. What she discovered confirmed her dislike of the man. She refused him. He persisted in putting himself forward so Madame passed word amongst her friends he was not to be encouraged.

“It did not answer. The comte intimidated the young men courting Frani into deserting her side. When he still received no acceptance, he became more of a pest than ever and Madame formed the plan to bring her granddaughter to the protection of her English grandfather...

“We left Lake Como secretly—or so we thought and were climbing toward the Simplon Pass when the comte made his first attempt to take Françoise by force. That was when we met Sir Frederick and he and Monsieur de Bartigues became Frani’s champions. At Sir Frederick’s suggestion, Madame made a thorough investigation amongst her servants and discovered the traitor who had told the comte of our departure,” Harriet finished. “We were warned and have taken extra care ever since that awful experience in the mountains.”

“But not before
you
took a hand in the game. I understand It was your intrepid behavior which routed the comte on that first occasion.”

Harriet blushed, but answered steadily enough. “My father taught me at a young age to handle firearms. Madame refused to see the necessity of armed guards, feeling perhaps they would give away the fact we were not off on a simple visit to friends. I carried along my father’s dueling pistols, but I admit freely I had not truly believed they would be needed.”

“Guards were supplied when you continued your journey?”

“Yes. Just before we reached Paris Madame was ... ill. We’d put up, where we could, with old friends and with relatives of her husband’s and son’s, but of course that was not always possible. She acquired a serious stomach upset at the last inn at which we stayed. For a time we feared for her life. It was a week before she regained enough strength to continue on to Paris where we stayed until we could leave for England—which she was still determined to do. Luckily we were near Paris where she
did
have friends who took us in once we could remove her from that terrible inn.”

Lord Halford took a thoughtful pinch of snuff, shook off invisible grains from the lace at his wrists, and returned his box to a small pocket in his plain white waistcoat. “I think Fred mentioned there was evidence of poison?”

“Sir Frederick is certain Madame was poisoned.”

“Madame is her granddaughter’s only French protection? There is no male guardian or relative from whom Mademoiselle Françoise could expect help?” He took the snuff and sneezed.

“The family has a tragic history as does so much of the French aristocracy. Frani’s father and mother died in an accident a few years back and there are only distant cousins remaining.”

“So, if Madame were removed from the scene, there would be no one to stop the comte from whatever ploy he might conceive? While you remained in France, I mean?”

“True.” Harriet lost color at the memory of those horrid hours when they didn’t know if Madame would recover. She reached for the back of a chair to steady herself.

An oath reached her ears faintly, a hand steadied her. “Sit down, Miss Cole. I did not mean to frighten you, merely to get straight in my mind the situation. Françoise has protection now: myself, Sir Frederick, and her grandfather, once he knows of her arrival.” He handed Harriet a glass of sherry. “Drink that. All of it. I apologize for shocking you.”

“It was only a momentary weakness. It was a terrible time, wondering if Madame would survive. That man is a monster.”

“The monster will find himself at a stand if he dares to show his face in London. Word is already being spread he is
persona non grata.
He will not have the entree and will find no friends amongst the
ton.
This will not cancel the danger to Mademoiselle Françoise when she is abroad in the streets, but Big John goes everywhere my wife goes and is not a man with whom one trifles. He will watch them both. We’ll take good care of your charge, Miss Cole.”

“You are strangers to us,” said Harriet, her voice choked, “but so generous. How will we ever thank you?”

“By enjoying your stay with us,” he said promptly. “I hope it will be long.” The door opened, and Harriet looked around when he smiled over her shoulder, holding out his hand. “My love. You are looking remarkably lovely this evening. Not that you don’t always take my breath away, of course!”

Elizabeth tripped across the carpet, leaning forward to receive a kiss on her cheek. “No, my lord,” she straightened away from him, “no more. You will disarrange my coiffure and you have no idea how long it took to achieve just this style. Such sorry things we poor women, Miss Cole,” she said with a pert look at her husband. “The hours we waste making ourselves beautiful for our menfolk!”

“And then will not let the menfolk touch for fear of spoiling the effect,” said Lord Halford with a dry intonation. “I believe I would prefer less primping and more freedom, my sweeting.”

Harriet felt a cold little knot of jealousy for the love so obvious between these two newly met friends. She told herself not to be a fool. She’d had her youthful dreams, but when the required white knight did not appear to carry her away, she’d come to terms with spinsterhood.

She’d been lucky, after all, to acquire the position in Madame’s home, where she was given the freedom to be herself and not forced into the role of a drab little woman stuck in the background of life. She must not forget just
how
lucky and she must
not
allow herself to fall into megrims about what might have been ... might still be...?
No.
She must not dream dreams of might-be.

Françoise herself appeared then, distracting Harriet from the dreams in which she must not indulge. Frani apologized for her lateness, receiving reassurance it was no such thing, but, very shortly, the butler announced dinner was served and they moved on to the dining room.

Lord Halford, a quizzing glass brought into play, inspected the soup ladled into his dish. His wife demanded his attention. “Yes, my love?”

“I do not like this room.” Elizabeth frowned mightily as she looked around it. “It will not do, Robert.”

“Will it not?” Lord Halford, brows raised, also looked around, noting the high wainscoting above which hung several of the scenes painted in his odd style by that new artist, John Constable, the Axminster carpet covering most of the floor, the highly polished table and sideboard loaded with the very best silver and crystal. “What is wrong with it?” asked his lordship.

“It is too big. Even reduced to its smallest, the table is over large for a small party such as this. It is not conducive to conversing or friendly interchange.” She waved her spoon in emphasis.

Regrettably, Françoise giggled at Elizabeth’s highhanded manner.

“What, my dear, would you suggest?”

Harriet gave their host points for his mild voice and the twinkle in his eyes.

“I think,” said his wife, head to one side, “that perhaps, with just a few leettle changes,” she wheedled, “the breakfast room might serve for family meals. Do you not agree?”

“Changes?”

“Hmmm. A new table and chairs, perhaps. A new serving board which would do both for breakfast and also for more formal dining?”

“And new drapes and new carpet and—” teased his lordship.

“Oh, may I?” interrupted Elizabeth.

Lord Halford laughed. “Yes, minx, if you will, you may.”

“You spoil me, my lord,” she said, but dimples peeped at each side of her mouth.

“Yes. Dreadfully.”

Elizabeth smiled a cat-in-the-cream smile. “Hmm, I will think of some way to reward you, my lord.”