Authors: Jeanne Savery
“This is a serious side you show to few, is it not?”
“It is a serious side few are interested in seeing,” he countered, again with the dry note she’d come to know. “Not many amongst the
ton
care for aught except that
their
world not change. And their world is such a limited one.”
“I have noticed that, and we’ve been here barely a week. Several ladies have made morning calls. I found them unbelievably dull, but I wondered if that was due to the presence of strangers—Françoise and myself—that the conversation seemed to lack depth but,” she added, “our presence didn’t seem to stop their gossiping!”
“You will find their conversation does not improve as you come to know them. I heard a rumor you answered the question of how you found England with a reference to the poor crowding the streets of London and that you felt deep sadness at the plight of the ragged children you saw.
You,
my dear, will be labeled a bluestocking if you are not careful to avoid such unacceptable topics. You must know they are not considered proper subjects for a lady’s drawing room.” His scold was only half in jest.
“If I didn’t know it, I quickly learned. I’m becoming proficient at the polite platitude, Sir Frederick.”
It was his turn to glance at her. “You fear to be called a bluestocking?”
Harriet thought about it. “For myself, no. But that it would reflect on Françoise and my hostess, yes. It would do them no good even if they weren’t exactly harmed by the association.”
“And if it reflected on no one?”
“Then—” She turned up damp eyes and met his thoughtful gaze, “—oh, Frederick, if only something could be
done.
Look around you. Carriages, fat horses, well-fed people, attire on any back you look at worth more than poor families see in a year—yet just beyond the park gates are children in rags, their stomachs empty. It is not right, Sir Frederick.”
“I am a wealthy man now, Harriet. Marry me and spend it as you will,” he suggested quietly.
Harriet clutched at the side of the carriage. She swallowed. Hard. Oh, she
must
keep this light, as teasing toward him as he must mean to be with her. “Is that a proposal, Sir Frederick?” she questioned, a lilt forced into her voice and a smile to her lips.
A flush spread across Sir Frederick’s cheekbones. “As gauche and awkward a proposal as a woman ever received, I fear, but yes. I’m quite seriously asking you to marry me.”
Her hand tightened over the wood at the side of the carriage. He
couldn’t
be serious. “I cannot believe this.”
“That I wish to wed you?”
“But
why?
Why
me
?”
“I...” began Frederick, only to find it impossible to tell Harriet in so many words that he loved her, to reveal himself so completely. “I like you. I like your honesty, your loyalty, your attitudes and intelligence, your looks—especially those magnificent grey eyes—and I think we could deal well together. In fact, I think we’ve already proved we deal well together.”
“It is absurd. With wealth behind you—as you have now—and even with the reputation of being a rake, you may choose from anyone available on the marriage mart! Lovely young women whose family connections and dowry will help you achieve your ambitions. I am a penniless spinster. I am a
servant.
You tease me cruelly, Sir Frederick.”
Sir Frederick turned his head, studied her fine profile and sighed. “Not teasing, but premature, I suppose. We will speak of this again when you know me better.” He paused, giving her time to regain her countenance.
Harriet worked to control feelings of mortification. How
could
he do this to her? Or had he somehow guessed at those ridiculous emotions she couldn’t quite control whenever he was near? Had he decided she’d be easy prey? Did he think to lure her into his web with a pretended engagement? Undoubtedly, for one reason or other, an engagement which was to be kept a secret between themselves? Knowing she wouldn’t be easy game, he’d very likely realized he’d need some stratagem to get her into his bed and if she were to succumb? He’d only throw her aside when something better came on the scene ... Except that, surely, better game
was
available? Oh, if only she understood the man!
When Frederick thought she was more at ease, he introduced an innocuous question. “Are you prepared for the dinner party Elizabeth plans for tomorrow evening?” She didn’t respond. “Harriet?”
“I think I should return to the house, Sir Frederick. I’ve been absent far too long, and Madame will need me.”
“I will be very happy when I may remove you from that house, from being at the beck and call of others. You deserve a home of your own, my love. But I said we’d not speak of that until a more propitious time. Come now, Harriet, cheer up. The world will think I’ve totally lost my touch if you show that Friday face for much longer!” She chuckled, as he’d wished, but found it difficult to indulge in even such trite conversation as he instigated.
She refused his help down from the carriage, telling him he need not leave his horses. Her back to him, she tripped up the steps and raised the knocker, letting it fall with a loud tap.
Sir Frederick watched Harriet enter the door, then sat quietly, deep in thought. Such an untrusting lady he’d chosen for his own. It would be a long road convincing her he truly wished her for his bride. That had become clear almost as soon as that impulsive proposal had left his mouth.
“You,” he told himself, “
have
lost your touch!”
“You have also gone blind as a bat.”
Sir Frederick looked at his tiger who glowered at him. “I don’t think I asked your opinion,” said Frederick.
Uncowed, the tiger asked, “What’re we doing with a long meg like that up aside o’ you?”
“Dub your mummer, Chester. Show disrespect for that lady and you’ll be looking for work elsewhere.”
“So I’ll be shutting my trap, then, if’n that’s the way the wind blows—but I think you left your wits a-wandering over there among the Froggies.” Chester folded his arms across his chest in proper fashion for a tiger.
“Perhaps you’ll think better of the lady if I tell you she held me at gun point when we first met.”
The arms unfolded. “I don’t believe it for a minute. Not a gentry mort like her be.”
Frederick’s voice took on a dangerous note his tiger had heard once or twice in the past. “Do I lie? Ever?”
His tiger wasn’t intimidated. “Only when you have to.”
Frederick laughed. “All right. I agree. There have been occasions a good lie has saved the day. But,” he added sternly, “this isn’t one of them. Any sauce from you toward Miss Cole, Chester, and I’ll inform the beak how we met.”
Chester frowned. “Arrr, you
wouldn’t!”
If Sir Frederick informed a magistrate they’d met when the tiger had attempted to prig a meg or two from what he’d thought a flash cove with more hair than wit, then Chester would be, at best, transported. “You wouldn’t,” he repeated more doubtfully.
“Yes I would. Be warned.” His tiger mumbled something unintelligible. “Perhaps you’d prefer to leave my service now?”
“Here now, I didn’t say that! But things have changed in a sorry way.”
“You just remember to keep your mouth shut.”
“Oh, I’ll keep my mummer dubbed. But I don’t have to
like
it, do I?”
“No. I won’t go so far as to say you have to like it.” Frederick pulled up before Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Salon and reached for his watch as Chester hopped down to go to the pair’s heads. Fred flipped open the watch and nodded. A few brief moments of waiting and Yves strolled out, settling the new hat he’d acquired at Lock’s, when Frederick had gone to order headgear, and pulling on new grey gloves bought to match.
“Right on time, Yves. How did it go?”
“ ’Tis a bloodthirsty sport, Frederick. I do not believe I’d enjoy it at all. I will continue fencing lessons under Angelo instead. I picked up a little of the Italian manner of the duello while in Florence and would like to perfect the style. Swordplay is much better exercise to my way of thinking. One need not worry one will end up with a black eye!”
Sir Frederick chuckled. “It has been said we English are a bloodthirsty lot which explains, perhaps, our predilection for prize fighting.”
“Oh, I don’t mind
watching
,” said Yves. “Only participating!”
They discussed the gossip Yves had heard in Jackson’s, where Frederick had introduced him to several friends before going to see Harriet. Frederick wended a way through Piccadilly’s confusing traffic, the vehicles of all types from sporting to heavy carrier carts, all trying to navigate among well-dressed pedestrians who were jostled by sellers of everything from hot meat pies to brooms and the latest broad sheets—along with more than a few pickpockets, just to make life interesting. Finally, he pulled up before the Albany where he’d taken rooms.
“Take them away, Chester,” he told his now silent tiger. Frederick and Yves strolled inside and up the stairs. They were met in the hall by Frederick’s valet who had been hovering as inconspicuously as possible to head them off. “What is it, Cob?”
“Your uncle arrived soon after you left. He’s waiting for you.”
“Good.” Frederick frowned slightly. “But he can’t have had that express we sent him and already gotten himself to London. It isn’t possible.”
“No. He discovered your direction from your man of business.” Cob added the doleful warning, “He appears to be in a cheerful mood ”
“He does, does he? Then I suspect he thinks he has bad news for me.” Frederick chuckled. “Come and meet Mademoiselle Françoise’s grandfather, Yves. It sounds very likely he’s recently been made the father of a son.” They strolled into the cluttered masculine sitting room, and Frederick continued on to where his uncle slumped into a wide armchair, a bottle of port at his elbow. The good port, thought Frederick, and made a mental note to thank Cob for attempting to turn the old curmudgeon up sweet. Not that it would help, of course, but the thought was well taken!
“Uncle!” said Frederick in a loud voice. “I’m sorry I wasn’t at home when you arrived. I hope my man has taken proper care of you?”
“Hurumph?” The startled movement of one rudely awakened from a pleasant nap was replaced by a wide smile. “Ah. Freddy. How are you, m’boy?”
“Fine. And you?” Frederick pretended innocence. “And your bride?”
“Fine. Quite fine. Strong-minded filly, that woman.”
“Is she in London?” Frederick did his best to mask his ambivalent feeling about that, but something must have slipped past his guard. His uncle eyed him shrewdly. Frederick laughed. “All right,” he said, “I’ll admit I’d be better pleased if she were not. There’s something you don’t yet know, but when you do, you’ll understand.”
“Something
you
don’t know, too. What’s your news?”
“Yours first, I think. My guess is that I’m to congratulate you on the birth of an heir, Uncle? I do. Sincerely. The trouble is, you now have two.”
“Two?!” The man rose to his feet, eyeing Frederick warily. “What do you mean,
two,
man?”
“No, not a by-blow—not an embarrassment of that sort. You’ve a granddaughter, however, much in need of your assistance.”
“Granddaughter ... Françoise?
How did you meet my granddaughter
?”
“You
know
of her? And never told me?” Frederick’s voice turned to ice. “Quite obviously I didn’t learn of her existence through you!” He glowered at Lord Crawford who glowered right back. “How could I have expected to meet up with Mademoiselle de Beaupre when I’d thought her mother dead these twenty years and more?”
“Well,” the older man looked a trifle flustered, “having announced her death, I couldn’t very well raise her up again, Lazarus-like, could I?”
“Yes you could. Or at least, you might have done so, if you weren’t the most pig-headed man alive.”
“Well, I didn’t,” said Crawford with something nearing a pout. “And she
is
dead now. Unless that too is a lie?”
Was there just a gleam of hope in his uncle’s eyes? “I’m sorry to disappoint .you. Your daughter is indeed dead. But
her
daughter is very much alive. And in danger.”
“Danger!” Lord Crawford’s worried look changed to one of suspicion. “Danger? Surely she is no longer in danger. I’ll admit I worried a bit before, but the war is ended now.”
“
Not
the war. A scalawag of a comte who has his eye on her fortune and wouldn’t mind acquiring the lady as well—particularly as marriage to her would be a sideways justification for his continuing to hold the French estates his father acquired along with a brand new title.”
“Fortune?” Ignoring the bit about the estate, Crawford glared. “I will leave her nothing. Nothing, do you hear?”
“Why not? No don’t answer that. You’ll punish the chit because of her mother’s fault. Typical. But, since she has no need of your fortune, it makes no odds. Her father left her very well provided for and her grandmother will add more to the pot, making her a very wealthy young lady indeed.”