Authors: Jeanne Savery
“I didn’t see you and, yes, you startled me, but that’s all right,” babbled Harriet, flustered at his sudden appearance. She gathered her poise and added, “Grotesque? I think I do, but Françoise will love it. She and Monsieur de Bartigues have already had a quick tour with the others trailing behind. Now I believe she is exploring the gardens—also fully chaperoned by a large group.”
“Do you think I’m scolding you for leaving her alone? I am not. She knows her danger but, here, within the walls, she should be safe enough. You cannot be at her beck and call every moment, Harriet. Nor should you be. She cannot grow and mature if she is never allowed to err.”
“Ah. But to err at this particular moment might be to ruin her whole life!”
“Yes. But as you say, she is with a large group. Even if it disperses—as it will, the grounds are not so large that she will ever be out of view of one or two—” He chuckled softly. “—over and beyond Yves, of course, who will not leave her side.”
Harriet nodded. “That’s what I thought,” she said, keeping her features sober with an effort.
He smiled down at her. “You can be very nearly the minx your charge so often is, can you not? You were not worried for a moment for her safety. Are you tired?”
“The ride was, perhaps, a bit more than I should have attempted so soon after leaving my room. So, yes. I’m tired. But I’ll be fine after our peaceful hours of pleasure here. Don’t worry about me.”
“I cannot help but worry. Did Madame tell you I was near to breaking every rule of proper behavior and coming up to see for myself how you did?” He grinned, his teeth a white flash in bronze skin. “Ah. You blush.” He seated himself and reached for her hand. “Do you think I would not?”
“I know very well you would if you decided it was the thing to do—and bedamned to convention.”
“Tut tut. Such language.”
“I fear I’ve more of my tongue-valiant father in me than is sometimes quite comfortable ... Sir Frederick,” she added, “did it seem to you there were some in today’s party who avoided me?”
“What?” Frederick, who had been playing with her fingers, stilled. “What are you talking about?”
“I wished to speak with Lady Massingham and she made a ridiculous excuse not to ride by me. Then there is another side to it. In the past Lord Ashford has paid me no particular attention, yet today he seemed to positively haunt me, laughing at the oddest moments. I understand neither of them.”
“I didn’t observe what happened because I was on the watch for ambush,” said Frederick slowly, resuming his distracting touches on her fingers. “About what did Ashford wish to talk?”
“He asked my opinion of various people in the
ton,
how
I saw them.” Harriet’s eyes widened. She clenched her free hand into a fist. “Surely not!”
“Surely not what?”
She looked up, having, in her consternation, forgotten he was there. “What? Nothing. Never mind...” She freed herself from his grip, turned slightly away from him.
“Something agitates you to the point where you become incomprehensible, and I’m not to mind?” Before she could respond he went on. “I
do
mind. Very much. What is it, Harri?”
His obvious concern touched something in her, and she was tempted to tell him—but her better judgment restrained her. “Perhaps it is nothing. I truly don’t wish to discuss it. At least not now. Not until I may see if...”
“If ... if?”
“Sir Frederick, please. Until I return to London, I cannot confirm a suspicion which, if true ... well, I do not see how it
can
be true. Have you explored the cottage yet?” she asked, deliberately attempting to force the change of subject for which she’d asked.
“No.” He spoke curtly. “Harriet, at the very least, I thought we were friends. Friends share their troubles.”
She faced him, reached toward him, and he gripped her hands tightly. “I promise I will tell you if what I suspect is true. If it is not ... then I wish never to speak of it. Please.”
Frederick scraped the fingers of one hand back through the hair at his temple. He glowered. Then he softened. “So be it. Come, Harri, my love,” he said with sudden gentleness. “Let us go exploring.”
She went gladly. Twice she caught a glimpse of small groups of people who were, it seemed, talking about her. Because she was so foolish as to go about on Sir Frederick’s arm? She thought not. Once, as she and Sir Frederick approached the woman who had snubbed Harriet while riding, the lady turned on her heel and hurried off at an angle, obviously avoiding meeting them.
“I see what you mean about Lady Massingham. Do you know her well?”
“I remember her from when I was in London before. She always had a dirty neck,” said Harriet dryly. “In fact, that hasn’t changed.”
Sir Frederick chuckled. “Yes, but given the bathing habits—or should one say the lack thereof—prevalent in society, she is not the only one, surely.”
“The only one to call attention to the fact by the jewels she wears.”
“Don’t most women wear jewels? Assuming they have them?”
“But Lady Massingham always wears that same collar of diamonds. Above the necklace she is clean. Below it...” Harriet shrugged.
Sir Frederick barked a laugh. “I never noticed. She isn’t wearing diamonds today, surely?”
“Her riding dress is high necked. Besides, it would be inappropriate for an entertainment such as this.”
“Has that stopped her in the past?” He strolled on before she could answer. Her hand held in the crook of his arm, there was nothing for Harriet to do but walk on as well. They came to the strawberry patch, which had been invaded by others as well. Sir Frederick released her and bent to search under leaves until he found a large sun-warmed berry which he held until she opened her mouth. He popped it in and searched for another.
A servant appeared with a stack of small baskets, and they accepted one, soon filling it and carrying it off to a shady spot where Joanna sat on a rug. She was, she said, like a princess—or an invalid—awaiting the duke’s return with her berries. “I feel such a fool sitting here in this indolent way,” said Jo, her eyes flashing. “I wish I could convince Pierce I am in perfect health and must not be coddled and petted and wrapped in cotton wool. He will drive me mad, Harriet!”
“Next time you’ll know better than to tell him until there is no avoiding the question!”
“Not tell me what? That she is increasing? If she does not, I will wait until the child is born and beat her for keeping such a secret!”
The duke looked large and intimidating, and Harriet would have been a trifle afraid of him, but Jo just grinned. “Beat me, Your Grace? Hmm. I wonder what I would do in a case like that...”
He dropped down beside her and handed her the tiny basket which had looked odd in his large hand. “I would not. You know I would not ... but I would not like it, your keeping secrets from me. You know that, too.” The basket tipped, spilling berries in all directions, but they ignored it.
“Then you must stop behaving as if I’ve turned into a piece of prized china and I’ll promise not to keep such secrets from you.”
“That is a difficult promise to make, my love.”
Sir Frederick offered a hand to Harriet and, since she was feeling embarrassed by the conversation between the duke and his duchess, she took it gladly. They strolled toward the river. Out in the middle, a barge, at anchor, held a large number of rough-looking fishermen. Seeing it, Sir Frederick’s eyes narrowed. He glanced around and saw that most of the guests were drifting toward the tables set out on the terrace near the house. Word had been passed by roaming footmen that a luncheon was available for those who wished it and most, after the ride out from London, were hungry enough to hurry toward the waiting feast.
Frederick looked down at the woman on his arm. “Harriet, will you do something for me?”
“If I can. What do you wish?”
“What I
wish
to do, I may
not
do.”
She arched her brows at his teasing reference to making love to her. “Then what is it I
may
do for you?” she asked sternly.
He turned them away from the water, steered her toward the steps up into the rose garden which occupied the level just above the one on which they strolled. “I want you to pretend to become very angry with me. I want you to stalk off and go to the house. I want you to find the steward and tell him to send at least ten men down to the river. Once you’ve done that, I want you to tell Robert and Pierce to join me here and tell Yves to take your minx into the house and into an upstairs room—with a chaperon, of course—and make her stay there until I think it safe she leave it.”
“Frederick?”
“I’ve no way of knowing if I’m right, but I don’t like the looks of the men fishing on the river. No, do not turn. Stop and glare at me. Say something. Raise your voice and show anger. And do it quickly, love. One man has his hands on the rope to one of the small boats tied to the barge.”
The show Harriet put on was classic and, his back to the river, Frederick whispered, “Bravo, love. If I didn’t know you were not truly angry I’d be wondering what I’d done to deserve your ire. Now get help, Harriet. Quickly.” Harriet stomped away. She shook her head when Frederick called in a pleading tone that she return. Once at the second pair of steps, she lifted her skirts and hurried faster. Frederick should not have remained in the lower garden, she thought, half frantic. He was alone. He could not fight so many men. They’d be on him and might even kill him.
Oh lord, she thought, nearly panicking,
they very well might kill him!
The comte hated Sir Frederick for his part in spoiling past plans! Could it possibly be true that those men had come for Françoise? Out of breath, Harriet rushed across the terrace to where the steward was overseeing the buffet. She pulled at his arm and drew them a little apart.
“Men on the river,” said Harriet, panting. “Sir Frederick says to send at least ten men immediately. Please hurry. He’s alone there.” She turned on her heel, seeking out Robert or Pierce and found them at the same table. She gave them Frederick’s message and, ignoring Elizabeth’s shocked face and Jo’s stony look, searched for Françoise ... and couldn’t find her. “Where is she?” Harriet asked Elizabeth.
“Where...?” began Elizabeth, but went on quickly, “Oh, Harri, how could you? How could you send our men into danger that way?”
Jo rose and strolled toward the low stone barrier that edged the terrace. Elizabeth, her face white, joined her. Harriet, tugging at their sleeves, demanded their attention. “We, too, have work to do.
Where is Françoise?”
she asked, separating each word from the next and emphasizing it.
Joanna came to Harriet’s conclusion. “She isn’t here.”
“She didn’t say anything to either of you? A stroll somewhere? An exploration of something?” Harriet felt a touch of panic. “Where is she?”
“I do not see Monsieur de Bartigues, either,” said Jo.
“One must assume that they are together, so she isn’t without protection.” Joanna, her hands clenched lightly, looked back down toward the river. Three boatloads of rough men had left the barge. They rowed toward three widely-spaced points on the riverbank, separating their forces, and making it harder for a few men to stop them all. Joanna swore softly and glanced back to the guests. There were some men she thought might join the coming fray and quickly approached one after another.
“A fight? What fun! Where?” asked one young gentleman overly loudly, alerting everyone—the duchess had hoped might remain in ignorance—that there was trouble.
Before Joanna could prevent him, he jumped the low wall and took off, several young men following after him. Chaos erupted among the women. Shrieks and mild hysteria and, in one case, a dead faint, were enough to make Elizabeth lose control and burst into tears herself.
Harriet went inside and made a quick search for Françoise. She came down from the upstairs to find the parlor full of women, Joanna soothed where she could and scolded elsewhere: Joanna no longer had time to worry about Pierce. Harriet discovered that Elizabeth was so afraid for Robert she’d stayed on the terrace to watch—although she could not distinguish him from the others who had joined to repel the invaders.
But where was Françoise?
Harriet hadn’t listened closely to the steward’s description of the property and its various points of interest, but she seemed to remember something about a man-made Gothic ruin, a picturesque note common to such properties—but where was it? After briefly searching for a servant to give her information, she stopped to think. She’d arrived on the west side of the property. She’d wandered around the south half and down near the river with Frederick. She’d searched the house. The only place she had
not
been was to the east side of the house. Just then a footman entered the hall. She called to him.
He hesitated but came a few steps closer and bowed. “I am to join the fighting, madam. I must go at once.”
“Many men are already fighting. I must find the young woman they defend, and I fear she may have gone to explore the Gothic ruin. Guide me to it at once.”
“But...” He looked longingly in the other direction, sighed, and led her to a side door. They exited and hurried down a path between tall hedges. “There, madam,” said the footman. “It isn’t really much of a ruin...”