Marry Harriett
. What foolishness! He already had a plan in place, it had just been set into motion, and he must stick to it if it was to succeed.
Tonight had been a reconnaissance foray, for he’d needed to know where things stood in the enemy camp. The real campaign would begin tomorrow. Dunhaven had let slip—on purpose, no doubt—that they would be attending the Earl of Sandwich’s hunt and ball tomorrow
and
that Harriett would not be riding as she had an aversion to the sport. She would keep company with several other ladies electing to remain at the manor.
He chuckled in the dark. She wouldn’t be expecting to see him again so soon, given that he’d said they would discuss the terms of her surrender on Monday. Surprise was always an advantage.
Now he wished he’d answered Sandwich’s invitation, but it wouldn’t matter—Sandwich was family, albeit distantly related, and would be delighted to see him again. Once he was there, he’d give an excuse not to ride in order to stay behind with the ladies. With all the men gone for horses and hounds, he’d be like a prince in a harem.
He’d look a veritable prince, too. The first of the new clothing he’d ordered had arrived yesterday. He had not been idle while absenting himself from the Hospital. The plan required that he give the appearance of all seriousness in his pursuit. To that end, he’d ordered the new clothes and a complete refurbishing of his London residence, including the duchess’s chambers. And just yesterday he’d purchased several pieces of jewelry that would leave any woman speechless. No doubt even the quick-tongued Harriett would pause for a breath or two—should she ever see them.
Every chin in London would soon be wagging about how he was preparing to select a bride. And the moment he was observed paying special attention to her, they’d assume Harriett was the lucky lady. He’d be his most charming self—attentive, chivalrous, and above all impervious to her provocation.
The perfect gentleman. Her rivals would be only too happy to get in line once he was free of her. Essentially, he was killing two birds with one stone: getting rid of Harriett
and
finding a wife.
His step was light as he disembarked and entered his residence. It was nearly ten, but there was a great deal to do yet before going to bed. He sent orders for the groom to prepare his favorite horse for tomorrow and had his valet pack garments for the event. While having a brandy to avoid the fuss in his chambers, he perused the contents of his post, penning gracious acceptance to several invitations—all of which were to events Harriett was likely to attend.
It was half past midnight before he was finally in bed. Such was his anticipation of the coming day, however, that sleep eluded him. He stared at the ceiling, planning his battle strategy for every possible scenario with Harriett. If his thoughts wandered where they should not have with regards to the hellion, well, that was the whole reason he was doing this, wasn’t it?
~ * ~
Dawn had not yet arrived when Harriett awakened to the distant rumble of thunder. She rose nonetheless and dressed. Rain or shine, the hunt would go on. This day would be long—but hopefully fruitful. The sealed envelope on her desk awaited delivery. Snatching it up along with her shawl, she went downstairs and handed it to the butler. “See that this is delivered at once.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Satisfied Russell would receive it before leaving, she went to the breakfast room and sat at the table, her mind awhirl. “Papa, do you suppose there will be many unmarried men in attendance today?”
Her father looked up from his plate, his loaded fork halfway to his mouth. He stayed like that for a long moment before apparently remembering himself and his dignity. Snapping his mouth shut, he straightened. “Of course there will. It’s a hunt. Shame you won’t ride. Be a good opportunity to meet a few of them.”
“Papa, you know I dislike any animal being tormented and slaughtered for sport.”
“Blast it all, Harriett—kings
and
queens have participated in it and enjoyed themselves for centuries. Why cannot you? It’s an old sport and an honorable one.”
She indulged in an eye-roll. “Next you’ll tell me the poor fox has a fighting chance.”
“If the little beggar is quick and clever, yes,” insisted her father, sticking out his pugnacious chin. “It has every chance of escape.”
“Name one hunt you’ve ridden where the fox got away,” she challenged.
He sputtered for a moment. “Well, that’s not the point,” he finally said. “The point is that the beast has a chance—whether or not it actually
uses
it is its own concern, not mine. Now, you’ll not spoil the day with your sentimental rubbish.” He stabbed a finger down on the table beside his plate, nearly upsetting his glass of juice. “I’m going on that hunt and I intend to take the paw.”
“Of course, Papa.”
“You’d be wise to at least ride, you know,” he again suggested, his manner more placating. “The
best
men will be out enjoying the air, not sitting on their bums at the house with the womenfolk.”
Enough was enough. She sighed. “Perhaps, but I should hate to shame us both by becoming ill in front of everyone at the last.” As anticipated, his expression grew much less insistent. “I’m afraid I shall have to make the best of it with the other ladies until your return. But rest assured I shall make up for my absence by charming every man in sight tonight at the
real
hunt—the ball.”
“There’s a good girl,” said her father, his smile returning. “By George, with that attitude you may very well beat your sister to the mark. God willing, both of you will be married by the end of the year.”
“What’s this I hear about Harriett beating me to the mark?” said Cat from the doorway. “Is it a competition now?”
“Good heavens, no,” Harriett chuckled, patting the chair beside her. “Papa was just trying to convince me to join the hunt today.”
“And you refused, as you always do.”
“I don’t know how you can do it, Cat,” Harriett said, eyeing her plate with a little less enthusiasm than before. She opted for a piece of toast instead of the bacon the servant was offering.
“Simple,” answered her sister, snatching a piece of crispy bacon before the plate could be withdrawn. “I wish to catch a husband. I dislike hunting as much as you, but if pretending excitement over chasing some silly animal is going to help me win the right man over, I’ll do it.” She sat and took a bite of bacon, sighing with pleasure. “Well, get on with it,” she urged the servant, gesturing at her empty plate. “I haven’t got all day.”
Harriett smiled, wondering how she stayed so slender with such a ferocious appetite.
“Listen to your sister, Harriett. She’s got the right idea,” grumbled her Papa. “About the hunt, I mean.” He leveled a hard stare at Cat’s rapidly filling plate. “Catherine, I refuse to spend a single shilling on alterations,” he said as she added two pieces of ham to the growing mound of food.
Glaring at him, Cat speared another piece of ham. “If I am to spend my morning galloping about in the rain, I shall need a hearty breakfast. So unless you wish me to take my fill at Sandwich’s table and shock all in attendance with my appetite, I shall do so here. Besides, I’ve heard tell the Earl of Winchilsea’s nephew is partial to a lady with a healthy figure, and I’ve been told he is to be at today’s event.”
“Yes, well just don’t get
too
healthy,” he admonished, picking up the
Gazette.
“Winchilsea’s heir isn’t the only fish in the sea, after all. You’ll not wish to burst a seam tonight at the ball.”
The moment his face disappeared behind his papers, Cat leaned close to murmur in Harriett’s ear: “Unless of course that seam belongs to Winchilsea’s heir.”
A mouthful of tea went down the wrong way and set Harriett off coughing. “You are truly incorrigible,” she whispered once her eyes had stopped watering. Her appetite returned along with her good humor, and she motioned for the bacon to be brought back around. Cat was right. She’d need a good deal of fortitude to get through this day.
Sandwich’s house bordered Hyde Park, where the hunt was to be held by gracious permit of the king. The journey there was blessedly short. When Harriett disembarked, she was disappointed to see that Lord Russell’s carriage had arrived ahead of her. Had he gotten her letter before leaving?
“Lady Harriett!”
She whirled to see Russell coming toward her from the house, and her worries were instantly dispelled.
“Lady Harriett, I’m so glad you’ve come!” the fiery-haired man said in a rush. “I received your invitation just as I was leaving. I would be delighted to call on Monday.”
Harriett enjoyed for a moment the stunned look on her father’s face before answering. “I am equally pleased to know it, my lord.”
“May I escort you inside?” he asked, offering his arm.
Taking it, she let him lead her in. Heads turned as they passed, and eyebrows rose. Everyone present knew the history between them. “You’ve decided against wearing a beard this Season,” she commented as they walked.
His free hand leaped to his face. “I thought I might try it, but if you don’t like it—”
“I think you look most handsome,” she interrupted, giving him a demure glance. “I have never been very partial to beards.”
“Then I shall never wear one again,” he vowed at once. His expression became pensive, as though he were wondering whether his beard had been a determining factor in her choice two years prior.
“I was sorry to hear about Nanette.” Better to clear the air now.
“You were?” he asked, looking puzzled.
“What I mean to say is that I was sorry
for
her,” she amended. “She seemed quite distraught when last I saw her.”
“Oh, ah…” A flush rose from beneath his collar. “Well, the truth is we weren’t all that well suited to one another. She is of a different temperament than I, and we had very little in common.”
“A shame, truly. Still, it is better to know such things before it is too late, wouldn’t you agree?”
“Yes, yes. Quite.”
“And being set free is not always a tragedy. In some instances, it can be a gift beyond price.”
Wild hope sprang to life in his eyes, and he opened his mouth as if to speak. But then he closed it and looked away, fidgeting.
That’s more like it.
Just then, her gaze fell on a familiar and all too unwelcome face. “George’s chamber pot,” she breathed, panicking.
“I beg your pardon?” asked Russell.
Harriett turned her back on Manchester and looked up into Russell’s face. He really did look a lot better without the silly beard. “I know it is bold of me to ask it of you, but would it be a terrible sacrifice if you stayed behind with me today during the hunt?” She just knew Manchester was coming up behind her. She could feel it.
Russell’s face alternated between shock and elation before settling on the latter. “Of course not. I would be honored.”
Suffused with relief, Harriett turned back around to see that her bête noir had indeed come to stand behind her. “Oh, good day to you, Your Grace. A fine morning, is it not?”
“Indeed it is,” answered Manchester. “Or it would be, had I not managed to have my foot crushed by my horse this morning. The beast was in a foul temper for some reason. Actually bit at my groom. He’s calmed since, of course, but I’m afraid the damage is done.”
She looked down at his booted foot, which showed no evidence whatsoever of having been trod upon. “I don’t suppose you’ll suffer too much. You’ll be riding, after all, and have your weight off it.”
“I’ve already told John—forgive me, Sandwich—that I won’t be riding today.”
“What a shame. I’m saddened to know you’ll be leaving us before the festivities have even started,” she said with mock sympathy. “I hear the ball tonight is to be particularly splendid.”
Mischief gleamed in his honey-brown eyes. “Oh, I think it should be well enough by tonight, provided I stay off it for a while. It’s a bit bruised, but nothing was broken. I’m sure I’ll manage a dance or two at least.”
Harriett peered at him, suspicious. Had he known she would be here? He hadn’t acted at all surprised to see her.
Papa.
He must have told Manchester yesterday. Well, he was here and it was clear there would be no getting rid of him. “Your Grace, have you met Lord Russell?”
“Indeed I have. A pleasure,” replied Manchester.
“Likewise,” said Russell, politely inclining his head. Silence stretched for an awkward moment. “I’ve agreed to the delightful task of keeping Lady Harriett company today during the hunt.”
Manchester’s brows lifted. “Have you? Well, that makes you the luckiest of men, doesn’t it?”
Missing the sarcastic tenor of the remark, Russell squared his shoulders and favored her with a proud smile. “Indeed it does.”
Harriett forced herself to look only at Russell. “It is I who am fortunate. You’ve saved me from an afternoon of discussions about embroidery and painting.”
Something that sounded suspiciously like a soft snort erupted from Manchester. He covered it with a cough. “Perhaps, since I have been robbed of the pleasure of the hunt, I might join you.”
Though inwardly she seethed, Harriett delivered the expected reply with equanimity. “Of course you must, Your Grace.” She couldn’t resist. “We’ll just have a little party of our own while the others are away chasing across field and forest, won’t we?”
“Right you are, Lady Harriett,” said Russell, his disappointment ill-concealed as he turned to Manchester. “We would be honored to have you with us.”
A sour-faced Nanette Finchly passed by at that moment, and all at once a brilliant idea popped into Harriett’s head. Looking between the men, she said loudly, “With two such fine gentlemen at my disposal, I shall no doubt be the envy of all the other ladies here.” A small gasp of feminine disgust sounded from behind her.
Excellent.
“Shall we?” she said to Russell, taking his arm. “I believe the others are beginning to gather in the dining hall.”