Sitting with her mother in her parlor the following morning, Harriet wondered a little at the servants’ silence about her mishap. Though most of them surely knew in what state she’d returned, none seemed to have told Grandfather or Mama. Her grandfather had questioned her closely about the outing, yes. But his inquiries had focused on the earl’s level of interest in her, the chance of an early proposal, and ways she could encourage him to make an offer. Mama had followed this dinner conversation like a gambler who’d wagered more than she could afford on a hand of cards, her head moving anxiously back and forth between them. Otherwise, she’d barely mentioned the ride. Harriet appreciated the staff’s restraint. It made her feel a bit more at home in Winstead Hall.
The butler entered to announce, “The Duchess of Tereford.” Cecelia followed him into the room, serenely elegant as always in a chip-straw bonnet and sprig muslin gown.
They exchanged greetings, and Cecelia was offered a chair. “I had thought we might walk in the garden, Harriet,” she replied.
Taking in their caller’s determined expression, Harriet saw she intended to talk about the ride, all of it. “It is rather windy,” Harriet replied. “Won’t you be more comfortable inside?”
“I find the weather invigorating,” Cecelia answered.
“It looks as if it may rain,” Harriet tried.
“I don’t think so.”
“There are clouds blowing…”
“I wish to speak to you privately,” interrupted the duchess. “About a matter of some importance.”
It was unsporting of her to be so forthright, Harriet thought. Because, of course, this stirred up her mother, who immediately looked worried. She watched them go with an anxious frown. Harriet wasn’t even able to dally in fetching her hat. Cecelia followed right along to her bedchamber.
“So,” the duchess said when they had left the house well behind. “Ferrington.”
Harriet pretended to admire a spray of delphinium. It was windy. The blossoms dipped and swayed.
“The man you were so enthusiastically kissing by the stream,” Cecelia added.
“That was not enthusiasm,” Harriet blurted. “I was, er, overset by relief after my fall.”
“Ah, relief.”
Harriet could practically feel her friend’s gaze on the side of her face. She certainly heard the skepticism in her tone.
“I can’t say relief has ever moved me in precisely that way,” said Cecelia.
Shifting ground, Harriet said, “He took me by surprise.”
“Did he? A swooping descent? And yet it didn’t look as if you wished to push him away. In fact, it seemed to me that you might have kissed him before.”
She had no way of knowing that. Harriet was not going to admit it.
“Did he manage to plead his case with you?” Cecelia asked.
“What case?”
“He told me he was very eager to regain your good opinion.”
“You talked about me?”
“Only a little. I noticed the constraint between you when we called here, and I asked him about it. He seemed…distressed by whatever has passed between you, Harriet. And eager for a chance to explain.”
“He is a complete rogue,” replied Harriet.
“He seemed to think that is what you liked about him. At one time. That’s what I gathered, at any rate.”
It was true, but it sounded foolish when spoken aloud. “He lied to me.”
Cecelia nodded. “About his identity. He tried to conceal it from James as well.”
“Who was too clever to be fooled,” responded Harriet bitterly.
“The situations were rather different.”
“Lies are lies.” She’d meant to sound stern, but her treacherous voice trembled.
There was a short silence. Harriet gazed at the gravel path at their feet.
Cecelia took Harriet’s arm and guided her into the shrubbery. The thick bushes cut off some of the wind. Cecelia led her to a sheltered bench, sat beside her, and then said nothing for a bit longer. “It is important to know your own mind,” she said finally.
Harriet glanced at her, then away.
“Which is not always easy,” the duchess continued. “Or simple.”
Platitudes were not less annoying when they were true, Harriet noted.
“But once you do.” The duchess paused. She pressed her lips together, then gave a small nod. “A woman can take her fate into her own hands, you know. My mother taught me that.”
“I thought she died when you were quite young,” said Harriet, startled by this change of topic.
“She did. My aunt told me the story. Of how my mother settled her own destiny.”
“Destiny?” Harriet wasn’t certain what she had expected. A warning to be more careful perhaps? Reminders about propriety and appearances? Not this, at any rate.
“My mama arranged her own marriage,” Cecelia continued. “She went to my father and presented a list of the advantages of marriage. When he heard them, Papa conceded.”
“Conceded,” said Harriet.
“I know. It doesn’t sound romantic. You would have to be better acquainted with my father to understand the significance. He is a…tiger for argument. He hardly ever gives in. To have convinced him was a true achievement. I think he must have wanted very much to marry her. But would he ever have bestirred himself to ask?” Cecelia shrugged.
An interesting tale, but Harriet didn’t see that it applied to her.
“I’ve been telling her story to other young ladies. Those who don’t think they can do anything about their situations. Why should they not?”
“Family, society, training, fear,” suggested Harriet.
“Yes, it is hard to surmount those things, but not impossible. I did something rather like my mother.”
“You?” She’d imagined the duchess’s life as serene and perfect, including her marriage to the handsome duke.
“Our cases were not quite the same,” replied Cecelia with a secret smile. “But the point is, I decided to act, and I did. I would like to spread that idea throughout the female half of society.”
“A kind of amative philanthropy?”
Cecelia considered this. “More like fomenting a petticoat rebellion.”
Harriet had to smile at the picture this presented. “Ladies to the barricades? But with no better cause than marriage. As ever.”
“Do you not wish to be married?” the duchess asked. “It certainly looked as if you and Ferrington…”
“I thought he was a…a free spirit,” burst out of Harriet. “Someone living a different sort of life. Far away. And then he turned out to be an earl.”
“Which many would see as a great advantage and a wonderful surprise,” replied Cecelia.
“Many.” Harriet nearly spat the word. “The many who comprise society, which is…no more than a glittering scum disguising wretched behavior.”
“Scum wouldn’t really be much of a disguise…”
“You know what I meant, Cecelia.”
The duchess paused, then nodded. “There are problems, of course. And those of us who care work to improve things.”
“I don’t know what you think…” Harriet began. And stopped. She saw Cecelia’s line of reasoning laid out before her—Ferrington an earl, marriage to him, a position that could influence others, favorable change. Somehow, the cool logic was vastly dispiriting. “My grandfather sees marriage as another kind of business deal. I thought better of you, Cecelia.”
Her friend seemed unaffected by the reproach. “You did not appear to be kissing a business partner beside the stream,” she replied dryly.
“I was…” Harriet was a muddle of conflicting feelings.
“I merely offer observations,” added Cecelia airily. “And perhaps…possibilities. Who knows?” She stood. “I must go.”
Harriet rose as well.
“There is a lovely little path through the woodland,” the duchess said, turning in that direction. “It goes past the Travelers’ camp and right over to Ferrington Hall. Perhaps you know it?”
Meeting her eyes, Harriet said, “Yes, Cecelia. I do.”
“I thought you might.”
Harriet walked with her to the garden gate and then turned back toward the house. The wind, which had been at her back, pushed into her face now and threatened to pull her hat from her head. Skirts billowing, she hurried along the path and slipped through the nearest door, which happened to be the one nearest to her grandfather’s study.
She paused and considered going back out into the gale. She would have to pass his lair to reach other parts of the house, and the door was open. She listened. He was hardly ever so silent. He must not be there. She hurried along the hallway, passed the study safely, turned a corner, and nearly ran into the old man in the hallway.
Her grandfather effectively blocked the corridor. His dark eyes drilled into her. “There you are. What did the duchess have to say?”
“It was just a friendly visit,” Harriet replied.
“Linny said it was a matter of importance. She thought the duchess came to speak to you about the earl.”
She did wish her mother would be less forthcoming. She hadn’t had to tell him that. She hadn’t known it was true.
“Well, what was it?” He frowned at her. “What’s wrong with you, girl?”
“Nothing.” She had to think of some sop to offer him. Harriet said the first thing that came into her head. “He enjoyed the ride.”
“Did he?” Her grandfather rubbed his hands together. “Would the duchess be willing to act as matchmaker, do you think? I could pay her.”
“No!” It was a horridly vulgar suggestion. Cecelia might laugh, but Harriet would be mortified.
“I don’t suppose she needs the money,” he conceded.
“Indeed not!”
“You needn’t look so sour. Plenty of noblewomen hire themselves out as go-betweens and would be very happy to take my money.”
She couldn’t deny it. “The duchess is not one.”
“Ah, well.” He waved the idea aside. “Perhaps she may be helpful without prodding. She said he enjoyed the ride, eh? Came over to tell you that. Nothing else?”
Harriet shook her head. She edged along the wall, hoping to slip past him and escape.
He moved to block her. “You should arrange another then.”
She would not be getting on a horse any time soon. Perhaps ever. “I’m a poor rider,” she said.
“You think you don’t show well on horseback?” He considered this while Harriet absorbed the sensation of being spoken of like livestock. “You should walk out toward Ferrington Hall and hang about until you run into him.”
The fact that she’d done precisely that not so long ago, when the earl was Jack the Rogue, somehow made her even angrier. “So you’re no longer worried about the Travelers?”
“Oh, them.” He looked disgusted. “Why won’t they move along? I wish I had chased them off. The whole neighborhood would be grateful once the thing was done.”
She shouldn’t have reminded him of that. “I won’t lurk on the earl’s property hoping to ambush him,” she declared to distract him. Though it was also quite true.
Her grandfather came a step closer and glowered down at her. “A fine match has dropped into your lap like a ripe plum, Harriet. If you don’t make a push to snag it, I will understand you have no intention of heeding my wishes.”
“I cannot guarantee…”
“In which case, our deal will be at an end.”
“Deal?” She hated the sound of the word.
“I will look elsewhere for an heir,” he said. “One who is a better investment and not a weak failure like her mother.”
“Don’t speak of Mama that way!”
He shrugged. “It is no more than the truth. I can’t help that.”
“It isn’t. She retreats because you are cruel to her.”
He rejected this with a brusque gesture. “Get on with it, girl. My patience is not endless. And so I’ve just told Linny.”
At last, he stepped aside. The spiteful gleam in his eyes told Harriet he knew very well what effect his threats had on her mother. He enjoyed it. She would find Mama in frantic tears, ready to echo Grandfather’s demands in a far more affecting mode.
But her mother was not in her parlor, which was rather a relief. Harriet went to take off her hat, tidy her windblown hair, and gather her resolution before searching further.
She found her mother lying in her bed, deeply asleep, with a fresh laudanum bottle clutched in her hand.
“Mama,” she said, shaking her shoulder.
There was no response. Her mother’s breathing remained steady. Harriet pried the bottle from her limp fingers. It was about half full. Harriet went to the bell pull and jerked it sharply.
When her mother’s maid responded, Harriet held up the bottle. “Do you know anything about this?” Like Slade, she was new to them, hired when they arrived in London for the season to make sure Mama was turned out properly.
“It was full the last time I saw it, miss,” said the maid. Her face showed no opinion.
“Full!” Harriet was appalled.
“She’s taken as much before,” the woman added. “At night, mostly.”
“How do you know? Did you provide it?” If she had, Harriet would see that she was dismissed, no matter what her grandfather thought.
“No, miss. Your mother said her doctor recommended a soother.” The woman’s mouth turned down. “I don’t hold with it myself.”
“No.” Harriet’s fingers closed more tightly around the vial. “I will take this away with me.”
“There are others. She hides them.”
The final three words made Harriet’s heart sink. She met the woman’s inexpressive eyes. It was impossible to tell whether she was a real ally. “Do you know where?” she asked her.
The maid directed her to six of the small bottles, tucked away in various spots around the room. She could not guarantee this was all, however. Harriet searched until she could think of nowhere else to try and found no more.
Her mother slept heavily through all of this. After getting the abigail’s assurance that Mama had slept this soundly before without lasting harm, Harriet took the vials away to her own bedchamber. She put them on a small table, sat down, and gazed at the little glass containers.
Harriet knew laudanum was widely used—for pains, anxiety, even to soothe fretful babies. But she could not think it was a good idea. The drug dulled and deadened the senses. What else might it do? She wondered whether the recent change in her mother’s temperament was partly due to taking it. No, this should not go on. She would talk to Mama and convince her to stop. Her grandfather could not find out; that was out of the question. He would treat Mama even more cruelly.
But would Mama listen to her? Would she give it up while Grandfather continued to bully her?
Harriet rose and began to pace, trying to think what to do. She knew how to survive on the small income they’d had previously. But the capital was gone. Her mother had spent it without consulting her. It was no longer possible for Mama to return to their old life while Harriet went out to find some employment. And in her mother’s current state—pushed there by her grandfather’s spite—even less was possible. Anger at the old man flamed through Harriet. He would not destroy her only remaining parent!
She clenched her fists and paced on. So much in her life had been done without her consent. When she’d been a child, there was no help for it. But she wasn’t a child any longer. She had to do something.
Her school friends would be sympathetic. She and Mama could go and stay with one of them—Ada would be the best choice as she was married now and had her own household. But this was not a permanent haven. They couldn’t live as penniless dependents.
Returning to the chair by the hearth, Harriet gazed into the distance. An idea rose in her mind, sparked by Cecelia’s visit.
Out of the question!
And yet it would resolve many problems.
Nonsense!
It even had certain attractions.
Never!
No other possibility presented itself.
She could pull it back later, an insinuating inner voice suggested, after she’d had time to think of another plan. With a bit of peace and quiet, for Mama as well, surely she would be able to do so.
Harriet remembered her mother, sleeping so sonorously. Dead to the world, people called it. The phrase made her shudder. Would it be a fact, if Mama went on as she was?
She rose, went to the writing desk, jotted down a few lines, sealed the note, and took it downstairs to be sent off.
***
Jack read the note from Miss Finch with surprise and a surge of hope, particularly because she’d asked him to meet her in the garden as they used to do in better days. He sent her messenger back with an enthusiastic acceptance and set off not long after the lad in his best borrowed garb. The path through the woodland seemed a familiar friend, though he had to keep one hand on his hat to prevent the wind from snatching it.
He found her, as promised, in the shrubbery of the Winstead Hall garden, on a bench they had used before. The thick, evergreen hedges cut off most of the blustery gusts and made the spot feel quite private. Jack bowed over her hand. “I was so glad to receive your summons.” She gestured an invitation, and he sat down beside her.
There was a short silence, broken only by the rustle of the branches above their heads. Jack wondered if he should remark on the weather or some other bland topic. He hoped she didn’t expect it, because sitting so close to her, within reach of the sort of embraces they’d more than once shared, had tied his tongue. She looked so very lovely. He longed for her. “I do apologize once again for deceiving you.” He hadn’t meant to emphasize once again. That happened on its own. But he had apologized several times already.
Miss Finch’s lips tightened. Her green eyes flashed over him and then fell.
She’d noticed the emphasis. Of course. She noticed everything. Her ardent intelligence was one of the things he admired about her. Along with her beauty and her quicksilver emotions and her adventurous spirit. He thought of her whirling in the dance around the Travelers’ fire and ached for that happier time. “Did you ever think that it was for the best we met as we did?”
“What?”
“If I’d been introduced to you as the Earl of Ferrington and you to me as the distinguished Miss Harriet Finch, in some stuffy London house or even here, we would never have become…friends.”
“Friends,” she repeated as if the word surprised her.
“But we met as…only ourselves. With no stifling conventions coming between us. No families hanging about to cause difficulties.”
Did she turn a little pale? She seemed so subdued today.
Jack went on, hoping to rouse her, even in argument. Also, he was more and more pleased with his theory. “The idea of an earl seemed to repel you, but I’m not really an earl. Nothing in my life made me so.”
“You are the Earl of Ferrington,” she replied.
“In name, perhaps. But actually, I am Jack, the man you called a rogue.” He tried a smile.
“You are not a rogue either.”
“I can’t help but think that fortunate,” he teased. “You would not wish to meet a true rogue, I promise you.”
Once, she might have laughed at this or disagreed. Now she just sat with folded hands.
“Is something wrong? You summoned me.” Why had she done so?
“I wished to speak to you about a…delicate matter,” she said.
She sounded prim and stiff, not like the forthright girl Jack had gotten to know. He could endure reproaches over his conduct, even anger. This stuffiness was worrisome.
“I must suppose you know what it is,” she went on.
Must she? Jack wished she wouldn’t, since he had no idea.
“I am referring to the incident at the stream.”
“Ah.” Did she wish to thank him for hauling her out of the water? There was no need, though he wouldn’t mind a bit of gratitude. Or any sort of emotion, really.
“Its scandalous nature,” she added.
She was a wretched rider. They’d been wet. The mud had stunk. She’d melted into his… “Oh.”
Harriet raised her eyebrows.
“Do you mean…?”
She appeared to lose patience with him. “The Terefords saw us kissing,” she said. Slowly, as if to a poor student.
They certainly had, although Jack hadn’t been aware of them at the time, or of anything really, except scorching desire.
“So, do you have something to say to me?” Now she sounded annoyed.
That he’d enjoyed it immensely? That he would like to do it again, right now? He didn’t think that was what she meant. “I don’t think they will say anything,” he tried.
“I beg your pardon?”
“They don’t seem the type to spread gossip.”
“What?”
“Quite down-to-earth people, for a duke and duchess.”
“You…” She seemed to grope for words. “Do girls in America kiss whomever they please?”
“No.” Well, some did, of course. But not those Miss Finch was likely to meet.
“I have been compromised.”
She said these words slowly, in such a strange tone that Jack couldn’t puzzle it out. Was she angry or bewildered or regretful?
“My reputation is damaged.”
Still the same odd voice, as if she repeated phrases from a lesson she’d disliked learning in the first place. “I hardly think…” Jack began.
“Unless you do the right thing.”
In one dazzling moment, he understood. It was like being handed a prize you’d been desperately longing for as a free gift. He couldn’t quite believe it. “Marry you, you mean?”
Miss Finch put a hand to her throat as if something was stuck there. She started to speak, stopped, then, jaw clenched, finally said, “Yes, Lord Ferrington.”
Why was she angry? Oh. He’d been obtuse, inept. He’d made her say it starkly aloud. He was a dolt. Nearly the barbarian his great-grandmother had named him. He had to make up for that. Jack slipped off the bench and sank to one knee on the gravel path. He took her hand. “Miss Finch, would you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”
She stared at him. Her green eyes swam with emotion. It didn’t look like happiness. For a bewildered instant, Jack thought she was going to refuse. But she said, “Yes.”
Elation raced through Jack. He could hardly believe his luck. He surged to his feet, pulling her up to face him, and then into his arms. “You have made me the happiest of men,” he declared and kissed her.
At first, she was like a statue in his arms, stiff and wooden, nothing like she’d been on the riverbank. He held back and coaxed until her mouth softened under his. Jack pulled her closer, and at last she melted into his embrace, her body pliable under his hands, her fingers tangled in his hair. He was swept away on a flood of passion.
But all too soon, she pulled away. “We must go and tell my grandfather the news.”
He could think of so many more pleasant things to do. “Can’t we wait just a…?”
“No.”
The word couldn’t have sounded bleak. He must have imagined it. Or the thought of her grandfather disheartened her. He could sympathize with that.
She led him inside and along a corridor to a room with a large desk. Mr. Winstead sat there, surrounded by documents. He looked up when they entered, like an ill-tempered spider at the center of a vast web.
“Grandfather, we have come to tell you that we are engaged to be married,” said Miss Finch.
The old man’s habitual glower faded slowly into a grin, like a rarely used piece of machinery grinding into motion. “Ha.” He stood. “Good for you, girl.”
He spoke to her as if she was a servant who’d done well at her assigned task. Jack didn’t like it.
Winstead rubbed his hands together. “Countess of Ferrington,” he muttered. “And my great-grandson will be an earl. By God, he will.”
He had no thought of wishing anyone happiness, Jack observed. Actually, he doubted the old man understood the meaning of the word.
“I’ll tell the vicar to post the banns,” Winstead added.
Not caring to be chivvied about, Jack said, “You’re quick off the mark.”
“You have some objection?” The grin was gone, replaced by the glower of suspicion that was Mr. Winstead’s natural expression.
Jack had a few. At some point, he would have to show this old curmudgeon that he was not in charge. But this was not the moment. Jack was ready to marry Miss Finch tomorrow, had that been possible. “No,” he said.
There was a tug on Jack’s sleeve. Looking down, he gathered that Miss Finch—Harriet—wished to go. He certainly had no objection to that. Leaving Winstead to his gloating, he followed her into the corridor and along it to the front entry of the house. They could go back to the garden now and resume their vastly more pleasant activities.
She stopped beside the door, however. “Thank you for coming,” she said, opening it and waiting.
As if he’d paid a morning call, and not a particularly welcome one. “Miss…Harriet, is all well?”
“Why wouldn’t it be?”
This sounded like a challenge or a riddle he should be able to solve. Which was ridiculous. He was imagining things.
“I must go and inform Mama,” she said.
That made sense. “Shall I come with you?” And then they could return to the garden.
“No.”
Jack had never proposed marriage before, so he couldn’t be certain. But this didn’t feel like the aftermath of a joyous agreement. “I’m glad you’ve forgiven me for…withholding a bit of the truth.”
“Are you?”
“Of course I am.” What was the matter with her? “And gladder still that there is no need for secrets anymore.”
“Until the next time you decide there’s something I mustn’t know?” she asked.
“That will never happen again,” Jack assured her.
“I count on that,” Harriet replied. She gestured at the open door, and before he quite knew what was happening, Jack found himself outside with the panels closing on his heels.