My Wayward Lady (10 page)
Enough. Whatever the reasons were, Harriet did not wish to dwell on them. Resolutely pushing all thoughts of Chalfont from her mind, she concentrated instead on how she was going to persuade Madame Celeste to take Fanny on as an assistant. In all probability, the best way to approach it was to have Fanny trim a bonnet for her or make up something that would show off the skill she claimed to have as a seamstress. Certainly after today she would be more eager than ever to leave the Temple of Venus and find employment elsewhere.
The unfortunate incident had only strengthened Harriet's determination to help the girls find some other means of livelihood. In Harriet's opinion women in general were too dependent on men for their welfare, and the women who had no families to turn to should some man mistreat them, no friends to help them when times were hard, were at more of a disadvantage than the rest. This opinion, unfortunately, was 90
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not widely held, and Harriet was only too well aware that she was quite alone in her view of things.
Her sister and her schoolmates at Miss Drew's, the select seminary in Bath to which she had been sent to complete her education, looked upon men as their destiny and their salvation. Men, as husbands, were the opportunity for freedom from all the strict rules governing the conduct of a proper young lady. Men offered a woman an establishment of her own, a chance to repair the family fortunes or to improve her position in the
ton.
In fact, Harriet's schoolmate, Alicia De Villiers, had summed up their collective opinions quite nicely one day when Harriet, the only girl not set wholeheartedly on marriage, had pointed out to those who were sighing over the handsome dancing master and the dashing heroes in the novels smuggled in from the circulating library, that women rarely married such romantic but uncertain people and were far more likely to wind up with the very dull but eligible son of long-standing family friends. Fixing Harriet with a scornful glance Alicia had pronounced in withering tones, "Harriet, you are a simpleton. A woman is nothing without a man." Certainly Alicia, who used her charms to entrance every male in her vicinity from the aged émigré who taught them French to the dancing master, and even the vicar at the church where they attended service, took this philosophy to heart as she used this power to her best advantage. Harriet's outraged reply, "Well,
this
woman is going to be something without one," had merely provoked derisive laughter. It was all very well for the young ladies at Miss 91
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Drew's Select Academy to believe that once married they would be in command of ample pin money and adoring husbands, but Harriet had looked closely at the world around her and knew that things were otherwise more often than not.
Her own father, though charming enough when he stopped to notice anyone, was so wrapped up in his studies that he was oblivious to all else. From the little she could remember of her mother who had died when Harriet was five, the Countess of Thornby had been largely ignored by her husband, who often confounded her with his absentmindedness and total lack of interest in such practical but necessary aspects of life as rents, repairs, and the management of the estate. In fact, when he did emerge from his fits of abstraction the results were usually most disconcerting, if not downright inconvenient. Harriet vividly remembered times when her father had suddenly decided to take over the running of daily affairs. The consequences were always disastrous, since he had no head for business and even less for dealing with people from solicitors to servants. The end result was that he soon flew into a towering rage of frustration over some rather everyday complication and retired, fuming, to his study.
Then there was the squire, a man as brutal and selfish as his son was. Completely disregarding his wife and daughters except when he wanted to be fed, he gallivanted about the countryside hunting and drinking, with little regard for anyone else.
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From what Harriet had seen, most men were somewhere in between her father and the squire, but in the main, all of them were oblivious to the needs of women. Even her beloved Charlie was quick to forget her when a mill, a war, or some other sort of male excitement caught his attention. Certainly Harriet had never come across an approximation of the romantic heroes that the young women at Miss Drew's dreamed about. Unbidden, the image of the man who had just rescued her rose before her eyes. He had rushed to her defense in a manner entirely appropriate to the most romantic of heroes and had been as tenderly solicitous of her welfare as any of the men her schoolmates had sighed over. However his mere presence in a place such as Mrs. Lovington's, rescue or no rescue, was a fair indication as to the unheroic aspects of his nature. Fortunately for Harriet's peace of mind, the carriage drew up in front of Madame Celeste's, putting a halt to further disquieting speculations. The proprietress of that exclusive millinery establishment was delighted to see the young lady who had become such a good customer of late and who had a sister on the verge of becoming the Countess of Sanford. She was not quite so delighted, however, at Harriet's proposal to add to her workforce. "I would have to see her work, my lady," she demurred cautiously. It would never do to offend a patroness of Harriet's potential. "As you know, I run a most select establishment and I simply could not employ a seamstress who could not produce work of a most superior quality."
"I quite understand," Harriet reassured her quickly, afraid that it might occur to Madame Celeste to wonder where 93
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Harriet had encountered the young woman she was recommending. But the proprietress, who was really the erstwhile Alice Higginbottom, an enterprising young lady from Dover who had acquired her French style and accent from her lover, a French chef to the Marquess of Moresby in whose household she had been an upper housemaid, was the soul of discretion who would never have run the risk of alienating such a generous patroness by questioning her.
"I shall bring you some of her handiwork the next time I come for a fitting. At the moment, however, I should like to see some designs for ball gowns as I have nothing to wear to the Countess of Rotherham's ball," Harriet continued, chuckling to herself at the absurdity of her taking an interest in any gown, much less a ball gown. But she wanted to keep the idea of Fanny as an assistant in Madame Celeste's mind and the best way to do that was to link discussions of Fanny to Harriet's expensive orders from the modiste. After all, Madame was a businesswoman above all else. To be honest, Harriet was rather enjoying herself. One thing about masquerading as a Quakeress was that it gave one an appreciation for all the frills and trimmings available to the ladies of the
ton.
Holding up a piece of silver tissue over the white satin Madame Celeste had brought her, she surveyed herself in the looking glass and wondered irrelevantly what Chalfont would think of the prim little Quaker miss if he were to see her in a ball gown. Thoroughly annoyed at herself for this absurd thought, Harriet pushed the unwelcome notion aside, concentrating instead on deciding what sort of project she should 94
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commission Fanny to do for the modiste's perusal. Perhaps she should ask her to do more than trim a bonnet. She had been immediately taken by the stylishness of Fanny's own garments which the girl had assured her were both of her own design and construction. It might be sufficient to bring in one of the girl's own gowns though they tended to be rather more daring than those customarily worn by the belles of the
ton.
Yes, that was it, she would commission Fanny to make something for her with the proviso that it be sufficiently demure for her to wear to church.
Her mind made up on that score, Harriet casually pointed to one of the figures in
La Belle Assemblée
and, holding out the tissue and satin in front of her again for a quick inspection, remarked, "Yes, I think I should like something like this in these materials." She drew on her gloves and headed toward the door.
"But, my lady, you have not settled on the trimmings!
Would you like a flounce of French lace at the hem of the skirt or a rouleau of satin entwined with pearls? Do you wish the sleeve to be slashed or decorated with knots of ribbon?" The modiste was aghast at her customer's cavalier attitude.
"Whatever you think best. I trust your taste implicitly. Just inform me when you wish to do a fitting. Thank you." And with that breezy dismissal of a process that absorbed the entire lives of most of her fashionable peers, Harriet departed, leaving Madame Celeste and her assistant to wonder aloud at a young woman who could order a very expensive ball gown without the blink of an eye and who could remain so uninvolved in its creation. 95
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"However she is always agreeable and such a pretty thing too—never in the least demanding, not like some." Miss Milsop, the assistant, rolled her eyes in the direction of a stout red-faced woman swathed in purple who was berating another assistant to the verge of tears.
"Yes. But why she must always appear in that plain gown when we have made her at least one delightful carriage dress, I do not know. At least her bonnet was more the thing," the proprietress replied, little suspecting that Harriet had been so immersed in thought over the recent incident at Mrs. Lovington's that she had very nearly forgotten to exchange her Quaker bonnet for the more fashionable one she always carried in a bandbox.
Fortunately, Rose had caught her mistress at the last minute just as she was about to emerge from the carriage and enter the shop. "Oh, my lady, your bonnet!" Harriet had smiled ruefully. "Too much woolgathering. Thank you. Rose." And she had hastily bent over to reach into the bandbox, hoping to hide the telltale blush that had crept up into her cheeks. It was bad enough for Harriet to be aware that her thoughts were dwelling entirely too much on the mysterious Chalfont who had rescued her, but she was bound and determined that no one else, especially the sharp-eyed Rose, should think that anything was amiss.
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Nor did the mysterious Chalfont fade from her thoughts as the days passed. Harriet kept telling herself that her continued preoccupation with him was the natural response of a person trying to establish the identity of someone whose name was familiar but whose face was not by attempting to recall the context in which she had first heard of Chalfont. However, she was forced to admit to herself that she spent far more time remembering the mixture of admiration and concern in his amber eyes than she did trying to remember the precise circumstances in which she had heard his name mentioned.
Much as she wished to discover the identity of the unknown gentleman who had come to figure so largely in her thoughts, Harriet deemed it prudent to avoid appearing at the Temple of Venus until she could be sure that it was entirely safe from further visits by Sir Neville. Consequently, she sent a note around to Mrs. Lovington informing her of her decision. The proprietress's reply was gracious enough, but left Harriet in no doubt that her presence would be sadly missed by the girls who had come to look forward to their weekly lessons. Harriet smiled as she read the reply. She too would miss their Tuesday morning meetings for she had come to feel very much a part of the lives of Mrs. Lovington's ladies. Their stories of faithless suitors and unforgiving families made her prize all the more the freedom she was fortunate enough to possess. To be sure, society did not allow her the latitude it 97
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granted to her brother Charlie, He could go anywhere and do anything without thinking twice while she was confined to a few respectable occupations such as shopping, riding in the park, or attending
ton
functions and always in the company of a maid at the very least.
In fact, if it had not been for Charlie, Harriet would have been nearly suffocated by the boredom of her daily routine which was now devoid of the stimulation formerly offered by the lessons at the Temple of Venus. Charlie, however, knowing full well how his younger sister chafed at life in the
ton,
and thoroughly aware of her propensity for falling into a scrape when life became too dull, was careful to take her riding in the park as often as his guard duties permitted. A captain in the First Guards, Charlie was accustomed to a life of hardship and adventure in the Peninsula, and had also been part of the drama that was Waterloo. Now suffering the tedium of mounting guard at Saint James's, he could sympathize wholeheartedly with his sister's frustration at the flatness of her existence.
Knowing Harriet's dislike for the tame pace maintained by those who rode in the park at the fashionable hour, he took Harriet with him for his early morning rides when the only occupants of the park were military men like himself bent on exercising themselves and their mounts.
It was during one such ride, on a remarkably fine morning, that the eyes of both brother and sister were caught by one rider in particular. Both man and horse were equally magnificent specimens. The gentleman, a man of soldierly bearing, was well over six feet, with broad shoulders and a 98
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slim waist, while his horse, a magnificent gray, was nearly seventeen hands and as powerfully built as his master.
"What a superb animal!" Harriet exclaimed and then caught her breath as the rider glanced in their direction. She should have known who it was the instant she laid eyes on the pair but she had been so taken with the horse at first that she paid little attention to the rider. Now that she looked more closely, however, she realized that there was no mistaking the blond hair and dashing manner of her erstwhile tormentor and rescuer from the Temple of Venus. Hastily changing the subject she continued, "But no horse could be more splendid than my own dear Brutus. Do you not think his manners improved? Why now he hardly takes any exception to those nasty cart horses or the press of traffic in the streets."
