My Wayward Lady (17 page)
Harriet's face lit up. "An excellent suggestion. Truly I do thank you. You have been most generous and understanding."
And so have you,
the modiste thought as she rose to usher out her unusual customer. Lady Harriet was not a beauty by any standards, but when she smiled she was an enchanting little thing, and something quite out of the ordinary. It was generally Madame's policy to maintain the strictest distance from her customers, but all of a sudden she found herself wanting to do something for this particular young woman, and she resolved to oversee personally the making up of any garment that Lady Harriet might order. Wise in the ways of the
ton,
the proprietress sensed that Harriet was far too 156
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concerned about other more serious issues to spend much time on her appearance, and in the fashionable world, appearance was all. Well she, Madame Celeste, would spend the time to insure that heads would turn whenever Lady Harriet Fareham walked into a room.
After conducting her young customer to the door, Madame returned to her senior assistants to inform them of the latest addition to her staff and to instruct them as to the preferential treatment that was to be given Lady Harriet Fareham.
Meanwhile Harriet, well satisfied with her morning's work, was remarking to the skeptical Rose as they made their way down Bond Street, after having dismissed the hackney in the usual manner, "There, you see. Rose, some good will come of our visiting Mrs. Lovington's after all."
"Just so long as it is more good than bad that comes of it, my lady," the maid responded darkly. "But I have my doubts. I do have my doubts." Rose shook her head gloomily. "Born for trouble, you were, my lady, born for trouble. Trouble in the country is one thing, but trouble in the city is quite another."
"Oh, Rose, you are such a worrier. Don't be so henhearted. It will all come out all right for everyone, you will see," Harriet responded in a rallying tone, refusing to be drawn into such a gloomy picture of things. But Harriet's optimism was to be dealt a severe blow some nights later as she accompanied her family to a production of
The Recruiting Officer.
She would have preferred attending
La
Clemenza di Tito
that was being presented at King's Theatre, 157
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but Elizabeth insisted that the fashionable world in general, and Lord Rokeby and his friend Lord Aylward in particular, were more likely to be at the Theatre Royal. Besides, Charlie was all in favor of a play that featured such a military sounding tide.
Harriet, resigned to an evening of modest entertainment, was leaning on the edge of the box wishing she were listening to Mozart when her eye fell on Sir Neville who was in the pit ogling the boxes in the most disgustingly forward manner. With a gasp she drew herself back into the shadows of the box and then cursed herself for a fool because her involuntary reaction had naturally done quite the opposite of what she had intended and caught his attention.
Harriet remained frozen, hoping against hope that the distance was too great for her to be identified, but it was too late. With a sinking heart she watched the sinister smile steal slowly across the thin. cruel mouth as he raised his quizzing glass to get a better look.
My wretched hair,
she fumed silently.
If only I were old enough to wear a cap.
She knew it was useless to wish for anonymity, for whatever else she might be. Lady Harriet Fareham was never inconspicuous. Sir Neville was not the only one whose attention had been attracted by the sight of candlelight gleaming on coppery curls. Lord Chalfont, raising a hand to stifle a yawn of purest boredom, had also caught a glimpse of them and found that his interest in the evening's outing had perked up considerably. He had listened politely to every possible
on dit
concerning the occupants of the adjacent boxes that Alicia and her mother could dredge up, and had 158
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just been wondering how he was to keep himself awake and amused during what promised to be an interminable evening when a hasty movement to his left made him look up just as Harriet retreated into her box. The sight of her brother Charles, resplendent in his regimentals, lounging back in a chair next to his sister, brought joy to the marquess's heart as he saw an opportunity to escape the stultifying atmosphere of his own box for the more congenial conversation in the Fareham's. On the pretext of greeting a long-lost comrade-in-arms, he excused himself to Alicia and her mother at the end of the second act and made his way to the Fareham's box where Charlie greeted him most cordially.
"Nice of you to stop in, Chalfont. Promised Harriet here I would join her at the theater but I tell you I find it to be deuced dull stuff. Can't hold a candle to Astley's. Now there's entertainment that a fellow can truly appreciate, if you ask me."
The marquess chuckled. "You have been soldiering too long, Fareham, and now nothing will satisfy your craving for excitement. Surely Lady Harriet here can offer a more rational criticism of tonight's offering." Adrian turned to Harriet, who had been unusually quiet thus far, and was surprised to find her looking unaccountably somber. Thinking quickly, he turned to Charlie and, nodding toward a box across from them, wondered aloud, "Is that not Colonel Dan Mackinnon?
Now
there
is a soldier if there ever was one." His attention completely diverted, Charlie leaned forward, trying to make out the identity of the man in question while 159
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Lord Chalfont whispered in Harriet's ear, "Is something amiss? You do not look to be at all the thing you know."
"Does it show? I am sorry, but Sir Neville is here and was looking up at our box. I am persuaded he recognized me." Harriet responded under her breath.
"Surely not. The man is not that clever. Do not alarm yourself." Adrian smiled reassuringly. But Harriet remained unconvinced. "He may not be clever, but I do feel that he is vindictive and he is not the sort of person to forget an insult."
Seeing that she was genuinely upset, the marquess laid a comforting hand on hers. "Do not disturb yourself over this. I shall take care of it. Can you contrive to meet me in the park tomorrow?"
Harriet nodded silently.
"Good."
It was the exchange of a moment before Charlie, who was surveying the box opposite, turned back to say, "No, I do not think that it is MacKinnon. He is not likely to be caught at a place as tame as this." But in that brief interchange, Harriet experienced a sense of being watched over and cared for that she had not felt since her mother died. It was the most fleeting of sensations, but nonetheless intense for its brevity, and Harriet was left to marvel at it while her brother and Lord Chalfont, inspired by the topic of Colonel Mackinnon's exploits, soon became immersed in yet another discussion of the Peninsular Campaign.
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The bell sounding the beginning of the next act forced Lord Chalfont to return to his own box where his attention was not focused on its occupants or the action onstage, but on the disturbing news that Harriet had confided to him. He scanned the audience carefully and at last was able to single out Sir Neville among a noisy group of fellows in the pit. Adrian scowled. It was just like Fletcher to seek out the most vulgar of companions—not that he, Adrian, was such a stickler for the niceties that he did not occasionally escape the stiflingly genteel atmosphere in the boxes for the more congenial and riotous atmosphere below, but somehow Sir Neville always stepped beyond the bounds. At the moment, he was paying no heed to his companions, who truly did look to be ruffians of the worst sort. Instead, his eyes appeared to be fixed on the row of boxes above, and on one box in particular. Damn! Adrian swore silently. Harriet was entirely correct. Even at this distance there was no mistaking the cunning smile twisting the swarthy features into a more sinister expression than usual. The marquess ground his teeth. Without question the man was a scoundrel of the worst sort, and there was nothing more that Adrian would rather do than deliver another stunning blow to that villainous countenance. But he could do no such thing. In fact, he had no right to do anything at all. To all intents and purposes, Harriet's welfare was her family's concern and no one else's, but Adrian could not help wanting to make it his. After all, he alone knew her 161
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situation and the danger she was in. Certainly her father was too absorbed in his own scholarly interests to care, and Charlie had not the slightest idea of the alarming nature of his sister's pursuits.
Adrian bit his lip. The well-being of Lady Harriet Fareham might not be his responsibility, but he was damn well going to look out for it, no matter what anyone might think. She needed his help and they both knew it. He could not have mistaken the desperate look in her eyes this evening when she had spoken of Sir Neville, nor could she misinterpret his reassurances. The sigh of relief that had escaped her when he laid his hand on hers had been proof of that. Without expressly articulating it, she had begged for his assistance and he had pledged it most willingly. Now he meant to stand by it, but first he needed to talk to her again. They would meet in the park tomorrow. She had promised him that at least, though knowing her self-sufficient turn of mind and independent spirit, he was not sure how much else she would agree to as far as his assistance was concerned. By the time she had reached the foot of the theater's magnificent double staircase and followed her sister and Lord Rokeby into the vestibule after the play, Harriet was ready to put her fate into the capable hands of the Marquess of Kidderham. As the Fareham's had exited their box. Sir Neville had appeared at her elbow and, looking directly at her, had murmured in the most threatening of tones, "My dear Lady Harriet, how delightful to see you. We must talk sometime, you and I."
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Before she could even react, much less respond, he had vanished into the press of people on either side without anyone else's taking notice of him.
Harriet was not one given to nervous starts or alarmist fits of fancy, but even she, stalwart that she was, could not help glancing anxiously behind her as they climbed into the carriage.
All the way to Berkeley Square as she toyed with the lace scarf that was carelessly tossed over her shoulders, Harriet's mind raced. What was she to do? He was bound to expose her and then not only would she, but more importantly her family, be ruined. Not for the first time she wished that she were a man. If she had been she could have called him out and there would be an end to it, but as it was, he had her in his power and could toy with her as a cat did a mouse. She had been able to read that well enough in the sinister smile he had directed at her as he had slipped back into the crowd. Oh, it was intolerable to be in the power of such a despicable character. She would not stand for it! But what was she to do?
Harriet continued to fret as Rose helped her out of her white lace evening gown and gently brushed her hair. Sleep eluded her and Harriet tossed and turned, racking her brain for a clever solution that refused to come. At last the image of Lord Chalfont, cool, calm, and comforting, rose before her. He had not seemed to be the least bit alarmed by the fears she had confided to him. "Can you meet me in the park tomorrow?" was all he had said. He must have a plan. After all, if half of her brother's stories were true, the Marquess of 163
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Kidderham was a man of infinite resources. She would just have to possess herself of as much patience as she could until the next morning and see what he had to suggest. The thought of Lord Chalfont was oddly comforting, and Harriet found that the expectation of meeting with him the next day was sufficient to calm her. She fell asleep with some hope that there was a solution to her dilemma, and that even if there was not, at least she was not alone. Having slept far better than she would have believed possible, Harriet was up and out betimes the next morning. Her natural buoyancy of spirit had reasserted itself enough so that she was able to enjoy the fineness of the beautiful spring day, the soft air, the newly washed freshness of young leaves, and the golden promise of daffodils as she and Brutus trotted sedately through the park.
They had been there only a matter of minutes before Lord Chalfont appeared on Trajan. He greeted her unsmilingly, his face dark with concern. "I watched him last night. You are in the right of it; he did recognize you and watched your every move for the rest of the evening."
"I know. He spoke to me as we were leaving."
"Damnation! I beg your pardon, but the fellow's impudence passes all bounds. I cannot believe that he dared to address you in such a public place, surrounded as you were by your family."
"Oh, he dared well enough," Harriet muttered through clenched teeth. "But I will not let him intimidate me. He is a weak cowardly man who makes himself feel brave by picking 164
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on those who are weaker and more defenseless than he is. He must be stopped and I shall stop him."
"No.
We
shall stop him. You are not to do this alone, Harriet. I forbid you."
"You
forbid
me!
What right have you—" Her blue eyes blazing, Harriet rounded on him furiously.
"I beg your pardon," the marquess apologized again. "I realize how arrogant that must sound—"
"Most arrogant, my lord." Fear was making Harriet's prickly independence even more pronounced than usual. Half rising in the saddle, she was poised for flight, ready to dig her heels into Brutus's flank.
"Harriet, Harriet, forgive me. In my concern for your safety I am putting this badly."
