To Ruin a Rake (26 page)

Roland downed it in two gulps, ignoring the way his friend’s brows rose.

“That bad, is it?” said Rich, taking back the empty glass and giving him the one he’d intended to drink himself.

He drained that one too. “You have no idea.”

“Enlighten me.”

“It’s Harriett. I—”

“I knew it!” crowed Rich. “What has the little hell spawn done now?”

“It’s not what she’s done; it’s what
I’ve
done,” Roland confessed, holding out his glass.

Rich fetched the decanter to refill it, as well as to get another glass for himself. “Oh, do tell.”

Roland rubbed his face with his free hand as his friend poured. “I’ve made a bloody mess of things. I’ve put myself where I don’t belong and now I cannot back out of it. I wanted to help her, but…” He watched as Rich sat to regard him with sympathetic yet undeniably eager eyes. “I thought things would be easier if I called a truce and made an alliance with her. Now I wish I’d left well enough alone.”

“Ah, so you’ve allied yourself with the devil-woman.”

He almost retorted that she wasn’t the devil—far from it—but what would be the point? “I did as you suggested,” he went on. “And it appears to be working. She has agreed to help me until a replacement can be found.”

“She
is
leaving then? Oh, well done, man,” said Rich, clapping. “I’m impressed. And here you led me to believe she’s the sort to dig in her heels and be mulish. How did you convince her?”

“I didn’t. She was already planning to leave at the end of the Season.”

“Then it appears all of your problems are solved. Congratulations.”

“Yes. Congratulations,” Roland muttered, taking another swallow of port.

Rich peered at him. “Unless you have now decided you wish her to stay, that is.”

Roland shot up out of the chair and began to pace. “I don’t know what I want anymore,” he said, furious. “I thought I wanted her gone, but now I cannot see the place continuing without her.”

“You mean you can’t see
you
continuing without her,” corrected Rich. “You’ve grown accustomed to her, haven’t you?”

He stopped his pacing and stared at Rich. Was that it? Was it that she’d become so familiar a fixture in his life that he didn’t wish to lose her, even if it meant this constant turmoil?

“It would stand to reason,” continued his friend. “Then, too, she is the sole remaining connection to your brother.”

“No. That is not part of it,” Roland said, shaking his head. “I know that much with absolute certainty.”

Rich’s gaze pierced him. “You realize of course that her previous engagement to him is nothing to prevent your own pursuit of her, should you so desire.”

“Yes, of course I know that!” Roland snarled.

“My, but she has got you in knots, hasn’t she?”

Deflated, Roland again dropped back into his chair. “Society might not care, but
she
does.”

“I’m sure you could persuade her to overcome her reticence,” said Rich, smiling into his glass.

But Roland knew better. “I’ve tried. But every time she looks at me, I know she sees him.” How could she not? She’d loved William. Perhaps it hadn’t been a passionate sort of love, but they’d been happy, content. What could he possibly offer her that would compare with her view of perfection? “I cannot compete with a dead man—a dead
saint
. I’ll never be William.”

“Perhaps you’re going about this the wrong way,” suggested Rich. “Of course you’ll never be William, but you can prove just as—”

“I’m already attempting to do so,” Roland cut in. “I’m trying to show her I’m just as capable as he was, just as worthy. The problem is that no matter what I achieve, I’m doomed to fall short of her expectations. I faced the fact that William was the better man long ago. Nothing I can do will ever change that.”

“What utter rubbish!” snorted Rich, earning himself a glare. “This has nothing to do with worthiness, man. If you would be so kind as to not interrupt, I
had
been going to say that you can prove just as appealing to her, but in a different way.”

Confused—and not a little chagrined—Roland nodded for him to continue.

“William was
not
the better man,” said his friend. “Your brother had his shortcomings, too. According to everything you’ve told me about him, he was overly pious, critical of everyone—which tells me he thought
himself
perfect, which in turn tells me he was an arrogant prat—and you complained constantly about how obsessive the man was. No doubt she saw those same qualities in him.”

“He wasn’t like that with her.”

Rich burst into laughter. “Of course he was! A man can hide his true nature for a little while, but eventually it begins to bleed out. In small ways, at first, but as time passes and he becomes more comfortable, he gets careless. Do you really think he was able to hide those attributes completely?” A grim smile thinned his mouth. “Believe me, he was the same man with her as he was with you and everyone else. She just chooses not to remember it. Death does that.”

“Then why is it I remember all of those things about him and she does not?”

“Because you now have a
reason
to remember them.”

Harriett.
Roland’s heart began to pound.

Relentless as ever, Rich continued. “Until a few months ago, I seem remember you saying what a good man your brother was and how you’d never measure up. Even as angry as you were with him for how he manipulated you through his will, you thought him perfect. Out of respect, I chose not to remind you of all your previous complaints about him.”

Roland was as a man standing on the edge of a precipice, looking down into its shadowy depths, dreading what he might see. He wanted Rich to stop, but he could not speak to silence him.

“When a person dies, those closest to them tend to ‘forget’ the more unpleasant aspects of the deceased’s personality,” continued Rich. “Even the most abused widow will bemoan the death of her husband and tell everyone what a lovely man he was, despite the fact that he drank heavily and beat her daily. In her grief, your Harriett has only done what’s natural—she has chosen to remember the good things about William and forget his flaws.”

“You’re right,” Roland said, finally managing to speak. “I stopped deluding myself about William long ago—but she will hate me if I begin tearing down her memory of him.”

Rich smiled. “I never said you should. In fact, it would indeed be most unwise for you to point out his flaws. What I am suggesting is that you
show
her.”

Roland did not bother hiding his confusion.

“Look,” said his friend, sighing. “God knows she has already seen the worst of you—it can only get better. Now you must show her your best. And I don’t mean by trying to compete with your brother’s memory.”

“Then how...?”

“Lord, but you can be thick sometimes! Do you think your Harriett ever had any fun with your brother? Do you think he ever made her laugh?”

Roland frowned. “William was not the sort to speak in jest.”

“Or laugh at one, as I recall you saying. According to all I know of him through you, your brother was never the sort to fritter away his time on anything not serious or meaningful.”

Rich was certainly right about that. William had never once set foot in a theater, had never attended the races, and had never been to White’s.

“Do you believe he ever told your Harriett she was beautiful or desirable?” continued Rich. “Do you think he ever made her feel special, like she was someone precious and beloved? Like he couldn’t live without her?”

The letters.
Roland’s mind seized upon the memory. He knew where Harriett had fallen on his brother’s list of priorities. With the exception of his final missive, she’d been no more than an afterthought. Meeting her had been a convenient accident that had occurred before she’d ever had anyone with which to compare him. He’d never had to woo her, pursue her, or prove worthy of her affections. She’d never known he was anything less than he ought to be, that he’d never behaved toward her as a man madly in love.

“At last you begin to comprehend,” said Rich with a droll smile. “You must not compare yourself to William or allow her to do so any longer. You are a different man with sterling qualities of your own. A better man, in my opinion, than your brother ever was. But she must come to that conclusion on her own.”

“How?” Roland asked, frustrated. “How can I possibly compare with his memory? She practically worshiped him.”

“Oh, I think you’ve already made a good start,” said Rich, his grin wolfish as he reached over and patted the pile of old
Gazettes
beside his chair. Several of them slid off onto the floor. “I read, too, you know. If William ever kissed her in public, it certainly wasn’t worthy of being announced in the papers. And I’m willing to wager the event wouldn’t have been described as ‘ardent,’ in any case. Oh, yes. I quite think you’ve already begun altering her idea of perfection.”

Roland already knew his brother had done a poor job of kissing Harriett, if indeed he’d kissed her at all. “Then my plans to become more like him—”

“Will only work against you. Oh, I’m not saying you shouldn’t continue in your reformation,” said his friend, laughing. “Heaven knows you’ve enough nasty habits to make any decent woman cry off. But trying to become someone else never worked out well for anyone. The truth always comes out, usually at the least favorable time.”

Unbidden, a chuckle rose in Roland’s throat. “She
always
seems to catch me at my worst.”

“Mm. The ones we want usually do.”

“But how can she not compare me to my brother?”

“She
will
compare you to him,” said Rich. “She cannot help but do so. But if you do it right, those comparisons will work in your favor. Show her what she could have with you that she could never have had with him. Show her that life
isn’t
all toil and seriousness, that it can be fun—with you. Make her feel important, cherished, and desired. And above all”—his brows lowered ominously, along with his voice—“remember that no woman wants to be treated as though she is ordinary.”

“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Roland said, lading his answer with sarcasm. “Harriett is the least ordinary of all the women I’ve ever known.”

Rich’s eyes twinkled. “You should let her know it. Show her you value her uniqueness, that you see her as rare and special, a diamond among the common stones.”

It sounded so trite, but Roland knew he was right. She
was
a diamond. And to think he’d been ready to try and find her a husband who would “tolerate her peculiarities” rather than appreciate her for herself. Those attributes he’d once viewed as disadvantages—qualities she herself had recently tried to hide in the effort to catch a husband—were in reality great strengths. His brother had seen this and accepted her as she was.

He, however, had been blind to it. Not anymore. “I think I understand now.” He rose. “Thank you, Rich.”

“Any time,” said his friend, looking pleased with himself. “I assume this means you intend to pursue her hand?”

“I don’t yet know,” Roland answered truthfully. “I think I have a lot of ground to make up first before that can be determined.”

“Fair enough. Though if that is your position, then I advise you against kissing her in public again until you are absolutely certain you want her for your wife.” Rich patted the stack of papers again, adding a few more to those already littering the floor about his feet.

“I’m sure I needn’t worry about that,” Roland laughed. “The lady would as soon black my eye as kiss me again.”

“Yes, well—just be sure you’re ready to put on the shackles the next time it happens.”

~ * ~

Harriett arrived home barely in time to change her dress and freshen up before Lord Russell arrived. Manchester’s proposal to help her find a husband still rankled, even though his intentions were...well, she didn’t quite know what to think of that, actually.

Staring at herself in the mirror, she squared her shoulders. She didn’t need help finding a husband. She was perfectly capable of catching one on her own!

“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” said Cat, meeting her at the top of the stairs.

“I most certainly am,” she answered. “Lord Russell is perfectly acceptable. He’s never made any secret about his liking for me, and I would be a fool not to consider him, given the circumstances.”

“And Lord Manchester?”

“What of him?”

“Harriett...”

“He offered to help me find a husband today,” she said in as casual a manner as possible.

Cat’s eyes widened. “He
what?
”

“Now tell me I shouldn’t consider Russell.” She was unable to conceal her bitterness.

“Oh, Harriett. I’m so sorry.”

“Why? I’m certainly not.”

Silence.

“I’m not. Really. I’m not,” Harriett insisted, turning to regard her sister with what she hoped was cool detachment. “I’m glad, honestly, to know exactly how matters stand between us.”

“And how
do
they stand?”

“I’ve given him notice.”

“But you can’t!” Cat stopped and grabbed her by the arm. “You love that place—Harriett, you’ve poured your heart and soul into it. You and Wi—”

“I know!” It came out rather more harshly than she’d intended. “But we both know I cannot stay indefinitely.” She blinked away the stinging in her eyes. “Once I am married, my duty to my husband and home will take precedence. I won’t have time to worry about anything else, no matter how much I might want to. But I also don’t wish to leave abruptly and have the children and staff suffer for it. Some of those people have been there from the beginning. They are like family to me, and they deserve better than to be abandoned. As such, I’ve agreed to teach Manchester what I can while we look for a replacement, and to train that replacement if necessary.”