A Midsummer Bride (10 page)

“It is lovely.” The babbling of the river was comforting to her. Thornton put a booted foot on a large rock and leaned an elbow on his knee, gazing down on the sunlight glittering on the loch below.

“How have ye survived yer first evening at Thornton Hall?” he asked.

Harriet shrugged. “I wish the amount of my dowry had not been made known. I fear now I am being courted by men looking for a way to pay their creditors and the ladies have yet another reason to dislike me.”

Thornton frowned. “I canna abide ye feeling uncomfortable.”

“I am the daughter of a madwoman, or so they say. Naturally they assume I would be touched in the head myself. They know I was the cause of the incident yesterday and now they fear I might burn the house down while they sleep.” Harriet turned away. For some reason, that hurt worse than others. She was accustomed to being thought odd, but she did not relish being considered dangerous.

“I know it was an accident, Miss Redgrave. It could happen to…” Thornton paused, amending himself. “Accidents do happen.”

“Yes, but it could not happen to anyone because no one else would be mixing chemicals in their room. It is only that I find chemistry so interesting. I cannot understand why everyone else does not share my interest. Perhaps I am touched.”

“Ye are an original. And that is a good thing.”

“So is not burning down the house,” muttered Harriet. “At home, my father built me a laboratory in one of the outbuildings. I thought he was being kind, but perhaps he was trying to save the house.”

“That puts me in mind…” Thornton held out his arm. “Come, let me show ye something.”

Harriet put her hand on his sleeve and again experienced a strange tingling. She allowed him to lead her around to the back of the castle, her heart twittering in an odd manner.

“What do you think of this?” Thornton stopped in front of a stone structure. “It is the old bakery for the castle. It is made entirely of stone except for the roof. O’ course, there is no glass in the windows, so there is a bit of a breeze.”

“It is very nice.” Harriet was not at all clear why he would point out this nondescript structure for her notice.

“Mayhap this might be a place for ye to practice yer experiments in peace.”

Harriet clapped her hands and ran in to inspect the building. It was rustic and dirty, but with a little work it would be perfect. She turned back to him, her eyes meeting his. “Thank you.”

Harriet experienced a rush of something warm and sweet. No one save her own parents (and they only reluctantly) encouraged her work as an amateur chemist. He was thinking of her and allowing her to pursue what even she had to acknowledge was an odd hobby in a female. “Thank you so much. This will be perfect. Having a fresh breeze will be lovely. I always open all the windows when I do experiments anyway.” It was a good way to let the smoke disperse. “How can I ever repay your kindness?” She walked up and took his hands in hers.

“No need, no need.” He squeezed her hands and looked away, flustered. “Thinking o’ the house. Dinna care to have Thornton Hall burned to the ground.”

“You are a very nice man,” said Harriet, stepping back. “But do not fear, I shall keep the secret between us.”

“Appreciate it.” Thornton gave her a slow smile that made her toes curl. “Would ye like some help wi’ yer things?”

“You cannot wait to have my experiments out of your house?” Harriet teased. “Very well, I know where I stand in your estimation.”

“I hold ye in high enough regard to respect yer work”—Thornton offered her his arm—“and wish it far from my draperies.”

“Fair enough!”

They walked back down to Thornton Hall via the direct route of a dirt path and stone staircase. Along the way, Thornton proved an able guide, naming mountains, trees, and plants. Within the house, Harriet packed her things into a trunk and, not wanting to set the servants to gossip, Thornton himself shouldered the trunk and marched it out a back way. They knew that meeting in the morning, particularly with Thornton in a state of undress, would be looked upon with censure, so they chose to keep their own company and avoid criticism.

“You cannot possibly carry that heavy trunk on your shoulder all the way up to the castle,” said Harriet.

Thornton merely grunted and continued his trek. Going up was slower than coming down, but Thornton made steady progress. Harriet was impressed; she knew just how heavy that trunk was.

He was breathing hard by the time they reached the castle gates but waved off all offers of help. Finally reaching the old stone bakery, he set the trunk down with a groan.

“Are you all right?” asked Harriet.

“Aye. And I thought the caber toss was difficult. I think I will add this event to the games this year.” He leaned against the wall and rubbed his shoulder.

“I cannot believe you carried that heavy trunk all the way up, but I thank you.” Harriet was impressed and had a sudden compulsion to help him rub away the tension in his shoulder. She stepped forward and put her hand up to his shoulder but lost her nerve. She patted his shoulder in a friendly manner instead. “I hope you will recover.”

His eyes locked with hers. He drew her in without a word.

“I should get back to the hall,” he said, but the fire in his eyes was saying something else.

“Yes, of course.”

“I will tell Tam to look after ye. Let him know if ye be needing anything.”

“Thank you,” said Harriet again, acutely aware of his closeness and how no one else was present. She leaned toward him; she couldn’t help it.

He took her hand and kissed it, burning the mark of his lips on the back on her hand as if she had been branded.

“Good day,” he whispered, bowed, and was gone.

“Did any of those young bucks chasing after Harriet last night have a title?” the dowager duchess asked Penelope as Madame Leclair attended her hair.

“Two of them did; most did not,” replied Pen. “I don’t understand why you spread the rumor regarding her dowry. Now she is surrounded by fortune hunters.”

“Spread a rumor? Me?” Antonia was aghast. “I did nothing of the sort, but it is a good thing somebody did; otherwise, Miss Redgrave would be quite ignored.”

“Better ignored than pursued for all the wrong reasons.”

“Psshaw! Wherever do you come up with such notions? If Harriet is treated like a social outcast at her first social foray, she may never be accepted in society. Trust me. She needs something to make her acceptable.”

“I think she is fine the way she is,” said Penelope, defending her new friend with more loyalty than truth.

The dowager shook her head. “We will need to work on that gel’s comportment. I think it best if we recommend she not speak at all.”

“I doubt it would work. Besides, she declares herself uninterested in finding a husband.”

“Nonsense. How old is the gel? Twenty-three? Of course she is interested in finding a husband. What woman who finds herself unwed at the age of twenty-three doesn’t want to marry?”

“I am twenty-six.”

The dowager waved her hand dismissively. “Exactly my point. You should be looking for a husband as well.”

“I did wear your gown at dinner, but it all came to naught.”

“That is because you wore that huge shawl over yourself. You were completely covered. I have no idea why, for you looked very well.”

“I looked ridiculous.” Penelope did not add that Marchford himself had recommended that she cover herself. She still wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or censure. “I do wish you had not thrown away my regular gowns.”

“I wish you had never had them to begin with. You look very well this morning in the white morning dress and the light-blue spencer. Quite sharp.”

“The white is too bright,” complained Penelope.

“That is what
white
is supposed to look like,” countered the duchess. “Your morning gowns had all faded to gray.”

“I still do not see how changing my wardrobe is going to find a husband.”

“It certainly cannot overcome that sour attitude.” The dowager looked over a box of jewels and selected one for morning wear. “But if you never marry, it is of no great consequence. You are my companion after all, and now you look respectable enough to be seen in public with me.”

There are times in the life of a companion when one is required to bite one’s tongue. Penelope found this was one of those moments. “What is our plan for Harriet?” she asked, turning the subject.

“What we need is a titled gentleman, not too high in the instep, so as to make Harriet palatable, or perhaps one whose financial woes have made him desperate. Where is the book?”

Penelope reached for her annotated copy of Debrett’s
Peerage
of
England,
which was useful as a veritable shopping list for eligible men. She and her sisters had made notes as to the marital availability, financial status, and moral character of as many bachelors as they could. The book had come in handy when finding husbands for her sisters and was now used to find husbands for the clientele of Madame X. The only thing it had not been able to do was find a husband for Penelope herself.

“Take a look over these pages and find some potential candidates,” said the dowager. “There may be a few more people arriving today or even tomorrow. It is a long journey after all. We can only hope someone gets greedy for her dowry.”

“Should we not also take into consideration her feelings?”

“Naturally. Think how horrid she would feel if we could not find her a husband. Every girl wishes to be married, Penelope.”

Penelope gave the dowager a weak smile and went through the side door to her conjoined room. She closed the door and reclined on her bed, the copy of Debrett’s beside her. Every lady in her twenties wanted to be married. Perhaps that much was true.

But every lady in her twenties would not actually get married. That much was also true.

***

Harriet stayed at the castle until the sun rose clear and bright over the surrounding hills. The guests would be waking soon and she needed to return to the house. She was not particularly looking forward to the day, since she was scheduled for more “lessons” with Penelope and the duchess.

Her feet moved slowly down the hall to the room of the Duchess of Marchford. She could not quite decide how she felt about these lessons. She wanted to be accepted by the people in her grandfather’s world and perhaps even wanted to understand her mother a bit more. Despite this, she was having difficulty caring for all the precise rules of the
ton
.

“I have requested a table service be brought up to our sitting room,” said Penelope, gesturing at the small table. “Now remember at table to always begin with the outside and work your way in when picking up the silver.”

Harriet sat at the requested meal, trying unsuccessfully to attend to what Penelope was saying. What difference could it possibly make which utensil she grabbed? Any one of them could be used to hoist the food to her mouth. Was that not the purpose of silverware to begin with?

Why would people care about such trivialities while there was a whole world around them waiting to be explored? The natural world had always fascinated her. So many questions of how and why captivated her attention. But instead of working on her next experiment, she was spending hours learning how to address a viscount and when to wear gloves.

“Miss Redgrave?” Penelope’s voice sliced through her reverie. “Are you attending?”

“Yes, yes, quite.”

“Then why did you select a dessert spoon for the soup?”

“Oh, sorry. Is this one correct?” Harry made a random selection of another utensil.

“That is a fork,” said Penelope.

“Sorry, I suppose I have let my mind go wandering.”

Penelope smiled. “It must be a lot to take in all at once.”

“Actually, my mother has devoted hours to try to teach me how to behave like a lady. I fear I have no memory for such things, and my father always supported me in getting out of comportment lessons and other things he thought were absurd.” Harriet sighed and slouched in her chair.

“Sit up straight, gel!” demanded the dowager without ever looking up from her book.

“Yes, Your Grace,” answered Harriet, straightening her shoulders.

“It does not appear that you are enjoying your lessons, Miss Redgrave,” commented Penelope.

“Please do call me Harriet. I appreciate the time you are both giving me, but sometimes do you not feel that all these trivial rules are irrelevant compared to other studies, Miss Rose?”

“And you must call me Penelope. What other studies?”

“I would much rather spend my time reading about the building blocks of our world than learning how to sit properly or walk properly or breathe properly. What possible difference can it make? Why must there be a right and wrong way to sit, stand, walk, and talk?”

Penelope smiled. “It is the nature of society I suppose. Once it is learned, it becomes second nature.”

“But I do not care for these things.”

“Are all Americans as focused on academic pursuits as you are?” Penelope gave up on the table setting and invited Harriet to sit next to her on the window bench. Sunlight filtered through the draperies.

Harriet flung open the drapes and smiled at the burst of light. “No. None. Do not think I represent American ladies, for it is not the case. I am an unusual creature even in Massachusetts; in England, I am nothing short of an oddity.” Harriet sat on the window seat and leaned against the wall.

A slow smile graced Penelope’s face and she also leaned back. “You might be surprised to learn what is beneath the surface of many ladies. The only difference is they hide it better.”

“I do not wish to hide myself away and become just like every other young miss who seems to be judged only by her external appearance, not the contents of her head.”

“You are very right. But perhaps the two do not have to be mutually exclusive. Might it be possible to act with a touch more decorum and still pursue your scientific interests?”

Harriet chewed on her lip, realized what she was doing, stopped, and gave Penelope a shrug. “I suppose you are right. My mother would agree with you, and even my father, truth be told. I will try to improve myself.”

“I will as well,” said Penelope. “You have inspired me to attend to the discipline of reading. Let us work a while longer and then break to engage in the development of our minds.”

Harriet smiled. “Thank you, Penelope. I am so glad you are here to help. It is difficult to be taken away from one’s family without any friends to rely on.”

“I should hope you would think of me as a friend,” said Penelope. She lowered her voice and glanced over to where the dowager was taking a nap while pretending to read. “I also enjoy finding a friend at these gatherings.”

“Do you not have friends of your own at these occasions?”

It was Penelope’s turn to shrug. “The dowager prefers an older crowd, so I generally end up with the matrons.”

“What do people do here for amusement?”

“The men will do some hunting; that is the supposed intent of this house party.”

“Supposed?” asked Harriet.

“Marchford chose this remote location to be able to hold some private meetings with some of the military elite. Since it is all supposedly casual, their families were invited. It soon became the most coveted invitation in town, particularly for any family with a daughter of marriageable age, for who would not wish to bag a duke? The duchess added to the guest list considerably with her list of marital prospects for her grandson. He might wish to do some work at this gathering, but he is in the minority, poor man.”

Harriet could not begin to think of the Duke of Marchford as a “poor man” since he always seemed very much in control of his surroundings. Of course, no one could quite control the dowager duchess. “Tell me more about these meetings. They sound intriguing.”

“That is all I know. There are current and retired admirals and generals on the guest list, but I do not know more about it.”

“Admirals you say?” Harriet glanced up at the ceiling, turning the possibilities in her mind. “That puts me in mind of an idea.”

Penelope frowned. “Am I going to like this idea?”

Harriet smiled. “Probably not.”