A Midsummer Bride (15 page)

Harriet paused before knocking on the door of the Duchess of Marchford and Miss Rose. Raised voices could be heard from inside.

“Did he catch you?” asked the dowager.

“Yes, of course he caught me,” said Penelope with more than a little exasperation. “It is Marchford after all. He knows about the pearls—oh not everything, but he can guess.”

“How could you let him find you?”

“Find me? You were supposed to keep him at tea!”

“What can I do if he decides to leave the room? Were you able to switch the strands?”

“No. And I do not wish to try. If I get caught in Lord Langley’s room I cannot think of what I could say to explain myself.”

“What shall I do?” wailed the dowager.

“You are going to have to talk to him directly.”

“I would rather be buried alive,” declared the dowager.

Penelope said something in a low tone that Harriet could not hear. She wondered what the trouble was about and if she should return later.

“Eavesdropping on people’s conversations?” asked Priscilla Crawley from behind her.

Harriet jumped back and turned to face her accuser. “No, I was just coming up to meet them. I did not mean to, that is to say…”

“Oh, do not bother to explain. I understand your American customs are so much different than our own. I cannot expect you to know proper behavior. If you ever need some tips on polite society, I should be glad to assist,” said Priscilla in a smooth voice.

“What is this?” asked Penelope, who decided to open the door at that moment.

“I was just helping Miss Redgrave understand some of our customs, such as not eavesdropping. Good evening, Miss Rose, Miss Redgrave.” Priscilla gave them an angelic smile and continued down the hall.

“You were listening at the door?” asked Penelope.

“No!” Harriet hung her head. “Yes. I am sorry, I did not mean to.”

“Time to go downstairs,” said the dowager. Both ladies gave Harriet that pained, disappointed look she was getting so accustomed to seeing. It hurt worse this time.

Dinner was long, and afterward, when the ladies withdrew to allow the men time for their cigars, it was painful. No one spoke to her. No one acknowledged her. At least before, Penelope and the dowager were there to provide conversation. Even if they were instructing her on what to do or not to do, at least she was not ignored. Now, thanks to her carelessness and Priscilla’s “help” she had no one.

It was enough. Harriet knew she did not fit in; they did not need to make it so obvious. “I think I will go lie down,” she told Penelope.

Harriet walked out of the drawing room to the hall without waiting for a reply.

“Are you ill?” asked Penelope, who followed her out.

“No. Simply tired,” said Harriet. Tired of being so rejected.

“I do hope you are not taking ill. Sorry if I was not as conversational tonight. Perhaps you heard I had a little disagreement with Her Grace.”

“Yes, and I am so sorry. I did not mean—”

“Of course you didn’t.” Penelope walked closer and lowered her voice. “Do be careful around Miss Crawley. I do not believe Priscilla is a friend of yours.”

“Yes. That I know all too well.” Harriet smiled. Priscilla may not be a friend, but Penelope was. She felt better already.

Harriet walked down the corridor and out into the main entryway to go up the stairs just as the men were leaving the dining room to rejoin the ladies.

“Miss Redgrave!”

“Good evening, Miss Redgrave.”

“I do hope you are well, Miss Redgrave.”

Harriet was immediately swarmed with men. She had a sudden impulse to bat them away like flies. “I am sorry, gentlemen. I feel the need to retire.”

“I am so sorry.”

“I hope it is not serious.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Please, gentlemen, allow Miss Redgrave to rest,” said Thornton, and stood between her and them until they all left to find the ladies.

“Thank you,” breathed Harriet. “I am not feeling strong enough to fend them off tonight.”

“I hope you are not actually taking ill.”

“No, no, a little tired maybe. I would be revived greatly, however, if I could count on another ride in the morning.”

Thornton bowed and came up smiling. “It would be my pleasure. But before ye find yer bed, I did speak to a gentleman ye may wish to talk to.”

“I have had enough of gentlemen for one night.”

“This particular gentleman is a retired general. He was in the room when ye made yer unorthodox proclamation and would like to hear more o’ yer story. I believe he shares yer concern with the impressment of American sailors.”

“Oh yes! Yes, I would love to speak to him.”

“Perhaps you should go to the library and I will bring him to meet wi’ ye. That way ye may speak in private.”

“Yes, that would be perfect. You have thought of everything.”

They did as Thornton suggested and Harriet met Sir Antony Roberts. The gentleman proved to be amiable, with silver whiskers and kind blue eyes. He was a good listener, allowing Harriet to tell the entire story. In the retelling Harriet surprised herself at the emotion that surged forth. She had been terrified, but until now had buried it deep within. Speaking about it became almost cathartic, even to the point of requiring Thornton’s handkerchief when a few tears were spilled.

“Thank you for telling me your story,” said Sir Antony. “I understand it is difficult to share some of these details and I appreciate your courage in doing so.”

Harriet sat up a little taller and smiled at the gentleman. “You are very kind. I only hope my story can be used to help protect sailors in the future.”

“I will most certainly begin a dialogue about this practice. I am disturbed in the extreme to hear it is being conducted. I can only offer my heartfelt apology for all you have been through.”

“Thank you, Sir Antony.”

“Thank you for bringing it to our attention. It took courage to do so, my dear,” said Sir Antony with a kindly smile. “I shall return to cards now, still have money in my pocket to lose—ho ho!”

“I know you must have spoken to him,” said Harriet to Thornton after Sir Antony left. “Thank you. You cannot know what it means to me to share this with someone who might be able to stop this horrible practice.”

“I only said a few words. I agree with Sir Antony. It was yer courage that began this process.” Thornton sat beside her on the settee.

Harriet gave Thornton a wobbly smile. It was an affirmation she needed to hear. Without meaning to and without even knowing how it happened she found her hand in his. It seemed natural. His hand was warm with the calluses of a workingman, perhaps from riding. Holding hands with Thornton alone in the library may have been all kinds of wrong in the eyes of society, but it felt all kinds of right. Despite her better judgment, her affection for him grew, and now it seemed the feeling was reciprocated.

Voices were heard outside the room and they both jumped to their feet. She should not be this close to him.

“I hope ye are feeling better,” said Thornton with a formal bow.

“Yes, yes, of course.” She felt silly now to have read so much into the simple gesture. He was simply comforting her after the pain of telling her ordeal. He was a kind sort of man. Nothing more. She curtsied and fled to her room.

Despite an odd feeling of being off-balance whenever Lord Thornton was near, Harriet was looking forward to the promised horseback ride. She also had a growing suspicion that something peculiar was happening at the supposedly unlivable castle. Workmen passed her makeshift chemistry laboratory, but where they went and why they were there she could not say. Something was amiss at the castle and she was going to find out what.

“Where are the horses?” Harriet asked Thornton when he emerged from the morning mist in the castle courtyard as she expected.

“Horses?” asked Thornton innocently, as if unfamiliar with the concept. “Good morning, Miss Redgrave. I thought we would meet down in the stables for our ride.”

“Odd,” commented Harriet. “It smells like the stables are right here.”

“Must be the wind.”

Harriet shook her head. “Wind is coming from the east, not from below. There must be horses nearby.”

Thornton scratched the back of his neck. “Sometimes the crofters stable their horses here. There may be some in the keep.” Thornton spoke casually, as if the subject could be of no importance. “The horses here coud’na interest ye. Let us go to the stables.”

“Nonsense! I wish to see these beasts with which I share the castle. I have smelled them, sometimes even heard them, but never seen them.” She wanted to know what Thornton was hiding in the castle.

Thornton began to walk toward the stables below, but Harriet proceeded to the wooden door of the castle keep instead. He turned and hustled to catch up with her.

“I confess I have been interested to see what was locked in here. Do you have a key? Oh, of course you do, since you were on your way there anyway,” said Harriet. She ignored the voices of her mum, Penelope, and the dowager who were all chastising her for being unladylike. This was no time for propriety. This was a mystery!

He stood before the padlocked door, his mouth a thin line. He surveyed her closely as if weighing her worth. With a sigh, he pulled a key from his pocket and turned the lock. He unfastened the door and swung it open without a word.

They stepped inside and Harriet was amazed at the sight before her. The keep had been transformed into stables in four neat rows of stalls. The horses in the stalls were thoroughbreds, the finest of the species she had ever seen. The stables themselves had been built recently, with quality in mind. Each stall had a name carved in wood on the outside of the door. Nearby, a handful of stable lads were grooming horses, mucking out stalls, or putting up hay.

These were not a few old nags owned by crofters—this was a highly skilled operation. She walked up to the first stall to a chestnut brown horse aptly named Charger. He was a fine piece, muscular and lean. He swished his tail and his skin twitched over his rippling muscles. He was quite fine indeed. All the horses were spectacular.

She swirled to face him. “Crofter’s horses?”

He had the decency to look sheepish.

“Do you want to tell me what is going on here?”

“Nay.” He was honest at least.

“I assume since you had this locked that you do not wish anyone to know about this.” She gestured to rows of thoroughbreds before her.

“Ye’re familiar with horses?” he asked tentatively, as if measuring his response based on what she could see.

“Familiar enough to know you have quite an operation here.”

“Would ye believe these are horses from the village?” He scratched the back of his neck again and didn’t look too hopeful.

“Only if it was a village of racehorses.”

“I was rather hoping ye woud’na notice,” mumbled Thornton.

“Sorry to be so observant.”

“I raise racehorses,” said Thornton.

“That is rather clear.”

“I do not wish this information to be widely known.”

“That also is clear. But why?”

“Come riding with me and I will tell you all.” His eyes glinted with a mischief she had never seen in him before. She would follow him anywhere.

Harriet smiled slowly until she realized it was her turn to speak. “I would enjoy that very much.”

Thornton motioned to a stable hand to saddle two horses and gave Harriet a short tour. He paused by a stall with a mother and gleaming black colt.

“This fine lad was born only a few nights ago. Named him Lazarus because he gave us a scare wi’ his birth.”

“Hello, Lazzy.” Harriet stroked the colt’s soft velvet fur. “This is an amazing place here.”

“Thank ye.”

“But how do you move the horses in and out and how did all these workers get here? I have been watching the keep, and I never saw anyone come or go out the door.”

“’Tis not the only door. We are in a castle after all.”

The two horses were saddled and brought to them. Thornton’s stallion was quite a fine specimen, with a custom saddle and special shoes. They were both atop their mounts in the old keep before she could offer much more comment on his surprising secret stables.

“But how are we going to get out?”

“Follow me.” Thornton guided his mount, a shimmering horse of midnight black, around the stall to one corner of the converted keep. Fresh beams had been put up to stabilize a passageway. Thornton entered the passageway and the ground immediately sloped down.

“Is this a secret passage?” She had always wanted to explore a secret passageway.

“Aye, this was used for escape if it came to it. We expanded it for our use, but from the outside it is difficult to find unless ye ken for what ye seek.”

They rode their horses through the tunnel, which was lit by the occasional torch.

“Where are we now?” She could not hide her exuberance, but she did manage to prevent herself from squealing with joy. She was sure the dowager would definitely not approve of anything resembling a squeal for any reason.

“We are underneath the courtyard. We should be coming out soon.”

As if to heed his command, the tunnel began to lighten before them and soon they both walked out from behind a large bush into the sun. Harriet blinked into the sun. The clouds had run away, leaving a lovely, sun-filled day. They had come out behind the castle wall, where no one from the manor house would be able to see the exit.

He was secretly raising horses. But why? She turned to ask him questions but rethought it. He said he would tell her all; best to let him choose his timing. Patience was a little-used virtue she was attempting to cultivate within herself, at least on occasion.

“Where shall we go?” she asked him instead.

“Follow me,” he said with a smile. He nudged his mount and the horse responded instantly. She followed him and instantly fell in love with the ginger horse she rode. Her mount was smooth and easy, yet responsive and fast. They rode slowly down the hill with many rocks and boulders until they came to a large field, where they let the horses have their heads. They flew across the field at an impressive pace and up another hill of heather until they crested a large hill overlooking a bright-blue loch.

“Beautiful,” Harriet murmured, taking it all in. She had missed her home ever since she had been forced to come to the British Isles. But now, somehow, she felt like she was home.

Thornton dismounted and helped her dismount as well. She placed a gloved hand on his shoulder and he put his hands around her waist, almost encircling her to lift her to the ground. Her heart beat so loudly she hoped he would not notice.

She had always been direct and straightforward in her communications, but now she longed for subtlety and safe distance. She knew he was not one for romance, so she did not wish to misinterpret his actions for anything other than friendliness. Most of all, she did not want him to know how mutinously her body responded every time he was near. And when he touched her… she could hardly keep her heart in her chest. Or her hands to herself. She removed her hand from his shoulder. She was safely on the ground and her hand had lingered too long.

Tall grasses and heather rippled and flowed around her, brushing against her skirts. The wind teased tendrils of her hair that had escaped her bun. It was a glorious day, bright and warm and clear. Several large boulders with flat tops were at the top of the hill and Thornton motioned for Harriet to sit beside him on one. The stone was smooth and warm, and she had to resist the urge to lie out on one like a giant lizard.

“I warrant ye wish to know what I am about wi’ the horses,” began Thornton, looking not at her but out over the clear, still waters.

“If you would like to tell me,” said Harriet politely, which she certainly hoped he did, or she might perish from curiosity.

“I told ye o’ the financial problems wi’ my family.”

“Yes, your mother spends far more money than she has.”

He turned sharply and Harriet realized she had spoken too bluntly.

“Aye, ’tis true enough,” Thornton conceded. “I found a way to raise our fortune by breeding horses. The best horses, naturally, o’ the British Isles.”

“Naturally.”

“Unfortunately, my mother has difficulty wi’ not—”

“Plundering?” Harriet supplied.

Thornton smiled. “Aye, I suppose ye have the right of it. If she knew we had racehorses in our stables, she would either sell them or use them as collateral for something. Either way, they would be lost to me.”

“So you made the stables in your castle.”

“Aye, ’tis generally not difficult to keep her from here, since she enjoys Town living most o’ the time. But with the house party here, it makes things a wee more difficult.”

“How long do you think you can hide it from her?”

“I am in the middle of several sales, sales that could change everything. At least I hope so. I am meeting with my steward today to go over exact numbers and my mother’s latest embarrassments. Once those are completed…” He paused and looked once more over the blue-green loch.

“You still won’t tell her.”

Thornton turned toward her, his eyebrows raised. “Aye, ye have the right of it again. Not because of the financial reasons, but because these horses have become more valuable to me than their price tag. I want them to have a happy life. I do not wish to see them sold to someone I do not know.”

“But can’t you rein in your mother? How can she be so irresponsible? Forgive me, I know I speak of things I should not.”

“Most of the money is hers. She is the daughter of a wealthy merchant with aspirations. My father married her purely for the money, I fear. Her father was aware of this and made several rather ironclad provisions regarding her dowry. Except for a large sum to pay for my father’s embarrassments, and a small monthly allowance, her money remained hers. Between the two of us, she has decidedly more income than I. Unfortunately, she runs through it much faster.”

“That must put you in an awkward position.”

“Aye, it does.”

“I wonder why your father would agree to such terms.”

“He was in a vast amount of debt at the time. He made the decision he did to save the estate. However, it was not long after his wedding that he regretted his decision.” Thornton stood and leaned against a tall boulder. “Before he passed, he impressed upon me the importance o’ never marrying for material concerns.”

“And now your mother wishes you to do just the same as your father did.”

“Aye. But in that she will be disappointed. I plan to wed a lass wi’out fortune at all.”

“I see.” It was Harriet’s turn to look out over the blue waters. She supposed it was his way of reducing any chance she might have pictured him in a matrimonial light. He was a friend, and one she was lucky to have. She should not be ungrateful. Or disappointed. But she was. Nothing could acquit her of the sin of being desperately rich.

They were quiet a moment, watching the birds circle over the loch, changing direction at once like some aerial display for their benefit. It was indeed a beautiful day, but Harriet was still chewing on Thornton’s words.

“Do you have someone picked out?” she asked.

“I beg yer pardon?”

“Do you have your penniless lass chosen yet, the one you will wed?”

“Nay, nay.” Thornton shook his head and leaned away from her, as if the mere thought of marriage might prove contagious.

“You ought to,” declared Harriet. “You encouraged me to find a marriage partner to avoid fortune hunters, now I will give you the same advice. You should pick a wife as soon as may be. That way your mother will stop pestering you with wealthy marriage partners.”

“Wealthy and well placed in society,” Thornton amended. “She has never forgotten her birth, nor have many of society ever forgiven her for being the rich daughter of a merchant. She wishes to raise her position in society through my marriage to the daughter of a well-respected family.”

An unhappy vision of Miss Crawley floated through her head. “Even more reason to find the lady of your dreams soon.”

Thornton shrugged. “Ye may have a point. My mother will not stop until she sees me wed.”

“So you should be wed with all haste.”

“I canna deny yer logic, Miss Redgrave, but I fear marrying to avoid my mother’s interference may be an even worse motivation than marrying for money.”

Harriet laughed. “I suppose. I was only trying to help. Would that I could make myself as poor as a church mouse, I would wed you before dinner to save you the trouble of having to dance with another round of rich debutantes.”

Thornton joined her laughter. “If ye ever cared to lose yer fortune, my mother can help in this regard. I would hate to wish poverty on anyone, but if ye could manage it, I would be most grateful.”

“I shall turn my fortune over to her hands when I see her for tea.”

“Then you shall be impoverished and we shall be wed by supper.” He smiled and walked over to where she sat. She leaned closer.

“Greetings, my soon to be husband of convenience.” Harriet respectfully bobbed her head. “I think we shall start a new convention of people who wed not for financial concerns but to avoid an awkward conversation.”

“Aye, I should be glad to start the trend with ye.”

“To a long future of leading society.” Harriet held out her hand.

“Ah, but I can do one better.” He took her offered hand and pulled her closer to kiss her cheek. He kissed her left cheek then turned to kiss the other, but Harriet mistook the gesture and turned her face so that their lips met. And stayed together. One second. Two. Three.