A Midsummer Bride (21 page)

“Lord Langley, I believe you are having some sort of mischief with me. Your words are nonsense,” retorted Antonia.

“Perhaps we can let Madame X decide,” said Penelope. Both Antonia and Langley looked a bit startled, as if they had forgotten she was in the room. “Lord Langley, the duchess recently lost a pearl necklace to you. It had sentimental value. It was her mother’s. For the return of the necklace, we shall ask Madame X if she can assist in your request.” Penelope saw an opportunity to reclaim the pearls and snapped at it.

Langley shrugged. “If you wish for the pearls, you may have them. Though you should not bet things you care not to lose.”

“The cards were good!” defended Antonia as Langley walked out of the room. “I do not know what that man is playing at,” she added as soon as he left.

“You don’t suppose he may be telling the truth?” asked Penelope.

“Absurd. Ridiculous! Have you ever heard such fribble in your life?”

“I admit it would be unlikely that he had carried a torch for you so long, but it would be quite romantic.”

“It would be quite impossible. This is the man who abandoned me on my wedding day.”

“Perhaps he is sorry.”

“I could not care less whatever he is. That chapter in my life was closed long ago. The less we see of him the better. Once we have retrieved the pearls, we can be done with him forever.”

Penelope folded her hands in her lap and said nothing. It was good, when dealing with a duchess, to know when to keep her mouth shut.

Langley returned, his mouth a thin line. “The pearls are gone.”

“Stolen?” exclaimed the duchess.

“It must be. The box I kept them in was there but the pearls were gone.”

“How very strange,” said Penelope, now convinced they had fallen victim to a thief. At least now the duchess could not be exposed for fraud.

“Yes, especially considering they were worth very little,” said Langley.

Antonia froze. Penelope did not dare to say anything at all.

“You knew,” said Antonia, rising from her chair and stepping toward him. “You knew the pearls were fake.”

“Course I knew. I can spot the real from the fake from across a crowded room—least I could when my eyes were better. The fake are smooth and perfect; the real have imperfections. You need to look for the flaws to see if they are real.”

“If you knew, why let me wager them? Why not expose me at once?”

“Have you not been attending to what I have been saying, woman? I would no more wish to hurt you than to cut off my right arm.”

Antonia’s mouth opened but no words emerged.

“I want to be cured of this affliction. Costing me much, don’t you see? Get your Madame X and fix me!” He turned to leave but then turned back and picked up another biscuit. “Quite good, these.” He bowed and quit the room, the two ladies staring mutely after him.

Harriet was so tired she asked if she could forgo the evening’s dining and entertainment, but the duchess would have none of it.

“You must go,” declared the duchess. “To avoid it would be to confirm the rumors. You must go and look happier than ever.”

Harriet did not feel happy, and she did not want to meet with the cruel Miss Crawley. And what could she say? Much of what Miss Crawley was accusing her of was true. The pain came not from the memory of what she and Thornton had shared, but of the realization that they could never share it again.

The evening wore on like sand grinding in one’s bathing costume. Harriet pasted on a smile. If there was talk, she did not hear it, but there were looks. Guests that were indifferent to her before were now downright hostile. Her would-be suitors had all abandoned her, and now the only person left speaking to her beyond her immediate circle was the Duc d’Argon.

Of Thornton she saw nothing at all. Every once in a while she glimpsed him across the room, but he ignored her entirely. She knew he was trying to help her. If he gave her any special attention, the rumors would be confirmed. Still, it hurt.

After the men rejoined the ladies, Thornton was the last to walk into the room. He glanced over at Harriet, made a sign as if he were reading a book, then walked off. Harriet doubted anyone had noticed, but she knew what he wanted.

After a few minutes she excused herself and made a secret detour to the library. The room was comforting the way only a room full of books could be. All that knowledge, all that promise. It was all there. She sat down on the settee and breathed in the aroma of books.

“I am sorry,” whispered Thornton as he sat next to her.

Harriet shook her head and kept her eyes closed. She did not wish for apologies.

“Would ye reconsider yer plans o’ going back to America?” he asked softly.

Harriet shook her head again. “I am sorry, but America is where I belong. That is where I need to be.”

“In that case, we should stay apart. The gossip has gotten vicious. We should not add to it.”

Harriet forced herself to open her eyes. He was more handsome than ever, solemn in gleaming black. She knew what she must do. “Good-bye, Lord Duncan.”

“Good-bye, Harriet.”

She closed her eyes again and listened as he softly left the room. Tears did come then. She tried to keep them in check, knowing any sign of weakness would be exploited, but they kept coming and she cried until her throat burned and her heart broke.

“
Bonsoir
!” said the Duc d’Argon in a cheerful voice as he walked into the library. Harriet searched for a handkerchief and came up short. In desperation, she used the edge of her sleeve to wipe her tears.

“What… what are you doing here?” Harriet tried to compose herself but was woefully unequal to the task.

“I thought we had arranged to meet to discuss the book? I found the next chapter very enlightening. But perhaps I come at a time inconvenient for you?”

“Yes. No. Sorry, I am not quite myself. Perhaps discussing chemistry will do me some good.”

D’Argon held out his handkerchief, for indeed she was in need of one again. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose. She attempted to return the maligned cloth, but he politely refused.

“Forgive me. I can see that I trespass upon you at a time of sorrow. I should leave you, but I do not wish to abandon you in time of need. Forgive me for pressing into your affairs most private, but I believe I can hazard a guess at what has upset you. Indeed, I was most grieved by the slanderous gossip I was unfortunate to hear. I cannot fathom the lack of decency and good breeding that would lead to such filth to be spoken from pretty lips.”

He spoke of Miss Crawley, of course. Harriet dabbed her eyes and said nothing. She was only part of her troubles, but it was an acceptable reason to be found snuffling in the library.

“Miss Redgrave, I cannot tell you how distressed I am to see you suffer the injury of their barbs. I wish to provide you some comfort. I wish to…” Here the chevalier stood and began to pace in the room. His distress at her discomfort surprised her. Perhaps she had underestimated the depth of his regard. She remained silent, as she was unsure what he was about, and felt certain he would get to it faster without her help.

“I had not thought to speak of this until I had known you longer, but now I see I must speak out. I cannot tolerate you being so abused by such a creature. You must permit me to say how much I have grown to admire you.” He paused to gauge her response.

Harriet was surprised at his declaration but made no reply. He considered this sufficient encouragement and continued.

“From the first day we met, I knew you were different from any other lady. I can say unequivocally that you are the most intelligent woman of my acquaintance, and even among the gentlemen scientists I have been honored to meet, you should not come ill-equipped to the conversation. I would like to offer you a partnership, one that I believe would be mutually advantageous to both. We could work together. You could assist my investigations and be allowed to witness the scientific meetings which I know we should both enjoy. I shall not make you uncomfortable by declaring a love, which I know you would find immature. Instead, I offer a partnership. With marriage, you can leave the world of simpering debutantes and enter into an alliance of scientific investigation. You could have entry into the scientific academy as my wife.”

Harriet swallowed hard. Despite being lauded as more intelligent than most women and almost as smart as most men, she felt the need to confirm what he was saying. “Are you proposing marriage to me?”

D’Argon sat beside her on the settee and took her hand. “I will not insult your intelligence by declaring any romantic foolishness, but I will say that I believe we can be happier together than apart. We have similar interests and goals. We can help each other. Truly, I can think of no other lady to stand beside me as my bride.”

“I am honored by your proposal, but I plan to return to America. I could not entertain a future in which I never saw my parents again.”

“Nor should you. If I had the opportunity to see again my loving parents…” The Duc d’Argon closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. When he looked up again there were tears in his eyes. “I could never stand in the way of you seeing your parents again. I suggest we travel to America and begin a new life there.”

“You would live in America?”

“I can never return to my homeland, my country. Thus, I am free to begin again. America is the land of opportunity, no? I should like to continue my studies in science, and I believe I can do that there.”

Married. Harriet squeezed his hand and reclaimed her hands for her own. He was offering everything she had thought she wanted. And none of that romantic folly which so far had only led to heartbreak. Perhaps it was for the best. This was a good offer. A man who valued her for her brain, not her money. Or at least he presented a very convincing case.

“It is a goodly offer,” said Harriet. “I shall think on it carefully.”

“Yes, but you must. I shall think of nothing but you. I wish you peaceful dreams.”

He bowed and quit the room. Harriet let out a long sigh. She had no doubt her dreams would be anything but peaceful.

Harriet had still not returned. Thornton did another rotation through the room, stopping to greet his guests, being the polite host, all the while scanning the room for Harriet. She had definitely not returned. The Duc d’Argon was also not there, leading to some disagreeable conclusions as to where she was and whom she was with. Naturally, he was not at liberty to care about such things. He was unaccustomed to wanting to do damage to any of his guests, but in the span of one short evening, he not only wished to do harm to a certain general, but he also wished a particular French duke to disappear, preferably somewhere near Botany Bay.

With a sigh, Thornton recognized he was not the sort of man to actually do such a thing; until recently, he was not aware that he was the type of man to actually think of doing such a thing. But when it came to protecting Harriet or his mother, he was ready to do about anything. Why he felt Harriet needed to be protected from the duc was less clear. He could only say he knew it with confidence.

He had not the slightest doubt that d’Argon’s interest in Harriet was entirely materialistic. He was certainly playing a good game, but fifty thousand was enough to get a man to do almost anything. He struggled with the prospect of informing Harriet of his suspicions, but realized that other than a gut feeling, he had very little actual evidence. He considered telling her of how d’Argon had laughed at Miss Crawley’s jokes at her expense, but rejected it as cruel.

No, there was no way to communicate the truth directly, which led him back to the plan of having d’Argon kidnapped and sold to a press gang on a ship heading to China. Of course, none of this was going to be effective if d’Argon was currently convincing her to do goodness only knew what.

No, he wasn’t going to let this happen. If anyone was going to marry Harriet for her money, it was going to be him!

Thornton’s shoulders slumped as he recognized the direction his thoughts had taken him.

“Why so glum, my friend?” asked Marchford.

They were surrounded by guests, happily talking and dancing without a care, unlike the two men now watching the festivities. “I realize I am not the man I thought I was,” said Thornton.

“Congratulations.”

“It is not a happy realization.”

“And what sort of man have you become?”

“One who would do anything to put a bit o’ blunt in his pocket. I thought myself immune to the seduction of wealth, but I find myself verra much at risk.”

Marchford raised an eyebrow. “Would you care to enlighten me as to what this guilt-laden tirade is about?”

Thornton shook his head. “Nay, the only difference between myself and those I condemn is that I am better at weaving justifications. I would do better to be honest about what I have become. A mercenary, up for the highest bidder.”

Marchford frowned. “Come now, tell me what this is about.”

Thornton was spared from answering by the sudden appearance of Miss Redgrave. Thornton spotted her walking into the room on the arm of d’Argon. Something inside him tightened and he had the insane notion to give the Frenchman a facer and lay him out. He took a deep breath, imagining his mother’s look of horror if he carried out the mad scheme. “Must dash,” he said without taking his eyes off Harriet. He was not going to let her go.

Thornton walked in a straight line toward Harriet and the annoying Frenchman. If anyone attempted conversation with him as he crossed the drawing room, or even if anyone was trying to dance, he saw none of it in his straight progression toward Harriet. The duc was smiling. She was smiling in return. Could she not see he was a snake?

“Good evening,” Thornton interrupted their conversation. “I trust ye are enjoying yerself?”

“Yes, delightful entertainment. I do enjoy country life,” said d’Argon. “I find I am always learning new customs, such as the technique for walking through dancing couples. I would never be so bold, but you are at this a master, no?”

It was an insult, but Thornton preferred it. The gloves were coming off and they were going to settle this. “Aye, d’Argon, I am the master of this house.” His voice was low. If the words were laced with warning, so be it. His temper was uncertain this evening. The tremor of threat was sincere.

The duc’s face hardened. Harriet’s eyes opened wide. Perhaps he was being less than subtle, but Thornton did not care.

“I wonder, d’Argon, if I could interest you in a game of billiards.” It was not a suggestion.

“I fear I know nothing of the game,” said d’Argon evenly, though his eyes glittered.

“Then I must insist on teaching ye.” Thornton forced a smile. Whatever he needed to do to keep d’Argon out of Harriet’s company, he would do. If Thornton couldn’t be with her, he would make sure that d’Argon was also feeling the same misery.

“I think perhaps I would like to dance,” d’Argon turned to Harriet, but Thornton put an arm on the wall between them, turning his back on Harriet and blocking her from the conversation and from d’Argon.

“Oh, but I insist.” Thornton put his arm around d’Argon’s shoulders and, in a move that hopefully appeared friendly, he muscled the Frenchman out of the drawing room. They walked across the entryway as bosom friends to all who saw them, until they reached the privacy of the billiard room.

“And to what do I owe the honor of this insult?” sneered d’Argon, breaking free of Thornton’s grip.

“Perhaps I wish to spend some time with ye.” Thornton set up the billiard table. He might as well do something enjoyable since he had decided to be d’Argon’s jailor for the evening. Besides, the oak billiard cue felt weighty in his hands. Almost like a quarterstaff. A man could do some damage with this cue.

It appeared d’Argon did not appreciate the malicious glint in Thornton’s eye, for he also picked up a billiard cue, perhaps more for defense than out of any great desire to learn to play the game. “You wish me away from Miss Redgrave. It is the jealousy. If you wish to win her heart, go talk to her yourself. Do not let me stop you.”

“Since you are a novice, I shall break,” said Thornton.

“But no, you do not wish to win Miss Redgrave for yourself. You merely wish to prevent anyone else from claiming her money.”

“Miss Redgrave is not a prize to be claimed,” Thornton growled.

“Ah, but she is.” The Frenchman gave a slippery smile. “She is a juicy fruit ripe for the plucking if the master is skilled. She craves attention. She needs to be understood. Say two kind words and she is mine for the taking.”

“You shall not take her anywhere.”

“And who are you to stop me? I have spoken with Langley. He is most interested in having Harriet marry, soon, and to a title. I have all these requirements.”

“You would be merely marrying her for her money! You are not in love with her!”

“Ah, yes, you are correct. My heart has not been touched by her charms, if you could call them that. But there I have been honest with her. I have not promised love, but merely a partnership.”

“I will speak plainly. If you do not break off this pursuit, I shall reveal your nature to her.”

“You must do as you think right. Go ahead and reveal me. But what would you say? You could say I am poor, but she knows that. She does not care for financial restrictions and bristles at the thought of being told whom she can marry based on their fortune. You could tell her I enjoy the company of women, but I am French, so I doubt that would come as a surprise. You could even tell her I do not love her, but I have made no such claim. Our relationship is based on science, the logic of the mind. Not petty emotional states. No, dear friend, I shall invite you to tell her all these things.”

“You are a wretched man,” said Thornton, except he was the one feeling wretched.

“Ah, the insults. I have learned the Englishman, he learns to curse when he knows he has been beat.”

“It is not over. If ye think I shall stand aside and let ye ruin her life—”

“But that is exactly what I expect you to do. You have no other choice but to kill me, and you are not the type. I have learned to tell the difference between those who merely wish to kill me and those who will actually do the deed. You, dear host, are not the type to murder a man who has come to you for hospitality.”

“Aye, ye would be the type to need to have such knowledge, perhaps because of your career as a gambler.”

“Yes, I am a gambler. And this may be my highest hand yet. But if anyone would be the one to stop me, it would not be you.” The duc made one more shot, sinking the ball in the far right pocket.

“This is not yer first game o’ billiards,” said Thornton.

“No, not at all. But it is the first time you have tried to scare away a potential rival for a woman’s hand. I have been confronted by many watchful parents. I fear your performance is not equal with the task.”

“I am sorry to disappoint.”

“Not at all. I despise competition.”

“And in me, you see none.”

“None at all. Pity too, because she used to think of you so very highly. Here is irony for you. I do believe you had a chance to capture her heart. It was yours for the taking, but you refused her. You wish to protect her from heartbreak, yet it was you who crushed her tender feelings. In fact, I should thank you for leaving her so vulnerable. With her emotions raw and sensitive, she was ready for the idea to marry for sensible reasons, not affection. Oh no, you yourself have turned her heart from love.”

Thornton said nothing. He hated d’Argon. Even more, he hated the truth he spoke.

“You had your chance, and you rejected her. Her broken heart is precisely what I need to wed her. And make no mistake, she will be my bride. Good night, Lord Thornton.”

The Duc d’Argon strode from the room, leaving Thornton exhausted. His anger, initially focused on the wrongs done by d’Argon, was now focused on himself. He himself had put Harriet into the arms of a fortune hunter.