A Midsummer Bride (5 page)

“What is this?” A woman dressed in a fine silk gown and a scarlet brocade turban entered the room and surveyed it with horror. The lady was older than Thornton but still retained much of her beauty, though her appearance would have improved without the pinch between her eyebrows. “What has happened? Have the chimneys caught fire? Did that maid leave a candle unattended?”

“Nay, it was an accident,” soothed Thornton. “No harm done.” Except the singed drapes, but the less said about that the better. “Mother, may I present Miss Harriet Redgrave. Miss Redgrave, my mother, Lady Thornton.”

Lady Thornton was his mother, not his wife. And somehow, in spite of everything, it made Harriet smile. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” She extended a hand, but Lady Thornton appeared stunned, as if Harriet had offered her a snake, so she let her hand drop.

“Miss Redgrave is the granddaughter of Lord Langley,” explained Thornton.

“I thought Lord Langley’s only child was in a sanatorium,” said Lady Thornton bluntly.

“Worse than that,” said Harriet cheerfully. “She ran away with an American. I have only recently returned for a visit.”

Lady Thornton’s jaw dropped, but whatever she was going to say was averted by Thornton.

“I am glad ye are here, Mother, the guests downstairs are in desperate need of yer attention,” said Thornton, neatly ushering his mother out of the room.

“It is a pity we could not get out of that invitation,” said Lady Thornton from the hallway when they were almost out of hearing. “Well, I suppose we cannot avoid the acquaintance now, but I do wish you would try to limit her exposure to our other guests. Her type can be so lowering.”

Harriet gulped air and glanced nervously at Miss Rose and the dowager, but they were too busy avoiding her eye to notice. The Duke of Marchford was inspecting the drapes.

“She is our guest, Mother,” said Thornton in a low voice.

“’Tis a shame,” continued Lady Thornton. “I can hardly abide the chit being here. Her mother was fit for Bedlam; I recall the story now. Ran off with some American sea captain. Should have been locked in an asylum if you ask me. Lord Langley probably would have done so, had he been able to get to her. Goodness only knows what is wrong with the granddaughter. A danger to everyone in the house. I dinna suppose ye could ask her to leave?” Lady Thornton’s voice trailed off.

Harriet had not been here more than a few hours and now she was going to need to leave. But go where? It had taken several days from London to get here.

No one spoke. The dowager cleared her throat but looked away. Penelope smoothed her skirts in a casual manner, as if by ignoring the awkwardness it would go away.

“I do believe it is time for tea,” said Penelope.

“Perhaps I should stay here and clean up a bit,” said Harriet.

The Duke of Marchford exchanged looks with the dowager and then Penelope. “Not at all,” he said with a sigh. “You have been invited by Lord Thornton; therefore, you are my guest as well. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to tea?” The duke offered his arm and Harriet accepted.

So far she had caused an explosion, set her room on fire, been rescued by an earl, and was going to tea on the arm of a duke. All things considered, it had been an eventful beginning to her trip to the Highlands. But the real danger was about to begin—she was about to be introduced to society.

Thornton continued to guide his mother away from Miss Redgrave until he had escorted her all the way back to her dressing room, which he noticed she had redecorated. Again.

“Miss Redgrave is our guest, and whether or not her father was an American is hardly relevant to our being polite,” he gently chastised.

His mother whipped her head toward him at his rebuke. “I am trying to help you. This is your chance to find the right lady to wed. I know several young ladies of position and wealth will be at this house party. We need to find one who has both, you know. It will do us no good for you to marry for connections alone; we need a sizable dowry.” She spoke in the clipped tone of London society it had taken several highly paid linguists to perfect. She might have started her life as the rich daughter of a Scottish merchant, but her aspirations were much higher.

“I shall not marry for money, Mother.” Thornton stated the cold fact while staring at her, willing her to accept it this time.

His mother’s jaw tightened and her nostrils flared. “You cannot mean that! We must have funds. We must.”

The desperation in her voice stilled him. “What do ye owe now?”

Lady Thornton turned away. “’Tis not my fault. My luck was going so well I could not lose.”

“Gambling again? What did ye lose this time?”

“Thornton Hall,” her voice cracked.

His heart stilled. “What do ye mean? How could ye lose the estate?”

Lady Thornton spun to him, her eyes flashing. “I needed funds for some investments and a little pocket money for some fun, so I put the estate as collateral.”

“Ye did what?!” Thornton began to pace. “Mother, we are in a precarious financial situation as it is. I have told ye so, many, many times. How could ye?”

“I was assured it was a secure investment, a safe bet! I was trying to win back some money for you, dear.”

“I have told ye, asked ye, pleaded wi’ ye, not to invest wi’out checking wi’ me first.”

“Well, it’s done. No use wasting your tears over it.”

“Fact is, ye bet the estate and ye lost. Ye lost everything.”

Lady Thornton’s lips formed a thin line. “So what if I did? This old hall would have been sold off years ago had not I married your father and saved it. It was my money that saved this estate, mine. That is why my father saw to it I was given full control over the estate, and if I want to bet against it or sell it off, I can.”

“If it is yer goal to ruin me, then ye have done yer job verra well.” A cold, hard fear seeped into his bones.

“Ruin you? Nay, how can you say that? I only want what’s best for you. Now, don’t fret now. I have a plan. There are some very rich ladies, English ladies, that would make fine brides. We have until the end of the month before…”

“Before what?”

“Before we will be forced to move and the lot will be sold.” Lady Thornton turned away and spoke in an airy voice, as if it was no great consequence to lose the estate that housed generations of Thornton lords. “But it need not come to that. If you follow my advice, you can be wed before the house party is through, and all will be well again.”

Thornton shook his head. “I will not marry for money. Not even to save the estate.”

“Duncan! Do you understand we will be forced out?”

“Then ye best get packing.” Thornton turned and left before what he truly wanted to say could escape his lips. All his work, all his efforts to pull them out of debt, it had all been for naught.

***

Despite the clear advantages to having Harriet introduced to society on the arm of the Duke of Marchford, Penelope felt obligated to suggest that Miss Redgrave wash her face and change her gown first, and then meet the guests in the tearoom. They wished Harriet to be accepted in society, and it would not do to send her down looking like a chimney sweep.

Penelope and the dowager retreated across the hall to their rooms to give Harriet privacy to change.

“That could have gone better,” grumbled the dowager, reclining into a chair.

“Lord Langley forgot to mention her interesting… hobbies,” commented Penelope.

“Alchemy is not a hobby; it is a liability. Now I understand why he would offer such a large sum to Madame X to have Harriet credibly married off, and to a titled gentleman no less.”

“It will be a challenge to have her accepted in society,” admitted Penelope. “It is a shame so many followed the duke this far north.”

The dowager gave her a wry smile. “Perhaps someday you will have children of your own and understand a mother’s drive to see her daughters wed. The Duke of Marchford is on the open market. Madame X has been inundated by requests to have their daughter connected to him.”

Penelope gave a surreptitious eye roll. “Does he suspect?”

“Suspect us to be Madame X? I am not sure. He knows we are somehow involved, and he knows I came into a bit of financial independence a few months ago after our last success.”

Penelope smiled. It had been nothing short of a family coup to secure the funds which allowed them to remain in London, rather than be sent off to the dowager house as Marchford had planned. “At least we can have no financial worries anymore.”

“I would not take that bet,” the dowager shook her head. “The new carriage alone was quite dear.”

“And unnecessary,” muttered Penelope.

“What? And travel all this way without fresh springs? It would have been the death of me.”

“We should still have much remaining. Madame X’s last success should have set us up for life.”

“For life? Wherever do you get such notions? I am a good deal more expensive.”

“But I am not,” said Penelope simply. She did not like the way the dowager avoided her eye.

“Let us go and check on Miss Redgrave,” said the dowager, changing the subject in a manner Penelope found suspicious. “It is time for her debut in the tearoom.”

They found Harriet scrubbed clean and dressed in something resembling a passable day gown. Her gowns were well made and of quality material, yet were not of the latest fashion to be found in London. Penelope supposed that could only be expected since Miss Redgrave was a new arrival from America.

As they all walked down to join the others for tea, Penelope was struck by how Harriet reminded her of a rambunctious puppy, making happy comments, wide-eyed and eager to explore something new. The impression left Penelope interested in becoming better friends with the guileless Harriet Redgrave, yet she dreaded the reaction of some society mavens who were sticklers for etiquette.

Outside the parlor door, they met Lord Thornton, who had a fierce look about him.

“Lord Thornton?” asked Penelope. “Is there something the matter?”

“Nay, all is well,” he said in a tone that suggested otherwise. “Yer Grace, may I escort ye in?” he asked the duchess, as was proper.

“I prefer Miss Rose’s arm today, but perhaps you could be of use to Miss Redgrave.”

“I would be honored.” Thornton gave a quick bow and offered his arm to Miss Redgrave.

“Thank you, Lord Thornton,” said Harriet. “I shall feel so much safer with you by my side.”

“Are ye ready to face the societal lions?” asked Thornton, a smile creeping onto his face.

“As long as you are here to make sure I am not eaten alive.”

Penelope and the dowager held back a moment, allowing Harriet to make her entrance. It was good for her to enter on the arm of Lord Thornton, showing all those within where he thought her place to be. Within the parlor was a veritable army of London’s societal elite.

“Oh no!” whispered Penelope. “The Comtesse de Marseille is present. She will ruin Harriet before supper.”

“Thornton has her in hand,” whispered the dowager in response. “He is reserved but not cruel and the only one of my grandson’s acquaintances I credit as capable of intelligent thought. Let us see what he does.”

Thornton paused for a moment, surveying the scene, then directed Harriet to the comtesse. Though Penelope could not hear the interaction, she noted that Harriet made a passable curtsy and she was introduced.

“Now that witch cannot deny Harriet her acquaintance. Nicely done, lad,” commented the dowager in an undertone.

“It will not stop her mouth,” muttered Penelope.

“Only the grave could do that,” said the dowager. “Look, now he’s taking her on to Sir Antony.” They watched as Lord Thornton introduced Harriet to several notable personages in the room, keeping the conversations quite brief, and then left her with Lady Devine, known for her kind character and enjoyment of any individual she would classify as an “original.”

Thornton retreated past them to attend to his other duties as the host. The dowager rapped her cane on the floor to get his attention over the din of the crowd. He stopped before them with a solemn bow.

“Well played, my lad,” the dowager praised. “I appreciate your efforts for our little prodigy.”

“I am, as always, in yer service, Yer Grace.” His attention was diverted by his mother, in monstrous ostrich plumes, entering the parlor. “I wish ye both a good afternoon.” Thornton bowed and disappeared into the crowd in the opposite direction of his parent.

“He is even more glum than usual,” noted Penelope.

“He has been beggared by his mother’s extravagance and now will have to face the necessity of marrying into money before his creditors take the shirt off his back,” said the dowager.

“You think Lady Thornton has matrimonial plans for him?”

“Yes, of course, I would be shocked if she did not. Note all these unmarried ladies. Their parents may have brought them for Marchford, but once he is claimed, a Scottish lord will have to do.”

***

Harriet did not care if she was accepted in society, yet she did not wish to become a pariah either. She was relieved to face the gauntlet with Lord Thornton by her side. She knew he was someone she could trust. Whatever else he might be, he was a friend when she needed one.

The room was a minefield. One wrong step, one wrong word, and her debut into society would be ruined forever. Many pairs of eyes were leveled at her—so many that she almost felt the need to do something extraordinary to amuse them all. Of course, if she randomly broke into song, she might find herself locked in the attic for the duration of the house party. She was, after all, the daughter of a madwoman who ran away with an American.

After a kind conversation with Lady Devine, Harriet felt confident enough to accept a small biscuit and look to find friends of her own. In one group of seats, several young women were engaged in conversation.

“Hello,” said Harriet, boldly sitting in an open chair.

The girls all stared at her then turned their heads to a pretty creature in a white muslin day dress, with a smart ivy-green spencer. Her features were striking, with gleaming black hair, gray eyes, and rose lips. Her pale skin appeared never to have seen the sun. To Harriet, she looked like someone who needed a romp in the sunshine and a good beefsteak to feed the blood.

“Good afternoon,” said the girl, her voice even. “Have you come from India?”

“N-no,” said Harriet, slightly taken aback from the question. “I am recently from America.”

“Oh, I see. I have heard about you.” One side of her mouth slid up into a half smile, though not a particularly nice one. “I only thought you were an Indian because your skin is so very brown.”

“I do enjoy being outdoors, and of course, during the crossing on board one is always out in the sunshine as often as one can be.”

“How odd you do not have bonnets in America,” said the girl with a smirk. Her friends began to giggle, some hiding their faces behind their fans. Harriet tried to ignore them.

“I am happy to meet some young people my own age,” said Harriet. “I am Harriet Redgrave. It’s nice to make your acquaintance.” She stuck out her hand, determined to be friendly.

“Oh my! Is this how Americans introduce themselves? Shall I try it, ladies? Hello. My name is Priscilla Crawley. Nice to make your acquaintance.” Priscilla mimicked Harriet’s voice and actions to more giggles from her friends.

“Thank you so much for making me feel welcome,” said Harriet without trying to hide the sarcasm and removed herself from their presence. She only made it five steps before she heard the girls break into raucous laughter. So much for trying to make friends.

From her vantage point at the tea table, Harriet watched as Lord Thornton and his mother approached Miss Crawley, and introductions were made. Priscilla smiled divinely and Thornton bowed in return. She said something, leaning close to him, and he smiled.

Harriet reached for a second biscuit only to be intercepted by the dowager duchess and Penelope. They could not have come too soon.