A Midsummer Bride (8 page)

Harriet sat in a chair, a fake smile plastered across her face. Surrounding her were attentive gentlemen, undoubtedly lacking funds, who were practically salivating at the thought of fifty thousand pounds.

“Would you care for refreshments?”

“I just brought her a cup.”

“Would you like to dance?”

“They are not playing any music.”

“How about a private game of cards?”

“Would you like to take a stroll in the garden?”

“She’s not going anywhere with you!”

“Thank you, gentlemen!” declared Harriet, rising to her feet and causing a near riot as the men who were seated jumped up, generally in the way of those who were standing. “I do need to excuse myself.”

“I shall be pleased to escort you anywhere to the ends of the earth,” declared one potential swain.

“That is very kind, but since my destination is the ladies’ retiring room, I doubt your presence would be appreciated by the other guests.” Harriet headed for the door, walking as calmly and sedately as a woman running for her life could do.

On the way, she saw the dowager, who gave her a knowing smile. Harriet resisted the urge to confront the elderly lady. She supposed by publicizing her dowry, the Duchess of Marchford was trying to help, but she would appreciate it much more if the duchess would stop helping.

Miss Priscilla Crawley was leaving the ladies’ retiring room when Harriet approached. Harriet was not particularly happy to see her, but to be fair, Miss Crawley looked utterly ravishing in a cream gown with a burgundy sash just below her ample bosom.

“Miss Redgrave! What a shame your trunks did not arrive in time for you to dress for dinner tonight.” Priscilla gave her a sad puppy face that Harriet supposed was mock sympathy.

Instinctively, Harriet glanced down at her white muslin gown with six inches of lace around the hem. It was one of her best, and until this moment, she had thought it very nice. “You look lovely tonight, Miss Crawley,” said Harriet, clinging to the high road.

Priscilla cast her a haughty look as if Harriet had said something insulting.

“Good evening, Miss Redgrave,” said a voice behind her with a strong French accent.

Harriet turned and gave a curtsy to the Comtesse de Marseille. “Good evening.”

“How clever of you to circulate the amount of your dowry,” said the comtesse with an arch look. “Now you shall never want for company. Desperate men may be induced to marry
anyone
for that prize.”

Harriet ignored the giggles behind her from Priscilla and her friends. She tried to think of how to respond to such thinly veiled insults, but the comtesse merely sailed away with the snickering girls in her wake.

Harriet attempted to take refuge in the ladies’ retiring room, but she found the gossip within even more venomous. Harriet returned to the drawing room with slow feet but painted on a smile and, with a deep breath, joined the fray, determined to do her best.

***

When the men rejoined the ladies after dinner, Thornton had found himself engaged in the process of watching the tall, lithe Miss Redgrave rather than doing what he ought. As a result, he noted that Miss Redgrave lacked the cool air of social sophistication expected in society. Instead, she was open, frank, and friendly.

Word had spread regarding her dowry and she did not lack for company. Although she smiled, the emotion did not reach her eyes. She may have won male attention, but she did not appear pleased.

Thornton had a mind to rescue Miss Redgrave from what appeared to be some rather forward would-be suitors. Unfortunately, his mother interrupted his plans by bringing Miss Crawley to him again. Miss Crawley was a lovely girl—cool and reserved, everything Harriet was not.

Despite Miss Crawley’s practiced aloof manner and bored demeanor, which marked her a lady of good breeding, he could not help but be amused by Harriet, who told one of her suitors she liked to climb up into the rigging of her father’s clipper ship. At his aghast face, she amended that she always wore pantaloons instead of skirts on board ship. When the poor man started to cough, she slapped him so hard on the back that he fell to the floor.

The company stopped and took notice of Miss Redgrave hoisting the terrified man back onto his feet. They began to titter and Thornton turned and laughed into his sleeve.

“What an awkward girl,” commented Miss Crawley with disdain. “But what can you expect from the daughter of a madwoman. I am sorry you could not refuse to allow her admittance to the house.”

“Wouldn’t have refused her even if it was possible,” said Thornton. “Would ye care for some refreshment?”

The lady accepted and Thornton made his escape, asking a footman to bring out more wine. It was fortunate Marchford had brought supplies, for Thornton’s wine cellar would never have served so many for long.

Thornton made his way casually to the throng of gentlemen around Miss Redgrave. They came in every age, rank, and societal standing, but were united in their mutual need for an influx of assets. Fifty thousand pounds was a fortune. It was certainly enough to save Thornton Hall, and save himself and his mother a good deal of trouble and embarrassment. But it was not a basis for a marriage, as his mother had amply shown him.

Miss Redgrave caught his eye when he drew near. Lord Punthorpe was in the midst of telling her the full extent of his pampered pedigree. It was a long-winded recitation, and since he had only just made it to the reign of Queen Elizabeth, Thornton had to be impressed by the man’s recall of his family tree. The look in Miss Redgrave’s eye was one of a lass begging for mercy, and he could not call himself a gentleman without responding to her call for help.

“Excuse me,” Thornton interrupted. “Forgive me, Miss Redgrave, but Lord Langley is awake and asking for ye.”

“Oh!” said Harriet, jumping out of her chair in a manner more like a happy puppy than a lady of refinement. “I shall go at once!”

“I shall escort you!” claimed one man.

“No, I claim that honor,” said another.

“Nay, ye must stay and enjoy yerselves,” said Thornton and held out his arm to Harriet. “I shall see to her safety.”

As soon as they were outside the drawing room and beyond hearing, Harriet breathed an audible sigh.

“The evening was wearing on ye?” asked Thornton.

“Horribly. I enjoyed it more when I was being ignored.”

“No chance o’ that now.”

“Which will make for a very long house party. I’m only glad my grandfather woke up to call for me.”

“I confess,” said Thornton, escorting her up the stairs, “that I have misled ye. I dinna ken whether yer grandfather is asleep or not.”

“What do you mean?”

“I spoke a wee fib to get ye out o’ the room.”

“Ah! You have saved me! Thank you!” She gave him a hug which surprised him so much he instantly wanted more. This time her smile lit up her face.

“I am glad my dishonesty meets with yer approval,” said Thornton with an uncharacteristic chuckle.

“It does when it gets me out of a fix.” Her eyes were gleaming. “Thank you.”

“Ye are most welcome, Miss Redgrave.”

They stopped at the hallway leading to where the young ladies and their requisite chaperones were staying. It would be unseemly for Thornton to go further. Harriet smiled up at him, almost at eye level. It was nice to look into a lady’s eyes, not down at the top of her head.

“Thank you again,” said Harriet. “You are definitely getting into the habit of rescuing me.”

“All part of the Highland hospitality service.” Thornton leaned a shoulder on the wall. It was a more casual posture than he had ever taken with a member of the opposite sex, but she was so friendly, so apparently immune to societal constraints that it put him at ease.

Harriet raised one eyebrow. “And what, pray tell, is part of the Highland hospitality service?”

“Nothing out o’ the ordinary,” Thornton created. “Rescuing from explosions, protection from fortune hunters, and relief from dull conversation.”

Harriet’s green eyes danced in the candlelight. “This is a standard practice for you?”

“The standard
American
package.” Thornton could not say it without a smile.

“Ah! It all becomes clear!” Miss Redgrave laughed and stepped closer. “And what do I owe you for this generous protection?”

“Nay, no cost, naturally, to my guests.”

“So you protect against explosions, fortune hunters, and poor conversation. What about malicious gossip?”

“Och, lass, the
ton
lives on gossip and wine. To stem that tide will cost ye extra.” Thornton leaned forward.

“Name your price,” demanded Harriet with a smile just for him.

A
kiss.

Thornton coughed and straightened himself. He was careening toward dangerous territory. He should not be talking to her alone anyway. He had the uncommon feeling of being at ease with her, no small feat considering his experience to date with members of the fairer sex.

“I should return to the other guests,” said Thornton, recognizing it was an abrupt change of topic, but fearing the repercussions should he allow himself to continue the conversation.

Miss Redgrave blinked and stepped back. “Yes, yes, of course. I should not keep you.” She turned and disappeared down the hall.

Thornton returned slowly to the drawing room, aware that he had handled things poorly. His mother was right about one thing. Miss Harriet Redgrave was dangerous.

“Yes, Lord Thornton!” Marchford called from across the room when Thornton reentered the drawing room. Marchford was surrounded by a bevy of females of every size, shape, and age. He did not look happy about it. He walked over to Thornton with a trail of admirers in his wake. “What do you need?”

Thornton was too good a friend to expose the man’s ruse, so he held his tongue until Marchford was close enough to whisper. “Am I in need of something?”

“Yes,” said Marchford in a booming voice. “Yes, of course I can assist you. Forgive me, ladies, duty calls.”

Marchford led the way out of the drawing room and Thornton followed him all the way upstairs to a little-used salon. There, Marchford sank into a leather chair and put his hand over his eyes.

“Too much feminine society?” asked Thornton.

“When I walked into the parlor, I swear I heard someone call, ‘release the hounds!’”

Thornton smiled and sat across from him. “I seem to be in great demand tonight to protect people from unwanted suitors. Only one way to stop it.”

Marchford gave him his full attention. “Which is?”

“Announce yer engagement.”

“Not you too. I am tired beyond words of matrimony. Besides, it is hindering my ability to search for foreign agents.”

“Are ye certain there is a spy in our midst?”

“I can be certain of nothing. I do know that a spy would not wish to miss such an assembly of London’s elite. I have gathered men to discuss plans for the war, but so many more people managed to acquire an invitation that I think it quite probable that a spy has weaseled his way in as well.”

“How are ye going to flush out this spy of yers?”

Marchford sighed again. “Have not quite figured that out yet. I hope an opportunity will present itself.”

“Good luck, my friend. After yer success in catching spies, would ye no’ think any agent working for the emperor would be wary of ye?”

“Perhaps.”

“Likely they would also carry a grudge. Ye may be a target as well if ye get in their way.” Thornton was ever wary.

Marchford shrugged. “I would rather they come after me than another. If there is someone in society taking orders from Napoleon, no one is safe until that person is found.”

“I am at yer service as always. I am surprised to say this, but I miss having Grant around. He was not particularly useful in a crisis, but at least I knew what side he was on.”

“He was invited but is apparently still on his honeymoon,” said Marchford in a baffled tone.

“Still? Long time, is it not? Ye would think he would grow tired of having naught but his new wife for company.”

“True. Perhaps there is something to marriage we bachelors are missing.”

The men pondered the question for a moment then laughed and shook their heads. After a glass of something and more talk of how to catch an enemy agent, they found the hour had grown late, so the two friends made their way to their respective bedrooms on the upper floor of the manor house. Marchford stopped and pointed without a word at his bedroom door. It was ajar.

“Did ye leave yer door open?” whispered Thornton.

Marchford shook his head and pulled a small pistol from his waistcoat. Silently, Thornton shuttered the light on his lantern and Marchford softly opened the door further.

The men listened at the door for any sound. Thornton scanned the gloom, trying to spot anything that might be dangerous. He heard nothing. At the signal from Marchford, he unshuttered the lantern, casting the room in its light.

“Marchford? Is that you, honey?” a woman’s voice came from behind the bed curtains.

Thornton glanced at Marchford, but he shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. The voice was unknown to him and he was not expecting company.

The men scanned the room, but finding nothing else out of place, they surrounded the bed. Thornton put the lantern down on the table and prepared for a fight. He had made it his practice to avoid fights when possible. Despite being a peace-loving fellow, he was, after all, a Highlander by birth, and if there was going to be a fight in his castle, he was going to be a part of it.

Thornton and Marchford threw back the curtains simultaneously, charging forward. The woman shrieked when Marchford threw back the covers to expose his attacker. What he discovered was a naked lady.

Recognizing that this was not an ambush, Thornton turned his back to her. “Good evening, Lady Stinton.”

“I do apologize for any misunderstanding. I believe this is your wrap,” said Marchford.

The young widow sputtered in a manner Thornton feared would lead to tears. A fair fight, or even an unfair one, he could handle. A woman in tears was beyond his expertise. “A thousand pardons,” he soothed. “We were under the impression this was the room of the Duke of Marchford. We in no way meant to intrude on yer privacy.”

“I do apologize for this dreadful misunderstanding,” added Marchford, walking away and quickly repocketing the gun.

Thornton followed Marchford out of the room, and they stood in the hall inspecting the ceiling and pretending not to notice the outraged young lady leave the room in search of her own quarters.

“Thank you, my friend,” said Marchford. “I am not sure what she was after, but I appreciate your help in avoiding entanglements.”

“I think we both know what she was after,” said Thornton with a sidewise glance.

“Lord Thornton.” The butler came into view, carrying a candle of his own. “Ye have another visitor and he is demanding to speak with the Duke of Marchford tonight!”

***

Marchford and Thornton entered a small parlor to determine who had so demanded an audience with His Grace the duke. The man inspected his timepiece as they entered, as if they had kept him waiting.

“Mr. Neville,” said Marchford. “Has the Foreign Office sent you all this way from London?”

“Yes. I arrived as quickly as I could. I need to speak to you immediately. Alone,” he added with a severe glare at Thornton. The man was small of stature but not in confidence.

“Lord Thornton, I believe you are acquainted with Mr. Neville from the Foreign Office,” said Marchford, ignoring Neville’s demands.

“Aye, o’ course,” said Thornton. “Ye shot that traitor Blakely before he could kill Grant. I shall never forget yer assistance in protecting our friends.”

“My service is to the Crown, not to you nor any of your friends. Now I wish to speak to His Grace alone,” persisted Neville.

“I am feeling generally unappreciated, so I will bid ye a good night,” said Thornton with a bow and a slight smile at Marchford. The duke and Neville had crossed paths before.

“Tell the footman to bring some warm punch,” commented Marchford in a lazy tone. “I am certain Mr. Neville’s nerves could use soothing after his long journey. And if his don’t, mine certainly will need reviving after hearing all of what Mr. Neville has to say.”

When they were alone, Neville demanded to be apprised as to the current situation. “I knew I needed to come to Thornton Hall when I heard you were planning this gathering. I need a report of your dealings here. Have you noted anything suspicious?”

“Most of the guests have only arrived today. I am probably behind schedule, but alas no spies were revealed before dinner.”

“You must do all you can to discover these traitors. And of course, I noted that several military generals and admirals were among your guest list. Pray tell me, for what purpose are they here?”

“Mr. Neville,” said Marchford, with a calculated change of subject, “how unconventional of you to arrive uninvited. I must have been away from London too long. I am not familiar with these new casual customs.”

Mr. Neville glowered. It was a look Marchford was accustomed to, so he paid it no heed. “I am not here for a social visit,” growled Neville. “I’m here to help you catch the traitor who may be in your midst. Also, the Foreign Office needs to be aware of any high-level meetings so they can be kept secret and safe.”

“I was not aware you were so concerned with my safety.”

“Your safety?” scoffed Neville. “It is the safety and security of any plans developed that is my concern. Where will these plans be kept? How will these plans be transferred? The risk of spies and traitors is everywhere. Napoleon has already conquered most of Europe. Would you see him on the British throne as well?”

Marchford began to search the room for refreshment. The butler was taking too long with the punch. Surely Thornton would have a bottle of whiskey stashed somewhere. “Mr. Neville, you need to put your vivid imagination to better use. Have you considered the occupation of writing novels?”

Mr. Neville ignored this. “If you are using or developing any sensitive information, I demand to hold this information for safekeeping.”

Marchford was saved from an immediate reply by the arrival of the punch bowl. He took over mixing the contents and Neville was blissfully quiet.

“You need not concern yourself. I will ensure its safety,” said Marchford.

Mr. Neville puffed himself up to his full, albeit diminutive, height. “As an agent of the Foreign Office I demand—”

“Rum punch, old man?” Marchford handed the man a cup of punch. “I do not wish to fall prey to the sin of pride, but I have been told my punch is beyond the common fare.”

“Your Grace.” Neville took an obliging sip of the offered cup of punch. “I need to take control of… my word, this is good.” He took another sip of punch. And another.

“Let me refill your cup.” Marchford gave the government agent another hearty helping and watched with amusement as Mr. Neville drank it down. “It has been a long journey for you.”

“Yes.” Mr. Neville relaxed back into his chair. “Very long. The roads toward the end were especially bad.”

“You need to put new springs on your coach. Makes a world of difference.”

“I am only a representative of the Crown. I traveled most of this way by post.”

“No! My dear man, let me refill your cup.” Marchford poured out another cup and smiled as the agent sank further into the pillows of the chair. “You must be so very tired.”

Neville obligingly yawned. “Yes, it has been a long several days. I am quite weary of the road.”

“Then you must stay and rest before you return to London. Do not worry yourself about anything. I shall let the housekeeper know to turn down an extra bed for you.” And with that, Marchford made his escape.