If Wishes Were Earls (5 page)

“No, but—”

“In league with French agents?”

“Well, of all the foolish—”

“Is her life in imminent danger?”

“Why of course not.” Harriet appeared as annoyed with him as he was with her. “It is her heart, my lord. It is in danger.”

“I thought you said she wasn’t ill.”

“She isn’t. Rather the ailment is a Lord Whenby.”

“When—what?”

“Whenby,” she corrected. “Lord Whenby. Oh, botheration, Roxley, the man is trifling with your aunt and you need to do something.”

“You came over here to tell me that some aging Lothario is dangling after my aunt?” Roxley didn’t know whether to laugh or throw up his hands in despair.

Of all the ridiculous notions . . .

Harriet took him by the elbow and turned him toward his Aunt Essex. “This is a matter of grave import.”

Now she was near enough that he could smell her perfume. It wasn’t violets or roses or lavender water for Harry, but something wild and indescribable that assailed his senses.

Drove him mad. Chipped at his resolve.

Keep her well out of this, Roxley. Well away from you.

All he needed was someone, anyone thinking Harriet was important to him.

Ludwick’s fate prodded him to do what needed to be done.

“Harry, you demmed well know that is a lie!” Roxley stepped back, away from her, away from her perfume. Any minute now she’d flutter her dark lashes and then he’d be in knots. But his words had done the trick, and now the lady was indignant.

“I would never lie, not about this!”

But she wasn’t talking about Aunt Essex anymore. She was talking about them.

He ignored the pleading look in her eyes and said instead, feeling like a complete heel, “Oh, now look what you’ve done!”

Harry spared a glance over her shoulder at the empty spot Miss Murray and Lady Kipps had occupied. Then to his dismay, the chit moved closer.

Again.

“Whatever has you in such a fettle tonight? Were that mousy chit and that wretched Lady Kipps bothering you? They certainly appeared to have been overstaying their welcome.”

“No, hardly,” he told her, setting her aside and trying to catch a glimpse of the heiress. “But you’ve gone and pushed her away. And tonight of all nights.”

“Me?” Harriet’s lips pursed together for a moment as she considered his accusation. “Wasn’t much of a push if my arrival was all it took to get the lady to abandon you.”

“Your arrival, if only! And carrying tales, Harry. That’s beneath even you. My aunt being romanced by some dilapidated roué. You wretched, impossible child—”

“
Tsk, tsk, tsk
. I’m hardly a child.” She tipped her head and gazed up at him. Suddenly she wasn’t just the simple country miss Lady Kipps had claimed, but something altogether more forbidden.

And certainly no child. That jinni had fled her bottle sometime ago. Outgrown it, as it were.

In all the right places, he recalled, unable to resist taking a glance at her familiar curves, the rise of her breasts, the long, coltish legs hidden beneath her skirts.

“Don’t remind me,” he said, more for his benefit.

Please, don’t remind me.

Of course she did.

“You didn’t think I was a child last summer at the Duke of Preston’s house party when you—”

“Harry—” This time his warning tones worked.

“Oh, if you insist.”

“I do.”

“Whoever is she?” she asked. “I can’t see why you would want to spend time with any friend of Miss Edith Nashe—”

“Lady Kipps now,” he reminded her.

Harriet’s gaze rolled, her lip curling at the notion of that upstart merchant’s daughter holding an old and esteemed title. “You can dress up a sow—”

“Harry—”

She appeared unimpressed by the warning in his voice. “And what, pray tell, did you intend to do with that mousy miss
Lady Kipps
is dragging about?”

He’d been lucky so far that his actions at Owle Park hadn’t gotten him shot; explaining the particulars of his plans for Miss Murray would certainly qualify him for a full display of the infamous Hathaway wrath.

Deciding cowardice was the better part of valor in this instance, he caught Harry by the elbow and started dragging her through the crowd, not that such a plan was any better. This close, her perfume left him wavering again.

Resolve, my good man. Courage
, he told himself.
You can’t drag Harry into this mire.

This is for her sake. Her very life.

“Well, I doubt you plan on marrying
her
,” she protested. How like Harriet to get right to the heart of a matter. No dancing on the head of a pin for her.

Rather she stuck the sharp end right where it needed to be.

Which was exactly the reason he’d wanted his courtship of Miss Murray all tied up and buttoned down before Harriet got wind of it.

He’d never thought she’d just turn up in London, where she would do her utmost to remind him of what he should be doing.

Marrying her . . .

His gut twisted and he pulled to a stop. Because he knew without a doubt there was no way to explain this other than being blunt and hateful.

And lying through his teeth.

“And why wouldn’t I marry her?”

If he hoped she’d turn and leave, he should have known better.

She laughed. “Her? Your countess?” She continued to laugh until she was holding her stomach. “Please, Roxley, don’t tease so.”

“You don’t think I’d marry Miss Murray?”

Her reply was another fit of guffaws.

“I am, you know,” he declared.

She snorted a bit. That is until his staunchly stated words appeared to sink in. All her nonchalance, her confidence melted away, as if the truth was driving a wedge into her heart. Tearing it in two. “You aren’t,” she said. More like stated as a fact.

“I am.”

Her chin notched up a bit. “You haven’t asked her, have you?”

No, he hadn’t. He’d been putting the matter off for more than a fortnight now. And he knew why.

Well, he did now.

Because part of him—well, most of him—didn’t want to succumb to Mr. Murray’s blackmail, or settle for the man’s daughter. He had wanted to get to the bottom of all this chicanery—his unfathomable string of bad luck, Mr. Ludwick’s inexplicable disappearance, and then Mr. Murray’s perfectly timed arrival into his life.

Roxley was a gambler at heart, and coincidences left him suspicious.

Yet suspicions alone were all he had, and could no longer hold sway. He needed facts, evidence. Proof. Before someone else “disappeared.”

He glanced over at Harriet, so bright and alive, like a freshly lit candle.

No, he vowed. No matter what, he wouldn’t let anything extinguish her brilliant light.

So perhaps Harriet’s untimely arrival was just the push he needed. A reminder of what must be done.

“I was just about to.” Roxley rose up a little, squaring his shoulders. “And she’ll accept, Miss Hathaway. Mark my words.”

Harriet shook her head, ringlets dancing about. “She’s not your type.”

Of course she isn’t
, his heart clamored.
She isn’t you.

Roxley screwed up his courage and charged in. “I’ll go ask her right this very moment—” He chucked his chin in the opposite direction, toward the punch bowl. He had no idea which way Miss Murray had gone but right now it hardly mattered.

Besides, he had Harry’s full attention. He’d break her heart and send her on her way. Keep her far from this mire.

“No?” He shrugged. “You know me, Harry. I never wager where I’m not sure of the outcome. I’ll go ask her to be my bride this very moment. See that I won’t.”

Harriet’s mouth opened, her lips moving, but the words failed her.

Not that it was any problem for his Aunt Essex.

“Who the devil do you mean to marry, Roxley? Tell me now!”

H
arriet’s heart hammered an unthinkable refrain.
I’ll ask her to be my bride.

She’d heard him wrong, certainly she had.

“Roxley, do stop gaping and answer my question,” Lady Essex repeated. “Who is this you intend to marry?”

Harriet didn’t know if she wanted him to answer.

And nor did Roxley, apparently. “My dearest and most favorite aunt,” he replied, leaning over and bussing her on both cheeks, thus avoiding the subject altogether.

As well as stretching the truth a bit.

Harriet knew for a fact his Aunt Oriel was his favorite. A fact she doubted this Miss Murray knew.

Lady Essex had ignored her nephew’s subterfuge and continued pressing the point. “I came to Town the moment I heard the most distressing bit of gossip about you—though I give it little credence.”

Harriet swiveled at this. Lady Essex had known? Known that Roxley was entertaining the thought of marrying someone, and still had insisted Harriet accompany her?

Whatever for?

“Distressing?” Roxley looked around as if he hadn’t the slightest idea what his aunt could mean. “Aunt Essex, if you toddled up to London every time you heard a distressing bit of gossip about me, you’d have worn your barouche out years ago.”

Lady Essex huffed, and then turned her failed chiding on Harriet. “Miss Hathaway, whatever is wrong with you? You look pale.” The old girl nudged her in the ribs to stand up straight.

Harriet did her best to straighten even when it felt as if the floor beneath her feet was spinning out of control.

I’ll ask her to be my bride.

“I fear I might have a megrim coming on,” she said.

No one who knew Harriet would ever believe such a lie. Harriet Hathaway gave megrims, she was never on the receiving end.

“Pish!” Lady Essex declared. “You are made of sterner stuff. Why, we just got here. And here are Miss Timmons and Miss Dale.” The lady grinned from ear to ear at the sight of her former protégées—at least she claimed them as such since their spectacular marriages.

Of course, when both had been embroiled in scandal, the lady wouldn’t have been caught dead uttering their names.

“Miss Timmons, how you have blossomed! Oh, dear, I mean, Your Grace. And Lady Henry!” Lady Essex beamed. “Perfect timing. Perhaps the two of you can help cure whatever it is that ails Miss Hathaway.”

The Duke of Preston and Lord Henry had returned as well, and they all shook hands, making their usual greetings, but there was an uneasiness about all this, and Harriet realized why.

They all knew. About Roxley. And hadn’t wanted her to learn the truth.

No wonder they hadn’t invited her to Town for the Season as they’d once promised. And why their letters had become more and more scarce.

But whyever wouldn’t they have told her
this
?

Probably because they knew you would have jumped aboard the first mail coach to London and caused a fine scandal.

Yes, well, perhaps
, Harriet would concede.

Meanwhile, Lady Essex was once again off and running. “Oh, goodness! Whatever is she doing here? I would have thought society would have grown tired of her by now.”

“Whoever has you in such a fettle, Lady Essex?” Tabitha asked, looking in that direction.

“That loathsome Miss Nashe,” Lady Essex said, her nose wrinkling.

“Lady Kipps,” Daphne corrected. “Miss Nashe is now Lady Kipps.”

“Yes, yes,” Lady Essex said, waving her hand at Daphne. “So the
cit
has gotten her coronet, but now it seems she is bringing her friends along.” The lady sniffed. “ ’Tis akin to feeding squirrels. Feed one and the next thing you know you are feeding them all.” She peered in that direction again, and turned to her nephew. “Who is that dreadfully thin lady with her? She looks French.”

This was apparently not a characteristic in the lady’s favor.

And before anyone could reply—not that anyone was rushing to supply Her Ladyship an answer—Lady Kipps and her companion were before them.

“Lady Essex!” Lady Kipps said loudly, so all could hear her. “How delightful to see you again.” The countess curtsied perfectly, and they had no choice but to make theirs to her. “I am in alt that I have the privilege of introducing you to my dearest friend, Miss Murray.”

Again, there was a round of strained but polite nods and curtsies.

“Miss Murray,” Lady Essex mused, tapping her fan to her lips. “Do I know you?”

“Oh, you will,” Lady Kipps rushed in. “Miss Murray was my particular friend at Mrs. Plumley’s School in Bath.”

“I thought your particular friend at Mrs. Plumley’s was Lady Alicia.” Daphne glanced around. “By the way, where is Lady Alicia? You seem to have lost her this Season.”

It was well-known that once she’d gained her marriage, Lady Kipps had dropped the poor but well-connected spinster, setting her sights for higher connections.

“Lady Alicia? Poor darling girl. I believe she is taking the waters in Buxton. The rigors of the city and all,” Lady Kipps said with a breezy and dismissive wave.

Harriet had spent her time taking Miss Murray’s measure, and found there wasn’t anything in particular she could dislike. Miss Murray, for her part, smiled slightly, and stood with perfect Bath posture in a proper, yet well-appointed gown.

If anything, she seemed a bit mousy.

But Harriet’s study of the other girl had not gone unnoticed.

“Oh, Miss Hathaway!” Lady Kipps exclaimed. “Here you are. Yet again. How you do pop up.”

Like a bad penny
, her tone implied.

“We just arrived,” Lady Essex said, edging closer to Harriet.

“Has your mother come this time?” Lady Kipps asked, looking around.

Harriet shook her head slightly. “No. I came to London with Lady Essex.” She had the distinct feeling she was being drawn into a trap.

Of course she was. This was Lady Kipps. And she probably hadn’t forgotten Harriet’s part in the Mr. Muggins debacle.

Harriet certainly hadn’t, doing her best to tamp down the memory and the wicked grin that threatened to give way.

“And did you bring a companion this time?” Lady Kipps pressed, brows furrowed, all proper concern and care.

And then Harriet heard the metal snap of the jaws.