Marrying Harriet (15 page)

Harriet had noticed Lord Charles and Lisa. It was a lively country dance and they seemed to be enjoying themselves. She sadly allowed Mr Feathers to lead her into the garden. He would propose; she would accept. He had a very thin neck, she noticed, and a prominent Adam’s apple. She tried to console herself with the thought of children and what a comfort they would be in a loveless marriage, but all she could think of was a brood of little boys in Puritan dress with thin necks. Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked them away.

Lord Charles was crossing hands with Lisa to go down the middle of the dance when he saw Harriet Brown sitting in the garden, with Mr Feathers getting down on his knees in front of her. Lisa laughed, as, instead of letting her hands go at the bottom of the dance, Lord Charles kept firmly hold of them and danced her into the garden and right up to Mr Feathers. Blushing under his mask, Mr Feathers got to his feet.

The laughter died on Lisa’s lips. Lord Charles was looking earnestly at Harriet and she was looking back at him. Neither Lisa nor Mr Feathers appeared to exist for the couple.

‘My lord,’ protested Lisa sharply, ‘we have left the dance and you are interrupting a courtship.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Lord Charles. ‘I am sure Mr Feathers was simply stooping to tie his lace.’

‘Yes, that was it,’ said Mr Feathers, too embarrassed to admit he had been trying to propose marriage while Lisa looked scornfully down at his laceless boots.

The last chord of the music died away and a gong sounded. ‘Supper,’ cried Lord Charles. ‘Miss Seymour, I must beg you to excuse me. Miss Brown is engaged to take supper with me. Perhaps Mr Feathers . . . ?’

Lisa’s face under her mask coloured up with fury. Without a word she turned on her heel and walked away. Lord Charles held out his arm to Harriet. ‘May I have the honour of escorting you, Miss Brown?’

For a bare moment, Harriet hesitated. She should tell him to go to the devil, sit down again, and accept her future with Mr Feathers. But somehow she found herself rising and taking his arm and curtsying to Mr Feathers and murmuring an apology.

Mr Feathers watched her go with relief. He had tried and he had failed through no fault of his own. Now he could enjoy the ball.

‘That was bad of you,’ said Harriet quietly when they were seated. ‘Very bad.’

‘He is not for you, Miss Brown. You didn’t want him. Admit the truth.’

‘No, I didn’t want him,’ sighed Harriet. ‘But I must settle for someone.’

‘True. But not him. You would not be happy.’

Harriet looked at him impatiently. ‘Quite a lot of us on this earth cannot have everything we want. Very few of us are rich enough to pick and choose.’

She bent her head and he looked at her with compassion. ‘Miss Brown . . . Harriet,’ he said urgently. ‘I have a suggestion, a proposition to make to you.’

Harriet looked at him steadily. A little while ago she had been in despair. Now she felt she was in heaven.

‘Go on,’ she said softly.

‘I am a rich man. I will furnish you with a large sum of money. In that way, you will have a good dowry, which means you may have your pick; and if you do not wish to marry, why, you may still have the money to support yourself.’

Harriet quickly lowered her eyes and sat very still. She was disappointed. She thought he had been going to propose. She must feel so terribly disappointed because London had made her worldly and sinful and she was yearning after a title.

‘It is a generous offer,’ she said stiffly, ‘but I cannot accept it.’

‘Why not?’

‘I am quite old and well able to take care of myself. I am sensible enough to settle for some man or other, probably Mr Feathers, and accept my lot. There is strength in humility, Lord Charles.’

*   *   *

‘There he is again,’ said Amy crossly to Mr Haddon. The sight of that trouble-maker, Mr Callaghan, had brought them together.

Mr Haddon raised his quizzing-glass and studied Lord Charles and Harriet.

‘I think he is falling in love with her,’ he said.

‘How would
you
know?’ retorted Miss Amy Tribble crossly. ‘You wouldn’t know love if you met it in your soup.’

‘What gives you that impression?’

‘Because you’re a dry old stick,’ said Amy furiously.

He gave her an amazed, hurt look, turned his shoulder on her and began to talk to the lady on his other side. Mr Lawrence, who was on the other side of Amy, eagerly seized the chance to engage her in conversation. Mr Lawrence had made up his mind to court Amy. Periodically, during his life, he had decided to marry, going so far as to propose on two occasions and then having to get himself out of it when he came to the inevitable conclusion that he preferred his quiet hedonistic life. He sensed competition from Mr Haddon and that added spice and impetus to the chase. He helped her to food and more wine, and flattered her appearance until Amy began to glow and feel young again.

After supper, he asked her to walk with him in the garden and Amy dreamily agreed. Mr Haddon watched them go. He feared for Amy. He did not trust Lawrence one bit. He reflected sourly that Amy was as naive as a schoolgirl and not able to take care of herself.

In the garden, Mr Lawrence plucked a flower and handed it to Amy. He looked about. The gardens were quiet. First he would steal a kiss; then he would propose. Amy saw his lips approaching hers and closed her eyes and trembled. Amy Tribble had never been kissed before.

His lips descended on her own and Amy felt . . . nothing. She knew in that instant that the only man in the whole of the world she wanted to kiss her was Mr Haddon. She drew away gently from Mr Lawrence, tears sparkling in her eyes.

Mr Haddon had walked into the garden just in time to witness that kiss. He was possessed of a cold fury. He saw the tears in Amy’s eyes and that was enough for him.

He marched up to Mr Lawrence and struck him across the face with his gloves and then threw them on the grass. ‘You old charlatan,’ said Mr Haddon. ‘I demand satisfaction.’ He waited for Mr Lawrence to pick up the gloves and so accept his challenge.

Another scene. Harriet, who was just being returned to the ballroom by Lord Charles, stood beside him and watched the tableau in the garden.

Mr Lawrence looked down at the gloves lying on the grass, but he did not stoop to pick them up. He felt weary and old and wondered if he had run mad. All he wanted now was the comfort of his lodgings and the old tranquillity of his usual life. Then he looked up and saw Lord Charles.

‘Nephew!’ he cried.

Lord Charles walked quickly up to him, followed by Harriet.

‘This fellow has challenged me to a duel and all because I kissed Miss Amy,’ said Mr Lawrence. ‘But she let me kiss her.’

‘And so I did,’ said Amy quietly.

‘My uncle is not fighting any duel, Mr Haddon,’ said Lord Charles. ‘You misunderstood the situation. Take Miss Amy inside and have something cooling to drink.’

‘Please,’ whispered Amy brokenly.

Mr Haddon bent down and picked up his gloves. He held out his arm to Amy and walked slowly off with her.

‘Thank you, dear boy,’ sighed Mr Lawrence. ‘I am too old for pistols at dawn. I shall go home now and lie down. I have had a bad shock.’

‘There you are, Capability Brown,’ said Lord Charles, watching him go. ‘By that one kiss, I feel he has done a lot to further matters between Miss Amy and Mr Haddon.’

‘But to kiss Miss Amy! That was vastly shocking.’

‘It was only a kiss. What’s in a kiss?’

‘I forget your years of experience, my lord,’ said Harriet crossly. ‘I would not accept a kiss lightly.’

‘You may have to accept kisses and deeper intimacies you do not like, Harriet Brown. Think you of lying in Mr Feather’s bed and Mr Feather’s arms?’

‘You disgusting rake,’ said Harriet, overwrought by all the see-sawing emotions of the evening. ‘I saw you kissing those whores outside the Argyle Rooms with your dirty soiled lips.’

‘Lips,’ he said, suddenly furious, ‘which you would never allow to sully your own.’

‘Exactly, Lord Charles Marsham.’

Her bosom was heaving and her eyes were glittering behind her mask. An errant draught whistled through the lamps above their head and blew them out, plunging the pair into shadow.

He jerked her into his arms and kissed her hard. Shock and amazement kept her rigid in his arms. And then her body was racked with such searing passion that she thought she would faint. For one brief heady moment she responded to him and then, in the next moment, she tore herself away, scrubbing at her lips with the back of her glove and looking at him with hurt eyes. Then she turned about and walked away. She knew why her body had behaved so disgustingly and wantonly. It was because he was experienced at making love to women and knew, no doubt, exactly how to rouse their passions.

Lord Charles watched her go, amazement on his face. He could still feel the sweetness of her lips and his body ached and throbbed with a sudden yearning for her.

He went into the ballroom and then into the refreshment room, where Amy and Mr Haddon were sitting side by side.

‘Miss Tribble,’ said Lord Charles. ‘I beg your permission to call on you tomorrow. I have something to ask you.

‘By all means,’ said Amy quietly. ‘What time?’

‘Ten o’clock.’

‘Much too early. Say about two?’

‘Thank you,’ said Lord Charles. He bowed and turned away.

Amy let out a long breath. ‘Another success, or I’m not mistaken,’ she said triumphantly. ‘He loves her after all. Oh, thank God. It is such a strain, the work and worry of finding mates for these girls. Ah, well, I had hoped that would be the last, but I suppose we had better face up to another Season.’

‘And more frights and more adventures?’ pointed out Mr Haddon.

‘Oh, we have been unlucky in that respect. It can’t go on like this. Makes me feel old.’

‘I don’t think you will ever be old, Miss Amy. Allowing yourself to be kissed in the garden, indeed!’

‘That was the first time I had ever been kissed,’ said Amy ruefully. ‘It was not what I expected. That was why I felt like crying.’

‘You should not have allowed yourself to be kissed in the first place.’

Amy’s temper snapped. ‘You pompous dried-up stick with iced water in your veins,’ she said. ‘What can you know of love or passion, something you have never known? Oh, I am sorry, Mr Haddon. I do not know why I am so rude to you.’

Mr Haddon looked about the supper room. It was deserted except for the pair of them. The jaunty strains of a Scotch reel filtered into the room. He leaned forward and untied the strings of Amy’s mask and removed it. Her plain honest face looked back at him in amazement. Then he gathered her to him and kissed her very tenderly. Amy’s heart rose to her lips and she kissed him back with all the sincerity, passion and honesty in her soul.

‘Oh, Amy,’ said Mr Haddon at last. He was breathing raggedly and two spots of colour burned on his cheeks. ‘Will you do me the honour, the very great honour of . . . ?’

‘Yes,’ said Amy Tribble. ‘Oh, my stars and garters. Yes!’

Effy Tribble lay back on her lacy pillow that night, a smile of satisfaction on her lips. Mr Randolph had paid her every compliment, every attention. She hoped Amy would look in before she went to sleep, so that she could afford herself the luxury of telling her about it. Poor Amy. When she, Effy, was married to Mr Randolph, she would try to visit Amy as often as possible and to be very, very kind. She would persuade Mr Randolph to give Amy a pension so that Amy would not need to go on working any more. Of course, it was hard on Amy that Effy should marry, but Effy reflected that it was time her sister realized that she was downright plain by comparison. Effy raised her hand mirror from the bedside table and surveyed herself complacently in the glass.

And then Amy walked in and sat down on the bed with a dreamy smile on her face.

‘You’ve been drinking too much,’ said Effy sharply, and then softened her voice, because poor Amy was much to be pitied.

Then Harriet walked in as well and said, ‘Miss Amy, would you like me to go down to the kitchens and fetch you a glass of hot milk? That was a shocking affair this evening.’

‘What affair?’ demanded Effy.

‘Oh, did you not hear?’ exclaimed Harriet. ‘I thought everyone knew about it. Mr Lawrence took Miss Amy into the garden and kissed her and Mr Haddon challenged him to a duel, but Lord Charles interceded and all was settled amicably enough.’ Then Harriet looked in surprise at Effy. Her normally pretty face had turned sour and old.

Then Effy smiled and laughed. ‘That old roué. He would kiss anyone. I’m surprised at you, Amy. No doubt Mr Haddon delivered himself of a jaw-me-dead.’ Effy’s face became mock-serious. She was soon to be a matron and looked forward to lecturing Amy from the height of her married status. It would do no harm to impart words of wisdom to her sister now. ‘You must realize, Amy dear, that gentlemen such as Mr Haddon cannot be made jealous, if such was your intention.’

‘It wasn’t,’ said Amy with a dreamy, reminiscent smile, ‘but he was.’

‘You are fantasizing again, sister.’

‘And when he kissed me and asked me to marry him, I thought I would die from happiness.’

‘Oh, Miss Amy!’ cried Harriet, her eyes like stars. ‘I wish you all the happiness in the world.’

‘What . . . did . . . you . . . say?’ demanded Effy in a harsh, grating voice, quite unlike her usual cooing tones. ‘I’m to be married,’ said Amy. ‘Mr Haddon wants us to be married as soon as possible.’

Effy began to cry.

‘Dear sister,’ said Amy, ‘I knew you would share my happiness.’ And only the shrewd Harriet Brown noticed that Miss Effy was crying with rage.