Marrying Harriet (6 page)

But I’m not so think as you drunk I am.

Sir John Collings Squire

Lord Charles spent a pleasant evening with Guy Sutherland, unaware that Jack Perkins was searching for him. They left White’s after an early dinner and repaired to Guy’s comfortable lodgings where they sat beside the fire, remembering battles and their school days at Eton.

Jack had come to regard Lord Charles as his personal property and was as jealous as any slighted woman. In fact, he blamed the mysterious lady Lord Charles had gone to see for Lord Charles’s absence.

And so it was that when he called early the following day – twelve noon
was
early in London society – it was to find that his friend was engaged to take a certain lady driving. Concealing his dismay, Jack suggested they should hail the new day with a couple of bottles of champagne. Lord Charles amiably agreed. Port followed the champagne, and then brandy. Lord Charles finally looked at the clock with fuddled eyes and remembered he had promised to take Miss Brown driving at three and he was in his altitudes and his undress.

He howled for his valet, dressed in haste, and, ignoring Jack’s protests, made his way shakily to his carriage. The cat, Tom, slunk out of the house after him and leaped up on the seat. Normally Lord Charles would have shooed the cat out, but he felt so bleary, so totally drunk that he could not be bothered. He set off, driving carefully.

Neither Effy nor Amy noticed his condition, for he rallied tremendously and presented a good front. It was only when Harriet was seated beside him that he realized once more that he was infernally drunk, and that the press of traffic seemed to be immense because he was seeing two of everything.

Somehow he managed to reach the Park. As soon as they were through the gates, Harriet said sharply, ‘Halt the carriage, my lord.’

He obeyed her and then looked at her dreamily. Her face seemed to be a long way away. It was like looking at her down the wrong end of a telescope.

Harriet climbed down and commanded him to move over.

Too fuddled to protest, he did as he was bid. Harriet climbed into his vacated place and picked up the reins.

‘Are you sure you can drive, Miss Brown?’ he asked, quite pleased that he had managed to enunciate a whole sentence clearly.

‘I think so, my lord. Please be quiet and take deep breaths.’

‘Why?’

‘You are disgustingly drunk.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ agreed Lord Charles meekly.

Harriet clicked her tongue at the horses and then said, ‘Walk on,’ and to her relief, they did. She had no intention of telling this boozy lord that she had never driven anything other than her father’s donkey cart before. Harriet was determined not to abandon Lord Charles until he was made to see the folly of his ways. She had to help the Tribbles, and a sober Lord Charles would be a better assistant than a drunk one. Glad it was not the fashionable hour and the Park was therefore thin of company, Harriet drove sedately round and round. The cat fell asleep, its head on Lord Charles’s knee, and Lord Charles fell asleep as well. Harriet drove back to the gates, stopped the carriage, opened her reticule, which was full of useful items, and took out a lead pencil and a notebook. She wrote: ‘Dear Misses Tribble, Do not be concerned for me. I am spending more time in the Park with Lord Charles than is fashionably correct, but we have much to talk about. H. Brown.’ Harriet did not have any pin money. She searched in Lord Charles’s pockets until she found a shilling and then called to a passing urchin and handed the boy the shilling and the note and told him to deliver the note to Holles Street. Then, in case the Tribbles should come looking for her before she had had a chance to sober Lord Charles, she bravely drove out of the Park to look for a less fashionable spot. She decided on Kensington Gardens. She knew they lay to the west of Hyde. Once more she had to stop, this time at Hyde Park toll, and search Lord Charles for money under the amused gaze of the tollkeeper. Then off again along the leafy Brompton Road. A thin flat disk of a sun was bleaching London into pale-golds and light-browns. The wind was chill and she was glad she had had the foresight to put on two petticoats. Her carriage dress, designed for her by Yvette, was of blue kerseymere, edged with fur, and worn under one of Effy’s cloaks.

She turned into Kensington Gardens, hoping always that nothing would happen to frighten the horses, for she knew she could not handle them if they grew in the least frisky. Kensington Gardens had become a middle-class venue. Few people were out on this cold day. She turned the carriage off the walk and drove along under the trees and came to a stop under a huge sycamore. It had a few jutting-out lower branches and she jumped down and tied the horses’ reins to one of them. Then she returned to the carriage, wrapped a bearskin rug about the sleeping lord’s knees and put a fold of it over the cat, took out a small book of essays and began to read.

After an hour, Lord Charles awoke with a start, the sounds of battle still in his ears, for he had been dreaming of the war. He looked about him in a dazed way and then at his companion, who was turning the pages of her book.

‘What are we doing here, ma’am?’ he asked plaintively.

Harriet put down her book. ‘So you are awake, my lord. It was necessary to take you somewhere where you could sleep off your debauch in peace. You were in a disgusting condition.’

‘I am sorry, Miss Brown,’ said Lord Charles ruefully.

‘You must be aware that the taking of strong drink is a sign of weakness, not of manhood. Strong men can face the day without resource to alcohol.’

‘I now have the headache,’ said Lord Charles crossly, ‘and you are making it worse by sitting there giving me a jaw-me-dead. I have already apologized. Please be lady-like enough to accept my apology.’

‘Very well,’ said Harriet. ‘We shall talk about your sad propensity to drink on another occasion.’

Lord Charles briefly closed his eyes. There will not be another occasion if I can help it, he thought bleakly.

‘The reason I wish you sober and not drunk is because I am in need of your help,’ said Harriet.

‘Indeed?’ he drawled. ‘Marriage, I suppose.’

‘Yes, but not mine. It is time Miss Effy and Miss Amy Tribble were married.’

He blinked. ‘It is time both of ’em were dead,’ he pointed out.

‘Nonsense. They have two friends, a Mr Haddon and a Mr Randolph.’ She took out her notebook again. ‘See! I will write the names down for you so that you do not forget. I wish you to seek out these gentlemen and somehow put the idea of marriage into their minds.’

‘I know Haddon by sight. Nabob, isn’t he? Rich as Golden Ball. Put the idea of marriage in his mind, and he’ll up and choose himself a pretty young widow.’

‘I do not think so,’ said Harriet primly. ‘Both gentlemen spend a great deal of time with the sisters. The Tribbles should not have to worry about work at their age.’

‘My capable Miss Brown. If both gentlemen are such constant visitors, would it not be easier for you yourself to drop a word in their bachelor ears?’

‘It is better that such an idea should come from a man,’ said Harriet. ‘All men, no matter how kind and good, have a deep contempt for women’s ideas.’

His head ached and Miss Brown’s dictatorial manner was irritating him greatly. ‘Do you not think, Miss Brown,’ he said acidly, ‘that I might have more important things to do with my time than play Cupid to a couple of elderly females?’

‘You have nothing more important to do with your time,’ said Harriet evenly. ‘Frequenting Cyprians and addling your brains with drink are worthless pastimes.’

Lord Charles searched his mind in an effort to bring up some worthy pastime but could not think of one. He eyed Harriet in a calculating way. He wondered what it would be like to knock Miss Brown off that self-made pedestal of hers. And then, what else had he to do? He was bored. He was growing increasingly angry with Jack Perkins, feeling he had been manipulated into getting drunk. Since his return from the wars, he had lazily gone along with what Jack wanted. Certainly, the man had saved his life, but he, Lord Charles Marsham, was weary of having noisy nights with grey days tinged with guilt to follow. He would not go so far as to seduce Miss Brown, but it would be amusing to make her fall in love with him.

He smiled into her eyes and raised her gloved hand and kissed it. Harriet hung her head and blushed. Good, thought Lord Charles. First move to me.

He is angry with me, thought Harriet, confused and sad. I do believe he plans to make me fall in love with him to teach me a lesson. Then she brightened. All she had to do was pretend to be increasingly fond of him, and while the game amused him, he might do something for the Tribbles.

She smiled up at him shyly. Her eyelashes were very long, he noticed, and that unfashionably generous mouth of hers was just made for kissing. ‘I shall be glad to be of help to you,’ said Lord Charles. ‘Have we not been out for some time? Will the Misses Tribble not be worried about you?’

‘I sent them a note,’ said Harriet, ‘while you were asleep. I am afraid I robbed you of a shilling, and then another shilling for the toll.’

‘Do you not have any pin money, Capability Brown?’

‘None at all.’

‘That is sad. There must be many frippery things you long to buy.’

‘I have no interest in fripperies,’ said Miss Harriet Brown sternly, but then, with a disarming smile, she added, ‘No, that is not precisely true. I saw a painted fan in Exeter Change. A trifling thing with a picture of an Italian scene – you know, the usual Italian scene, crag and temple and approaching thunderstorm. Not fashionable and only a shilling, but I did want it.’

‘You will need to have some card money for the social rounds.’

‘I do not play cards. I do not approve of gambling.’

‘Oh, Miss Brown, of what in society do you approve?’

A mischievous smile lit up her eyes. ‘I approve of the Tribbles.’

‘In other words, you are reminding me of my duty? Very well, Miss Brown. I shall seek out Mr Haddon. Now, if you will change places with me. I shall drive you back.’ He jumped down and the cat rolled over and protested sleepily. ‘How did that thing get there?’ he demanded.

‘You brought it,’ said Harriet, getting down and walking around to the passenger side of the carriage. ‘Do you not remember? No, of course, you would not.’ And having effectively reminded Lord Charles of his drunken state, she climbed into the carriage again.

Neither Effy nor Amy had expected to have to lecture Miss Harriet Brown on her morals, but that is exactly what they did when she returned after an absence of nearly two hours. Harriet placidly agreed with every word and apologized prettily, saying she had forgotten the time. She and Lord Charles had not discussed anything very important.

Mr Haddon and Mr Randolph came around that evening for a game of cards and the sisters confided their worries about Harriet to the two gentlemen. ‘Perhaps,’ said Effy, ‘one of you could seek him out and find out if he is really such a monster of depravity as he appears to be. Sound him out about marriage.’

Lord Charles, on approaching his home, recognized Jack Perkins’s carriage outside. He suddenly decided he could not bear any more of his friend’s company that day and drove on to his club to begin the work on Mr Haddon and Mr Randolph. But although both gentlemen were members, neither was to be found in the club rooms. He decided to go and see Guy Sutherland instead.

The large man gave him a warm welcome and suggested they spend the evening at the playhouse. Edmund Kean was performing in
The Merchant of Venice
. To Lord Charles’s surprise, Guy really did want to listen to the play instead of ogling the prostitutes or getting drunk in the box. The performance was excellent and Lord Charles found himself wondering whether Miss Brown would enjoy it as well. She was an awful puritan, but, on the other hand, she did not seem to have much fun. As a start to winning her affections, it might be a good idea to go to Exeter Change in the morning and look for that fan. Guy did not want to go to the green room after the play either, saying he preferred actors when they were on the stage and found them deuced tedious off it.

They went back to his lodgings and drank tea and talked about the play. At last, Lord Charles said, ‘I’ve been thinking about all those battles. How far away it all seems now. I am lucky to be alive.’

‘You are indeed,’ agreed Guy, spearing a slice of bread on the toasting fork and holding it to the flames of the fire. ‘Poor little Corporal Flanagan. How he ever got you up on his back, I’ll never know.’

Lord Charles went very still. ‘Flanagan?’ he asked. ‘What has he to do with it?’

‘Heard about it afterwards from his widow. Don’t you remember Bridget Flanagan, who followed her man right up to the front lines? Flanagan found you lying with that sabre wound and the little Irishman gets his missus to load you onto his back and he ran with you from the front lines. Then the poor fellow went straight back and got himself killed.’

‘I was under the impression that Jack Perkins saved my life,’ said Lord Charles in a thin voice.

‘You are mistaken. Bridget Flanagan wouldn’t tell a lie. Besides, Jack was alongside of me when you were being rescued. Ask him. He’ll tell you.’

‘And where is the Widow Flanagan now?’

‘In Cork, I believe. That’s where Flanagan said he came from. If you want her direction, I think Captain Flaherty has it. He is at Limmer’s at the moment.’

‘I must send her something,’ said Lord Charles. ‘Demme, I’ve been labouring under the impression that Jack saved my life, which is why . . .’

‘Which is why you’ve been allowing him to manage your life and camp out in your quarters for most of the day. Bad fellow, Jack. Would have told you yesterday, but you seemed monstrous set on the man.’

‘Tell me, Guy, am I such a weakling, such a fool as to spend my nights looking at the bottom of several bottles or riding fit to break my neck?’

‘No, no,’ said Guy soothingly. ‘War fever, that’s all. Takes us all a while to settle down.’

Lord Charles’s temper was made worse by the knowledge on his late return home that Jack Perkins was waiting in the library.