My Wayward Lady (12 page)
Lady Harriet possessed the courage of her convictions in abundance. Lord Chalfont had never before encountered a woman like that. He found it oddly attractive and most definitely intriguing. Unlike the other members of her sex. Lady Harriet improved upon acquaintance. Instead of rapidly becoming bored with her as he had with every other woman he could remember, no matter how beautiful or how seductive, he only wanted to know more about Harriet with each encounter.
The marquess chuckled to himself as he recalled the pleading expression in the dark blue eyes fixed so intently on him when they met one another in the park. She had been desperate to keep her secret and he had been delighted to oblige. The look of gratitude that had flooded across her face when he treated her as a perfect stranger had sent a wave of pleasurable warmth over him that the most seductive glances of raving beauties, the most languorous sighs of practiced flirts had failed to inspire in him. There was something about sharing this particular secret with this particular woman that made Adrian feel closer to her than he had to many women with whom he had enjoyed far more intimate relations. He grinned remembering how she had looked in the awkward Quaker bonnet whose deep brim all but obscured her face, except for the unruly red curls that escaped in spite of her best efforts. The jaunty little hat she had been wearing today was much more the thing to set off the glorious hair and the vivid little face, as was the tightly fitting riding habit. She was a tiny thing, but perfectly proportioned, with a figure that quite took his breath away, now that it was no longer 109
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hidden by an unfashionably outmoded gown and numerous shawls.
Lady Harriet was not precisely beautiful: her face was far too full of character, her mouth too generous, her chin too determined for the classic loveliness required in an incomparable. But there was something infinitely appealing about the deep blue eyes fringed with thick dark lashes, and the straight little nose with its sprinkling of freckles. One felt upon looking into those expressive eyes that one was looking into her very soul—a soul of great depth, and so unlike the many vain and shallow ones he had come across lately. Yet there were tiny crinkles of laughter at the corners of her eyes that showed that Lady Harriet Fareham, though she might throw herself into life's difficulties headlong, did not take herself so seriously that she could not see the humor in it all. Having met Lady Harriet, one was unlikely to forget her, and, if one were Lord Chalfont, one wanted to know more about her.
Fortunately, now that he knew her true identity, the marquess could arrange to encounter her at functions she was likely to attend. He grinned. Who knew, now he might actually enjoy accompanying Alicia and her mother to the
ton
parties she insisted he escort her to. Lord Chalfont felt oddly cheered as he finished his morning ride. All of a sudden he had something to look forward to besides brief sessions on Tuesdays with a mysterious Quakeress. Knowing that Lady Harriet was part of the world he now inhabited made that world, which hitherto had been so excruciatingly dull and uninspiring, at least palatable. Now Adrian could be 110
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reasonably certain he would see her again in the near future. Certainly he intended to ride in the park every morning on the off chance that her presence there this morning meant it was part of her daily routine.
In fact it was not in the park but in the Countess of Rotherham's splendid ballroom where Adrian next laid eyes upon Lady Harriet Fareham, thus fulfilling her quickly suppressed wish that he could see her in the ball gown Madame Celeste had created.
The gown was so exquisite that even Harriet's sister had been moved to comment on it. "Why, Harriet, you look vastly elegant this evening," she had exclaimed in some surprise, for it was rare that her sister put any effort into her appearance, especially for an event such as the Countess of Rotherham's ball, which was sure to be a sad crush. Elizabeth was particularly delighted with Harriet's appearance this evening since she and her betrothed had hatched a scheme to introduce Lady Harriet to Lord Rokeby's longtime friend Lord Aylward, Earl of Woodbridge. The Countess of Rotherham's affair had seemed the appropriate place and Elizabeth was highly gratified to see her sister in such looks. Indeed Harriet was rather pleased with the effect herself as she had surveyed her image in the looking glass one last time before departing for the countess's imposing mansion in Grosvenor Square. The silver tissue frock exquisitely fitted over the clinging white satin slip lent her gown distinction, separating it from the requisite white attire of the young miss, and softening the effect of her hair which generally appeared so deep a red as to be seen as carroty. The silver 111
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lent an air of sophistication and sparkled against the creamy skin of her neck and shoulders. The short waist, combined with elegantly draped skirt made her appear taller than usual, while the heavy trimming of silver roses along the hem weighed it down enough so it revealed the long slim lines of her body when she moved.
Pearls at her neck and threaded through her hair completed the ensemble, and Harriet grudgingly admitted to herself that she did look rather fine. Even though she usually could have cared less about her appearance it was nice to see the admiration in her sister's eyes. Lady Elizabeth, with her golden hair, blue eyes, and rosebud lips was always the picture of feminine grace and beauty and Harriet had spent a lifetime feeling somewhat unkempt, slightly awkward, and always less attractive than her exquisite older sister. Therefore, she could be pardoned for the small surge of satisfaction that rose within her as she thought that for once she was equal to Lady Elizabeth in a la modality. This heady feeling was not dispelled as they mounted the impressive marble staircase at the Countess of Rotherham's. Even Lord Fareham, pressed into service for the occasion, blinked in surprise as he became aware of his youngest daughter's presence. "Have you done something different, Harriet? You look very fine," he commented vaguely.
"Why, thank you. Papa," Harriet replied with considerable astonishment. She must be looking splendid indeed if the sight of her was enough to shake her absentminded father out of his usual abstraction.
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"Harriet always looks most presentable." Aunt Almeria sniffed, coming to her niece's defense. "Just because she is a sensible young person who does not waste her life on the fripperies of the moment does not mean that she does not have a neat appearance."
Lord Fareham had retreated again into his customary fog, but Harriet shot a grateful look at her aunt—not that she agreed with her. Aunt Almeria's concept of a pleasing appearance was vastly different from the rest of the world's, but Harriet appreciated her support.
At the moment, however, she wished to be more than presentable for they had reached the top of the stairs and the first person Harriet caught sight of as she surveyed the glittering crowd in the enormous ballroom was Lord Chalfont. Even in the crush of people he towered over the crowd, his proud, unself-conscious bearing setting him apart as much as his prodigious height and athletic physique. Disgusted at herself for doing so, Harriet strained to see his companions. He was most definitely escorting someone and Harriet was consumed with curiosity. What sort of woman would command the attention of the dashing, not to mention rakish, Marquess of Kidderham?
At last there was a break in the press of people around them and Harriet was able to distinguish a tall, elegant, darkhaired woman who bore herself with the natural assurance of a great beauty. Alicia De Villiers! Harriet would have recognized the regal bearing of her old schoolmate anywhere.
Now
she knew where she had heard the name of Chalfont before. Alicia had been forever boasting of the great wealth 113
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and impeccable lineage of the man she had been betrothed to since birth. Adrian, Julius, Lord Chalfont, seventh Marquess of Kidderham, Harriet murmured to herself; she had heard it often enough. To be sure, this long-standing arrangement had not kept Alicia from trying to reduce every male in her orbit to slavish admiration, from the dancing master to the gardener, but it had given her an air of superiority to have her future so brilliantly assured when her less fortunate schoolmates had to look forward to the struggle of making a suitable match.
Of course Harriet had not paid much attention to Alicia's frequent enumerations of her betrothed's many enviable attributes, but she did recall one afternoon when Alicia, after discussing his vast estates and the extremely favorable mention of his lordship in the most recent dispatches, began to describe his person in terms that would have been excessive for a Greek god.
Harriet had been able to stand it no longer. "Do stop, Alicia. No one is such a paragon and well you know it. Why I am beginning to think he is naught but a figment of your imagination." The others had laughed and Alicia had stomped off in high dudgeon, but now Harriet admitted grudgingly to herself as she observed the gentleman in question, that her former schoolmate's imagination had not been so overheated as Harriet had thought it to be. The Marquess of Kidderham was a man among men, even apart from the exalted rank and enormous fortune that were so important to Alicia. Fortunately Harriet was able to banish these unsettling reflections from her mind as they moved slowly along to be 114
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greeted by their hostess who had warm words of welcome, especially for Elizabeth. "Rokeby. Such an estimable man, my dear. You are fortunate indeed! Young women have been throwing themselves at his head this age. But it is easy to see why he renounced his bachelor status when he met you—so lovely, the perfect countess for him." Elizabeth flushed with gratitude at these words, and then, catching sight of her fiancé as he made his way toward them, she flushed even more deeply with a glow of happiness so apparent to everyone that even Harriet, as skeptical as she was where love, romance, and marriage were concerned, could not help feeling the tiniest pang of envy.
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But these feelings were quickly dismissed as Harriet realized with dismay that Lord Rokeby was not alone. At his elbow and a few paces behind followed a gentleman with a pleasant open countenance, a man who in many ways resembled Rokeby himself. He was of medium height, and medium build with brown hair, regular features, elegantly but quietly dressed in dark evening clothes with nothing distinctive about them to set them apart. In fact, there was nothing in the least remarkable or even interesting about him. A hideous premonition seized Harriet and she darted a suspicious glance at her sister who had the grace to look somewhat self-conscious as she greeted the two men.
"My lord." She smiled fondly at her fiancé. "How fortunate that you found us so quickly in such a sad crush. Lord Aylward, what a pleasure it is to see you again. I would like to make you known to my sister. Lady Harriet. Rokeby tells me that you keep a magnificent stable and that you are to have a horse running at Newmarket this year," Elizabeth continued, darting a meaningful glance at Harriet. "My sister is a most devoted horsewoman."
"Do you have a horse in London, then. Lady Harriet? I myself find it rather tame after the countryside and there is so little space really to give one's mount its head." Lord Aylward spoke in a tone of such pleasant interest that Harriet had no choice but to respond with equal enthusiasm in spite of her urgent wish to strangle her sister. So, not content with 116
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dragging her to London and
ton
parties, Elizabeth was now going to throw respectable prospects in her way. She would not have it! Inside, Harriet was positively fuming, but she managed to keep her anger contained. After all, poor Lord Aylward was only an unsuspecting pawn in this game and he was perfectly harmless as he did his best to make conversation on topics that would be of interest to her. Actually he turned out to be quite nice, and the only things that Harriet could truly find to hold against him was that Elizabeth so obviously meant for the two of them to become an item, that and the fact that compared to Lord Chalfont. Lord Aylward, seemed hopelessly dull.
However they chatted pleasantly enough about country matters. As the Earl of Woodbridge, Lord Aylward owned several large estates and was surprisingly knowledgeable about such things. He actually turned out to be more interesting to talk to than most men. In fact, Harriet might have enjoyed their discussion had she not been constantly aware of her sister's eyes upon her and the complacent expression in them as they observed Lady Harriet and Lord Aylward deep in conversation. Harriet even went so far as to allow the earl to lead her onto the dance floor in a quadrille, but it was with some relief that she returned to her party, hoping all the while that the gossips would not read more meaning into their conversation than there actually was. Fortunately for Harriet, by the time the dance was ended, her brother had arrived. Charlie could always be counted upon to rescue her and to take a turn around the ballroom 117
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with her to give her a respite from conversing with or assiduously avoiding boring partners.
It was as they were making their way slowly around the perimeter of the brilliantly lit ballroom, chatting about an auction Charlie had attended at Tattersall's that morning that they very nearly bumped into Lord Chalfont, freed for the moment from his duties as escort while Alicia danced with the Duke of Staunton and her mother exchanged the latest
on
dits
with her cronies.
"Ah, Fareham," he greeted Charlie with pleasure. "Did you purchase the hunter that caught your eye today? He was superb."