My Wayward Lady (8 page)

It took only a few conversations for Harriet to realize that the hope of placing Mrs. Lovington's ladies in genteel households was impractical. She regretfully discarded it in favor of seeking out possible positions as assistants in the various establishments in Bond Street. This plan won a great deal of favor from Rose who very correctly pointed out that in order to accomplish anything in this direction her mistress needed some influence with the proprietresses of these establishments. "And the way to gain influence is to patronize these shops, my lady, which is something your wardrobe could use a great deal of," the maid pronounced firmly as she gazed critically at an outmoded walking dress she had pulled out for inspection.

Harriet wrinkled her nose. "I expect you are in the right of it, but I do find it so boring, what with the endless fittings and poking and prodding and everyone aghast if you are wearing a gown of the poplin that was popular last Season instead of the striped one which is the favorite during this one, or if one continues to wear a pelisse when mantles have become all the rage. I ask you, if something is comfortable and 71

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serviceable and shows no signs of wear why should a person not don it more than one Season in succession?"

"Oh no, my lady. That won't do at all, especially not here in London." Rose was horrified at such a heretical speech. "It would never do for Lady Elizabeth's sister to be considered démodé. Why what ever would Lord Rokeby think?"

"In my opinion we all give entirely too much thought to what Lord Rokeby thinks. If his regard for my sister is so tepid that he can be made to cry off because his future sisterin-law is a frump, then we are well rid of him. And he will be lucky if that is all I am," Harriet responded darkly. "If I have to mind my ways so carefully for fear of offending him, I am likely to do something far more outrageous than being seen in a quiz of a bonnet."

"No, miss, of course not." Recognizing from long experience the unfortunate circumstances that could arise from such a conversation. Rose hastened to intervene. "But you do owe it to the, ahem, your
students
to acquire some ascendancy over at least one or two of the fashionable modistes in order to be able to find positions. After all, you did promise to do what you could to help."

"Yeees," Harriet agreed slowly. "And in spite of my lack of a la modality, I am better acquainted with fitting rooms than I am with taprooms."

"Taprooms?" Rose's jaw dropped in astonishment.

"Yes. Lucy would like to own her own tavern someday and I have absolutely no knowledge in that area whatsoever. I do not have the slightest idea how to proceed in helping her." 72

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"I should think not," the maid snorted in disgust. Sometimes she was inclined to agree with her mistress's sister, the angelic Lady Elizabeth, that Lady Harriet needed to be watched constantly. There was no predicting what sort of scrape she would get herself into. Her lively curiosity and generous nature were inclined to overcome her good sense more often than not, and if her family and friends were not careful to keep an eye on her, she could soon find herself in a compromising situation. In Thornby where she was well known and the family highly respected, this was not so likely, but here in the metropolis where one's reputation could rise or fall on a single word it was dangerous business indeed. Rose did her best to steer her mistress toward more acceptable lines of thought. "Now as to the shops you should patronize..."

"But if that is what Lucy wishes to do, then—" Harriet would not be diverted.

"Then you can ask John Coachman to recommend her at the Rose and Crown in Thornby," her maid interrupted her.

"Heaven knows he should have enough influence there. No one could be a more regular customer than he is. But you, my lady, must concentrate on the shops you know best such as Madame Celeste's."

And thus it was that Harriet, spurred on by her own noble projects, began to acquire such a distinct air of fashion that even her sister was moved to remark in considerable surprise one morning as Harriet was departing to spend a pleasurable hour among the books at Hatchard's, "What a charming 73

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ensemble! Is that the new Charlotte pelisse I saw described in
Ackermann
's? It is vastly becoming." Indeed it was, for the green sarsnet shot with white brought out the rich red highlights in Harriet's hair, while the fullness at the back emphasized the gracefulness of her slight figure, making it appear taller than usual. "Er, yes it is," Harriet admitted sheepishly as she waited for the next remark that would compare it to her usual mode of dress or the drab gray gown she seemed to wear so frequently, but none was forthcoming. Beyond directing a quizzical look at her sister. Lady Elizabeth said nothing further, merely smiling as she continued, "I am so looking forward to Lady Walsingham's musicale this evening. Lord Rokeby has promised to take both of us. I do hope you will like it, Harriet. I feel certain you will find it more to your taste than you have found the affairs we have been frequenting of late."

Elizabeth directed an anxious glance at her sister. Much as she wished to please Lord Rokeby by making this Season absolutely perfect, she did not wish to do so at the expense of her sister. Harriet could be outrageous, to be sure, and Elizabeth did not always understand her sister's madcap behavior, but she knew it sprang from nothing more than high spirits coupled with a genuine desire to do good, and it never caused any really serious trouble.

Though Elizabeth herself was thoroughly enjoying the splendid routs and balls, she could appreciate just how tedious they must be for someone like Harriet who was never so happy as when she was galloping about the countryside 74

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around Thornby or reading the plethora of newspapers and journals to which she subscribed.

At least Charlie was home from the wars and here in London. As a child, Harriet had always been more her brother's playmate than her sister's even though she and Elizabeth were closer in age. Charlie had allowed his lively younger sister to follow after him on the condition that she keep up with him and not whine or cry when she hurt herself. They had made an odd pair as they tramped across the park in search of adventure, he so tall and fair and she so short, running along to keep up with his long strides. Harriet had missed Charlie desperately when he had gone away to school and lived for his vacations when they could go off exploring. She had written him constantly while he was off fighting in the Peninsula and existed for his letters which, though briefer than hers, were packed full of exciting detail about the long marches across barren, inhospitable countryside or bloody clashes with the French. More than once Harriet had looked up from one of his travel-stained missives, her eyes shining with excitement and longing to remark, "Oh how I wish I were a man!" In truth, Elizabeth knew Harriet found very little about being a woman that interested her. She was utterly bored with the feminine chatter of their neighbors in the country. She did not long for babies or a home of her own, and at the local assemblies she was far more likely to chat about farming or politics with her dancing partners than she was to flirt with them. More than once she had been heard to declare that she 75

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would rather have a brother or a friend like Charlie than a husband.

Yes, Elizabeth could see why London, aside from such obvious attractions as the theater, the opera, and some of the historic sites, would hold no attraction for her sister. Indeed, at the outset of their sojourn in the metropolis Harriet had seemed to have lost her usual sparkle. Of late, however, some of that appeared to have returned. And now here she was dressed in the first stare of fashion. Was it possible that she was at last becoming a young woman of the
ton
instead of the sad romp she had always been? Lady Elizabeth admitted to herself that she would miss that, for outrageous though she might be, Harriet inevitably enjoyed life to the fullest. She was always brimming over with energy, vitality, and a natural warmth and generosity that made her an interesting, though somewhat unsettling companion, and a loyal sister. For Harriet's sake, however, Elizabeth hoped that this new look signaled an acceptance of the
ton
because she wished to see her sister welcomed into that world and appreciated instead of being labeled a bluestocking and relegated to the lonely position of an eccentric. It was not that Harriet intended or even wished to be at odds with the fashionable world; indeed life would have been a great deal pleasanter if she could enjoy it as her sister did, but she could not. When Harriet had come to London for her first Season she had expected to be overwhelmed by the wit and charm of those among the Upper Ten Thousand, but to her intense disappointment she had discovered that the topics of conversation were no more elevated in London than they 76

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were in Thornby. The women, though more worldly than the squire's daughters and Lady Marcus and her two daughters, were just as obsessed with who wore what and who had danced with whom as the women of Thornby were. To Harriet it appeared that society in London was no more enlightened or interesting than it was in Buckinghamshire, merely on a larger scale and more competitive. She had been as bored by the
ton's
most glittering balls as she had been by the local assemblies.

For most young women, the prospect of catching a husband outweighed any of the possible discomforts of the Season—the fear of being left partnerless at a ball, the dreadful possibility of being labeled a quiz or, worse yet, a bluestocking, the agony of having the same goal as all the other young women, many of whom were more wealthy or more beautiful or both. None of these common afflictions had bothered Harriet in the least because she had never entertained any idea of finding a husband. The first time she had revealed this singular point of view to her sister, Elizabeth had been shocked beyond words. For a full minute she had gazed at her sister, her blue eyes wide with horrified dismay. "Not want to be married!" She gasped.

"What ever will you do?"

"I shall stay here and take care of Papa and keep house for Charlie until he marries and then I expect I can move to the dower house," Harriet had responded simply.

"But, I mean what will you do without a husband, how ever will you manage?" Elizabeth was unable to comprehend such a fate.

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"I shall manage the same as I always have. I shall be me and not someone who is at the beck and call of another person who would probably be a great deal less intelligent than I am. Look at poor Lady Winslow, worn to a shadow by that worthless husband of hers who runs through her inheritance and does nothing but drink and ride to the hounds. And then there is the squire's wife who not only has to contend with her loutish husband, but with son who is a boor as well. And what have they gotten for their pains—the respectability of being married women. No thank you. I would prefer to be disreputable and free."

"But what about love?" her sister protested. "Do you not long for a handsome man to admire you and take care of you"—her eyes grew soft and dreamy—"and give you babies?"

Harriet snorted in a most unladylike fashion. "Love? Maybe someone could love you for you are soft and pretty and biddable. I am not at all like you. No, I think love is as unlikely as marriage for me. I am just not that sort of person. I am not at all romantic or silly like the Marcus girls, who are forever giggling over one handsome face after the other or filling their days with foolish novels from the circulating library and lessons in dancing, music, and anything else that they hope to use to catch a man."

"But how lonely you will be." Elizabeth remained unconvinced.

Harriet smiled. After all, her sister truly was concerned about her welfare and was trying to insure it the only way she knew how. "You will have lots of babies and I shall come and 78

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visit them from time to time and question them fiercely about how they are doing in their lessons as Aunt Almeria used to do. Remember?"

Elizabeth, who had never been much at schoolwork, shuddered. "Yes, I do. It is all very well for you to remember such things because you were her favorite. You were always so much quicker than Charlie and I despite your being younger. But you do not wish to be like Aunt Almeria with her scholarly meetings and—"

"Why not?" Harriet broke in. "She seems to be perfectly content with her life in Bath and never appears to lack for friends or amusement."

"No?" Elizabeth was uncertain. For some reason, she could not say quite what, Aunt Almeria's well-regulated way of life was not the one she would choose for her vibrant younger sister. To be sure, Harriet's keen mind, which she never made the least attempt to hide, made gentlemen uneasy more often than not. And her sense of the ridiculous, which endeared her to her family, did not have the same effect on dancing partners determined to cut a dash. Nor did her outstanding equestrian ability recommend her to men who were only too aware that she could best them at almost anything. Still, Harriet was warm and loving to her family, generous and concerned with the welfare of everyone in the neighboring countryside. No, she was not at all like Aunt Almeria, who was kind enough to her immediate family but had not the least use of anyone else, while Harriet was eternally curious about the lives and hearts of everyone she met.

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She knew the names of all the members of the burgeoning Lopcombe family and all its various branches, as well as the ages of the blacksmith's children, which of them could say their letters, and who could be depended upon to carry a message. She visited the bedridden, listening to their reminiscences and complaints with a sympathetic ear, never missing the chance to help if she could. And she was fierce in the defense of those who had been done an injustice even if it forced her to behave in a most unladylike manner. No, Harriet was not like Aunt Almeria who, in spite of her burning intellectual interests and her loyalty to her brother's family, was a rather dried-up old thing. Harriet was passionate and lively, and ripe for adventure. Elizabeth could not envision her sister retiring tamely to Bath. In fact, she was not precisely sure what sort of life she pictured for Harriet, but she knew it would be as unusual as Harriet herself was.