The Other Harlow Girl

by Lynn Messina

  “Ha!” Huntly said, greatly relieved that his friend seemed unaltered despite all the changes around him. “We got in last night. I haven’t even unpacked yet. You were my first stop. But, come on, tell me this Banbury tale isn’t true. You’re not married, are you?”

  Trent laughed and led his friend to his quarters to lend him dry clothes. Morrow was in the dressing room ironing a cravat for that night’s dinner engagement, and he looked up, surprised to see the duke back so soon. “The marquess seems to have had a mishap, the nature of which I’m not still not clear. Please provide him with some temporary provisions and send one of the footmen to his address to get a change of clothes.”

  “Very good, your grace,” he said, disappearing into the hall to pass on the message.

  Alex offered to help Felix peel off his wet topcoat and confirmed that the report of his marriage was indeed accurate. “By special license not six months ago,” he said, when the offending coat was finally removed and tossed over a chair. “I started to put it in a letter and decided I would much rather confess my weakness in person. Your timing is impeccable, for the dowager is throwing a ball for us next week. She is determined to put a brave face on my marriage.”

  “A brave face? I do not understand,” Huntly said.

  “I married Emma Harlow,” he said simply, as if it explained everything.

  But it explained nothing to Huntly, who furrowed his brow as if trying to recall why that name was familiar to him. Had they met at the duke’s stately family seat, Pembroke Hall? At Almack’s during one of his rare visits? Did she have her come out the year he left?

  The duke saw his confusion and sought to help his memory. “The Harlow Hoyden.”

  “You’re joking,” Huntly said, although even as he uttered the words, he knew it was not a joke. The woman in the conservatory—the confused, bizarre, entirely daft woman—fit the description of a hoyden to a T.

  “She’s an absolute scapegrace and she has an absurd amount of confidence in her own abilities, but she’s kind and she’s clever and she makes me laugh and every time I’m away from her I want to be with her. It’s really a rather dreadful state of affairs,” the duke confessed with the brightest smile his friend had ever seen on his face, “and I’m sorry you have to see me like this.”

  “I’m not, old man,” Felix said with an honesty that surprised him. Yes, he was horrified that the duke had aligned himself with such a quiz. He’d always imagined him with someone as elegant and sophisticated as he was. But he couldn’t deny his friend’s happiness and he couldn’t deny the appeal of a woman who didn’t fit the typical mold. After years and years of insipid misses, it was little wonder the Duke of Trent would fall for a hoyden who would invent her own watering hose. It was obvious she shared his gardening bent.

  Of course, the marquess thought, realizing this was the last piece of the puzzle, the duke could never be happy with a woman who didn’t raise orchids, as the cultivation of flowers was a significant part of his life.

  Even a man like Huntly, who had cleverly sidestepped the parson’s mousetrap on more than one occasion, knew common interests were a vitally important component of a successful marriage. He was not entirely averse to wedded bliss, of course. He simply did not feel that it suited him at this juncture, for he relished his freedom and could not in all good conscience have sailed away for years at a time if he’d had a wife and children at home. Although he believed his decision not to abandon a family for the high seas showed maturity and consideration, the mamas of unattached daughters found his scrupulousness officious, if not downright treasonous. As far as they were concerned, any marquess possessed of a large fortune owed it to king and country to remain in the country.

  Knowing he was a prime catch, Huntly had limited his flirtations to bachelor fare and had had a black-haired Cyprian in keeping at the time of his departure. A man of considerable address, he didn’t doubt he could pick up his liaison with the lovely Titania—or, indeed, any of his former paramours—at the exact spot where he’d dropped it, but he found the idea oddly unappealing. During his many months at sea, he’d thought of her only once, when the ship’s doctor quoted a scene from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and although he had little experience with romance—and even less with love—he suspected one should think about the object of one’s affection at least twice in as many years.

  Trent’s valet returned with a tray of cheese and meats, which had been pressed upon him by Tupper, and assured the marquess that his own garments would be up directly. In the meantime, Morrow provided him with a dressing gown rather than lend him a full set of the duke’s clothes. By the time he had him properly dressed, he would have to undress him to dress him properly again.

  The two friends removed to the sitting room, where a bottle of wine and two glasses had already been set up. “Perfect,” said the duke with satisfaction. “Now sit down and tell me all about your travels.”

  “I’d rather hear the story of your courtship,” Huntly said, but he complied with the duke’s request and devoted a good deal of the afternoon to entertaining Trent with various misadventures at sea.

  “And of course the boat sunk,” the marquess said as Trent laughed at the image of his elegant friend being toppled by an overlarge bird with a beak the size of a gentleman’s shoe. “We were in the shallows so nobody suffered any ill effects, except I was wearing my last dry shirt because of the rainstorm the night before. I had nothing to change into save Lord Swarthmore’s riding cape, which was made for a British winter, not a tropical summer, and I was bundled so tightly I thought for sure I would develop some frightful ague that would carry away my nose or some other appendage like poor Lord Elgin. But we achieved our goal and indeed confirmed that the auk we had discovered was of an unknown species. I do not know how it will be officially classified, but I suggested it should be called Gigas dolors in asinum, which translates as the giant pain-in-the-arse auk,” he concluded with deep satisfaction.

  “Clearly, it was a remarkably successful expedition,” Trent observed. “When do you set out again?”

  “When I think of all the estate business that has piled up in my absence, I’m sorely tempted to hop on the first freighter out of London,” Huntly confessed with a rueful laugh. “But I will steadfastly resist the urge, for I am enjoying the novel sensation of being back on dry land. Or,” he added with a wry grin, “perhaps I should say was, as the land in this particular spot is rather soggy. To be completely candid, I find I’m eager to enjoy the simple life of a London gentleman. Do you know, I’m actually looking forward to sitting in the bow window at White’s and watching the dandies parade by in their fine plumage.”

  The duke smiled. “From your description, I gather you’ve been watching a parade of fine plumage for two years.”

  “Ah, but with a glass of fine claret in my hand. Trust me, my friend, that will make all the difference. Now tell me about yourself. How did you meet the Harlow Hoyden?”

  Few knew the truth of his and Emma’s courtship, which was by all accounts scandalous, from the moment she asked him to seduce her sister to the moment she herself seduced him in an inn in Dover, and Trent gave his friend a version that was less edited than the story generally known but one that still concealed most of the truth. Although there were state secrets at stake, he couldn’t bring himself to elide the part where Emma saved England from possible invasion by chasing down a French spy. He left out many of the damning details, such as the fact that the spy in question happened to be her sister’s fiancé, who had only proposed to the girl in order to gain access to her brother’s secret documents.

  “The devil you say!” Huntly exclaimed when the duke described the scene that still haunted him: arriving at a country shack on the outskirts of Dover to find the villain with his fingers wrapped around Emma’s neck.

  “Keep in mind, however, that she would not have been in such a vulnerable position had I not interfered at the inn earlier that day,” Trent was quick to point out. “She h
ad everything well in hand.”

  The pride in his voice caused the last of the marquess’s prejudices to melt away. Obviously, the alarming discombobulation in the conservatory had been an anomaly for Trent’s very capable bride.

  “I find it beyond insufferable that while I was off in the South Seas discovering new species, battling the elements and generally having the thrilling adventure of a lifetime, you managed to save Merry Olde England from invasion and nab a heroine for a wife. You were always competitive, old man, but even for you that was poorly done.”

  Trent sat back in his chair with a grin that could only be described as triumphant. “I can’t apologize. I never expected it to happen, I never thought it could, and the way it worked out is enough to make a cynical man believe in fate.”

  Just then Morrow entered with the marquess’s change of clothes, and the tête-à-tête gave way to grooming.

  And a good thing, too, thought Huntly, who, though genuinely pleased for his friend, felt oddly aggrieved by the duke’s happiness. The marquess had spent two years doing exactly what he wanted—exploring the world, living free, waking up each day to the wholly unknown—and yet Trent had managed to make him feel as though he’d missed out on something.

  Very poorly done indeed.

  “Morrow,” said the duke as his valet helped the marquess into his dry topcoat, “do you know where my wife is?”

  “She is in her study discussing menus with your mother, I believe.”

  “Her study?” Huntly asked.

  “Her one request upon moving into this town house was a private room exclusively her own. She uses it mostly for reading but also to hide from my mother, though with little success. My mother’s sense of courtesy does not extend to closed doors,” the duke explained. “Much to Emma’s disgust, I gave her the front parlor. She had picked out a closet in the lower quarters—the one next to the pantry where the linens are kept—because it was large enough for only one person, but I couldn’t possibly do such a bad turn to the servants as to have their mistress constantly in their midst.”

  Clearly, Morrow perceived this horror, for he shuddered at these words and uttered a heartfelt thank you to his grace.

  Huntly, who knew all too well the importance of keeping one’s domestics happy—you couldn’t ask your valet to tie a Windfall on a bobbing ship and not know his needs came before your own—laughed in appreciation.

  “I’m relieved to see that not everything has changed while I was away,” he said, as the valet stood back to admire his handiwork. Morrow was inclined to improve upon the cravat, but the marquess assured him it was already a work of art. “Now let’s go greet the dowager. I own, I’m unduly excited to see her again.”

  But as eager as he was to see the duke’s mother, he happily spared several minutes in his delight at encountering Mrs. Crenshaw in the drawing room clearing a tray. If the housekeeper was taken aback by his enthusiasm, she didn’t let on and cheerfully answered his questions. She even asked a few of her own.

  “I have a souvenir for you,” he said to the woman who had always been like a kindly aunt to him. “Don’t let me forget.”

  Mrs. Crenshaw was far too old and sensible to giggle like a schoolgirl, but she was still capable of a chortle or two. “Yes, my lord.”

  “Good. Now I must go meet his grace’s bride.”

  “She’s a dear girl,” Mrs. Crenshaw said warmly.

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  Emma’s study (née the front parlor) was only a few steps down the hall, and as he approached the room he resolved to put his earlier encounter with her behind him. If she didn’t mention it, he certainly would not be so ungentlemanly as to do so himself. He would follow her lead and be everything that was warm and welcoming, and it would be easy, he knew, for he was determined to like her no matter what.

  “Ah, there he is,” said the duke.

  Huntly saw her the moment he entered the room. She was impossible to miss, perched on the footstool at the dowager’s elbow, her head tilted down. Now that he wasn’t sopping wet or struggling to maintain his dignity, he could admire her smooth blond hair and the delicate column of her neck. That she didn’t look up when the duke said her name didn’t surprise him—he knew her to be a bizarre woman and given to queer starts.

  What did surprise him—and surprise him hugely—was that another woman, this one also with smooth blond curls and a delicate column of a neck, presented herself to him with an outstretched hand. For a moment, he stared at her hand as if he’d never seen one before—and, in a way, he hadn’t because this hand belonged to Trent’s wife and the hands he had seen earlier belonged to her twin.

  But of course! he thought, gratefully grasping Emma’s hand. It all made sense now. This was the Incomparable Trent had fallen for, the bold hoyden who had captured a spy and saved England from invasion. How absurd to think the awkward girl with the exploding garden hose and turpentine solutions could have won the duke’s heart. He knew his friend had sophisticated tastes and would never fall for anything less than an Original.

  Much relieved, he thanked the new duchess for making his friend so very happy. “Truly, I never expected to see the Duke of Trent relishing married life. It’s a sight to behold.”

  Emma laughed, revealing a dimple, and Huntly tried to recall if he had seen the same one on her sister when she’d laughed like a bedlamite in the conservatory. He thought not, otherwise he would have noticed how becoming it was.

  “I assure you,” Emma said. “I didn’t expect it myself. Like all good hoydens, I had quite resolved to never marry.”

  “Well, I’m very glad you relented,” he said with all sincerity, confident now that his friend’s happiness would last.

  “I am, too,” said Emma.

  “And this,” the duke said, reclaiming his attention, “is my very dear sister-in-law, Miss Lavinia Harlow.”

  The warmth in his friend’s voice was apparent, and Huntly, still feeling relieved, as if he himself had dodged a bullet, not just his friend, resolved to treat this madwoman with every consideration, despite any and all provocation. Clearly, the duke held her in affection.

  Abruptly, as if almost against her will, Lavinia Harlow raised her eyes to his and the marquess felt an inexplicable jolt. No, he assured himself, not a jolt. Merely a fissure of surprise at the intensity of her gaze. How could her eyes be so like her sister’s and yet so completely different?

  Lavinia stood, dipped her head and curtsied. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lord.”

  He bowed over her hand. “The pleasure is all mine.”

  The exchange was everything that was polite and proper, and yet something about it felt wrong to Huntly. But he couldn’t say what and before he even had a chance to puzzle it out, the dowager claimed his attention with a hug.

  “It is very good to see you, m’boy,” she said softly.

  “And you, ma’am,” he said, delighted to see she was as stout as ever. No dwindling into a frail old lady for the Dowager Duchess of Trent.

  “You won’t do that again, will you,” she asked, “scampering off to parts unknown to chase exotic species? This is England. We have more than enough exotic things to entertain you.”

  For some reason, his eyes darted to Lavinia at the words exotic things. “I can’t make any promises, ma’am, but I’m certainly not going anywhere for a long while.”

  “Good. Good,” she said, sitting down again. “Then you’ll be here for the ball. Trent will need all the support he can muster if he’s going to squeak by with the Harlow Hoyden as his wife.”

  As nobody took offense at this comment, Huntly assumed it was meant good-naturedly. He turned to Louisa, who had stood as soon as he entered. He kissed her cheek. “How are you, my dear?” he asked.

  “Bearing up as well as can be expected under the threat of looming social ostracism,” she said with a smile, as if happily resigned to her inevitable fate. Over her head, he saw Trent roll his eyes at his duchess.

  �
�And Charles and the children?”

  “Very well. Little Chloe just sewed the most charming sampler, and Joseph knows his fives multiplication tables.”

  Well familiar with her grandchildren’s accomplishments, the dowager prevented further recitation of them with an order to Huntly to sit down. “I do not doubt that you have a hundred things to do, m’boy, now that you’ve returned, but you are staying right here and telling us all about your travels. Emma, be a dear and ring for tea.”

  Ever compliant, her daughter-in-law jumped to her feet, darted to the door, took a deep breath and opened her mouth to call for Caruthers, as was her habit.

  “I said ring for tea,” the dowager drawled, “not to make my ears ring.”

  With a sigh, Emma leaned over to tug the bell pull and said in a stage whisper to her husband, “One chair. Wooden floor. Perhaps some linens.”

  The dowager ignored these antics. “I read your dispatch that was printed last year in The Times about the Arcadia anomaly—”

  “Acacia anomala,” he interjected.

  “—and thought it was unspeakably rude of you to waste our time with a lot of nonsense about foreign trees when we already have so much good, stout English foliage right here. Now do tell us how you got on without a valet for more than two years. Did you learn how to tie your own cravat?”

  Huntly shuddered as if horrified by the thought. “I traveled with my valet, your grace. I’m a naturalist, not a heathen.”

  “Did you get dreadfully brown like the natives?” Louisa asked.

  Having been away for nearly two years, the Marquess of Huntly did indeed have a startling number of things to do, which his secretary would be the first one to tell him—if he had a secretary. But he’d known when he’d left the house that morning how he was going to spend the day. He would not spend it at the bank reviewing his accounts or with the steward examining the rents or with the solicitor answering complaints from tenants. No, he would spend his first day back with his adoptive family and return to the business of being a responsible landowner and caretaker of a large estate tomorrow. For now, he was content to sit in his best friend’s wife’s study (which, he had to admit, was far more comfortable now than when it had been the front parlor) and talk about his years at sea.