by Wilma Counts
He was a little wary about seeing her later. In his experience, women were funny about sex. They could be extremely shy and coy—and Harriet had been a virgin, for God’s sake!—or they could become rather triumphant and possessive, sending little secret smiles and manufacturing surreptitious touches. All of which he had found annoying or vastly amusing on previous occasions. But here—at Sedwick?
He needn’t have worried.
Harriet was among the last to arrive for breakfast that morning because she and Maria had waited for and assisted Phillip, who, under protest, had been carried down to the dining room door by the footman Heller. Then Maria handed him his crutches and Heller held the door for the three of them to enter. Others at the table applauded as Phillip took his seat; greetings were exchanged; and Harriet and Maria filled plates at the sideboard for themselves and Phillip.
Suddenly everything seemed very normal, even routine. Except for the fact that Quint found it hard to keep his eyes off Harriet. That she sat directly opposite him, on Phillip’s right, made it no easier. She wore a cheery yellow cotton day dress with a print of orange flowers and green leaves. It had a deep square neckline trimmed in white lace that allowed a hint of that luscious cleavage and elbow-length sleeves ending in white lace. She wore simple gold earrings and a gold locket on a chain. Her hair was swirled in tight braids atop her head, but he kept seeing its near-black mass spread across a pillow in lamplight.
He forcibly turned his attention to the other females at the table and was glad to see that Maria too no longer opted for the dark colors of half-mourning. She was dressed in a pink cotton print with small purple and white flowers and a large purple sash about the waist. A purple ribbon held her brown hair in place. His mother still usually appeared in more subdued colors, and she did so this morning. Sylvia Hartley, as always, followed the dowager’s lead.
Oh, yes, Harriet was by far the more delectable feast for the eyes.
However, his attention to the women’s attire had triggered something in the recesses of Quint’s mind. He looked at Phillip in a gray jacket over darker trousers and shook his head in thought.
“Phillip, do you by any chance own proper evening wear?”
“‘Proper evening wear’?” the boy repeated blankly.
“Whatever for?” the dowager asked.
“Mother,” Quint began patiently, “If I am not mistaken, in your schedule for the house party, there are two formal dinners and, of course, the culminating ball.”
With a clatter, the dowager dropped a forkful of egg onto her plate. “Good heavens, Quinton! Surely you are not suggesting a child—a mere schoolboy—be a presence at this party. Why I would be the laughingstock of the ton. I will not have it!”
Quint drew in a deep breath and looked toward the ceiling. “I suppose we could send out notes that the hostess—the Dowager Countess of Sedwick—is suddenly indisposed.” His mother looked stricken at this.
Others at the table seemed suddenly fascinated by whatever was left on their plates, not quite knowing where else to look during this colloquy between Quint and his mother. Phillip, as Quint had established earlier, sat at the head of the table, which when there were so few in attendance was shortened. The dowager sat at the opposite end, and others were spread about as suited them.
Quint went on in a calm tone. “It has always been my understanding that the tradition of the Sedwick house party in the autumn was established by the third earl to ingratiate himself with King George the Second.”
“Yes, that is so,” his mother agreed, “and it continued every year until four years ago when—when her sister put a stop to it!” She pointed a trembling finger at Harriet.
Harriet half rose in her seat, but Quint raised a hand to stay her. “I am sorry, Mother,” he said. “That is simply not so. It was your son, the noble Winston, who decided that Sedwick could no longer afford that extravagance. Decided wisely, I might add.”
“B-but we are having it now?” She seemed on the verge of tears.
He sighed. “Yes, Mother.”
“But, truly, you are not serious about including a child at such a gathering, are you, my dear? It is simply not done.”
“Not only is he to be included, he is to host this event,” Quint told her.
“He is what? Now that is beyond enough!” She stood, rigid with anger.
“Just hear me out before you fly too high into the boughs,” he said patiently.
She sat back down, her hands clasped before her on the table.
He went on. “This tradition began as a hunting party sponsored by the Earl of Sedwick. If we are going to pick up the tradition again, I see no reason to substitute a surrogate for the real thing.”
“Surrogate, indeed,” she snorted. “You know very well that you as the minor earl’s legal guardian and I as Dowager Countess of Sedwick are perfectly acceptable as host and hostess.”
“Probably,” he conceded. “And it will be equally or more acceptable if the host is the earl himself and the hostess is his grandmother, the Dowager Countess.”
She slumped in defeat. “Why are you doing this?”
“I want it known immediately and emphatically that the Seventh Earl of Sedwick is one Phillip Burnes and that, young as he may be, he has considerable backing that he could call upon should the need arise. Although many of the most powerful men of the realm are in Vienna trying to divide up Europe, there are a sufficient number of them left in England—and on your guest list—to fulfill my purpose.”
“This just seems so extraordinary,” she said in a resigned tone, but perhaps she was coming around. Quint saw Harriet and Maria exchange brief little smiles.
“It will be all right, Mother. Trust me,” Quint said. “You may start a new trend. Besides, Maria and I will be there to support you and Phillip.”
“Maria?” Lady Margaret squeaked and looked up in shock. “But she is only a child too. You really are determined to have the whole of society laughing at me.” She buried her face in her hands.
“She’s of an age with Phillip,” Quint said. “I’m guessing he will appreciate the support of at least one person his own age, eh, Phillip?”
Phillip, clearly overwhelmed, nodded and mumbled his assent.
“Surely you do not mean to foist such young persons into all of the activities I have planned for my adult guests,” the dowager said.
“No, that would not be fair to Phillip and Maria,” Quint said. “I would ask them to attend the two formal dinners and serve in the receiving line before the ball. They will excuse themselves when you give the signal for the ladies to withdraw at dinner and after the first dance at the ball. If he wishes to do so, and his leg permits him to do so, Phillip may accompany me during the hunting.”
“Oh, jolly good,” Phillip said.
“I see that you have planned this out in quite some detail,” his mother said, “and I must wonder that you never once thought to consult me.”
Having discussed most of this with Chet before, Quint glanced at him now, but got only a rueful shrug and a look of sympathy in response. Quint reached for his coffee cup and took a drink before answering his mother. “As I said, Mother, I want it known that Sedwick will not be taken advantage of with impunity—and several of your invited guests are just the people to ensure that the word gets out.”
His mother grimaced. “Politics! You are just like your father—using a party to play some political game or another!” Her tone was resigned, and Quint knew he had won the day.
* * * *
Harriet was perplexed by that scene at breakfast between Quint and his mother. He seemed genuinely concerned about a threat to Phillip, but he was not being forthcoming about it. She noted, though, that before they had all departed the breakfast table he had charmed his mother into sending for the dressmaker and tailor this very day to see to formal attire for the two youngsters.
/>
Maria, of course, was thrilled at the turn her and Phillip’s lives had taken. The two of them joined Harriet in the music room after breakfast.
“My first ball! And I am but fourteen!” Maria exulted as she twirled around the middle of the room.
Phillip, who shared the piano bench with Harriet, said petulantly, “I do not want to host any dinners or stand in a silly receiving line either.”
“The penalties of being the first-born male,” Maria taunted. “One feels so-o sorry for the duties you must fulfill.”
“My leg probably won’t be mended.”
Harriet patted his arm. “It should be. Or well on its way. You will do well. Both of you. Come now. Let’s do that duet—the one with all the trills.”
“All right.”
Maria took a seat nearby and pretended to be an appreciative audience.
Later in the day, Harriet made a point of tracking down Quint and finally found him in his usual haunt, the library, though not behind the desk as usual. He was stretched out on a couch, an open book face down on his chest, his eyes closed. She immediately started to retreat.
“Don’t leave,” he said. “I’m not asleep, though Mr. Wordsworth and Coleridge have been doing their best.” He sat up on one corner of the couch and patted the cushion next to him.
She took a nearby chair.
“Like that, eh?” he asked.
“I prefer not to be tempted just yet.”
“‘Just yet,’” he mused. “All right. I can live with that. Maybe.” He paused. “I assume you have something on your mind.”
“I do. I am wondering about what you said at breakfast. Have you some reason to believe Phillip may be in some sort of danger?”
He did not answer immediately and when he did, he seemed rather unsure of his response. “Not directly, so far as I can determine. I am sorry if I worried you. There has been a recent financial development relating to the estate, but, frankly, it is not something one need trouble a woman with.”
She thought she might have been able give him some information about that “recent development” until he raised her hackles with that comment about not troubling a woman. “You might be surprised,” she said and abruptly stood. “But if you think Phillip faces no harm—?”
He stood too and took a step toward her. “He will be fine. I shall see to it.”
She looked up at him. “And Sedwick?”
“I am working on that. Do not worry that pretty little head of yours about it.” He bent his head to kiss her, but she quickly sidestepped out of the way.
“I have something I must see to,” she said hastily, and left.
She was fuming. How dare he? How dare he turn into one of those arrogant men who treat women as brainless toys? Truth to tell, though, she was as furious with herself as she was with him.
She could not hold onto that fury for long, though.
Two hours later it had to be put aside, for Sedwick Hall welcomed the arrival of the young earl’s great-grandparents and their full entourage.
Chapter 18
Always happy to enjoy the company of her grandparents, Harriet welcomed their arrival with even more enthusiasm than usual. She needed this diversion to take her mind off what was transpiring in her life and at Sedwick these days. She also welcomed the presence of her grandfather and her Uncle Charles, for she wanted to discuss with them further the actions she had taken with regard to Sedwick debt. Her original motive for keeping her role secret had been valid: then, she did not know this man Quinton Burnes. His father and grandfather had plunged the earldom into the sad state that Phillip was inheriting. What might he do? Now that she did know him, how much was her own opinion of him skewed by the fact that he was simply the most attractive man she had ever met? Was her judgment trustworthy?
Harriet had met the entourage at the door as they arrived and sent word to Quint and the dowager that, since it was so late in the afternoon, she would see to these guests until they would all gather in the drawing room before supper. After the newcomers were all shown to their rooms, the Hawthorne couple’s first consideration was to see all seven of their great-grandchildren. They spent over an hour oohing and aahing over achievements and discoveries since the children had departed Hawthorne House in London. Harriet saw to getting the tutor and the governess settled, then spent a half hour bringing Charles and Elizabeth up to date on life at Sedwick—careful, of course to omit the most recent, most momentous event of her own existence.
Resigned to her son’s alterations in her house party plans, it had been the dowager’s idea that tonight’s supper might be a sort of rehearsal for those that Phillip would host later. Convinced that the woman wanted to see Phillip or Maria commit some faux pas that would justify banishing them from the upcoming festivities, Harriet did her best to bolster their confidence with little hints and reminders as she and they followed the others at some distance down to the drawing room.
Finally, Maria whispered impatiently, “Aunt Harriet, we get it. Phillip and I are not country bumpkins, you know.”
“I do know. I’m sorry. I am already proud of you both. You look so grown up and fine.”
Phillip was attired in the conventional dark evening costume for men; Maria had on a pale blue silk with a fashionable high waist, capped sleeves, and long, white kid gloves. “I feel so much the lady!” she said to Harriet as the maid placed the finishing touch of a blue ribbon to hold her long hair, for all had agreed that it might be stretching the point to allow a girl of such tender years to put her hair up yet.
Not only was Harriet alert as to how Phillip and Maria would bear up under the strain of being so suddenly thrust into an adult milieu, she was also very keen to see how her grandfather and her Uncle Charles interacted with Quint, whom they were undoubtedly meeting for the first time. Neither of them remembered him from a few social affairs they all might have attended during a single season years ago. So, she watched carefully as they greeted each other cordially in the drawing room before the butler announced that the meal was being served. She saw no overt signs of antipathy, but who knew what that might mean?
The dowager had tasked Harriet with the duty of introducing William Knightly, the tutor, and Sophia Clarkson, the governess, to the rest of the assemblage; “after all, you know these people,” the dowager had said dismissively. Since this was, ostensibly, but a family supper, the tutor and the governess had been invited to take the meal with the family, as they customarily would, unless the master or mistress of the Hall were entertaining. Determined that Mr. Knightly and Miss Clarkson have as pleasant a beginning to their tenure at Sedwick as possible, Harriet initially stuck by them rather nervously. Soon enough, she saw Miss Clarkson in conversation with Sylvia Hartley—she learned later that two had distant cousins of some sort in common—and that Mr. Knightly was deep in conversation with Chet Gibbons and Charles and Elizabeth Montieth.
Her grandmother and the dowager, of course—both highly respected members of the ton—had an acquaintance that went back not just years, but decades. Both of them—along with the patronesses of Almack’s—had long been looked to as arbiters of what was acceptable in ton behavior. Harriet nodded to herself approvingly at seeing the two women in conversation and then seeing them both smile indulgently as Maria and Phillip, with a proper curtsy and bow, joined them.
“You see.” It was Quint’s voice low in her ear. “You need not have worried so. They are doing fine. So are Knightly and Miss Clarkson.”
She turned toward him. “How did you know—?”
“I knew. You feel responsible. But it is out of your hands now. Completely.” He leaned slightly closer, but not so much as to draw attention. “I’ve missed you,” he whispered.
Her gaze locked with his for only a moment, and she was sure her eyes reflected the same hunger shining in his. She lowered her lashes. “For heaven’s sake, Quint, not here. Not no
w.”
“Later, then,” he said.
“Later, what?” asked Charles as he and Elizabeth approached them.
“Ah, I was asking Miss Mayfield if she would play the piano for us later,” Quint said in a quick recovery.
“I shall be pleased to do so,” she said. “And perhaps Phillip will consent to play a duet with me.”
“He plays that well, does he?” Charles asked.
Just then the butler came in to announce that the meal was being served and the company made their way to the dining room, where Phillip graced the head of the table, with his great-grandmother, the honored female guest, on his right, and his Aunt Elizbeth on his left. His grandmother served as hostess at the other end, with the Earl of Hawthorne on her right, Charles Montieth on her left. Others had been designated seats along the side as befitted their ranks insomuch as possible in such an informal setting. This was, after all, something of a tutorial, was it not?
The evening continued as smoothly as anyone could have hoped for—or perhaps as smoothly as she and Quint had separately hoped for, Harriet thought later. The new tutor and governess had both shown themselves to be persons of intelligence and good breeding, and neither of the young people had in any way brought their grandmother even the slightest hint of disgrace. Phillip gracefully, if somewhat reluctantly, agreeing to that duet had been the icing on the cake, as far as Harriet was concerned.
* * * *
Because the next day had dawned overcast and kept up a persistent drizzle, folks at Sedwick Hall mostly opted to stay indoors. In the afternoon Quint was playing billiards with Chet and the Montieth men in the game room, when the butler brought word that he had an unexpected visitor and showed him the card of Sir Desmond Humphreys.
Puzzled, for he had arranged no meeting with the other local mill owner, Quint said, “Show him to the library.” He excused himself from the game in progress and took himself off to the library, though he had been quite enjoying furthering his acquaintance with the Earl of Hawthorne and Sir Charles.
