by Wilma Counts
Sylvia Hartley, ever ready to stroke her benefactress’s vanity, said, “I daresay, my lady, you have pulled off the social coup of the year—especially in view of the fact that so many of Europe’s most powerful men are still in Vienna dividing up that horrid Boney’s empire.”
“What is more,” said Judith, Viscountess Pearson, one of the so-called “Winsome Widows” and a popular ton hostess herself, “they have drained London of acceptable society. One could scarcely make up a suitable guest list even during height of the season!”
“Well, now,” drawled Lord Beaconfield. “I would not say drained entirely—there’s still thee and me.”
While the other women all laughed at this sally, Harriet merely grinned at him and raised an eyebrow. She had been surprised at first to see him among the guests. Ton house parties had never held much interest for Gavin Castlemere, Lord Beaconfield, so far as she knew, and she did know that his sporting interests lay more with his sailboat than in hunting grouse. It turned out that he was escorting his mother, a sometime friend of Lady Margaret, and his younger sister, who had just made her debut this year. Apparently, his sister had developed a tendre for a certain Lord Avron, who was another of the guests, and whom Gavin’s mother was convinced was a rake. Hence, Beaconfield was here in the role of knight-protector. And he was ever so delighted to find Harriet in residence.
“Too bad that nephew of yours is not at least five years older. We might divert her interest in that direction,” Gavin said. Then, more softly, he said, “By the by, my friend, you are ruffling some rather significant feathers in the halls of Westminster.”
“I—?”
“That piece on child labor. Apparently, it hit home in certain quarters of Parliament.”
“Good.”
He put a hand on her forearm and held her gaze for a long moment. “Take care, my dear. I would not see you hurt.”
She gave his hand a brief pat. “Thank you.”
As she moved away from Gavin, she nearly stumbled into Quint, who had clearly seen that little by-play. With Lady Riverton tugging at his arm on his other side, he merely smiled and nodded in passing. She felt a distinct urge to stick her foot out and trip him, but restrained herself. She had had no time alone with him since that blissful two o’clock assignation—and that had been ages ago. Well, over a week at least. And yes, she had longed for him. Desperately. She could not deny that, but she repeatedly told herself how utterly foolish that was. Here she was: spinning daydreams about a man she had known for—what?—all of perhaps three months. And she had no idea how he felt about her. How stupid was that?
She consciously turned her attention to the persons assembled in this room. Yes, the Dowager Countess of Sedwick had done herself proud. Besides Lord Beaconfield, and, of course, Lord Hawthorne, she had snagged two other members of the House of Lords in Lord Hastings and Lord Ridgway, both of whom were here with their wives. Harriet knew that for Lady Margaret having all three of the “Winsome Widows” accept her invitation had been a real feather in her cap.
The three had arrived on the same day, Lady Barbara Riverton traveling with her young cousin, Lord Avron, as her escort. Less than an hour later, Lady Angelina Bachmann and Lady Judith Pearson arrived together—along with a retinue befitting princesses. Harriet had been thankful she had been out when they arrived, and it was not until supper that evening that she greeted the day’s arrivals, most of whom she had had at least a passing acquaintance with over the last few years.
Apparently, Quint had been out all that day too. He put in his appearance in the drawing room that evening after Harriet’s.
“Quinton, you naughty boy,” his mother trilled. “Where have you been all day? You were not here to greet our new arrivals—and such lovely additions they have brought us.” She proceeded to announce all who had arrived that day, including the Ridgeway couple as well as the three young widows.
“Sorry, Mother. I was tied up with the gamekeeper.” He bowed to the guests she had pointed out. “I do apologize for not being on hand for your arrival.”
“Oh, la! Such formality for such old friends.” Lady Barbara quickly stepped toward him and extended both her hands, which he had no choice but to take and bow over most particularly as she went on. “It is wonderful—simply wonderful to see you again at last, Quinton. I had hoped to see you in London before now.”
“Thank you, Lady Barbara.” His response seemed somewhat stiff to Harriet.
Harriet thought Lady Barbara Riverton came by her reputation as the most beautiful of the Winsome Widows quite honestly. She had honey-blonde hair that just missed being the proverbial “spun gold.” She also had striking green eyes, dark brows, a short, straight nose, a rosebud mouth, and a complexion that other women envied. She was taller than average, but seemed even taller because of her willowy build, which tonight was emphasized by a pale green, fashionably high-waisted silk gown.
In gold taffeta with a bronze net overskirt, Harriet felt like a positive frump next to this paragon. Nor did she feel any better when she learned that Lady Margaret had designated Lady Barbara as Quint’s dinner partner. Only later did she notice that the woman had paired Gavin with Lady Angelina Bachmann. As for herself, she had no cause for complaint: her dinner partner was Chet Gibbons, whose sardonic observations about the human species Harriet invariably found amusing, but Harriet doubted her ladyship had had that in mind when she determined who would partner whom at the dining table.
* * * *
Quint had been apprehensive about seeing Barbara again. After all, she was the only woman he had ever seriously considered marrying, and, in retrospect, he had seriously misjudged both her and himself. Yet in seeing her again, actually touching her, all he could think was “why?” He wanted to laugh. But he did not. He was a good boy. Played his role properly.
Thinking about that whole “reunion” scene later, he had to admit that yes, Lady Barbara Riverton was certainly a beauty. Still. But it was a pair of changeable gray eyes that kept catching him unaware, not the practiced witchery of those green orbs. That is what it is, he told himself, practiced witchery. Why did I not see that years ago? He finally settled on callow youth and vulnerability as answers to that question. And he was damned well not traveling down that route again, despite the apparent lures she seemed on the verge of offering.
Pronouncing the heavens themselves on her side, Lady Margaret welcomed the ensuing days of gloriously warm weather as she set in motion details for her grand picnic to include not only her houseguests, but certain local notables as well. Besides turning out three meals plus sundry snacks each day for well over a hundred people, what with guests and their servants, Mrs. Hodges and her kitchen crew were tasked with coming up with picnic baskets fit for royalty. Folding chairs and tables, colorful awnings, blankets, utensils for brewing tea on the spot, and serving dishes—all of which had to be taken by wagon out to the abbey ruins. Guests would arrive by carriage or horseback. Quint knew that his mother, working with the housekeeper and the butler, had planned everything down to the minutest detail. Only when he found himself driving his curricle out to the ruins with her and Lady Barbara as his passengers did he begin to wonder just how far her attention to detail had really gone.
Later, in strolling about the abbey ruins, he kept recalling that other picnic, the family picnic weeks earlier. The one where he had kissed Harriet for the first time. He wondered if she was remembering that too. But when he glanced over her way, she was laughing up at Beaconfield. Again.
“They make a fine couple, do they not?” said a female voice at his side.
“What?” he said, startled, then realized the speaker was Lady Suzanne, Beaconfield’s younger sister, a pretty little thing with a heart-shaped face, brown hair, and big, innocent blue eyes. She reminded Quint of Maria.
“They make a fine couple,” she repeated. “At least Mama thinks so. And they are such good friends as wel
l.”
“Is that so?” Quint asked.
“Oh, yes. Both writers. Both belong to that literary club and all. Dull stuff, if you ask me, but—” She shrugged.
“Not everyone’s cup of tea, eh?”
“Ay, Lady Suzanne, it’s your turn,” Lord Avron called from the pall-mall game.
“Oops. Pardon me,” she said to Quint and dashed back to the game.
He shook his head.
Beaconfield and Harriet?
* * * *
Knowing English weather for its usual capriciousness, Harriet had earlier conjectured that, unless the dowager allowed children to attend this affair, there would be little opportunity for such an outing for them again this year. Knowing, too, that she might never have another chance at such a frolic with them, she argued vigorously for their inclusion. She first broached the topic at breakfast one morning before any of the guests but her own family members had yet arrived at the Hall. Harriet was pleased to see that only she, the dowager, and Quint had come down as yet. Servants had not yet set up the sideboard fare, they were so early.
At first, the dowager had dismissed Harriet’s suggestion out of hand with the condescending comment, “Harriet, dear, I am sure you must know house parties such as mine are designed as adult affairs.”
“I thought with Phillip and Maria already there—”
“And you know my thoughts on that,” the older woman snapped.
“I would be most willing to help with the children, keep them from interfering in any way,” Harriet said. She looked at Quint, hoping to enlist his support.
“No.” Lady Margaret’s face had a closed look to it. “No. I would have to allow others as well, and I will not have a pack of brats running around, screaming, ruining my party.”
Two footmen brought in heavily laden trays and set up covered dishes on the sideboard, then placed coffeepots and teapots and racks of toast strategically along the table.
Quint reached for a coffeepot. “Come now, Mother. You know a picnic is the sort of thing that brings out the child in all of us. That is why you thought of it in the first place.”
“That is not the point and you know it,” she replied, but before she could expound upon just what the point was, Phillip and Maria came in, followed by their visiting great-grandparents and Charles and Elizabeth. Right behind them were the tutor and governess, and, finally, Chet and Mrs. Hartley. Harriet knew very well that Lady Margaret would like to consider the subject closed, but even knowing she would chastise herself for pettiness later, she refused to let that happen.
After all the “good mornings” were exchanged and the newcomers supplied with food and drink, Harriet said, “We were just discussing having all the children at the picnic, not just Phillip and Maria.”
Elizabeth paused, her cup halfway to her mouth, glanced at Harriet, and set her cup back in its saucer. “Oh, Lady Margaret! What a brilliant idea! A picnic always wants the frivolity of children, does it not?”
“Makes us remember where we came from,” her husband said.
“I like it, Lady Margaret,” Lady Hawthorne said, but Harriet had counted on her grandmother’s “liking” it.
The dowager glared at Harriet, but accepted the inevitable and pretended it was all her own idea.
Now, in the event, Harriet tried to be true to her word in helping the nursery maids keep the children entertained. Nor was there such a “pack” as the dowager had feared. Besides her own seven grandchildren and three additional children of houseguests, local people had brought to the picnic only another seven youngsters, and none of these was under five.
Harriet was sitting on the edge of a broken wall retying the ribbon on one of Sarah’s braids, when she became truly aware of other picnickers not far away. She and Sarah were about twenty feet from three or four small groups lounging on blankets spread near the food tables. A very substantial lunch had been served, but folks still lazed about, imbibing champagne and lemonade and nibbling biscuits. The nearest group, she noticed, included the Ridgeways, Lady Margaret, and Lady Barbara. Close by, on another blanket, was Lord Beaconfield and Angelina Bachmann. Seeing Gavin glance her way, Harriet lifted an eyebrow. He smiled and shrugged. Angelina, apparently aware of this byplay, stared at Harriet and smirked. She leaned close to Gavin to whisper something.
Suddenly Quint was sitting on the wall next to Harriet. He leaned around her to grin at Sarah. “We could get one of those knives used to slice the ham we had for lunch and just cut that braid off. Then you would not have that problem.”
“Uncle Quint!”
“It was just a thought,” he said.
“Not a good one,” his little niece quickly retorted.
“Saucy little wench, is she not?” he said to Harriet.
“Auntie Harriet! Did he just call me a ‘wench’?” Sarah asked, indignant.
Harriet laughed and hugged her close. “I think he did. But he meant it kindly. He loves you very much.”
“Oh.” Sarah jumped down to stand in front of Quint, her hands on her hips. “Is that true?”
“Quinton, darling,” the dowager called from her blanket.
Quint waved his mother off to answer Sarah with a wide grin. “Yes, Poppet, it is true. All of it.” He picked her up and kissed her on the cheek. She threw her little arms around his neck and kissed him back vigorously.
“I love you too, Uncle Quint. But I don’t think gentlemen is apposed to kiss ladies in public.” She wriggled free and scampered off.
He laughed and let her go. His gaze meeting Harriet’s was full of emotion.
“Quinton!” his mother called again, her tone more imperious. “I have just been telling Lady Barbara of the view from the old bell tower and she has expressed a desire to see it. Do be so good as to show it to her.”
“Of course, Mother,” he said, but he whispered “Later” to Harriet before he shoved himself off the wall.
Not caring to join those still lingering around the picnic tables, Harriet started to circle around the corner of what had once been the west end of the abbey chapel. There, amongst a mishmash of broken and toppled statuary, young trees, and full bushes already showing autumn foliage, she found Sarah and the twins with several other children of like ages playing a rollicking game of hide and go seek. Nothing would do but that Aunt Harriet should join them. They were having such carefree fun, Harriet could not resist joining their laughter and squeals of delight. Until she noticed they had an audience approaching.
That the group included her friends the vicar, Justin Powers, and his wife would not have disconcerted Harriet at all. But here were Angelina—on Lord Beaconfield’s arm—and Lady Barbara clinging to Quint like—like she owned him. And Harriet: disheveled, out of breath, and feeling sweaty! She stood still and the children gathered around her.
“You see?” Angelina was saying in her cute little girl voice, and looking cool and elegant in a plum-colored frock, “did I not tell you aright?” She made a sweeping gesture with one hand and arm, making sure not to lose her hold on Lord Beaconfield. “I present to you a fairy tale come to life: Snow White and her dwarfs!” She pretended to be counting. “Oh, dear, there were only seven originally.”
Lady Barbara laughed and tugged at Quint’s arm. “Oh, my, that is so funny. Quinton, darling, is that not hilarious? Angelina, you are so very clever.”
Angelina preened.
Then Sarah stepped in front of Angelina, put her hands on her hips in a characteristic pose, and said very precisely, “I am not a dwarf, my lady. Nor are my brothers or our friends.”
Harriet put a hand on the little girl’s shoulder. “It is all right, Sarah. Lady Angelina meant no offense.”
“Goodness, no,” Angelina said. “I do not go around seeking to insult babies.”
At this, Sarah stamped her foot. “I am not a babe, either.”
“O
f course you are not,” the Bachmann woman said, but then added not quite under her breath, “You are merely a very spoiled little girl.” Aloud, she said to Gavin, “Perhaps we should leave.”
He looked helplessly at Harriet and led Angelina away even as she continued muttering about the proper deportment of children.
Sarah looked up at Quint near tears. “Was I bad, Uncle Quint?”
He freed himself from the Riverton woman and knelt to put an arm around Sarah. “Not so very bad, Poppet, but you must learn to let people’s casual comments just pass you by. ’Tis hard sometimes, though, even for grown-ups.”
“Even if they are not true?” she asked.
He nodded very seriously. “Even so.”
She was quiet for a moment, then said, “I do not think I will like being a grown-up.”
This brought a chuckle from the remaining grown-ups in the group, and then Emma Powers said to Harriet that she and Justin had come looking for their three children to take their leave. Quint declared that the approach of sunset was a signal for all to be leaving. Servants had already packed up most of the things they had needed this day. Harriet rode back to the Hall in a carriage bearing Phillip and Maria, along with Mr. Knightly and Miss Clarkson. Theirs was one of the last vehicles to leave.
As she looked her last at the ruins, Harriet felt a wave of nostalgia wash over her. Today had been fun, but how on earth was she to tell the children there would be no more such days?
Chapter 20
Quint had found little opportunity to confront his mother about Harriet’s leaving. Always she seemed occupied with this or that female guest. Finally, late one evening, as the entire party was splitting up, saying their good nights preparatory to seeking their bedchambers, he simply put a hand on her arm to detain her and said quietly, “Mother, I should like a word with you, please.”
“At this hour?” she protested, but when everyone else had left, she sat back down on the corner of a couch and looked at him expectantly.
He took the nearest chair and asked bluntly, “Did you tell Harriet she must leave Sedwick?”
