A Reformed Rake

by Jeanne Savery

  “Oh, secrets!” she went on before either could respond. “It is nothing but one great huge secret after another. You see,” she explained in a confiding tone, “one day a month or so ago a message came for his lordship. He exclaimed upon reading it and promptly disappeared for hours, leaving me—” Elizabeth pouted. “—in confusion.” The pout disappeared in a quick smile. “Ah well, we poor women are often left in confusion, are we not? Then, three days ago, he packed a portmanteau, kissed me, and,” she sighed, “told me he’d return soon.” She waved her cup, endangering the pale stripe in the satin covering the téte-a-téte on which she sat.

  “Men,” she said, making no secret of her disgust. “They are so secretive. They tell one nothing. For instance, the next thing I knew, the messenger arrived warning me of your arrival. Oh, we have been busy. Very busy...”

  Harriet looked from her hostess to the very bright eyes and suppressed excitement of her charge. She hid a sigh. It was quite obvious—in fact, had been almost from the moment of their introduction to the vivacious Elizabeth—that life would very likely become doubly difficult. How in the world, wondered Harriet, was she to keep a tight rein on the two girls while doing nothing which would dim what was equally obvious to become a close friendship between the two!

  “I’m so excited by it all,” said Elizabeth, interrupting Harriet’s thoughts. She looked first at Harriet, then at Françoise, an encouraging light in her eyes. “Do tell,” she coaxed.

  Six

  “Me, I am only half French,” began Françoise, happy to oblige her spirited hostess.

  “The plot thickens,” nodded Elizabeth encouragingly, her eyes sparkling.

  Françoise pressed her lips together attempting to control a smile, but her eyes flashed with liking for this new acquaintance. Harriet shook her head when offered a macaroon from another plate and their hostess, guessing her guests might be inhibited by the presence of the maid, waved the girl away, telling her they’d wait on themselves now.

  “There is a plot,” said Françoise dramatically once they were alone. “And a wicked comte as well.”

  “Ooohhhh.” Elizabeth shuddered at the delicious revelation.

  “Yes, he wishes to marry me, and I do not wish at all to marry him.”

  “So your grandmother has brought you to England to escape his unwanted attentions.”

  “Oh, more. To escape his firm intention to have me at any cost. Twice he has attempted to abduct me.”

  “No!” Elizabeth’s eyes widened and a trifle of the excitement faded, giving her a more serious expression.

  “Mais oui. We have a new English friend because of the dreadful comte. Sir Frederick—” Harriet noted their hostess stiffen at the name. “—saved me. Twice.”

  “He did?” asked Elizabeth, her eyes wide.

  Harriet chuckled, keeping embarrassment under strict control. She could not allow this delightful, but occasionally haughty young lady, to denigrate what the baronet had done for them—whatever her own feelings on the subject! “Sir Frederick warned us what the reaction would be if it were known he’d had aught to do with Françoise. Frani, you were warned more than once. How bad of you to mention his name.”

  “Oh, I can believe him a hero,” asserted their hostess blithely, startling Harriet anew. “After all, he was instrumental in my marrying my beloved Robert. Sir Frederick is my friend.”

  “He hasn’t, I believe, the reputation of being friends with women.”

  “It is true.” Elizabeth nodded several times to emphasize the point. “But Robert says he has reason. His mother is such a one as no one could like and his grandmother, well! Her reputation is not what one would wish either. There is no bearing either of them, I believe. Then there was, I’ve heard it said, a young woman who hurt him badly in his salad days. Robert is his very good friend, too, you see. As well as me, I mean. And he knows. I believe a very young Sir Frederick vowed revenge on the female gender and yet,” Elizabeth tipped her head thoughtfully, “it was only a certain type of female he pursued. I have met a few. They are older now, the sort who will grow into selfish bitter old women, nasty women. And all, I believe, have a tendre for Sir Frederick even though he pursued them and then taunted them.”

  “How do you know that?” asked Harriet, trying to remember more about the young woman who had been Frederick’s flirt eight years previously, trying to think if she had been the sort who would turn into a shrew. “How can you know such for fact?”

  Elizabeth smiled slyly. “There are ways. One only needs to cozy up to the old tabbies, the gossips and the matriarchs. I made it my business to find out all about him.”

  “You have a tendre for him?”

  “Oh no.” Elizabeth shook her head. “I am the one woman he wished to wed, you see.” Harriet felt a band tighten around her heart, told herself not to be a fool. “Sir Fred went off to France when he learned I loved my Robert. I believe he truly loved me, but all I ever wanted was to be his friend. Now we are, I think. Friends, I mean. Of course, he has been gone for months and months. The last I saw him was at my aunt’s wedding.” She pouted slightly. “ ’Tis a bore that I do not know when he will return.”

  “I believe you’ll find he has returned.” Harriet couldn’t help the dry note to her voice.

  “What? When?”

  “He escorted us to Paris and then to Calais,” said Françoise, taking up the story. “After he saved me the second time—that was in Calais—he came up with a plan to trick the comte. He got us all tickets on the packet, but let drop words to make that evil man believe Madame would wait for better sailing weather, that only he and Monsieur de Bartigues—”

  “Who is Monsieur de Bartigues?” interrupted Elizabeth.

  “Sir Frederick’s friend, Yves de Bartigues.” Frani continued as if she had not been interrupted: “—would cross that evening and we waited and waited until the very last instant and then, instead of going to a new hotel—Oh, did I say it was part of the plan to leave the hotel in which we were staying because we could not trust the innkeeper? He was a dreadful man. Anyway, we went straight to the quay and boarded the packet at the very last possible instant and—” Frani spread her hands in a typically French gesture, her shoulders shrugging slightly in the process, ”—Voila. We are here.”

  “And the comte?”

  Françoise sobered. “Sir Frederick believes there was a man following us, a spy for the comte, you would say. He and Lord Halford and Monsieur de Bartigues arranged for a group of thespians to pretend to be us and go off somewhere else. We hope they will draw the comte’s man off on a ... a—what does one say?—a wild goose chasing. You comprehend?”

  “But he will discover his mistake and what then?”

  “Then—” again the shrug, this time accompanied by a slight shudder, “—I suppose he will come to London where he will find us, and I will, again, be in terrible danger.”

  Elizabeth straightened, raising one finger, “We should take you into the country. Immediately.”

  Harriet shook her head. “I think not. Wouldn’t it be more difficult to protect Françoise where there is so much open space and fewer people? It would be much too dangerous.”

  “But country people know everybody and would warn us if strangers appeared in the neighborhood. My husband could set guards as well as ask his people to watch for anyone unknown to them. If such were seen lurking around we would know, you see—although it would be a dreadful shame to miss the season...”

  “Perhaps you should suggest it to him.” Harriet turned he conversation from Françoise’s problems and delved into Elizabeth’s history. She learned the girl had been married for only seven months and was ecstatic about the married state, telling her guests they simply had no idea how pleasant it could be. Harriet, thinking of Françoise’s naive ears, thanked the powers that be that Elizabeth was discreet as to what, exactly, she meant by that.

  “I was a terrible child when I first met Halford,” their hostess added as she chose another mac
aroon with care. She bit into the airy morsel, sipped her tea and nodded. “Oh, a veritable brat. Aunt Jo was ready to throw up her hands in disgust and go off and live in a cottage and grow roses. She said so often and often.”

  “Aunt Jo?”

  “Yes, Joanna, Duchess of Stornway. She remarried a month or two before I did. You’ll meet them soon enough. The duke is a very close friend of my Robert. At the moment they reside in the country. They spend an inordinate amount of time at one estate or another, or so it seems to me. But the season begins soon, and they will come for a month or so. I, of course, prefer London. Even when the ton is elsewhere it is much more interesting than the country.”

  Yes, thought Harriet, you would prefer it. The hustle and bustle, the shops and theaters, and company every day of your life. Harriet looked at Françoise and noted that, although she was still excited and interested, she was beginning to droop. “My lady, I think we should retire for a rest before dinner. We are not in ill-health as is Madame, but it has been a long and exhausting journey.”

  “Oh, where are my manners? I should not have kept you talking forever and ever. Come along. I’ll take you to your rooms. I hope,” she rose to her feet and was already on her way to the door, the skirts of her pale primrose muslin gown billowing behind, “they are to your liking. I like them. His lordship told me I could do as I pleased about redecorating, but there was very little to do here in our London residence. Oh, curtains which needed replacing and new hangings for some of the beds, that sort of thing, but his lordship’s family has collected only the very best for so many generations it leaves nothing for a new bride to do. I can’t tell you how disappointed I was even though I’d not change a thing. Truly.” She rambled on as they climbed the stairs and headed down a hall toward the back of the house. “You see? I have given you rooms across from one another so both may have a view over the garden. I put Madame in the most quiet guest room since she’s not well even though it is not the best room. Now,” Elizabeth glanced around first one room and then the other, checking that the trunks and portmanteaus had been unpacked and removed, “I believe you have everything you need, but if there is anything, anything at all, just ring and ask the maid—“Oh,” she interrupted herself, “would either of you wish a bath now? Let me show you the bathing room. It is quite an innovation, instead of those impossible hip baths in one’s room. The separate room is small and always has a fire for warmth and a long tub Robert designed himself. It is closer to the kitchens too, so the men needn’t haul the water so far and don’t mind hauling more as a consequence. Robert is designing a pump sort of thing and intends to put a cistern under the roof so the water need not be hauled at all, but it is not finished yet.” Elizabeth chatted on as she led the way down a half flight of stairs to a small room which Harriet thought might have been designed originally as a linen room or perhaps a still-room. She thought she might like to try it but wondered at having to leave one’s room in dishabille ad travel along the hall, perhaps running into another member of the household on the stairs and suffering all the embarrassment attendant on such an encounter.

  Elizabeth giggled, sensing the reserve in Harriet’s compliments on the arrangement. “Hip baths are, of course, available for those who prefer them,” she soothed. “Now I will leave you or I will never let you rest. The dressing gong rings at six-thirty and we meet in the library before dinner for wine or sherry. A maid will show you the way.”

  Françoise, alone in her room at last, swung around and around and fell onto the bed. Oh yes, she truly was going to like living in England. A thought gave pause to her excitement. “Will it be so good when my grandfather comes or will he take me away and bury me somewhere in the wilds?” she wondered aloud. “Sir Frederick said he rarely comes to London, and I think I will wish to stay here forever and ever.” But, with the optimism of youth, she put the thought aside and lay staring up dreamily at the painted design of cherubs and angels decorating the bed’s canopy. Her thoughts skittered and jumped hither and yon, and, gradually, without noticing, she slipped into a deep restful sleep.

  Harriet, knowing her charge to be resting and discovering that Madame had no need of her, went to her own room. She removed her dress and hung it with the others already put away in a large wardrobe—and found herself more restless than ever. The discovery their hostess was the woman Sir Frederick had left behind in England, the one he said had changed his life, was upsetting in ways Harriet could not approve. Why should she feel pity for a rake! What if it would be awkward for him, to meet his lost love again? Why should she feel a deep empathic sadness for him—and, perhaps, just a trifle for herself as well, although she wouldn’t allow herself to wonder why.

  It must, she thought, have been particularly painful for Sir Frederick to have lost the delightful Elizabeth to his closest friend. Her head tipped. Or was it that very friendship which had led Sir Frederick to give the chit up? Oh, it was so confusing!

  She pushed Sir Frederick from her mind, her thoughts drifting in another direction. Joanna. It was an unusual name. Surely not the Joanna Wooten Harriet had met in Portugal. What fun if it were. How wonderful if she were to meet again the woman who had been the young bride of one of Wellington’s more intrepid scouts. Since Harriet’s father had coordinated various levels of espionage, the Wootens had been invited often to the informal parties her mother planned with such panache. The friendship between the young bride and even younger Harriet had made it easy for Lieutenant Wooten to make secret reports with no one the wiser.

  Oh, if only her mother hadn’t become unwell just when the family began planning for Harriet’s season. If only she might have brought Harriet to England herself, how different those weeks would have been. Her mother would not have forced Harriet into the insipid mold thought proper for young misses facing their first season. Nor would she have forbidden Harriet to ride as her aunt, the impoverished widow of one of her father’s older cousins, had done.

  It had been late in her London visit when Harriet realized her hastily acquired chaperon hated horses, feared them, and had placed the ban on Harriet’s riding so that she, the chaperon, need not worry herself sick when her charge was out. Perhaps, if she’d been seen in the park on horseback, where she excelled, her season might have been very different. Harriet sighed and put away thoughts of the past. It was done and over.

  But what did the future hold? Madame would send an express by special courier to Françoise’s grandfather. She’d request information as to the next step in putting the girl under his protection. Perhaps he would insist they travel north and meet him somewhere up in the wilds of Northumberland where, according to Sir Frederick, he resided most of the year in the most primitive of castles and only rarely entered society. Or perhaps that island off the coast of Scotland which had been mentioned? Even the provincial society prevalent in Edinburgh or, farther south, in York might be forbidden to Frani.

  Then there was herself, her future ... it was all so difficult, not knowing what was to become of one. As a servant—a well-paid and well-loved servant, but still a servant—one had so little control over one’s life. Would she be needed? Would the grandfather continue her generous salary and keep her on as Françoise’s companion? There was a new wife, too, Frani’s grandmother-in-law, who would have her own ideas which must, surely, be taken into account by a new husband. A new wife might not wish another young and not unattractive lady—even one so tall as Harriet—taking up residence in her husband’s home.

  Harriet paced and thought, her mind worrying at the alternatives if her position with Madame were lost. She was surprised when a tap at the door announced the maid, an under-footman following with cans of hot water. “Is it so late? I did not hear the dressing bell...”

  “It hasn’t rung, Miss.” The maid drew in a deep breath. “Compliments of his lordship and would you mind very much attending him a wee bit early in the library, Miss,” said the maid, clearly parroting a message she’d carefully memorized.

  “I will g
o down as soon as I can dress myself.”

  Bemused, Harriet washed quickly. Despite her youth, the maid, Annie, had a deft hand with hair and Harriet, looking at her grey gown with the narrow lace outlining the modest neckline, thought she looked very well. Not a la mode, but neat and properly attired for what she was: Françoise’s companion. When she was ready, she knocked lightly at Madame’s door, asking the maid to wait a moment. When answered from within, she entered. Madame lay against pillows.

  “Are you feeling better, Madame?” asked Harriet.

  “Much better. Another day or two, and I will be my old self,” added the French aristocrat, although both knew it would take much longer. Madame smiled. “You will keep your eye on Françoise and see that she not embarrass me, will you not?”

  It was less a question than a statement of a belief which soothed Madame’s mind. Harriet felt a glow at the confidence placed in her. “I will do my best, Madame, but,” Harriet laughed, “I fear Lady Halford will not aid and abet such modest proper behavior. Our hostess, Madame, is a minx.”

  Madame chuckled. “Two minxes make for multiple mischief.” She smiled. “There, I have made a joke in English, have I not? You can only do your best, Harriet. Have no concern for me; I will sleep now. The housekeeper has mixed me a mild dose of laudanum. Go off and enjoy your evening, child.”

  “You are too generous, Madame.”

  “No. I sometimes think not generous enough. You were a godsend, Harriet. When my daughter-in-law died, I was already too old to have charge of a wild chit like my granddaughter. You have done our family excellent service. Whatever Frani’s grandfather determines to be her future, what is to be done with her, you will not suffer. I’ll see to that.”

  “Thank you.” Harriet felt a flush warming her cheeks at the compliment, but ignored it. She also ignored the lifting of a burden of worry. She still had work to do and, as she’d pointed out, with Elizabeth for friend, Françoise would be more of a handful than ever. But, even though she would not think about it now, her concern for her future was greatly eased by Madame’s promise.