“Such an unpleasant looking lad.”
“Hmmm. I think he’s finding service with me less interesting than in former times. Will you go for a drive?”
“But why me?”
“Why not you, Miss Cole?”
“Don’t make a May-game of me, Sir Frederick. I am not the sort with whom you deal. Shall I see if Frani would care to take the air?”
“Thus throwing the lamb to the wolf?” Sir Frederick sighed. “You are a very difficult woman to court, Harriet.” This time he made it clear he meant to use her name. “If I had wished to see Mademoiselle Françoise or Lady Elizabeth I would have asked for them. Or,” he held up a hand as she opened her mouth, “if I’d wished for Robert. I didn’t. My dear, it is so very simple. I wished to see you and, for once, without all the distractions of Mademoiselle or, for that matter, anyone else.”
Harriet turned back to the window to hide her reddening cheeks. “This is the most ridiculous conversation.”
“What else can one have with a ridiculously insecure and modest woman?” he asked blandly.
She choked back a laugh at the dry note in his voice. “Well, thank you, sir, for the offer of a ride in your new rig, but I fear I must decline the generous invitation. Madame—”
“You are pale, Harriet,” he interrupted. “It will do you good to go out. The wind will blow away the cobwebs. Only half an hour. Please?”
She was torn. Madame slept. The comtesse would nap for at least an hour, maybe as much as two, as was usual with her. Harriet looked again into the street, admired the well-formed horses and spanking new carriage. “Oh all right. I will have to change, however.”
He nodded. “Twenty minutes, Harriet. Dress warmly.”
Even tracking down Madame’s maids and asking that they sit with Madame, Harriet returned to the salon just under time. A deep rose carriage dress trimmed with fawn-colored braid showed beneath a woolen pelisse in the color of the braid. Her straw bonnet was trimmed with rose ribbons but otherwise plain.
“I fear I will ruin your reputation, Sir Frederick,” she teased, once he’d settled her on the high seat.
“How is that? You may wait here, Chester.” A puzzled expression on his narrow foxy face, the tiger stared rudely at Harriet. Harriet stared back, which seemed to disconcert the young man. “Chester, I gave you an order.” Startled, the tiger released the horses and, one last look at Harriet, moved out of the way.
“That, I think, proves it.” Harriet settled herself more comfortably. After watching closely for a few minutes, she hid her satisfaction that her belief that Sir Frederick would prove to be a top-sawyer was correct. His handling of the mettlesome pair of horses was indeed masterful and showed that ease of manner only long familiarity with the ribbons gave one. Sir Frederick, was a true whip!
“I’ve tried to figure out your last cryptic statement, but I can’t. I’m in the dark, Harriet. What proves what?”
Harriet had to bring her thoughts back from Frederick’s driving to what she’d last said. “Oh. If the reaction of your tiger is any indication, everyone will believe Sir Frederick Carrington lost his wits while traveling on the Continent. They’ll shake their heads and go tsk-tsk whenever you pass by.”
“I think I understand, but wish you’d be more explicit, my dear.”
Harriet debated scolding him for the use of the endearment, then decided she shouldn’t draw attention to it. Frederick undoubtedly used such terms automatically without thinking about them. It was bad enough she had not objected to his use of her given name! “What do you find unclear?” she asked in an airy tone. “Sir Frederick appears in public with a woman for the first time...” she paused and turned slightly, “It is the first time?”
He nodded, suppressing a grin at the revealing hint of curiosity in her question.
“...and he’s with a dowdy and unknown spinster of uncertain years. You will be believed to have lost all sense of your former taste.”
“No. My taste will be thought to have improved.” He turned through the gates into Hyde Park and allowed his team to increase their pace to a trot. “Dowdy?” He glanced at her, beginning with the half boots, the toes of which appeared beneath the edge of her skirt. His gaze moved on up until he reached her flushed face, her eyes seeing nothing, but staring straight ahead. “No, not dowdy. It is true that the fashion is for frills and laces and all sorts of extraneous decoration. You are right to forego all that. The sharp clean lines of that pelisse could have been designed by none but a master cutter and could not be bettered. I believe you will set a new fashion—an improved fashion.”
“Such fustian! I wish you would not pitch me such rum tales. You embarrass me, Sir Frederick.”
“You embarrass me, Miss Cole!” He chuckled when she chanced a quick look his way. “Such language, my dear. How shocking.”
“You don’t appear shocked.”
“Actually, my love, I find you a delight in all ways.”
“Sir Frederick...”
“I apologize. Old habits die hard. I forgot this was to be a proper courtship and fell in the loose ways of my youth. Forgive me?”
“Courtship?” Harriet blinked in confusion. Hadn’t he used that word when she’d come down to the salon?
He glanced her way. “My heart was lost when you held that gun on me in Switzerland, Harriet.”
Her heart quickened its pace alarmingly, but, outwardly, she remained serene. “Your heart has been lost many times, Sir Frederick. I’m sure you’ll find it again.”
He laughed, but wryly. “No, you’re well and far off with that thrust. I lost it only once and then it had merely strayed. I find that, now, there is only a warm spot of friendship for that minx of a girl. She taught me that, you know. The emotion of friendship.”
“You have many friends. Lord Halford...”
“Ah. Men.” A sober expression cleared the laughter from Sir Frederick’s face, and his tone was serious when he added, “No, Harriet, even that’s not true. Even amongst the male sex, I have few I call friend. But I meant, of course, that a woman might be my friend.”
“I will readily be your friend, Sir Frederick. I believe you would not hurt one with whom you shared that feeling. And I’m concerned about Françoise. A hurt to her would hurt me, so if you wish to cry friends, then we shall—and I may stop fearing that you will seduce my charge.”
“You wound me. I have told you, and more than once, that your charge is safe from my wiles.”
“I’m sure you’ve told many that.”
Silence followed and again Harriet chanced a look his way. His jaw was so firm she thought his teeth must be clenched, and his mouth formed a hard straight line. His expression confused her. He looked angry. But why? Because she was cautious and suspicious and watchful, making his pursuit of Frani more difficult of achievement? And now? She mustn’t allow his charm to abate her care one jot. No matter how hard it was to disbelieve him...
“One cannot change the past,” he said at last. “One can only move on into the future. I never thought to regret anything I’d done in my life. In the last year I’ve come to regret much of it. And now, all the more, if it is to interfere in our relationship.”
“Sir Frederick, I cannot understand you. You have inherited—”
“That news is not to be broadcast around the ton!”
“Lord Halford warned us you wished it kept secret. Elizabeth and Frani may be skitter-brained, but are not stupid. They will not breathe a word of how you acquired your wealth.” She turned a curious look his way. “Have you forgotten that you yourself told me how it came about?”
“I did? Oh. On the packet. Yes. That need I feel to explain myself to you that is so out of character for me.” He nodded.
Harriet let that notion percolate for a moment then thrust it aside. Taking a deep breath she went on. “That you have acquired it will soon be obvious to the meanest intelligence and rumors will fly as to how. Again, I do not understand you. You will not have it reported how you
spent the years of war with France, preferring to be considered a coward; you will not have it broadcast how you quite honestly and unexpectedly came by your fortune, knowing the sort of rumors which will be whispered from ear to ear; you publicly and without shame made your reputation as an unrepentant rake. You seem to enjoy making the ton believe the worst of you.” She turned and stared rudely. “You, Sir Frederick, are perverse.”
Sir Frederick maneuvered carefully between two carriages, the park more crowded as the popular hour for promenading approached. “Perverse?” he questioned. “I suppose that may be true. You did not grow up in England, Harriet. You knew the very best of the English aristocracy—those who worked abroad, I mean, the diplomats and the military men. So you can have little knowledge or understanding of how shallow much of those making up London society can be. I learned it early, and I refused to conform. So, I suppose it can be admitted. I am as you say: perverse.”
It was Harriet’s turn to be silent. “Perhaps I do see. In a way. Surface things are all important here in London. Wealth, status, taking care one’s reputation remains unblemished while actually indulging in all sorts of unacceptable behavior. Then there are those who, snubbing those below them socially, allow those above to walk all over them. Yes. A young idealistic man would find that disgusting. So, snubbing one and all, you pretended to be otherwise.” Again she glanced his way and back to face forward. “And, perhaps, you became the thing you pretended? What now, Sir Frederick?”
“A well-reformed rake, perhaps? I’ll be a sober married man. I’ll set up my nursery and improve my estate—which needs improving badly. I will eventually run for parliament,” he added, thoughtfully. “The country is in a terrible condition, economically, now the war is ended. Too many manufactures have had to close their doors; the declining market for woolens means the owners of flocks have no markets for their fleece; mines have closed; the—” He looked at her, smiling. “But you do not wish a lecture on such a beautiful day.”
“This is a serious side you show to few, is it not?”
“It is a serious side few are interested in seeing,” he countered, again with the dry note she’d come to know. “Not many amongst the ton care for aught except that their world not change. And their world is such a limited one.”
“I have noticed that, and we’ve been here barely a week. Several ladies have made morning calls. I found them unbelievably dull, but I wondered if that was due to the presence of strangers—Françoise and myself—that the conversation seemed to lack depth but,” she added, “our presence didn’t seem to stop their gossiping!”
“You will find their conversation does not improve as you come to know them. I heard a rumor you answered the question of how you found England with a reference to the poor crowding the streets of London and that you felt deep sadness at the plight of the ragged children you saw. You, my dear, will be labeled a bluestocking if you are not careful to avoid such unacceptable topics. You must know they are not considered proper subjects for a lady’s drawing room.” His scold was only half in jest.
“If I didn’t know it, I quickly learned. I’m becoming proficient at the polite platitude, Sir Frederick.”
It was his turn to glance at her. “You fear to be called a bluestocking?”
Harriet thought about it. “For myself, no. But that it would reflect on Françoise and my hostess, yes. It would do them no good even if they weren’t exactly harmed by the association.”
“And if it reflected on no one?”
“Then—” She turned up damp eyes and met his thoughtful gaze, “—oh, Frederick, if only something could be done. Look around you. Carriages, fat horses, well-fed people, attire on any back you look at worth more than poor families see in a year—yet just beyond the park gates are children in rags, their stomachs empty. It is not right, Sir Frederick.”
“I am a wealthy man now, Harriet. Marry me and spend it as you will,” he suggested quietly.
Harriet clutched at the side of the carriage. She swallowed. Hard. Oh, she must keep this light, as teasing toward him as he must mean to be with her. “Is that a proposal, Sir Frederick?” she questioned, a lilt forced into her voice and a smile to her lips.
A flush spread across Sir Frederick’s cheekbones. “As gauche and awkward a proposal as a woman ever received, I fear, but yes. I’m quite seriously asking you to marry me.”
Her hand tightened over the wood at the side of the carriage. He couldn’t be serious. “I cannot believe this.”
“That I wish to wed you?”
“But why? Why me?”
“I...” began Frederick, only to find it impossible to tell Harriet in so many words that he loved her, to reveal himself so completely. “I like you. I like your honesty, your loyalty, your attitudes and intelligence, your looks—especially those magnificent grey eyes—and I think we could deal well together. In fact, I think we’ve already proved we deal well together.”
“It is absurd. With wealth behind you—as you have now—and even with the reputation of being a rake, you may choose from anyone available on the marriage mart! Lovely young women whose family connections and dowry will help you achieve your ambitions. I am a penniless spinster. I am a servant. You tease me cruelly, Sir Frederick.”
Sir Frederick turned his head, studied her fine profile and sighed. “Not teasing, but premature, I suppose. We will speak of this again when you know me better.” He paused, giving her time to regain her countenance.
Harriet worked to control feelings of mortification. How could he do this to her? Or had he somehow guessed at those ridiculous emotions she couldn’t quite control whenever he was near? Had he decided she’d be easy prey? Did he think to lure her into his web with a pretended engagement? Undoubtedly, for one reason or other, an engagement which was to be kept a secret between themselves? Knowing she wouldn’t be easy game, he’d very likely realized he’d need some stratagem to get her into his bed and if she were to succumb? He’d only throw her aside when something better came on the scene ... Except that, surely, better game was available? Oh, if only she understood the man!
When Frederick thought she was more at ease, he introduced an innocuous question. “Are you prepared for the dinner party Elizabeth plans for tomorrow evening?” She didn’t respond. “Harriet?”
“I think I should return to the house, Sir Frederick. I’ve been absent far too long, and Madame will need me.”
“I will be very happy when I may remove you from that house, from being at the beck and call of others. You deserve a home of your own, my love. But I said we’d not speak of that until a more propitious time. Come now, Harriet, cheer up. The world will think I’ve totally lost my touch if you show that Friday face for much longer!” She chuckled, as he’d wished, but found it difficult to indulge in even such trite conversation as he instigated.
She refused his help down from the carriage, telling him he need not leave his horses. Her back to him, she tripped up the steps and raised the knocker, letting it fall with a loud tap.
Sir Frederick watched Harriet enter the door, then sat quietly, deep in thought. Such an untrusting lady he’d chosen for his own. It would be a long road convincing her he truly wished her for his bride. That had become clear almost as soon as that impulsive proposal had left his mouth.
“You,” he told himself, “have lost your touch!”
“You have also gone blind as a bat.”
Sir Frederick looked at his tiger who glowered at him. “I don’t think I asked your opinion,” said Frederick.
Uncowed, the tiger asked, “What’re we doing with a long meg like that up aside o’ you?”
“Dub your mummer, Chester. Show disrespect for that lady and you’ll be looking for work elsewhere.”
“So I’ll be shutting my trap, then, if’n that’s the way the wind blows—but I think you left your wits a-wandering over there among the Froggies.” Chester folded his arms across his chest in proper fashion for a tiger.
“Perhaps you’l
l think better of the lady if I tell you she held me at gun point when we first met.”
The arms unfolded. “I don’t believe it for a minute. Not a gentry mort like her be.”
Frederick’s voice took on a dangerous note his tiger had heard once or twice in the past. “Do I lie? Ever?”
His tiger wasn’t intimidated. “Only when you have to.”
Frederick laughed. “All right. I agree. There have been occasions a good lie has saved the day. But,” he added sternly, “this isn’t one of them. Any sauce from you toward Miss Cole, Chester, and I’ll inform the beak how we met.”
Chester frowned. “Arrr, you wouldn’t!” If Sir Frederick informed a magistrate they’d met when the tiger had attempted to prig a meg or two from what he’d thought a flash cove with more hair than wit, then Chester would be, at best, transported. “You wouldn’t,” he repeated more doubtfully.
“Yes I would. Be warned.” His tiger mumbled something unintelligible. “Perhaps you’d prefer to leave my service now?”
“Here now, I didn’t say that! But things have changed in a sorry way.”
“You just remember to keep your mouth shut.”
“Oh, I’ll keep my mummer dubbed. But I don’t have to like it, do I?”
“No. I won’t go so far as to say you have to like it.” Frederick pulled up before Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Salon and reached for his watch as Chester hopped down to go to the pair’s heads. Fred flipped open the watch and nodded. A few brief moments of waiting and Yves strolled out, settling the new hat he’d acquired at Lock’s, when Frederick had gone to order headgear, and pulling on new grey gloves bought to match.
“Right on time, Yves. How did it go?”
“ ’Tis a bloodthirsty sport, Frederick. I do not believe I’d enjoy it at all. I will continue fencing lessons under Angelo instead. I picked up a little of the Italian manner of the duello while in Florence and would like to perfect the style. Swordplay is much better exercise to my way of thinking. One need not worry one will end up with a black eye!”
A Reformed Rake Page 13
