A Reformed Rake

by Jeanne Savery

  Madame immediately insisted that she would not receive his lordship in her bedroom as all urged her to do.

  Françoise immediately drooped tragically, fearing instant removal from a situation where she’d begun to feel very much at home.

  Harriet immediately began, again, to worry about her future despite Madame’s earlier assurances she would see Harriet right and tight.

  So, thought Harriet. To dress suitably for a companion. That was the next step. Then to see that Françoise was acceptably turned out. It wouldn’t do for her charge to present herself in full evening dress or some other outrageously inappropriate costume simply because the girl wished to make herself as lovely as possible when meeting her grandfather for the first time!

  Later, the scene set in the formal drawing room, Elizabeth, Françoise and Harriet awaited the arrival of Madame. The door opened and, appearing as regal as a woman could when carried in the arms of the gigantic footman, Madame was borne into the room. John very gently settled his charge in the armed chair Harriet had thoughtfully arranged near the fire with a footstool before it. He grinned when Madame thanked him, and now, his duty done, he awkwardly removed himself from the scene. No one spoke. In the silence the crackling of the fire and the ticking of the ormolu clock seemed overly loud.

  Harriet glanced up toward the mantel to check the time. Two minutes to the hour. Sir Frederick, Monsieur de Bartigues, and Lord Crawford were due at any moment. The silence became oppressive and Françoise, meeting Elizabeth’s eye, reprehensibly giggled. The girl bit her lip and conquered her nerves, straightening and composing her features.

  The clock intoned its hourly message and, as the second strike reverberated gently through the room, a knock sounded. Given permission the Halford butler opened it, announced the three men and, as they strolled forward, closed the door with himself in the hall—very obviously wishing it were otherwise since his curiosity was no less avid than anyone else’s.

  Madame didn’t attempt to stand. She waited, her hands resting on her cane and her back straight. Harriet thought she’d never looked more magnificent, her dress and jewels very slightly overdone for a morning call, perhaps, but her bearing carrying them off.

  Sir Frederick introduced his uncle and the man bowed, straightened, and two pairs of dark eyes met, very slight animosity in Madame’s and something very close to apology in his lordship’s.

  “We meet at last,” he said.

  Madame nodded. “Yes, my lord. We meet at last. Be pleased to know your granddaughter, my lord.” Lord Crawford turned, his eyes skimming over Elizabeth whom he recognized, lighting for a moment on Harriet, and dismissing her, and settling on Françoise. The girl rose to her feet and curtsied.

  “Granddaughter. I never believed this day would come.”

  “It is not my fault it has been delayed, my lord grandfather.”

  “No, m’gel, it isn’t.” Lord Crawford sighed. “As Frederick has pointed out to me with far more force than I feel necessary, it is, indeed, not your fault.”

  Now what, wondered, Harriet.

  Now what became obvious. Her newfound dignity present to such an alarming degree that it made Harriet hard pressed to maintain her composure, Elizabeth asked her guests to be seated. She rang the bell, and the butler entered followed by two footmen carrying trays.

  The polite but overly formal process of properly serving the guests drew Harriet’s nerves into screaming lines of pain. Why had Elizabeth decided to make this a rigid exercise in propriety? She met Frederick’s eyes, slid her gaze on to Madame and back to his. He too looked at the old woman and, setting his cup and saucer on a nearby table, went to her side. He leaned over her, said something which no one else could hear. Madame nodded and allowed him to help her to her feet.

  “Nothing need be decided today.” The faintly accented words were delivered with the arrogance which had made Madame la Comtesse a Tartar in her younger days. “I believe you will wish to become acquainted with your granddaughter, Lord Crawford, and you should be allowed to do so in private. Harriet?” Harriet rose to her feet so abruptly she spilled a few drops of tea onto her skirt. “Lady Halford?” Françoise, sitting beside Elizabeth, grabbed her new friend’s hand, and sent a desperate if silent message to her grandmother. Madame smiled rather sourly. “He will not eat you, my dear. Come, Lady Halford. We will leave them now.”

  Elizabeth and Yves rose to their feet. Yves stepped toward Françoise who also stood. He took her hand and raised it to his lips, his eyes encouraging her as well as they could. When he turned to follow, he found Elizabeth awaiting him by the door, the others already in the hall. He sent one last look toward Françoise, who was looking very young and a little lost. The door closed behind them and Lord Crawford hurumphed. Françoise’s gaze moved to stare at him, a wary expression marring, slightly, her usual attractive looks. She firmed her spine and waited politely for her grandfather to open the conversation.

  “Well, granddaughter, have you nothing to say to your grandsire?” At the closely pressed lips and sparkle he noted in her eyes he chuckled. “Yes? You have, perhaps, much to say and have been warned to say none of it? Sit down, my dear.”

  She hesitated then sat, and he reseated himself. “You are correct,” she said. “There is much I would say were it permitted.”

  “None of which I have not many times said to myself, child. I missed your mother dreadfully. I allowed my temper to rule my good sense and lost years of her company. Although it was difficult to communicate during the war, I managed to apologize to her; now I extend my apologies to you.”

  Françoise studied him, her eyes not hiding her rebellion. “My mother and father were very happy.”

  He nodded. “So Frederick tells me. I am glad.”

  Françoise relaxed slightly. “Now what?”

  He laughed. “What am I to do with you?”

  “Yes.” She pressed her lips tightly together again, as if forcing back more words.

  “Very good, my dear. You have been taught the value of making the enemy come to you.”

  She blushed slightly, her eyes widening. For a moment she tucked her lip between her teeth, thinking. “I do not understand,” she said, finally.

  “Not so good. Never allow your enemy to see a weakness.”

  Françoise nipped her lip again, her eyes again studying this man who was to have control of her future. “I see.” “Better,” he nodded, judiciously, a twinkle in his eyes. Understanding the game he was playing, Françoise remained silent. The silence stretched, but she forced herself not to give in to him. “You are not stupid and have some control. I like that. Stupid women are a bore,” said Lord Crawford, nodding. “So. What, I wonder, are we to do with you?”

  She raised her chin. “I believe, sir, that was my question.”

  He smiled, a cool smile. “Enough sparring. I will tell you that I have not yet made a decision. The proper course would be for my wife to present you to the ton and look around her for a husband for you. However, my wife is not in London and is not expected here this season. Something else will have to be arranged. In the meantime, I understand, you will be welcome to stay here. Lord Halford, is a good man. He will see you are well protected and that becomes more important every day.”

  Lord Crawford had watched Françoise gradually relax as he’d told her his current thoughts on the subject of her immediate future. He liked the smile she now gave him which reminded him of his daughter, bringing back both good memories of her youth and bad memories of her stubborn insistence on her own way ... He nodded. “Hmm. Yes. A husband, I think. One who will know how to control the willfulness in you, which has been allowed to grow unchecked. No, don’t poker up,” he added when a scowl marred her pretty face. “A bit of spirit is to be desired. But not self-centered and uncontrolled flightiness.”

  Françoise felt ambivalent toward this new relative. She liked the way he made her think, made her react to him. She did not think she would like having to knuckle under to him, and she fea
red it would come to that if she could not somehow escape a future which fate had handed her in the form of the evil comte, and return with Grand-mere to Lake Como. She would think on it.

  Thankfully, the door opened and Yves and Elizabeth returned to the room. Françoise wondered if Sir Frederick had gone and assumed Harriet attended Madame in her room. Or perhaps Sir Frederick had joined Lord Halford in his office? she thought.

  But Françoise was wrong. Harriet was not with Madame. Nor was Sir Frederick with his friend. They stood together in the breakfast room window overlooking the back garden, but neither saw bright flowers bordering the well-swept gravelled paths.

  “Harriet, you are merely stubborn,” growled Sir Frederick.

  “I am not. You say the comte’s man is in London, again tracking us down, and you say we must do nothing, must go on as we have. It will not do. Françoise must be protected.”

  “Françoise will be protected. How may I convince you?”

  Harriet turned away, biting her lip. “I think her grandfather should immediately carry her off to his most medieval castle and lock her up in a tower!”

  “You think nothing of the sort!”

  She chuckled, but it was a weak sound. “It would not do, of course. Françoise, being Françoise, would climb out a window and down the ivy or into the branches of a nearby tree and run away. She wouldn’t put up with it.”

  “Her best chance of escaping the comte is to marry someone else.”

  “Who?” Harriet had a moment’s suspicion he meant himself.

  Frederick waved a hand. “How should I know? The season is about to begin, in fact, has begun. She will be presented. And she will take, which means she’ll be inundated with suitors. Surely someone amongst them will catch her eye.”

  The suspicion fading, Harriet remained silent for a moment. “You believe the comte will give up when she weds?” She thought about it. “He has tried poison in the past. And in Italy he frightened the young men into deserting her. Will not any serious suitor for her hand be in danger?”

  Frederick blinked. “Good heavens, Harriet, I must admit that thought had not occurred to me!” He took another turn around the room.

  “Sir Frederick, I cannot help being a puddin’ heart—as your odd tiger might say,” she added quickly. “I’m frightened for her. Oh why did that spy have to discover the trick you played on him so quickly!”

  “Since he is watching me, it means he has not yet discovered where we’ve placed his quarry.”

  “But he must have followed you here.”

  “Ah, but a morning call is nothing to concern him. And once we leave I will lead him a merry chase, I assure you.”

  “You have a plan?”

  “Yes. I think it would do him good to lurk in the damp miasma ever present near the river on the outskirts of Chelsea. Perhaps it will settle on his lungs and carry him off!” finished Frederick half spitefully and half seriously.

  “The damp? Near Chelsea?” Harriet blinked rapidly, trying to think why. “But why would he do that?” she asked when she found no answer.

  Frederick grinned. “I have friends in the oddest places. A young, hmm, actress of my acquaintance lives there. She fell into what she calls the honey pot not long ago—having earned herself a small fortune, you see—and has retired. And,” he added when Harriet frowned, “she has the look of your Françoise.”

  “An acquaintance, Sir Frederick?”

  “Yes.” He kept his voice carefully neutral.

  “A friend of a friend, perhaps?”

  He smiled. “You are sharp as a tack, Harriet. I’d hoped to rouse the demon jealousy in your breast.” He sighed dramatically. “Ah well. Yes, a friend of a friend, one far better heeled than I was at the time. I could never have afforded the, er, lady. He was more than generous when he gave her her congé, giving her a little house and a life annuity and, as I said, she’s retired. More or less.”

  “But won’t you put her in danger?”

  “I think not. The spy will watch her, thinking she is Françoise kept out of the way. I will ask that she have a friend, a tall blond friend,” he added, looking up and down Harriet’s slim form, “to stay with her. When Cheviot finally arrives, as he will, he will know it is the wrong woman, of course.”

  “At which point the spy will come back to you as his only lead, and you will know Henri has arrived on the scene.”

  “What a mind the woman has!”

  “Anyone of normal intelligence must think the same,” she said defensively, hating it when he teased her.

  “I think not. Do not try to suppress your intelligence, Harriet. I like it.”

  “Then I should become as stupid as possible. You would leave me be and find someone else to harass.”

  “Harass? Harriet, my love, you wound me. I am not harassing you.”

  She shrugged, then turned away. “Call it what you will. I find you irritating—and cruel.”

  Frederick turned her, grasped the hands she tried to keep from him and held them tightly. “I wish very much you would not misinterpret everything I say to you, Harriet. If only you would trust me to know what I feel. If only you would trust me, period.”

  “I dare not trust you,” she said, her voice sounding in her own ears as if she were strangling.

  “You will. Somehow, someway, I will teach you to trust me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have, my sweeting, lost my heart to you. To regain it, I must also gain yours.”

  Tears moistened her eyes, and she closed them tightly. “Oh, you flirt and tease and are cruel.”

  “I see there is to be no understanding from you today and, since the time for a polite morning call has gone by, we must leave or perhaps we will rouse the curiosity of the spy. But, remember, Harriet, that I love you and someday you will admit you are not indifferent toward me. When that day comes, I’ll be the happiest man alive.” He backed off, stared at her for a moment, bowed, and strode from the room.

  Harriet collapsed into a convenient chair and allowed the tension to drain from her. Someday she would weaken, and the man would break through her control and, indeed, he would be happy. He would have her right where, for reasons she could not fathom, he wanted her. A lady in her situation must retain her reputation or find herself in truly desperate straits. Succumbing to Sir Frederick’s wiles would be folly. She’d be lost. Oh the man was a monster!

  Harriet remembered the warmth of his hands as he’d held hers, the comforting strength of them. It wouldn’t, thought Harriet, somewhat desperately, be quite so bad, if only she needn’t fight herself as well as fight him when they were together.

  An old thought entered her rampaging mind, and she pressed a hand to her heart. If she believed his pursuit of herself was merely a ruse to throw the scent away from his true quarry, then who was that quarry? What if it were not Françoise as she’d assumed? Harriet’s head tipped to one side, the straight brows very nearly meeting between her eyes. She frowned ferociously. She’d always thought it Frani, but perhaps it was Elizabeth? The scowl deepened still more. She was still scowling when Halford entered the breakfast room.

  “What is the matter, Miss Cole? I thought Frederick was to explain to you our newest gambit for misleading the enemy.”

  “He did.” Harriet breathed deeply, forced her hands to lay quietly in her lap. “For the nonce it will give Frani a measure of freedom, since the spy will remain, one hopes, at his post in Chelsea. How long it will answer is moot, of course.”

  “Is that why you frown so?” Halford’s brows formed their own frown. “That it is not a permanent solution, I mean.”

  “Frown?” Harriet cast about in her mind for an excuse but could find none. Without her being aware, a faint blush rose up her neck and into her cheeks. “Was I frowning?”

  “You were. About Fred, I suspect. Frederick tells me you are the most untrusting lady of his acquaintance and, since there have been many such in his past, I find that something of an achievement on yo
ur part, Miss Cole. Congratulations on being unique in your ability to disconcert him!”

  “You are teasing me. It is not kind of you.” “Frederick has honored me with the information he wishes you for his wife.”

  The blush reached major proportions. “The man is a monster. How dare he tell you such lies?”

  “Frederick does not lie.”

  Harriet’s eyes rose to meet Robert’s direct gaze, a pleading look in hers. “I do not understand him.”

  “ ’Tis simple enough, Miss Cole. All you must do is believe him sincere.”

  “He is a rake.”

  “Reformed?”

  “Oh, it is too absurd. His attentions have always been given lovely and popular young women. Young ladies much given to flirtation. I am a spinster. I am not an antidote, but I’m nothing like those on whom his eye has fallen in the past.” She realized her fingers were twisting together painfully and forced them, once again, to relax. “It makes no sense, my lord. None.”

  “Time will prove him to you, I believe,” soothed Robert, realizing the depth of her disturbance. “Perhaps I could turn your thoughts to a happier subject.” His tone teased and drew from her another wary look. “I understand an old friend of yours has arrived in town.” Harriet rose to her feet, Robert automatically rising as well, the ways of a gentleman ingrained into him to the point he needn’t even think about it. He smiled, and Harriet returned it, pleasure dawning slowly and erasing her former mood.

  “Can you guess?” he teased.

  “Joanna!”

  “Yes,” he said, pleased he’d given her thoughts a new and more pleasant direction. “Lady Jo—or, as one should now say, Her Grace. When I informed Pierce and Jo of our guest, Miss Harriet Cole, Jo became excessively excited. She insisted on coming immediately to see you, Miss Cole.”

  “How delightful.”

  “She will arrive any moment now. If you go to the library, you will have the privacy old friends long parted desire. I’ll tell Marks to show Her Grace in when she arrives.”