Stages of Desire

by Julia Tagan

  But when she turned the page, her heart sank. The headline “Mrs. Ivey Poisoned?” was blazoned across the top. Below it Mr. Farley, manager of the Farley Players, offered a lurid account of her final hours, followed by his desire her ghost wouldn’t haunt the opening night performance this evening. He insinuated that an unnamed suspect, hired by a rival company, was still on the run.

  A burning shame roiled through her body. She should never have told her father. Her only hope was that the piece would be dismissed as a trumped-up plea for attention.

  The duchess entered and sat opposite Harriet, every move efficient and brisk. She had her back to the window, but even with the bright sun streaming in behind her Harriet could tell the past several months of uncertainty had taken a toll. The duchess’s eyes and mouth turned down at the corners, as if pulled by invisible strings.

  The duchess had fallen far, from wealthy wife to poor widow. In contrast, Harriet considered herself lucky, having simply moved from one form of service to another. Whether it was putting up with Marianne’s self-absorption or scrubbing dishes, she knew her place in the world. And in many ways she was grateful to the duchess, who could have easily turned her out into the streets.

  “Harriet, someone has been inquiring after you. I thought you should know.”

  William. Perhaps he had read the article and was furious. Or he wanted to speak about what had happened between them. “May I ask whom?” she said, her voice breaking.

  “Mr. Hopplehill and I spoke the other day at church, and I told him he could call on you this afternoon.”

  Harriet looked down at her chapped red hands. Of course William wasn’t interested in seeing her. What had she been thinking? He hated her, blamed her for the debacle in Birmingham. “I don’t think I’m up for a caller.”

  The duchess carried on, undeterred. “I know you’ve been working away downstairs the past couple of weeks, and I have to say I’m amazed at your diligence and discipline. Perhaps you’re paying penance for having run away and almost ruining Marianne’s chances of marriage. I should hope so. But you’ll be happy to know things are looking up.”

  “They are?”

  She nodded. “Lord Abingdon’s sister was ill, but now she’s almost fully recovered.”

  The extract had worked. Harriet’s heart soared, only to plummet when the duchess continued speaking.

  “Marianne saw his lordship at Lady Rutland’s evening party last night and it appears the romance has been rekindled.”

  “I’m glad.” Harriet steadied herself by smoothing her skirt. “But I don’t see any need for me to see Mr. Hopplehill. Particularly under these changed circumstances.”

  “I haven’t said anything to him about your new position here. If Mr. Hopplehill will still have you, I’d advise you put on a proper gown and jump at the opportunity. I can’t keep you on forever.”

  Harriet recalled the cook’s warning, about how easily she could be replaced once the duchess had the funds to do so.

  The older woman leaned forward. “And there’s a more pressing need for you to see Mr. Hopplehill this afternoon. Lord Abingdon is coming by later, to pay a call on Marianne. I would prefer if you and Mr. Hopplehill go for a walk in the park. You may have the afternoon off.”

  Her motive was clear. She didn’t want Harriet present when William called.

  Harriet stood. “Of course, I will be ready for Mr. Hopplehill. Thank you, Your Grace.”

  She pulled away from the duchess’s steely gaze and left the room.

  * * * *

  “Don’t tire yourself, Claire,” said William. “There’s no need for us to tromp all the way to the Serpentine if it’s too much for you.”

  The afternoon was gorgeous and he knew he ought to be content, out walking with his sister and Lady Marianne, particularly as this was the first time Claire had been able to do so in a while. But truth was, he would have much preferred to stay in his study and continue working on the patent for his treatment.

  Knowing his sister would chide him later for any recalcitrant behavior, he bravely attempted to listen and be solicitous. At least he’d persuaded both women to venture out of doors, so as to limit the likelihood he’d run into Harriet at the duchess’s residence. The image of her stricken face the last time they’d seen each other still haunted him.

  “Don’t be silly,” said Marianne, linking arms with his sister. “Lady Claire can lean on me if she gets weary.”

  Marianne was dressed to be seen, in a wide-brimmed bonnet topped with four or five large, purple feathers. He could tell from Claire’s raised eyebrows she’d considered the finery a bit much. But once they’d started walking the conversation between the two women had flowed nicely. Marianne was making a great effort to find subjects in common with his sister. She looked angelic, as always, and was eager to please.

  Too eager, perhaps. Claire extricated her arm from of Marianne’s clutches. “I’m fine, truly. It’s nice to be out in the sunshine.”

  “Do you like the sunshine?” asked Marianne. “I do as well, although Mama always tells me to watch my complexion. Your skin is lovely, Claire. Like ivory. I’m jealous.”

  “It comes from years of being ill, so perhaps there’s no need for envy.”

  Marianne gave a nervous laugh. “Of course not.” She turned to William. “It’s been so enjoyable speaking with your sister. I’m glad we were finally able to be introduced.”

  “I am sorry so much time has passed since we’ve seen each other. I was away longer than I had expected to be.”

  Marianne gave a smile that bared her pretty white teeth. “Lady Claire, I’m sure you heard my dear mother sent William on a tedious errand. The poor man had to collect her wayward ward and bring her home to London. It was tedious, yes, my lord?”

  “Quite. I’m glad to be back.”

  “It couldn’t have been that tedious,” murmured Claire.

  He shot her a look. “What do you mean?”

  Perhaps his sister, who knew him so well, had guessed at his infatuation with Harriet.

  “Well, you came home with your remarkable treatment for malaria.”

  “Of course.” Marianne clapped her gloved hands. “The tree bark and the equation.”

  “Extraction,” he corrected.

  She bit her lip in a gesture both sweet and annoying. He must try harder to be nicer. It wasn’t Marianne’s fault they didn’t share the same rapport as he and Harriet once had. That kind of intimacy was treacherous and led to disaster. She was dangerous.

  No, that wasn’t right. In the past, he’d tried to implement structure in his life by considering people in the starkest of terms, as either good or bad. Like his father had done before him. But that wasn’t the way the world worked.

  Once he’d learned Harriet had returned to the duchess, he’d become even less convinced of her complicity. If she’d been part of the scheme, he’d expect her to be making her London stage debut, not hiding under the duchess’s wing.

  But even if she wasn’t directly involved in the murder of Mrs. Ivey, she was at fault. The horrendous article in the Times today had once again proven she was not to be trusted. No, it was time to settle down, and Marianne would make a proper wife. He must stop dithering about.

  A dozen model boats dotted the smooth surface of the Serpentine, their sails fluttering a brilliant white in the breeze. A crowd had gathered around to watch. William, who’d read a couple of books on the physics of yacht racing, pointed out the various tactics until a look from Claire made it clear he was being a bore.

  Marianne was in the middle of stifling a yawn when her face suddenly lit up. She pointed into the distance. “It’s Harriet and her beau!”

  William whirled around. Indeed, Harriet was walking with a short, stout man who could hardly keep up with her. Although her movements were brisk, she looked more tired than he’d ever seen her
, her face a pallid gray, and for a moment he worried she was ill.

  “No need to call them over,” he said but it was too late. Marianne had gotten their attention and, although Harriet stood immobile for a moment, she and the man were now headed their way.

  Introductions were made, where Harriet refused to meet his gaze. Claire, however, watched him carefully and he tried to keep his countenance as even as possible.

  “How surprising to see you out, Miss Farley,” said Marianne. “And Mr. Hopplehill.” She turned to Claire. “Poor Miss Farley has been working so dreadfully hard for Mama and me. She seems to be able to do anything, from sew a hem to help cook. I don’t know what we’d do without her.”

  The words were intended to injure, to demean, and William could tell they did. Harriet nervously tugged on her gloves.

  “Miss Farley is quite amazing,” said Mr. Hopplehill, wiping the sweat from the back of his neck with a handkerchief. “I’d have her out in my four-in-hand today, as all this walking is tiring, but it’s being repaired.”

  He continued, answering Marianne’s questions about the carriage and horses with great enthusiasm. William couldn’t imagine Harriet with this fellow, one who so obviously lacked her level of intelligence and wit.

  “I understand, Miss Farley, you were instrumental in helping my brother with his malaria treatment in Birmingham,” said Claire.

  All conversation ground to a halt. He may have mentioned Harriet once or twice in passing, perhaps more, but certainly not enough for Claire to speak so candidly.

  Harriet’s eyes grew wide and Marianne stiffened beside him.

  “No, not at all,” said Harriet. “His lordship and Mr. Urswick were the true discoverers of the cure. I was simply the reason for the visit to Birmingham.”

  “And not a pleasant reason,” said Marianne hurriedly. “Mama was worried to death about you. I’m sure Mr. Hopplehill would never have approved.”

  The conversation was sliding into unsafe territory. “I’m sure Mr. Hopplehill sees his own father quite often, am I right?” asked Harriet, and Mr. Hopplehill was off again, talking at great length of his father and many brothers.

  “Oh look, one of the boats is sinking,” said Marianne, cutting in. “Let’s go and watch.”

  William scanned the water. One of the boats had capsized and its owner, a sturdy-looking young man, waded in after it, encouraged by his mates.

  Claire, Marianne, and Mr. Hopplehill moved closer to the shoreline, but William hung back and caught Harriet’s arm.

  “We need to speak.”

  “No, my lord. If you’ll excuse me.”

  Her arm was strong under his touch. Unlike Marianne, there was nothing birdlike about Harriet. Although the color she wore was drab, the hue made her eyes seem even bigger and bluer.

  He recalled the way her long legs had been encased by her breeches, and how her breasts had overflowed in his hands that evening in the dressing room, and his body responded uncomfortably. He pulled her closer. “I saw the article in the Times. Your father is talking of poison.”

  “I told him in order to prevent him from coming to London.” She turned her head, avoiding his gaze. “So he could see how dangerous Freddie, and the entire situation, was. I didn’t know he would use it as a cheap stunt to sell more tickets.”

  His physical reaction to her angered him, along with the fact that she’d rashly confided in her father. A dark, malicious part of him wanted to punish her for making him so vulnerable in every way. “You continue to put me in jeopardy, and the play opens tonight. Everywhere you go, disaster seems to follow.”

  She blanched at his strong words. “I did what I promised. I’m out of sight, working for Her Grace now. And soon I’ll be with Mr. Hopplehill. There will be no reason for our paths to cross.”

  “You’re marrying Mr. Hopplehill, then?”

  “If he asks, yes. And you and Marianne will be wed soon, it appears.”

  Marianne had relinked her arm to Claire’s and was laughing at something his sister had said. Marianne would indeed soon be his wife. And Harriet would marry Hopplehill. He couldn’t speak the truth out loud: he wanted her for himself. The idea was ludicrous and impossible.

  A roar rose up from the spectators lining the lake. Apparently the boat retrieval had been successful. “I shouldn’t be seen speaking to you,” he said.

  “Then walk away. As you did in Birmingham.”

  He pulled her close to him. Her chest rose and fell seductively, her lips were parted, her eyes ablaze with anger. She was fierce and alluring and the only woman he had ever loved.

  He let go of her and watched as she disappeared into the crowd.

  Chapter 15

  Marianne’s face was pink with delight, but William couldn’t tell if it was from the brisk pace of their walk back from Hyde Park or that she realized he was about to ask for her hand. He’d called a hackney once they’d reached the duchess’s doorstep, but instead of returning home with Claire, he’d accompanied Marianne inside the townhouse. They sat side by side on the sofa in the salon once again, as they’d done several weeks ago. As if Birmingham had never happened.

  His side trip to Chipping Norton, which had turned into an extended trek north, had changed his life considerably. Harriet had infuriated, challenged, and aroused him in ways he’d never before experienced.

  As an earl, and the head of his family, he couldn’t allow himself to fall for her charms and intelligence or be swayed by her passion anymore. Seeing her in the park had convinced him of that. She was no good for him, and beside him was a woman more in keeping with what he’d always envisioned his wife would be: charming, sweet, and predictable. Marianne would no doubt patiently handle the various demands of being a countess and raise their children to be well behaved.

  Wasn’t that what he’d always wanted?

  “Shall I ring for tea?” Marianne asked.

  William nodded. While she spoke with the servant, he studied her carefully. He wondered what it would be like to make love to her. She was so small, he hoped he wouldn’t crush her underneath him. Unlike Harriet’s curvy and strong physique.

  He had to stop comparing the two women. One was an appropriate match, the other a disaster.

  “Marianne, we ought to speak seriously for a moment, if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course.” Marianne looked up at him expectantly. “What would you like to discuss?”

  “First, I must apologize again to you for my absence. You’ve been patient through my travels and my sister’s illness and recovery, and I appreciate that.”

  “Your sister is a charming woman. I feel close to her.”

  “I’m glad. She is fond of you as well,” he lied. Even if Claire wasn’t too keen on his choice for a wife, there would be ample time for the two to get to know each other better.

  “I’d like it very much if you’d agree to marry me.”

  She gave him a sparkling smile. He found himself watching her with an air of detachment, wondering if she’d bite her lip next or toss her head back with a laugh.

  She did both. “Oh William, you’ve made me so happy. And Mama will be so pleased. Shall I fetch her?”

  Presumably Harriet had run home after their horrid discussion and was somewhere nearby. He didn’t want to see the look on her face when she found out about the engagement. Once Marianne was safely ensconced in his home as his bride, there’d be no reason to see Harriet anymore. After all, she wasn’t a true sister. Until then, he preferred to keep his visits to the house brief.

  “No need to bother her. I must go. I’d like to make sure Claire arrived home safely.”

  “I’m sure she’s fine.” Marianne put a hand on his arm and moved herself a few inches closer. “I’m so glad, William, I am. I’ll do everything I can to make you happy, you know that, don’t you?”

  “Of course. As will I.�
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  “I’m sorry my father can’t be at the wedding. He would have so enjoyed meeting you.”

  “That’s kind of you to say.”

  “Do you think your mother would have liked me?”

  A flash of pain throbbed in his head. One evening, a year or two before she died, his mother had railed at his father, her eyes aflame with anger. When she’d noticed William in the doorway, she’d scooped him up and carried him to his room and entertained him with a story until he’d fallen asleep. His mother had been a kind woman. And, according to his father, an unreliable, hysterical female.

  His mother, with her passionate side, would have preferred Harriet, he guessed. His father would have been dazzled by Marianne, of that he had no doubt.

  “I’m sure both my parents would have been delighted to have you as their daughter,” he said finally.

  She moved closer to him and he realized she wanted a kiss. He took her small chin in his fingers and leaned in. Her mouth stayed motionless and the kiss ended in an instant. When he opened his eyes again she was beaming at him.

  “That was wonderful.”

  William stood. “I must go. I will see you and the duchess at Lady Bancroft’s dinner party tonight.”

  “Yes, my dear.”

  The deed was done. Marianne was to be his wife.

  * * * *

  Marianne’s squeals of joy rose up through the floorboards and left no doubt in Harriet’s mind William had proposed. She’d seen them arrive from her bedroom window and remained quietly at her desk, sewing an apron she’d accidentally caught on a hook while making dinner the night before, much to cook’s annoyance.

  Marianne’s high-pitched voice and the duchess’s muted tones carried up the two flights of stairs, but Harriet was unable to make out the thread of their conversation. She was sure to learn the details soon enough.

  William was done with her. Now they were both back in London he was eager to sweep everything they’d experienced together under the proverbial rug. If she’d never gone to Birmingham to seek out her father, none of this would have happened. As it was, she had tasted freedom and tapped into a creative streak she’d long believed to be dormant, and met a man who’d moved her like no other. Two weeks had changed everything.