The Yuletide Countess: Harriet's Traditional Regency Romance

by Alicia Quigley

  Catherine nodded. “You are fortunate to be able to do so,” she said.

  Harriet nodded sadly. “It is not every spinster who is in the position to turn down an earl merely because he does not speak of love,” she allowed. Luckily, I have nothing in my current circumstances of which to complain, so I need not regret anything, except my hopes that love might still find me even at my age. Although I suppose they seem very foolish indeed.”

  Catherine shook her head. “No, you are not foolish at all. If you will not be happy in a marriage, it is best not to embark upon it.”

  “Thank you, I will try to remember that when I am regretting my rash decision,” said Harriet. “And now, I must leave before I see Lord Glencairn or the children; I have no need of more awkwardness today. Do come to Dargenwater Cottage on your next half day, and we will have a chat.”

  “I look forward to it. And please do come and visit the children; they will miss you if you do not.”

  Harriet nodded. “I will come, but less often, and soon we will leave for England, and Lord Glencairn can put me behind him. I hope he finds a suitable wife soon.”

  Catherine hugged her sympathetically, and Harriet left the castle, mournfully retracing her steps to Dargenwater Cottage. There she found that Isobel was still at her excavation, and so with great relief she retired to her room with the curtains drawn and a cold compress for her forehead.

  Chapter 15

  The following week passed very slowly for both Harriet and Isobel. While somewhat hobbled by her ankle, Isobel went daily to her excavation, but the relics she found did not seem to lighten her mood, and Harriet’s visits to Glencairn Castle became far less frequent. When she did venture there, she was relieved to find that the earl was clearly making it his aim not to encounter her too often. He never intruded on her lessons with Sophia, and she caught no more than glimpse of him at some distance, discussing the folly with a worker. Harriet was pleased to see that the folly was almost complete, and made sure to let Isobel know that it would be a very lovely building when finished.

  “I’m sure Lord Glencairn will be very grateful to you and Lord Francis for such a delightful addition to his estate,” she said to her cousin one afternoon as they sat in the drawing room at Dargenwater Cottage.

  Isobel smiled wistfully. “I suppose I should go to Glencairn to see how it is coming along,” she said. “It is just that since… well, since I am so busy at my excavation, I hardly know how I will find the time.”

  “It might be polite of you to do so,” ventured Harriet. “I have not seen Lord Glencairn of late. I would carry a message to him, but I see him so seldom.”

  Isobel looked surprised. “You were wont to spend much time with him,” she said.

  Harriet shrugged in what she hoped was a casual manner. “Glencairn seems to be much occupied with other matters. The affairs of women and children likely seem inconsequential to him.”

  “Perhaps I will go there in the next day or two to see that all is well,” said Isobel. “After all, it is would be only polite of me, as I am thinking of leaving Scotland soon.”

  Harriet looked up eagerly. “Leave Scotland?” she said.

  “I know you must be terribly disappointed, as you love it so dearly and have made such good friends at Glencairn Castle,” said Isobel. “But I am reaching a point at my excavation where I feel we should not dig again until next summer, or my findings may be washed away with the rain and snow of winter. And with the folly done, and no more to be done at Ballydendargan…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Of course, if you have finished your business here we should be gone,” said Harriet, trying not to sound too enthusiastic. “As you say, I am very fond of Scotland, but it would be good to see Kitswold again.”

  Isobel hesitated. “As to that, I need to meet with my solicitor. I thought we might go to London for a few days.”

  Harriet looked up, startled. “London in late summer? How dreary. There will be no one in town, and it will be frightfully hot.”

  “I know,” said Isobel placatingly. “It will be an imposition, but I do have need of Mr. Askworth’s advice.”

  Harriet shrugged. If it was necessary to remove to London in order to avoid the sight of Lord Glencairn, then London it would have to be. “Of course, my dear,” she said. “I will go wherever you choose. I’m sure London for a few days will be quite tolerable. Perhaps we can visit Madame Celine and purchase some new gowns.”

  Isobel looked faintly at surprised at Harriet leveling so few objections, but privately felt a sense of relief at not having to cajole her further. “Then, if we leave in four days’ time that will be fine with you?”

  “Four days will be perfect,” said Harriet, thinking that, between packing and planning, she would likely have to visit Glencairn Castle one more time. “Please allow me to make the plans to close the Cottage. I know you will want to spend as much time at your site as possible.”

  “It will not be a problem to help—” began Isobel.

  Harriet interrupted, waving her hand. “Not at all, my dear. It will be my very great pleasure to help you.”

  “I thank you,” said Isobel. “If you will supervise the packing of our baggage and the closing of the cottage, I will make sure all is well at the dig. We shall depart on Saturday.”

  “That will be perfect,” said Harriet. A bit of the heaviness began to lift from her shoulders. Surely, when she was out of Scotland, she would begin to forget her regrettable affection for Lord Glencairn.

  When Catherine came to visit on her half-day, she found Harriet bustling about, ordering the packing of trunks, the stowing of luggage, and the closing of the cottage until the next summer. She greeted her friend with an affectionate kiss on the cheek.

  “Catherine, how sweet of you to visit. Had you my note?” she asked.

  “I did indeed, and very sorry it made me. I will miss your company a great deal,” said her friend.

  “And I will miss you, and the children. But I cannot regret our departure; after all, my continued presence in the neighborhood cannot be comfortable for Lord Glencairn, and I certainly feel awkward whenever he is mentioned. I earnestly hope that in a few months, I will have put all this behind me.” Harriet sighed. “I do my best not to think of it, but it is very difficult when he is so close.”

  “I’m certain that when you return next summer, it will feel less difficult,” ventured Catherine.

  Harriet shuddered. “He may have found another bride by then, and I will simply have to bear it. But do not let us think about that! Come in the drawing room and we will have a cup of tea.”

  The two women sat over their tea for some time, chatting of this and that, when Catherine put down her teacup and cleared her throat gently.

  “Do you recall Mr. Beattie, the curate from Kilfarclas?” she asked.

  Harriet looked puzzled.

  “He was the tall gentleman with the reddish hair who danced with me at the Glencairn ball,” prompted Catherine.

  Harriet’s brow cleared, and she smiled. “Of course I remember him now,” she said. “He danced very gracefully for such a tall gentleman.”

  “Yes, he is very cultured, and comes from a good family in the highlands, but is the youngest of five sons,” Catherine replied.

  “Five sons!” Harriet exclaimed. “I suppose there must be some daughters as well?”

  “Yes, four,” Catherine confirmed. “Even though the Beatties have a comfortable inheritance and are well-respected, there is simply not enough for all of them to be well-settled. Hence the curacy.”

  “If his family has only a moderate fortune, and similar influence, it will be very difficult for him to get a preferment,” Harriet observed.

  “Yes,” Catherine said with a little sigh.

  Harriet nodded. There was no need for her to put words to her thoughts that Catherine and her Mr. Beattie might never have the means to wed.

  “Enough of my concerns.” Catherine said. “What of the children? You must say
good-bye to them, or they will be disappointed.”

  Harriet looked miserable. “I know I must, but I do not wish to. It would be easier to simply slip away, but I suppose if I am to be an example to Sophia, I must once again model how she should go on.”

  “I will have them in the garden tomorrow afternoon,” said Catherine. “You will not have to come to the house then, but can simply visit for a bit and then leave.”

  “Bless you, dear friend,” said Harriet. “That greatly relieves my mind.”

  Pursuing this plan, Harriet took some time away from packing and supervising the servants the next day to stroll one last time to Glencairn Castle. As she trod the familiar path, she felt a sense of melancholy that she would not, after today, walk it again for almost a year. If she did then, she thought dismally. After all, she would have no reason to visit, particularly if his lordship had remarried. As the castle came into sight, she paused for a moment, pondering what might have been, but then shook her head resolutely. It would not do to be sentimental. She had made her bed, and must lie in it.

  Harriet made her way to the garden, where Sophy and Douglas were with Catherine, playing shuttlecock amongst the late summer flowers. When they saw her, they set aside their rackets and came running up, eagerly calling her name.

  “Why have you not visited in so long?” asked Sophy. “I have missed you, and my painting has suffered.”

  “Alas, Miss Paley and I leave the day after tomorrow for England,” said Harriet. “I have been assisting with the preparations.”

  “Leaving for England!” exclaimed Douglas. “Why would you ever leave Scotland?”

  “My home is with Miss Paley, and her home is in England,” said Harriet. “But I’m sure I will see you here next summer, and when you are much older, we may meet in London.”

  Sophy appeared to be quite overcome with emotion at the thought of losing Harriet’s company, and tears filled her eyes, as she ran forward and embraced her. “I will miss you very much,” she said. “I hadn’t thought that you would leave me so quickly.”

  Harriet, surprised and touched, hugged her back. “At least we have become friends, and that can never be taken from us,” she said warmly. “You are quite the most charming young lady of my acquaintance, and I will always think very fondly of you.”

  Sophy stepped back, wiping a tear from her eye. “Will you write to me, please?”

  “If you would like that, I will indeed,” promised Harriet.

  “Will you tell me of all the doings in London?”

  “Of course I will. And you may write and tell me of how your lessons are coming, and what you are painting.”

  Sophy appeared to be somewhat mollified by this promise, and Harriet stayed some minutes, talking with Catherine and the children. But when she saw Lord Glencairn’s figure in the distance, moving toward them, she made haste to depart.

  “I must be going, children, as Miss Paley needs me. Be sure to listen to Miss Dalburn, and, when you return to school, Douglas, I hope you will pay attention to your lessons.”

  “I will,” he said solemnly.

  With a last hug for Sophy, and a squeeze of Catherine’s hand, Harriet fled. As the children looked after her, Lord Glencairn joined them.

  “Was that Miss Walcott?” he asked.

  “It was indeed,” said Catherine. “She came to say good-bye to the children and to me.”

  “Good-bye?” asked the earl.

  “She and Miss Paley leave for England in two days,” said Catherine brightly, aware that she should not know of his proposal to Harriet. “They have a great deal of packing to do.”

  Sophy sniffled. “I will miss her very much. She was so kind to me, and so helpful. She promised to come to the parties in London when I am eighteen and come out.”

  Lord Glencairn gazed after Harriet’s retreating figure. “That is very kind of her, Sophy. I think we will all regret Miss Walcott’s absence.”

  Chapter 16

  Dearest Pippa,

  I am such a tizzy that I scarce know what to say! If my last letter has found you, you know that Isobel and I left Ballydendargan nearly a fortnight ago, as Isobel had urgent business in London. Some nonsense with her lawyer, I believe I told you, as that is what she told me, but you will very shortly see that was a mere fabrication! I was very sorry to leave Scotland, as you know how much I love the heather and the gorse, and London is so dull this time of year; no one of fashion is present, and it is very hot and dusty. But I was far less reluctant to leave than I have been in the past; after all, I continued to be thrown into Lord G’s company from time to time. While he was always a perfect gentleman, it was, you may easily imagine, quite awkward. Also, I must admit that my fondness for him has not grown any less, and it is difficult to be constantly in company with a person one holds in deep affection, but who can offer only polite regard in return. And yet, I was sorry to leave my dear friend Miss Dalburn and Douglas and Sophy; some tears were shed when I made my good-byes, I am not ashamed to tell you. I hope to see them again next summer under more pleasant circumstances, and, of course, some day Sophy will come out, and I will be delighted to observe that. I know that she will be the Toast of London.

  But I wander from my point, which, dear Pippa, I am sure hardly surprises you. We had been in London only a few days when, yesterday, Isobel informed me that she would be gone for some hours; she meant to visit her modiste in Bond Street and purchase some gifts in the shops to send to her brother’s wife and children. Then, she said, she would visit with a sick friend for the afternoon, and return for dinner. I took little notice of this, for I was very morose; I was missing Scotland and Lord G (who, I am sure, has not spared a thought for me of late), and quite sunk in my gloom. I remained at home, for there is no one to meet in the park or to pay calls on, and read a bit and napped. To tell you the truth, my dear, I mostly moped about the house, feeling quite sorry for myself. I am almost ashamed to admit it, but, as one who has turned down a proposal of marriage from an earl (I still can scarcely believe I did such a thing), I must tell you that at times indulging in a good cry can do wonders.

  Several hours passed, and I was lying in my sitting room, a cold compress on my forehead, when Isobel burst into the room. You will wonder exceedingly when I tell you she was wearing a coat and breeches! My dear, she was dressed as a man, though her hair was not short, but rather tumbling about her shoulders in a very unladylike way. It looked very odd, and quite indecent, though Isobel can do little to shock me. Still, I thought perhaps I was dreaming. Instead, she assured me I was quite awake, and that she had just become affianced to Lord Francis Wheaton! As you know I have long hoped that she might find happiness with that gentleman, but I was astounded by her announcement.

  It took some time to sort out the thread of her story—she was quite incoherent at times, which is not like my dear Isobel. It seems that she was bold enough to attempt to present her findings concerning her excavation in Scotland to the Society of Antiquaries at the British Museum, dressed as a man and under the name Marcus Paley! I knew she published her work under that name, but she felt that she could carry off a masquerade, and had gone forth, dressed as a man, with a wig to cover her hair.

  At this point you must think me mad, my dear, but I swear that I am speaking God’s own truth. It seems that Lord Francis, prompted by some chance words I had spoken, had traveled the length of the country to Wales and spoken to Lady Morgan. There he learned of her travails, and assisted her by forcing her dreadful husband to leave the country. In return, she told him of Isobel’s disastrous plans, and he travelled posthaste to London, where he attended the meeting of the Society, and rescued her from discovery by a very unpleasant gentleman. The end result is an engagement that I have always wished for! Lord Francis assured Isobel that he would give up any claim to her fortune, and she is so pleased that he is willing to accommodate her whims, and even more important, I think, so grateful that he has understood Lady Morgan’s plight and sent her vile, adulterous spous
e off to the Continent, that she has succumbed to his entreaties! Soon they will be married, and I am very happy for them; it seems that the plans Lord G and I planted have borne fruit, though I cannot share with him my pleasure in the result.

  Lord Francis had come to Clarges Street with Isobel, so I went down to the drawing room with her, and was able offer them both my felicitations, and partake of a glass of champagne to toast their happiness. They make such a handsome couple, and Lord Francis was so proud, and Isobel so blushing (which amused me excessively, for she is no milk-and-water miss), that I thought it would not be possible for me to be happier.

  And now, my dear, I have no doubt your thoughts have followed my own. If Miss Paley is to be wed, what will become of me? She will have no need of a chaperone, after all, and the young couple will wish to set up their own establishment. I know, my dear sister, that you will always have a care of me, but, still, I would prefer to not be a burden on you, as you have your husband and children to think of. I said nothing at all, but Isobel turned to me after they had told me the happy news and assured me that she and Lord Francis wished me to continue as her companion! She had such kind words for my friendship and sagacity; she even allowed that without my prompting, she might never have known her own heart. Lord Francis merely kissed me on the cheek (such a handsome gentleman , it gave me quite a flutter!) and told me that he thought of me as a sister to Isobel, and one who would always be cherished. They assured me that I will always have a home with them, and that, when the children come, as they will, they wish me to be an aunt to them, and help raise them. I was more touched than I believed possible, and, of course, a few tears were shed, but I was honored beyond words by their affection and solicitude.

  And so, my dear, we come to a happy ending for Miss Paley and Lord Francis. I confess that my heart still aches when they speak of Scotland or Lord Glencairn, yet I must think, despite what many would term my foolishness, that I have made the proper choice. To be unloved, where one loves, is heartache indeed.