The Harlow Hoyden

by Lynn Messina

  “He’s alive and rapidly returning to health,” she explained. “It happened whilst he was abroad, in France. He should be returned to us within the week. We all take comfort in that.”

  “That sounds very serious indeed. Do tell Sarah to let me know if there’s anything I can do,” he said, making polite drawing room conversation, although polite drawing room conversation was the last thing he wanted to make.

  “Of course,” she said, reaching for a teacup but putting it down when she realized her hand was unsteady. She folded both hands together in her lap and hoped the duke hadn’t noticed.

  If he did, he gave no indication of it. “Since Sarah will most likely not be up to attending the ball, why don’t I escort you and Miss Harlow? I shall bring my mother along. It will all be very respectable.”

  “That is a very gracious offer, your grace, and I gladly accept, assuming your mother has plans to attend. I wouldn’t want to inconvenience her.”

  “Don’t tease yourself on that point,” he said, with his charming smile. “Mama hasn’t missed a ton event in more than thirty years.”

  Emma, staring almost transfixed at his beautiful, skilled lips, had to shake herself free of a daydream before responding. “Excellent. I shall look forward to it. We’ve stayed very close to home these last few days, and it will be good to get out.”

  Suddenly the duke felt as awkward as a schoolboy at his first social function. Several matters had been resolved, and it was clearly time for him to take his leave. But he didn’t want to go just yet. He felt something should be said about what happened—one didn’t just molest innocent maidens in the front parlor and then retire from the room—but he didn’t know what. His smooth tongue deserted him now when he needed it the most.

  Miss Harlow, who was eager to be alone so that she could still her shaking hands in private, stood up. “Your grace, it has been a most interesting morning. Thank you for your call and for your generous offer of help. With your aid, I’m positive we will have Sir Windbourne routed in no time. No doubt one day my sister will thank you for the service you do her.”

  Trent bowed and resisted the urge to kiss her hand. Contact now would be the undoing of him. “Let us proceed with caution and leave your sister’s thanks in the far-off future. I am not as confident as you that what we’re doing is right.”

  “Of course you’re not.” She dimpled. “As I said, you are a gentleman.”

  Not wanting to get into that again, the duke bid her good day and stepped outside into the brisk March air. What a relief to be out of there, he thought, climbing into the coach. Despite his vehement protests to the contrary, Alexander Keswick, the seventh Duke of Trent, was not a libertine. Playing fast and loose with the affections of an innocent did not sit well with him. And he didn’t mean Lavinia Harlow. He was confident that a few conversations about raising orchids and a couple of his melting looks that had ensnared so many women before would have her easily under his spell. He didn’t think winning her affections would require any physical contact.

  No, Trent was worried about the other Miss Harlow. His behavior today had been quite out of the ordinary for him. He had never before kissed a well-bred unmarried woman, but the experience had been intoxicating—and quite possibly addictive. It was Emma herself, of course, who made the encounter so heady. He would have to take care in the future. It would not do to lead her on. The Duke of Trent had no intention of marrying just yet, and he didn’t want an innocent mooning embarrassingly over him.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Sarah had no intention of going to the Kenelms’ ball—until she heard that the girls would be going in Trent’s coach.

  “Really, Sarah, there’s no reason to examine me with that look on your face. I assure you the whole enterprise is one hundred percent respectable,” Emma said when questioned on the subject by her sister-in-law. “He and his mama were going to the ball themselves and are only swinging by here to pick us up. It’s nothing in the least.”

  “But I don’t understand why he is ‘swinging by here,’ as you so coarsely put it. We’re several blocks out of his way. Whatever could he be thinking?” she said, tossing her bonnet on the chair beside her. She had barely returned from her daily walk in the square when she learned that the Duke of Trent had been closeted with her younger charge for more than a half hour.

  “Well, if the truth were known,” said Emma in conspirational tones, deciding it was time to put her plan into action. “I think he has developed a tendre for dear Lavinia.”

  Sarah laughed. “Emma, what a child you are. The duke is not wearing the willow for your sister. While I love her dearly, I know for a fact that she isn’t at all the sort of girl who attracts Trent. He likes them lively, with a bit of color in their cheeks. Vinnie’s cheeks are pallid.”

  “But she is lively when she talks to the duke,” protested Emma.

  “What can she possibly have to talk about with him?”

  “Orchids, of course. They are both extremely interested in cultivating orchids. Yes, the duke was closeted in here with me this morning, but all we talked about were Lavinia and her flowers. The duke is interested in her, Sarah. I know it for a fact. He even told me so himself,” she added, as a clincher.

  It was then that Sarah realized that Emma was up to some havey-cavey business. Try as she might, she simply could not believe Trent was interested in Lavinia. Emma—now that was another story completely. Yes, the duke usually stayed away from misses of marriageable age, but there was no telling with someone as quixotic as he. Perhaps he was interested in Emma. But why then would he pretend an interest in Lavinia? The entire story made no sense, and Sarah decided to watch the situation closely. “Very well, I shall go the ball, but we will be taking our own carriage. Write a letter to Trent and thank him for his kind offer. It wouldn’t do for us to arrive in a carriage with the duke and his mother. We’re not connected to his family, and it would no doubt raise eyebrows, especially with Lavinia engaged to Sir Waldo. If we should be arriving in any man’s coach, it should be his. Do you know if he’ll be attending the ball tonight?”

  Emma had no idea, though it was her solemn wish that he not be there. She wanted Trent to have some time to get to work winning the affections of her sister, without Sir Windbag’s very annoying presence. Lavinia was hardly a widgeon, but even the most levelheaded girls found jealous fits to be romantic. She didn’t want her scheme to push Lavinia deeper into that villain’s embrace. Speaking of embraces…

  “Sarah,” she said, in quite a different tone than her earlier statements, “can I ask you something and will you promise to answer without getting all stiff and matronly on me?”

  Still puzzling over the matter of Trent, Sarah agreed without paying attention to the question. “Of course, dear, what is it?”

  “Is kissing the same with all gentleman or does it depend on the beau?” she asked.

  Sarah paled and straightened up in her seat, looking at Emma as if she’d never seen her before. “What happened in this room between you and the duke?” she asked, her voice severe.

  Miss Harlow frowned petulantly. “There, you’re getting all stiff. And after promising you wouldn’t.”

  “Emma, you will tell me what occurred between you and the duke,” ordered Sarah, in no mood for games.

  “Nothing of note,” she said, while silently acknowledging that that kiss had been very notable indeed. “As I said, we mostly talked about Vinnie.” Realizing that she had to appease Sarah or she wouldn’t get a useful word out of her, she said, “I’ll admit that all this talk of engagements has me wondering about things that an unengaged girl shouldn’t wonder about. I cannot help but think that if Lavinia kissed someone else, she would lose all interested in the horrid Sir Windbag.”

  “Well-bred ladies of good standing do not hunt around looking for the best kisser. That is not how you choose a husband,” Sarah instructed, hoping that would be the end of the discussion.

  “Ah, so some men are better than others?�
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  Sarah looked much vexed at Emma’s astute observation. “I didn’t say that, you horrible child.”

  Emma laughed, delighted with the way the conversation was going. In a minute she would have the truth out of her. “You better just tell me, my dear, before I take it into my head to find out the answer myself.”

  “Very well, the answer is yes.” She surrendered to the inevitable with a sigh. “Yes, some men kiss better than others. And, no, it isn’t the same with all gentlemen. It depends on a great many things.”

  Emma threw herself onto the cushion next to Sarah, her knees pressing against her sister-in-law’s side. “Have you kissed a great many men, other than Roger?”

  “How many times do I have to tell you that ladies do not sit on their knees in that ramshackle fashion?” Sarah said, exasperation clearly etched in every line of her face. “Now place your feet on the floor like a normal person.”

  She grunted in irritation—how could Sarah be thinking of such mundane things at a time like this?—and obeyed. “There, now tell me. How many men have you kissed?”

  “Only two others besides your brother, if you must know, and the first one was an unpleasant experience.”

  Recalling her kiss with Trent, Emma found it impossible to believe that kissing could ever be unpleasant. “Why?”

  “Why what?” asked Sarah.

  “What was it unpleasant?”

  “I’ve told you enough already, you impertinent brat. Now leave me in peace,” she said, shooing her charge out of the room. “I’ve had enough of your nonsense. And don’t forget to write that note to the duke.”

  Emma left, more eager than ever to give kissing a second try.

  The Kenelm ball was a glittering affair, and Emma could barely contain her excitement. Finally something was to be done about that dreadful Sir Waldo Windbag. She had yet to catch sight of Trent but felt positive that he would be there. He had seemed very eager to get this ordeal over with, although he himself had sought out the responsibility. She had not been teasing him that afternoon or purposefully manipulating. As far as she was concerned, he was most unsuitable. Only a libertine should do a libertine’s work.

  Emma looked at her dance card, which was predictably free of names. Although she was in usually good looks in her blue silk dress, due to a knowing sparkle in her eye and a becoming blush in her cheeks, the respectable gentlemen of the ton kept their distance. No one ever knew what to expect from the Harlow Hoyden, and few were brave enough to take the risk. That was fine with Emma. She had little interest in the respectable gentlemen of the ton.

  Where was Trent?

  “Ah, there you are, my dear.” Emma turned at the sound of her friend Kate’s voice. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Why are you hanging back in a corner like a wallflower, with the chaperones?”

  “Is this where the chaperones gather?” she asked with a laugh. “I hadn’t realized. Its major appeal for me was the three inches of unoccupied space it offered. The ballroom is so crowded.”

  “I suppose it’s a good thing,” Kate said, “since I was hoping to have a private moment to talk about the list.”

  “Ah, yes, the list. What sort of progress have you made?” Emma asked.

  “I’m afraid it’s rather slow going,” Miss Kennington admitted. “There are many rakes and scoundrels running tame in the best drawing rooms this season, but I’ve come across none so far that I’d stake your sister’s reputation on. But don’t give up hope. Perhaps in a few weeks,” she explained, hoping that in a few weeks her friend will have moved on to some new, less volatile mischief. Kate had actually come up with a name or two, and should Emma persist in her plan, they would do well enough.

  “Don’t worry, darling. There’s no longer need for the list.”

  This was exactly what Kate wanted to hear. “That is a relief.”

  “Yes, Trent has kindly offered to do the deed for me. I am even now awaiting his arrival. He promised to begin courting Lavinia tonight. I suspect by tomorrow morning, he’ll have wormed his way a good deal into her heart,” she said with conviction.

  Kate gave her a long look. “Either you are overestimating Trent’s charms or underestimating your sister’s devotion. I am not sure which.”

  Emma laughed. “Surely underestimating Lavinia’s devotion, for I don’t think it is possible to overestimate Trent’s charms.”

  This was by far the most intriguing thing Kate had ever heard the Harlow Hoyden say. Although she wanted very much to ask Emma what exactly she knew of Trent’s charm, she restrained herself. Emma could be prickly and defensive, and she didn’t want to get her hackles up, not when there were so many details to be learned. “That is very kind of the duke to help. What changed his mind?”

  “He changed it himself. We had the most interesting scene in my drawing room today. He came in bound and determined to get me to abandon my scheme, and when he realized that I would stay the course, he insisted on helping. I don’t think he trusts another gentleman to behave properly with Lavinia. I turned down his offer, of course.”

  “What?” asked Kate, shocked. “Why on earth would you do that?”

  “Because he’s not really a libertine, as you made me realize. I tried to explain that to him, but he only became more and more upset.” Emma blushed as she recalled just how upset he had gotten.

  Kate saw this and wondered at its cause. She could not remember the last time she had seen Emma blush. “But he convinced you in the end?”

  “Yes, I suppose he did convince me.”

  “What did he do—”

  “Dash it, there you are, Miss Harlow,” said Philip, his face flushed with exertion. “Been looking for you everywhere. Hoping I could get a dance. Your card ain’t filled yet, is it?”

  As Emma hastened to assure him that her card was far from full, Kate sent her a quizzical look.

  Emma dimpled in response. In her experience, Philip often drew quizzical looks. “Philip, I don’t believe you’ve met my friend Kate Kennington. This is Philip Keswick. He is the Duke of Trent’s cousin.”

  Philip bowed at the young beauty. “It’s a pleasure, ma’am. Perhaps you’d like to dance with me, as well?”

  “I’m afraid my card is already full,” she said with a smile to soften the disappointment.

  “That’s all right. As long as I get one in with the Harlow Hoyden.” He handed Emma her card back. “I’ve put my name next to a minuet. Would have chosen a waltz but Trent told me not to,” he said enigmatically before disappearing into the crowd.

  “Now what do you suppose he meant by that?” wondered Kate.

  Emma was scarcely paying attention. “Nothing, I’m sure. If Philip is here, that means that Trent must be nearby. Do you see him? Come, we mustn’t hide in the corner like this. We’ll miss all the fun.”

  Before excusing herself, Kate followed her friend to the other side of the ballroom, where they found Sarah talking to some friends. “But we will talk about this more,” she assured Emma.

  “Talk about what more?” Emma asked, her eyes searching the room for a glimpse of Trent.

  Her friend just smiled in response and walked away.

  “It is the strangest thing,” said Sarah, upon seeing Emma beside her.

  “What, dear?”

  “The way Trent is indeed pursuing Lavinia.” She gestured to the punch table, where Trent was in the process of handing Vinnie a glass. “He has been here for a half hour and has not left her side. Whatever can he be about?” she asked, almost under her breath.

  “I don’t know why you marvel so. A man such as he is probably tired of all those jaded flirts who crowd around him like bees to honey. No doubt he appreciates Lavinia’s quiet charms and her intelligent conversation.” This statement made so much sense to Emma that she found herself half believing it. She looked at the two of them drinking punch across the room, and the idea took root. Really, why shouldn’t the two of them make a match of it? Lavinia wanted a family, and it was time th
e duke settled down. With their horticultural bent, they had much in common. Who was to say that the two wouldn’t fall in love? And what was love anyway? Emma didn’t know, but it seemed to her a flimsy thing indeed if Lavinia could feel it for such a blackguard as Sir Windbag.

  “I suppose there could be some truth in that,” conceded Sarah. “Many a young man has sown his wild oats with highfliers, only to set up his nursery with an artless lady like your sister.”

  “I’m confident that Vinnie will have him wrapped around her finger by the end of the month.”

  Sarah turned to face her. “Oh, Emma darling, don’t say such things. You know very well that your sister is engaged to Sir Waldo, and she’s far too honorable to jilt him just because a superior prospect has presented itself. She will marry him, no matter what she feels for Trent. Better that she go to the altar with a whole heart than with half. It must be an awful thing to marry one man while you pine for another.”

  “Sarah, you speak with such passion,” said Miss Harlow, amazed. “Is there something you are not telling me about your own past?”

  “Silly child.” She laughed. “I assure you that Roger has my heart whole and complete, but I’m not so old that I cannot remember what it was like to be your age. I myself was a very romantical miss and knew I’d rather go into a decline than marry any man but Roger, my beloved. I made a perfectly ridiculous picture, considering there was nothing to thwart our happiness.”

  This glimpse of a younger Sarah intrigued her, but before she could delve deeper, her hand was sought by Sir Everett Carson.

  “They’re striking up a waltz,” he said, kissing her hand. “Would you do me the honor?”

  Emma’s opinion of Carson, formed the other night after a solitary dance, had been of a harmless scoundrel. She had found his conversation to be light but charming and had thoroughly enjoyed their dance. Accepting his invitation now, she felt oddly discomforted by the man. Something in his demeanor had changed in the last week, and it didn’t sit well with her. Perhaps it was the way he was eyeing her décolletage, as if it were a lamb chop and he a very hungry diner.