The Harlow Hoyden

by Lynn Messina

  “When did she tell you this?” Lavinia asked, more disturbed by this information than she hoped to let on.

  “Two weeks ago, when she was trying to convince me of your fiancé’s unsuitability,” explained Trent. He noticed a sudden withdrawn air about his companion and cursed the slick ground he had willingly trod. He had no right to insult her intended. “She didn’t convince me, of course. Husbands have the right to expect certain things from their wives, like that they don’t spend their days up to their elbows in mud or follow their sisters into one scrape after another. Surely that was all he meant.”

  Lavinia nodded, wondering what he meant about wives not being up to their elbows in mud. Sir Waldo didn’t have a problem with her growing orchids, did he? She shook her head. This was all very much off the topic. “Thank you, for trying to defend Emma.”

  “I just don’t want you to be too angry with her. She is impulsive and has some growing to do yet.”

  “What about me? We are the same age—three and twenty.”

  “I think you’re already grown, but keeping in mind the trick you played earlier, I’d say there’s still some impulsiveness left.”

  They drove around the park in silence for a while. The duke noticed how distracted she was and missed the carefree companion of only the day before. He loathed the idea of having dampened her spirits with the serious talk about her fiancé. Whom she married was her business alone—not her sister’s, and certainly not his. But he knew her well enough to recognize what a shame it would be if Windbourne succeeded in ending her horticultural bent. He’d never met anyone as knowledgeable about flowers as she was.

  After a while, she said, “Your grace, I’m sure you’ve already had enough of us Harlow women, but I have a scheme of my own that I need your help with. Do you give it to me?”

  Trent laughed. “Your sister at least had the decency to tell me what it was before bullying me into compliance.”

  “It does not require much of you, only that you continue in the same vein,” Vinnie said, knowing that she couldn’t tell the duke the depth of her play. He would no doubt balk at the idea of making Emma jealous. No bachelor intent on remaining a bachelor would encourage a marriageable girl’s interest. No, it was best if the duke and Emma stayed in the dark. That way they could fall in love. “I haven’t settled on the details of what I’m going to do yet, but I’m not ready for Emma to discover the truth. It would serve her right if I fell madly in love with you and went into a decline,” she said, imagining a deathbed scene with Emma white-faced with fright. Perhaps that was going too far but was there anything wrong with a small decline?

  The duke thought about her request. As she herself said, he should have had his fill of the Harlow women, and yet here he was, considering entangling himself further in one of their half-baked schemes. He should get out now and leave them to their trickery. But somehow the idea didn’t seem right. If he got out now, he would have no excuse to see Miss Emma Harlow, except to court her as a beau did a prospective wife. But he wasn’t interested in marriage, was he? He allowed himself a moment to think about it, wondering if what he felt for the Harlow Hoyden was love. The answer was an emphatic no. That he felt lust there was no question. The duke had never wanted any woman—not the dancers he kept in Chelsea, not the widows he toyed with in their bedrooms—the way he wanted her. But he was wise enough to recognize the appeal of forbidden fruit. Miss Harlow would never be his. One had to marry respectable girls to get them into bed, and that was unacceptable. Of course, the idea of his wild, passionate Emma in another gentleman’s bed was also unacceptable. He would challenge any man to a duel, even her lawfully wedded husband.

  With his thoughts in a muddle, the duke agreed to Vinnie’s proposal. Only one thing was clear to him: They must remained co-conspirators. It was the only way he would get to spend time with Emma, perhaps some of it alone, so that he could make her melt again in his arms. He had no intention of relinquishing his claim on Emma, at least not until he figured out what he wanted from her.

  Having never schemed before, Lavinia had no inkling of how much she’d enjoy it. Now that she finally knew what was going on, it was as plain as the nose on her face that Emma was being eaten up with jealousy. Where once she could be found waiting in the parlor or study when Vinnie returned from one of her jaunts with Trent, she was now impossible to locate. On one particularly amusing occasion, Vinnie tracked her to the wine cellar and actually found her sister shivering in the basements, with two wool shawls around her shoulders. Delighted, Vinnie smiled at the ridiculous picture her sister presented and thought she and the duke would make a match of it in no time

  It was obvious to everyone who knew her that something was wrong with Emma. Her usual exuberance was nowhere to be found, she seemed tired all the time, and nobody had seen her eat in more than a week. When asked if she was all right, she would grow impatient with the question and the inquisitor and storm off in a cloud of invectives.

  Clearly, thought Lavinia, the girl is besotted.

  Although she hated to see her sister suffer, Lavinia thought the whole experience was good for her. Perhaps Emma would learn once and for all that sometimes it was better to leave well enough alone. For a week, Lavinia was on pins and needles, expecting Emma to knock on her bedroom door at any moment and confess all. Vinnie was prepared to graciously forgive her and to wish her well with Trent.

  But the moment never came. Indeed, something extraordinary happened. Sir Waldo returned from his country seat, where he’d gone to clear up some tenant dispute, and upon his arrival Emma returned to normal. The lethargy of the past six days disappeared, although pale cheeks remained behind as a reminder. Emma was as full of energy as she had ever been, and she resumed her efforts to throw Trent at Vinnie’s head. Once again she was willing—and even eager—to hear the details of the courtship. Nothing Vinnie said got a reaction out of Emma, aside from that happy, pleased smile she had pasted on her face. Not even when she had thrown around a few “Alexes” and even an “Allie.” Nothing. It was as if someone had put a spell on her.

  Three days after this remarkable change, Sarah ran Lavinia to ground in the drawing room.

  “I want to know what’s going on,” she said, in a firm voice. She closed the door and sat down with her needlepoint on her lap. But her calm pose was deceptive. She was very angry and seriously worried about the Harlow sisters, and Lavinia wasn’t leaving the room until she knew everything.

  “I can’t imagine what you mean,” answered Lavinia, who still had a hope of getting out of the room intact. Really, why was Sarah asking her anyway? Emma was the one who started it.

  “I am not in the mood for glib answers. I want to know what’s going on between you and Emma. Neither one of you is behaving as you ought. Up until three days ago Emma was walking around here like a languid mummy,” Sarah said, recalling Emma’s sad, pale features. “Now she is bouncing around like the bird in a cuckoo clock. Something is bothering her. I want to know what it is.”

  “Why do you assume I know?”

  Lavinia blinked innocently, but as she didn’t have the experience or skill with lying that her sister did, Sarah was not taken in. “Because you are her sister. You know everything about her.”

  This was not exactly true, but Vinnie thought it best not to belabor the minor point just then. “It will only distress you to know. Ignorance is bliss, is it not?”

  Sarah thought of the last few days. They’d been exhausting and strained—anything but blissful. “I do not agree. Tell me what’s going on in this house or I will have Roger ask you. I’m sure you’d rather confess all to me than him.”

  This was true. While Roger wasn’t a very frightening older brother, he was still an older brother. One would feel silly confessing a game of love to him. She sighed. “You must promise not to get upset. It…what Emma did was done to me and I’m no longer upset.”

  Sarah put down her needle. “All right. I will try to remain coolheaded.”

&nbs
p; Lavinia sat down on the couch. “As you know, Emma is not very fond of my choice in husbands and in hope of, shall we say, directing my attention elsewhere, she asked the Duke of Trent to pretend an interest in me,” Vinnie said, keeping the worst of it—Emma’s hunt for the right libertine—to herself.

  The nature of the confession did not surprise Sarah, although the details of the scheme should have been shocking. Alas, it was just the sort of thing that Emma would think of. “I see. Continue.”

  “Well, I was suspicious of all the attention the duke was paying me, especially when I noticed how often his eyes followed Emma, so I investigated until I discovered the truth. Only I didn’t tell her that I knew what she was up to. Instead, I confronted the duke and asked him to pretend that nothing had changed, because I wanted Emma to be jealous enough to confess her scheme and admit she loves the duke, so the two could be married.”

  Sarah thought this was a very naïve piece of work, and she marveled at Lavinia’s innocence. “The duke went along with this?” Sarah asked, astonished that a man of his thirty years would play such an absurd game.

  “Yes and no. I didn’t tell him what I had in mind, because if he knew that Emma was wearing the willow for him, he would turn tail and run, in the way of all bachelors. But he is clearly fond of her, even if he won’t admit it.”

  “And now?”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, why is Emma behaving in this erratic way? One can barely get her to sit still through dinner.”

  Lavinia sighed. “I have been puzzling that one myself for many days and can arrive at no answer. Three days ago I thought she was on the verge of confessing all but something happened.”

  “Yes, it was three days ago. Now that I think about it, the change coincided with Sir Waldo’s return,” Sarah said, thoughtfully assimilating the information. She recalled Roger telling her that Emma had been looking for her on the morning of Sir Waldo’s return. She also remembered Roger’s report that Emma had been angry at Windbourne for burning Vinnie’s manuscript. Since it had seemed inconceivable that Vinnie was writing a book—on what topic would she write?—Sarah had been inclined to dismiss this allegation. When Emma didn’t make the charge again in her presence, Sarah had forgotten about it altogether. Could that be what happened? Sir Waldo Windbourne returned, giving Emma a disgust of him anew, and she, more determined than ever to thwart the match, renewed her interest in her scheme?

  She heard Lavinia speaking to her and she looked up. “Excuse me, dear, I’m afraid I wasn’t paying attention.”

  “I asked what you were thinking,” explained Vinnie. “You seemed to be concentrating very hard on something.”

  “Yes,” she said still distracted by her thoughts. “Yes, I was.” She stood, leaving the needlepoint behind on the footstool, and opened the door.

  “You won’t tell her, will you?” Lavinia asked, running to Sarah and taking her arm.

  “I think I should.”

  She closed the door and rested her back against it, so Sarah could not leave. She would not let her leave until she promised to keep the secret. “No, you mustn’t.”

  “I think she has suffered enough for the trick she played you,” explained Sarah, hoping that Vinnie would agree. It was not like her to hold a grudge.

  “You can’t believe I’m doing this to her out of revenge!” she said, alarmed at being so misjudged. “I love my sister, Sarah, and I’d never intentionally hurt her.” She took a deep breath and tried to gather her thoughts. It was very important that she convince Sarah to keep the secret. “I know you must think us a daft pair of misses with our plans and schemes and you’re probably sorry you ever married into our foolish family, but you must trust me on this and not tell her. You know what Emma is like, determined never to marry, to let no man rule over her. She’s terrified of losing her freedom. But she’s in love with the Duke of Trent—I just know it, Sarah. You should see the look on her face when I talk about him. She’s in love with him, but she’s too stubborn to admit it. I know him pretty well by now, and he’s a good man. He would make her an excellent husband. He isn’t like any man I’ve ever met: considerate, funny, kind, intelligent. You must let her have this chance at happiness. You must.”

  Sarah listened to this passionate speech and felt renewed concern. She did not doubt that Vinnie wanted the best for Emma—or that the best was indeed the Duke of Trent. No, she now worried that Vinnie, too, was in love with him. Hadn’t she just described him as considerate, funny, kind and intelligent? Surely these adjectives could not be applied to Sir Waldo, whose intelligence was of the endless verbal kind.

  Maybe I am making too much of this, thought Sarah. She herself had had a harmless schoolgirl crush on the duke, and she’d escaped unscathed. Why not these two? They were no more experienced with men at the age of three and twenty than she had been at eighteen. Crushes were a common—and perhaps important—part of aging. “All right,” she conceded, although not without a few misgivings. “I won’t say a word of this to Emma, at least not yet. But I will be keeping a close eye on her—on both of you.”

  At that, Lavinia giggled.

  Exasperated, Sarah asked, “What has amused you?”

  “Your saying you’ll keep an eye on me. Nobody has ever kept an eye on me before,” she said gaily and swept out of the room.

  Watching her, Sarah had to admit that she hardly acted like a woman whose heart was broken.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  After her unsatisfying meeting with Roger, Emma decided to keep private counsel. She could wait until Sarah came home and tell her what that miserable worm had done to Vinnie’s horticultural manuscript, but she knew that Sarah would let her rail for ten minutes and then calmly reject her concerns as irrational and unfounded. Emma was tired of being called irrational, and she was equally tired of having her very well founded anxieties dismissed as groundless.

  She decided it was time to step up the campaign. Plan A would continue to get her complete and total support, but it was no longer enough. Sir Windbag’s return threatened to overturn all her hard work. Now the wretched man would be able to advance his own suit and remind Lavinia of his finer points, although it seemed inconceivable to Emma that he had any finer points. No, plan A had to be supplemented by a more aggressive plan B. She had been reluctant to implement plan B—preferring, like all unmarried misses, to stay within the bounds of the law—but tough times called for tough measures and she would not be cowered. War was not for the faint of heart.

  Emma spent the day in a frenzy of planning. When Vinnie ducked her head into the study after her drive with Trent, she seemed surprised to see her.

  “Oh, there you are—in plain sight. How novel,” said Vinnie, making herself comfortable on the leather sofa.

  “How’s the duke?” she asked, hoping that he’d proposed sometime between Hyde Park and Grosvenor Square but realizing it was unlikely. “Did he have anything particularly interesting to say?”

  “No, we talked about the usual trifling matters. He complimented me on my hat and I on his driving. He’s an excellent whipster. Have I mentioned that?” she asked, knowing full well that she had mentioned this fact every day for the last week. She thought racing curricles was something Emma and the duke could do when they were married.

  “I don’t believe you have,” answered Emma. “Do tell me more.”

  Although this wasn’t the reaction she was used to, Lavinia gladly complied. Twenty minutes later, she got up to change. “I understand I missed Sir Waldo’s visit. I didn’t realize he’d be back in town so soon. Ludlow said he’ll be returning at three, so I must go change. It’s already two-thirty.”

  Emma did not like this display of enthusiasm on the behalf of Sir Windbag, meager as it was. To divert Vinnie’s attention she asked when she expected to see the duke next.

  “I believe we are to go to the theater with him tomorrow night.” She paused. “You are coming, aren’t you?”

  Emma had no recollection of making the eng
agement but nodded anyway. “Of course. Will Sir Waldo?”

  “I expect so,” answered Lavinia, before shutting the door.

  Tomorrow night was much too long to wait for a private conference with Trent. Emma wanted to put her plan into action that very minute, and she saw no reason why she shouldn’t. She located her reticule, put on her pelisse and told Ludlow she was going for a walk should anyone ask for her.

  Once outside, she flagged down a hackney cab and directed him to St. James. It was a short drive and minutes later she stepped down in front of the large white town house. She didn’t know if the duke was at home, but she knocked on the door anyway. Realizing that it wasn’t quite the thing for young ladies to visit bachelor gentlemen, she asked to see the dowager. The butler looked at her askance, of course, for she didn’t have her abigail with her, but there was nothing she could do about that now. She held her head up high and stared him down. He led her to the drawing room and asked her to take a seat. Emma preferred to stand.

  A few minutes later the doors opened to admit the duke.

  “Miss Harlow,” he said, greeting her with a slight bow, “I’m afraid my mother is indisposed. Perhaps I may be of service.”

  Emma had not seen the duke up close in almost a week and for a few moments she was incapable of speech. He was so handsome to look at, and so comfortingly strong and so familiar. She knew instantly that she had done the right thing in coming here.

  “What a perfect piece of luck,” she said, smiling wildly. She was so very happy to see him. “It was you I was hoping to meet with, in fact. Your mother was just a ruse. See, I do have some small sense of propriety, after all.”

  “Small being the operative word,” he said, indicating with a gesture that she should take a seat. “Can I get you anything. Perhaps some tea?”