by Liana Lefey
“He wasn’t like that with her.”
Rich burst into laughter. “Of course he was! A man can hide his true nature for a little while, but eventually it begins to bleed out. In small ways, at first, but as time passes and he becomes more comfortable, he gets careless. Do you really think he was able to hide those attributes completely?” A grim smile thinned his mouth. “Believe me, he was the same man with her as he was with you and everyone else. She just chooses not to remember it. Death does that.”
“Then why is it I remember all of those things about him and she does not?”
“Because you now have a reason to remember them.”
Harriett. Roland’s heart began to pound.
Relentless as ever, Rich continued. “Until a few months ago, I seem remember you saying what a good man your brother was and how you’d never measure up. Even as angry as you were with him for how he manipulated you through his will, you thought him perfect. Out of respect, I chose not to remind you of all your previous complaints about him.”
Roland was as a man standing on the edge of a precipice, looking down into its shadowy depths, dreading what he might see. He wanted Rich to stop, but he could not speak to silence him.
“When a person dies, those closest to them tend to ‘forget’ the more unpleasant aspects of the deceased’s personality,” continued Rich. “Even the most abused widow will bemoan the death of her husband and tell everyone what a lovely man he was, despite the fact that he drank heavily and beat her daily. In her grief, your Harriett has only done what’s natural—she has chosen to remember the good things about William and forget his flaws.”
“You’re right,” Roland said, finally managing to speak. “I stopped deluding myself about William long ago—but she will hate me if I begin tearing down her memory of him.”
Rich smiled. “I never said you should. In fact, it would indeed be most unwise for you to point out his flaws. What I am suggesting is that you show her.”
Roland did not bother hiding his confusion.
“Look,” said his friend, sighing. “God knows she has already seen the worst of you—it can only get better. Now you must show her your best. And I don’t mean by trying to compete with your brother’s memory.”
“Then how...?”
“Lord, but you can be thick sometimes! Do you think your Harriett ever had any fun with your brother? Do you think he ever made her laugh?”
Roland frowned. “William was not the sort to speak in jest.”
“Or laugh at one, as I recall you saying. According to all I know of him through you, your brother was never the sort to fritter away his time on anything not serious or meaningful.”
Rich was certainly right about that. William had never once set foot in a theater, had never attended the races, and had never been to White’s.
“Do you believe he ever told your Harriett she was beautiful or desirable?” continued Rich. “Do you think he ever made her feel special, like she was someone precious and beloved? Like he couldn’t live without her?”
The letters. Roland’s mind seized upon the memory. He knew where Harriett had fallen on his brother’s list of priorities. With the exception of his final missive, she’d been no more than an afterthought. Meeting her had been a convenient accident that had occurred before she’d ever had anyone with which to compare him. He’d never had to woo her, pursue her, or prove worthy of her affections. She’d never known he was anything less than he ought to be, that he’d never behaved toward her as a man madly in love.
“At last you begin to comprehend,” said Rich with a droll smile. “You must not compare yourself to William or allow her to do so any longer. You are a different man with sterling qualities of your own. A better man, in my opinion, than your brother ever was. But she must come to that conclusion on her own.”
“How?” Roland asked, frustrated. “How can I possibly compare with his memory? She practically worshiped him.”
“Oh, I think you’ve already made a good start,” said Rich, his grin wolfish as he reached over and patted the pile of old Gazettes beside his chair. Several of them slid off onto the floor. “I read, too, you know. If William ever kissed her in public, it certainly wasn’t worthy of being announced in the papers. And I’m willing to wager the event wouldn’t have been described as ‘ardent,’ in any case. Oh, yes. I quite think you’ve already begun altering her idea of perfection.”
Roland already knew his brother had done a poor job of kissing Harriett, if indeed he’d kissed her at all. “Then my plans to become more like him—”
“Will only work against you. Oh, I’m not saying you shouldn’t continue in your reformation,” said his friend, laughing. “Heaven knows you’ve enough nasty habits to make any decent woman cry off. But trying to become someone else never worked out well for anyone. The truth always comes out, usually at the least favorable time.”
Unbidden, a chuckle rose in Roland’s throat. “She always seems to catch me at my worst.”
“Mm. The ones we want usually do.”
“But how can she not compare me to my brother?”
“She will compare you to him,” said Rich. “She cannot help but do so. But if you do it right, those comparisons will work in your favor. Show her what she could have with you that she could never have had with him. Show her that life isn’t all toil and seriousness, that it can be fun—with you. Make her feel important, cherished, and desired. And above all”—his brows lowered ominously, along with his voice—“remember that no woman wants to be treated as though she is ordinary.”
“I don’t think that will be a problem,” Roland said, lading his answer with sarcasm. “Harriett is the least ordinary of all the women I’ve ever known.”
Rich’s eyes twinkled. “You should let her know it. Show her you value her uniqueness, that you see her as rare and special, a diamond among the common stones.”
It sounded so trite, but Roland knew he was right. She was a diamond. And to think he’d been ready to try and find her a husband who would “tolerate her peculiarities” rather than appreciate her for herself. Those attributes he’d once viewed as disadvantages—qualities she herself had recently tried to hide in the effort to catch a husband—were in reality great strengths. His brother had seen this and accepted her as she was.
He, however, had been blind to it. Not anymore. “I think I understand now.” He rose. “Thank you, Rich.”
“Any time,” said his friend, looking pleased with himself. “I assume this means you intend to pursue her hand?”
“I don’t yet know,” Roland answered truthfully. “I think I have a lot of ground to make up first before that can be determined.”
“Fair enough. Though if that is your position, then I advise you against kissing her in public again until you are absolutely certain you want her for your wife.” Rich patted the stack of papers again, adding a few more to those already littering the floor about his feet.
“I’m sure I needn’t worry about that,” Roland laughed. “The lady would as soon black my eye as kiss me again.”
“Yes, well—just be sure you’re ready to put on the shackles the next time it happens.”
~ * ~
Harriett arrived home barely in time to change her dress and freshen up before Lord Russell arrived. Manchester’s proposal to help her find a husband still rankled, even though his intentions were...well, she didn’t quite know what to think of that, actually.
Staring at herself in the mirror, she squared her shoulders. She didn’t need help finding a husband. She was perfectly capable of catching one on her own!
“You’re serious about this, aren’t you?” said Cat, meeting her at the top of the stairs.
“I most certainly am,” she answered. “Lord Russell is perfectly acceptable. He’s never made any secret about his liking for me, and I would be a fool not to consider him, given the circumstances.”
“And Lord Manchester?”
“What of him?”
“Harriett...”
“He offered to help me find a husband today,” she said in as casual a manner as possible.
Cat’s eyes widened. “He what?”
“Now tell me I shouldn’t consider Russell.” She was unable to conceal her bitterness.
“Oh, Harriett. I’m so sorry.”
“Why? I’m certainly not.”
Silence.
“I’m not. Really. I’m not,” Harriett insisted, turning to regard her sister with what she hoped was cool detachment. “I’m glad, honestly, to know exactly how matters stand between us.”
“And how do they stand?”
“I’ve given him notice.”
“But you can’t!” Cat stopped and grabbed her by the arm. “You love that place—Harriett, you’ve poured your heart and soul into it. You and Wi—”
“I know!” It came out rather more harshly than she’d intended. “But we both know I cannot stay indefinitely.” She blinked away the stinging in her eyes. “Once I am married, my duty to my husband and home will take precedence. I won’t have time to worry about anything else, no matter how much I might want to. But I also don’t wish to leave abruptly and have the children and staff suffer for it. Some of those people have been there from the beginning. They are like family to me, and they deserve better than to be abandoned. As such, I’ve agreed to teach Manchester what I can while we look for a replacement, and to train that replacement if necessary.”
“So you’re letting him win, then?”
“I’m not letting him win. I’m leaving the battlefield to satisfy my need, not his. A most imperative need.”
“Well, I think you’re making an enormous mistake.” Cat crossed her arms and glared. “Russell is not the right—”
“Perhaps not,” Harriett snapped, weary of arguing. “But he is a duke, Cat. Unless someone better comes along before I am required to decide, I simply cannot turn him down. Not only would Papa kill me if I did so, but we have other considerations besides our own, don’t forget.”
Her sister’s eyes lowered. “I have not forgotten. Even so, I still believe you ought to at least try to marry someone with whom you can be happy.”
“If I am able to do so, I shall.”
“Promise me, Harriett. I don’t want you to end up like Elizabeth.”
Now it was her turn to look away. “I will try, but I cannot guarantee I will have any better luck.” Better to make no promises—to anyone, including herself.
Entering the salon, they waited with Papa for Lord Russell to arrive. They did not have to cool their heels for very long. His punctuality belied his eagerness.
Harriett greeted him with warmth, thinking of Arabella. If young Hammond did not come to scratch with an offer for Cat before the end of this Season, she might very well have to marry Russell in order to save them all. She could ill afford to show anything but the greatest pleasure in his every word and deed.
The man in question was now regaling them with a description of his family’s country estate, Woburn Abbey in Russellshire. She left off her musings and concentrated. After all, he was describing what might very well be her future home.
“The place needs renovation, of course. I’m thinking of having Holland draw the plans,” he said, flicking a nonexistent bit of something off his cuff.
A frisson of excitement worked its way through her. This she could talk about! “His style is elegant and his execution of the work is very efficient, provided he is allowed to procure his own labor. If he is not available, there is always Flitcroft. He’s worked with numerous friends of ours and is also quite worthy of consideration.”
Russell stared at her blankly for a moment. “I suppose…I could consider him, if you like,” he answered at last.
Her father lowered his brows in disapproval. Beside her, Cat cleared her throat and coughed.
Harriett’s stomach tightened. Apparently, she’d just crossed some invisible line. Smiling, she tried one of Cat’s tricks. “I would not have suggested it, but I heard from one of Papa’s friends that he was very talented and I thought you might like to know.”
Russell’s smile returned. “If you are an admirer of his work, then I shall look into retaining him. As to the interior decoration, I shall of course leave that to the preference of my future duchess.”
His expression was warm and hopeful, telling her for certain this visit was more than just a matter of his wishing to renew old acquaintance. Not that she hadn’t already known it, but it was always best never to assume.
This is it, my opportunity to secure his interest or send him on his way. Need overruled doubt. She required a husband. “Few women are given the gift of being able to create their own world around them in such a manner. Your bride shall be a very lucky lady indeed to have Woburn as her canvas.”
Such an encouraging statement was the definite opening of a door, and if the widening of his smile was any indication, Russell recognized it as such. Courtship could now begin in earnest. Beside her, Cat sighed. Only Harriett knew it was a sigh of disappointment rather than an expression of sentiment. She ignored it.
“I can vouch for Flitcroft, as well,” said Papa. “He recently completed the interior at Lilford and is currently working at Wentwood.”
“Then I shall most definitely inquire as to Mister Flitcroft’s availability,” said Russell. His gaze swung back to Harriett. “If his skills can add to my prospective bride’s happiness, I shall be grateful.”
“Tell me more about Woburn,” she asked, causing him to pink with pleasure. She did her best to maintain a pleasant, attentive expression, even though it was painfully clear her opinions would be worth next to nothing without the backing of some male to support them. Reason told her that in this he was no different from the typical man, but it still didn’t sit well to be treated as though she was incapable of possessing an informed, valid viewpoint.
William had never belittled her, not even by exclusion. He’d asked her opinion about everything and he’d listened. Papa always said he’d spoiled her, and perhaps he had, but it stood to reason that if William could acknowledge her intellect, others could as well. Even his boorish brother, despite his many faults, respected her intelligence—once he’d gotten over the shock of discovering it, of course.
Unbidden, a smile formed on her lips. The look on Manchester’s face when Nurse Hayes had unwittingly exposed her would live in her memory forever.
Inwardly, she sighed as her father and her prospective husband began to discuss matters at Parliament. Matters that, although she was very well informed about them, she dare not speak of now. No indeed, she knew her “place” and held her tongue, telling herself to be more like Cat. Marry first, then inform.
It was a wearying prospect. If only she could be herself! Would Russell ever be able to accept the real Harriett? She had to hope he would. She looked at him, quashing a twinge of annoyance. It didn’t help that he was so dramatic in his mannerisms.
She’d felt the same way two years ago when he’d vied for her favor. William, on the other hand, had been like a cool bath of calm reason and even temperament. He’d never once raised his voice above a stern, quietly issued command. He’d never bawled out poorly composed toasts to her beauty at parties. He’d never cried or clung to her in public or threatened to jump off a bridge. He’d never once embarrassed her in any way.
Russell had embarrassed her, and she greatly feared he would do so again. He seemed incapable of containing himself. Every emotion the man possessed was worn openly. She’d heard it said that his tirades in Parliament were quite something to behold. He’d incurred the king’s wrath with one such display, and had only recently managed to work his way back into their monarch’s good graces. He lacked the prudence and self-control necessary to be successful at court.
Manchester on the other hand would no doubt excel at politics—provided he ever took an interest and stayed sober, that is. Though not without emotions of his own, he’d proven quite capable of controlling himsel
f when he wished. She sighed. He had such potential for greatness and could be so successful if he would only apply himself…
“I should like for you all to come and visit me there one day,” said Russell, interrupting her thoughts.
Thoughts I ought not to be having. She struggled to focus on the conversation at hand, knowing she’d missed more than half of what he’d said to her.
“Woburn is so very lovely in the summer,” he continued, not seeming to have noticed her lack of attention. “When you come, I’d like you to tell me what improvements you think ought to be first on the list for Messires Holland and Flitcroft.”
“I would be delighted. Provided you approve, Papa,” she said, looking to her father.
“I think it an excellent idea,” he agreed, beaming.
“Then I shall send an invitation as soon as may be arranged,” said Russell, rising. “And now I fear I must leave you, as my mother is expecting me for dinner this evening. She will no doubt be pleased to hear my news.”
Harriett refrained from groaning aloud. I’ll just bet she will. She’d almost forgotten about the Dowager Duchess of Russell. The woman would no doubt question her son’s sanity for attempting to woo the same woman again after having once been refused.
“It has been a pleasure, Lord Dunhaven, Lady Harriett, Lady Catherine,” said Russell, bowing to each of them. “I look forward to calling again soon.”
The gaze he leveled at Harriett made her stomach tighten, but not with desire. His eyes had taken on the same moon-addled look they’d had two years ago. She allowed him to lift her hand to his lips, steeling herself to have to pull it back if he did not behave appropriately. His hand shook a little, but he released her almost at once.
It was a good sign. A very good sign. Perhaps this time things would be different after all.
Saying his final goodbyes, Russell left.
“Not bad,” Papa muttered as they watched him walk down to his carriage, his step jaunty and light. “Definitely worth considering, although he could be a bit less effusive.” He turned to her and smiled. “Reserve will come with age, I suppose.”
