The Indomitable Miss Harris

by Amanda Scott

  “Of course not!”

  “You’ve no notion how that relieves my mind. But that brings us to the matter of your dress. I myself noted at Almack’s that you had damped your petticoats.”

  “Why, ’tis the fashion to do so, my lord!”

  “It is an unhealthy and indecent fashion that is thankfully on its way out, and I utterly forbid you to indulge in it further.” He seemed to reflect for a moment.

  “Is that all, my lord?”

  Landover straightened himself again. “No, Miss Harris, that is not all, as you know very well, but it is certainly enough.” He moved to the desk again. “Sit down.” The tone was peremptory, and this time she obeyed him. He took the chair behind his desk and regarded her grimly. “I see now that I have been not only remiss in my duties but grossly negligent. It was clearly foolish of me to believe I could trust you and Sir Avery to conduct yourselves properly with only Amelia Periwinkle to guide you. She is able to exert no authority over your brother, and I’ve come to believe that neither of them exerts much over you.”

  She leaned forward in her chair to protest. “Cousin Amelia has been very kind to us, sir. Avery and I hold her in the greatest affection.”

  “So great is your affection for her,” he retorted, “that you deliberately disobeyed her, risking a social reputation that she has taken pains to help you achieve. Consider also the fact that you have chosen, on various occasions, to disport yourself with young men in a way that would put her to the blush at the very least, and that you have insisted upon following a fashion of which I’m sure she disapproves, and then dare to repeat that you hold any affection for her!”

  Gulping down a sob, Gillian raised a gloved hand to her breast and twitched at her gold locket. “But we do care for her! We do! Please do not send her away!”

  He grimaced. “I have no intention of sending her away. She is a woman of Quality. Her connections here are excellent, and she is a very proper person to act as your chaperone. However, it is evident to the dimmest intellect that she cannot control your behavior. Therefore, distasteful as it is to me, I must shoulder that responsibility myself.” He breathed a long sigh and fiddled with a quill pen on the desk, watching her closely the while. She struggled to hide her resentment under a seemingly relaxed attitude, but his next words brought her upright with a wholly involuntary jerk. “My secretary has orders to see to the closing of your house. I have decided to remove you and your brother from Curzon Street at once and to install you here in Berkeley Square.”

  She gasped in disbelief. “Oh, no! You cannot be that cruel! I should be utterly humiliated, my lord, for people to think I cannot behave myself without you standing guard over me. And Avery is my guardian, not you,” she added accusingly. “You cannot do this!”

  “Sir Avery may certainly call your tune if he chooses to do so, Miss Harris, but I pay the piper for both of you. I most certainly can do this, and I might add that your brother’s probable annoyance is a matter of the supremest indifference to me.”

  It was not a matter of indifference to Gillian. Much though she loved her brother, she had learned over the years to fear his infrequent rages. “He will be furious.” She ended on a sob, as tears spilled down her face.

  “It appears to me,” Landover said gravely, “that you might have done better to think of that before you went to Vauxhall.” She opened her mouth to protest further, but a gesture silenced her. “I have no intention of debating my decision with you, Miss Harris. You have no choice but to obey me in this matter. Now, you have not come alone this morning, I trust.”

  Gillian shook her head silently. She was struggling to compose herself again.

  “You left your maid in the hall?”

  “Yes, sir.” Her voice was very low.

  “Good,” he approved. “Then you shall send her to Curzon Street to deliver messages from me to Mrs. Periwinkle and Sir Avery. She can collect whatever you will need for the next few days as well. You shall remain here, for you are in no fit state to go anywhere at the moment.”

  And, indeed, she was not. The tears were still flowing despite her efforts to curtail them, but she made one last effort through barely stifled sobs. “Please, my lord, I will do as you wish—” She hiccoughed. “But could you not reconsider about Avery? Could you not allow him to remain in Curzon Street? None of this has been his fault!”

  Extracting two sheets of his notepaper from a desk drawer, he answered harshly, “Compose yourself, if you please. I abhor being subjected to Drury Lane dramatics in my study. That house will be closed. I have already ordered my secretary to see to it at once. He will also arrange for the rest of your belongings to be transported here. As for your brother,” he added in uncompromising accents, “he has been conducting himself little better than you have! I have good reason to believe he has contracted debts he will be unable to pay without diminishing his principal, and I know he associates with persons of questionable repute. It is high time both of you were brought to heel!” He watched to see if she would reply, but she had been shocked into silence. She had had no idea what her brother’s activities included. She knew he hated “doing the fancy,” as he called it, and preferred going about with his own friends to attending balls and such, but that was all she knew. Landover finished writing and sealed the two notes. Then he stood and pulled the bell. MacElroy reappeared with commendable promptitude, bestowing a speculative glance upon the unhappy girl before he spoke. “M’lord?”

  “MacElroy, take Miss Harris to her abigail. When she has delivered such instructions as she deems necessary, take her to Mrs. Trueworthy, who will provide her with suitable quarters—the front blue bedchamber, I think. Miss Harris will be remaining with us for a time. Oh,” he added as an afterthought, “you may also tell Mrs. Trueworthy that Miss Harris’s brother, Sir Avery, and Mrs. Periwinkle will be joining us as well, later in the day.”

  “Very good, m’lord.” MacElroy’s face was properly blank as he ushered the now stiffly erect Gillian from the study. The abigail took one look at her mistress and jumped up from the settle, running to comfort her. The butler waited patiently while Gillian, firmly stifling her emotions and speaking with forced calm, gave young Ellen instructions regarding the notes, the clothes she would need, and apologies from herself to Mrs. Periwinkle and Sir Avery. Murmuring words of solace as well as a few choice epithets directed against those persons who decided without notice to take a domineering attitude toward poor lambs, Ellen fled to the carriage, and MacElroy was able to deliver his charge into the housekeeper’s care.

  That estimable dame, hearing that she was to show miss to a bedchamber, took one look at Gillian’s tear-streaked countenance and raised an eyebrow toward the butler. Receiving some sort of answer to her unspoken question in the unbutlerlike shrug of his shoulders, she placed a plump arm around Gillian’s waist.

  “There, there, child. You come with me,” she said soothingly, leading Gillian back into the hall and up the grand staircase to the gallery. Then, turning to her right, through a hallway leading to another stairway, and up this to the second floor, she opened a door onto a long carpeted corridor and continued to speak words of comfort until they had entered a charming bedchamber decorated in various shades of blue with flowered wallpaper and white hangings looped back around the spiral-posted bed. At any other time, Gillian would have been delighted. As it was, she took little notice of her surroundings.

  II

  MRS. TRUEWORTHY GUIDED HER to a blue silk-upholstered dressing chair and pushed her gently down. “Sit you here, miss. There’s lavender water just yonder on the dressing table. I’ll get it, and we’ll bathe your forehead.” Moving away, she added, “Mustn’t let his lordship’s tempers overset you. They are quick over, as you’ll see. Now,” she went on, liberally spilling lavender water onto her own large handkerchief, “just you blow your nose and compose yourself. He’ll be expecting you down to a bit o’ nuncheon, and though it’s more than an hour off yet, still it wouldn’t do to present yourse
lf in this state, so you have a nice rest now. There’s cold water in the jug on the nightstand and towels in the lower drawer of that chest. I’ll send Bet—she’s the chambermaid—in plenty of time.” She paused briefly. “Will you be all right if I leave you now?”

  Gillian had managed to regain control of her emotions by this time, so, removing her hat and gloves, she accepted the drenched handkerchief and assured the round, gray-haired woman that she would do nicely, thank you. Then, waiting only until Mrs. Trueworthy had closed the door behind her, she replaced the scent-laden handkerchief on the dressing table and moved to find a towel, determined to put herself properly to rights. After pouring water from the jug into the matching blue-flowered china basin, she soaked a corner of the towel and applied it to her face until she could feel the warmth in her cheeks abating. A bit more refreshed, she decided not to lie down, knowing that if she fell asleep, her eyes would be redder than ever when she awoke. Instead, she moved to the cushioned French seat in the window bay and settled herself, tucking her feet up and leaning back to gaze out on the activity in the street below.

  There was very little of it. Only a few pedestrians were abroad. A fop with his spyglass ogled a girl of her own age walking with her abigail. Two elderly gentlemen strolled arm in arm through the small garden in the center of the square, and occasionally she would see a Corinthian or buck driving his high-perch phaeton or tilbury, or a heavy barouche would lumber past the house. But despite bright sunshine, the day seemed dreary, insipid; and boredom had begun to enfold her after fifteen minutes of this occupation when suddenly she recognized a familiar figure driving a spanking team toward Landover House. She watched with a twinge of conscience while Lord Darrow, looking precise to a pin in a dark blue jacket and cherry-striped waistcoat, with crisp blond curls neatly cropped and combed, pulled his team up at the front stoop. His tiger leaped to hold the leaders, whereupon his lordship jumped agilely to the flagway and, taking the steps two at a time, approached the front door.

  Gillian waited impatiently, wondering what was taking place in the study between her escort of the previous evening and her temperamental trustee. She knew that Lord Darrow must have been as amazed as she had been to receive the summons from Landover, for she had been quite sincere when she had insisted that the marquis would not bother his head about anything she did. By dint of that insistence and the fact that she had teased him unmercifully, not to mention having ventured to doubt his courage, Gillian realized that she had practically forced his lordship to serve as her escort to Vauxhall Gardens. Reflection upon her experiences soon led her to the shame-ridden belief that her behavior had been prodigiously shocking, if not downright scandalous. She had flirted outrageously and had actually invited the attentions of the odious rogue whom Darrow had knocked so expeditiously to the floor. A fleeting vision of her parents brought tears to her eyes. They would have been disgusted by her conduct.

  Hard upon that thought came another. Avery! What would he say to Landover’s decree? That he would be furious with her was inevitable. He had refused to escort her to Vauxhall himself, partly because he preferred gaming to dancing, but also because he had disapproved of the idea, and she had purposely neglected to inform him when Darrow agreed to take her. Sir Avery had gone out early in the afternoon and did not even know she had made plans for the evening. Not that he had actually forbidden her to go, but she was certain he would not remember it that way, since he had no doubt assumed that by withholding his escort, he had effectively put a stop to it. Mrs. Periwinkle generally retired at an early hour on evenings when she and her charge were not engaged to attend some social function or other, and Gillian had not bothered to inform her that she did not intend to follow her example. A premonition entered her mind that someone might have something to say about that particular oversight before the affair was allowed to take its proper place in oblivion.

  Lord Darrow emerged once more from the house. He looked shaken and spoke sharply to his tiger when he jumped into his phaeton. Gillian wondered again what Landover had said to him. But her thoughts were immediately turned in a new direction, for a second visitor hove into view from Charles Street. Clearly, her brother had received the marquis’s message, and he looked as darkly fierce as a thundercloud storming toward the house.

  Someone scratched on the door of her room, and at her command, a young housemaid entered, bobbing a curtsy. “If y’ please, miss, I be Bet, and Mrs. Trueworthy said t’ inform you a light nuncheon’ll be served in ten minutes or so. Will you come now?”

  Gillian’s thoughts whirled. She had no wish to face her brother in his present mood, but she could see no way to avoid an encounter. Avery would simply come looking for her if she didn’t go down. Mentally shaking herself, she forced a smile for the maid’s benefit. “If you will provide me with a hairbrush, Bet, I shall be ready in a twinkling.” The maid soon produced the required article, and Gillian forced her curls into order.

  The small first-floor dining parlor to which Bet guided her was empty except for a footman who was laying a third place at the table. The maid seemed surprised. “Oh! I quite thought his lordship would be here, miss.”

  The footman answered her. “Mr. MacElroy says as how we’re to hold service till the master rings.”

  “Perhaps you had rather wait in the green saloon, Miss Harris,” suggested Bet.

  “No, thank you,” Gillian answered quietly. There was no point in delaying the meeting with her brother. “I’ll wait here for the gentlemen.” The maid bobbed again and slipped out of the room, followed by the footman. Gillian had not been left more than ten minutes with her own thoughts, however, before she heard masculine voices in the corridor. She was carefully examining some knickknacks on a wall-hung étagère when they entered. Avoiding her brother’s eye, she swept the marquis a graceful, if silent, curtsy.

  They sat down, but only Landover made any pretense of enjoying his meal. He made polite conversation in a lazy drawl and seemed amused rather than irritated by their lack of response. During a lull while the marquis requested a bowl of fresh fruit, Gillian glanced surreptitiously at Sir Avery, who was scowling at the half-empty plate in front of him. Despite the fierceness of that scowl, no one would deny that he was an extraordinarily handsome young man.

  He had the same dark hair and blue eyes as his sister, but where her features were finely and delicately etched, his were sharp as though drawn with firm, bold strokes by a master hand. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and slim-hipped, and today he had dressed conservatively in buff pantaloons and a well-fitting chocolate coat. Even his neckcloth was neatly rather than extravagantly tied. Briefly, she wondered if he had affected the conservative look in hopes of mitigating Landover’s displeasure, but the notion was quickly rejected. Avery was still experimenting. She had seen him in every outlandish fad that fashion permitted, but he had seemed lately to be favoring the mode and manners dictated by the famous Mr. Brummell. According to the Beau, whose word on the subject amounted to law, a gentleman was well dressed only when his clothes did not draw attention to themselves. Halfway through the last thought, Sir Avery glanced up, and Gillian suddenly found her gaze locked with his. There could be no doubt of his anger, and feeling guilty warmth flood her cheeks, she looked hastily down at her plate.

  For the next few moments she concentrated upon pushing food around with her fork, making no attempt to attend to Landover’s remarks when he returned to polite conversation. Sir Avery replied in monosyllables, each one seeming to Gillian to underscore his displeasure with her. The strain was beginning to tell, and she was certain her nerves would be at screaming pitch in no time, but the moment she had dreaded came soon enough. When the footman began to pour a second glass of wine for the two gentlemen, her brother stopped him with a gesture and turned to Landover.

  “May I be excused, sir? I should like to have a word in private with my sister.” His voice was carefully controlled, but when Gillian glanced up at him, the hard glint of intent in his blue eyes caused her
to pray fervently that Landover would deny his request.

  “By all means, Sir Avery. Jeremy here,” indicating the footman, “will show you to the green saloon, where you may be as private as you like.” Gillian shot him a look of helpless accusation, to which he returned nothing more than a slight shrug.

  “Thank you, my lord. Gillian, if you please?” Sir Avery waited impatiently while she took her time rising from her chair, then allowed her to precede him through the door. She hesitated on the gallery, waiting for Jeremy, who guided them to a front room several doors from the dining parlor. When the footman had pulled the doors to, she stood rigidly, her back to Sir Avery, waiting for the explosion. It was delayed only long enough for him to stride forward, grasp her by the shoulder, and whisk her around to face him. He gave her a rough shake. “How could you, Gillian!” he blazed, shaking her with increasing passion as he growled through his teeth, “Did I not warn you? Did I not say that Landover would not continue to turn a blind eye to your conduct? Did I not beg you to behave?” His voice rose considerably as he continued, “I should have taken a strap to you to force you to better conduct! By God, Gillian, you may take that and that, with my compliments, damn you!”

  She reeled backward and fell in a heap against the settee behind her. Raising both hands to stinging cheeks and ringing ears, she burst into uncontrollable sobs.

  “Gillian!” Sir Avery was on his knees beside her in a trice. “Gill, I’m sorry! Good God, did I hurt you so much as that? Let me see.” He tried to pull her hands away from her face. “Gillian! Let me see, I say!” He succeeded in bringing her hands away and scanned her face anxiously, but aside from heightened color and a red mark on either cheek, there was nothing to see that might warrant so much commotion. With narrowing eyes, he rocked back on his heels and said in a voice of chilling calm, “You are merely suffering from a fit of the vapors, Gillian, which can serve no useful purpose. If you do not cease that ridiculous noise immediately, I shall box your ears again.”