The Indomitable Miss Harris

by Amanda Scott

  “You missed everything else?”

  “I promise you, Sir Avery, I did indeed, so you must—all of you—tell me all about it. Every last detail!”

  Everyone except Gillian seemed only too delighted to comply with this request. She could find Lady Henrietta only irritating, however, and decided it would be far safer to tune out their merry chatter before she inadvertently said something rude. Really, though, it was quite ridiculous the way they were all toad-eating her precious ladyship! Recognizing this thought as an uncharitable one, she made a firm effort to subdue it and turned her mind instead to anticipation of the pleasures that lay ahead.

  She had been to the famous gardens only the one time before, with Darrow; but after having been rowed up the Thames from the Whitehall Stairs to Vauxhall landing in a wherry so light that she had felt like a fairy in a nutshell—quite delightful—they had dined together in one of the arcaded booths, and she remembered the Vauxhall menu easily. There would be quarts of arrack punch, as well as wafer-thin slices of ham, petits poussins, outrageously expensive lettuce salads, and delicate, mouthwatering cheesecakes. It made her hungry just to think of it. There would also be music and dancing, as well as magical strolls past the triumphal arches of the Grand South Walk or along the Cross Walk to the cascade.

  The others tried to include her in their conversation, but her contributions were monosyllabic at best. She knew she was being rude and had no doubt that she would hear about it later, but with her emotions unquestionably if unexplainably in a turmoil, there appeared to be nothing she could do to stop herself. The drive to the Millbank Road seemed to take forever. Sir Avery asked Landover why they were not to embark from Whitehall Stairs.

  “After all, sir, half the pleasure of a visit to Vauxhall is the water passage.”

  “I’ve a good notion the Whitehall Stairs will be a mass of rabble tonight,” replied the marquis. “Since it costs nearly as much to cross from the old Ranelagh landing, we will miss most of the great unwashed. Besides,” he added with a twinkle, “I wanted the liberty of reserving a barge for the entire night, and by the time I checked at Whitehall, those who are willing to do that sort of thing were already booked.”

  Sir Avery gave an appreciative chuckle, and a few moments later, the Ranelagh landing came into sight. Music drifted across the river, and the famous “fairy lights” of Vauxhall twinkled a welcome. There seemed to be a number of persons and a good deal of noise down below on the torchlit landing, and as they alit from the carriage, one shadowy figure detached itself from the others and walked toward them.

  “Yer lordship?”

  “Yes,” Landover replied. “That you, Jack? What’s up?”

  “Naught of significance, m’lord, but y’ best hold the ladies ’ere a mo’ or two. Seems we’ve got a spot o’ bother wi’ a couple o’ flash coves, who wants a wherry t’ cruise wi’. Got a mind t’ go ahuntin’, if y’ take m’ drift.”

  “I do. Scarcely unusual.”

  “No, m’lord, but ain’t one of us wants t’ gie ’em a boat. Too muddled by half, they be, and the river too crowded. We’ll get ’em sorted out quick enough, though. Won’t keep y’ waitin’ but an eyewink.”

  “Hunting, Landover?” Lady Henrietta grinned at him.

  “For beautiful women, Hetta,” he retorted. “They cruise up and down the river searching for the willing sort.”

  “So why are you hiding us?” she challenged archly.

  “Sometimes, particularly in their cups, they are not so choosy.” But he grinned back at her, then looked toward his carriage. “I think I’ll ask Jason to keep the carriage here instead of setting a time for him to meet us. He won’t mind, since I know he’s got his dinner in a basket under the box. He can jabber with the boatmen or have a nap, as he wishes.” He stepped away to attend to the matter, and Lady Henrietta moved closer to Gillian.

  “I say, Miss Harris,” she said quietly. “Are you feeling quite the thing? You’ve been awfully quiet, and I’d hate to think you’d been suffering a headache through all our silly chatter.”

  “I am quite all right, thank you,” replied Gillian stiffly, a quite unreasonable anger rising within her at the older girl’s solicitude.

  “I see.” Lady Henrietta frowned thoughtfully as though she might say something further, but Landover called to her just then, asking if she wanted the reticule she had left on the floor of the carriage. She turned toward him gratefully. “Oh my, yes, how stupid of me! But you mustn’t carry it, Landover. Too, too girlish! I’ll just come and fetch it.”

  Watching her retreating figure, Gillian thought how silly Hetta was. But a moment later, she found herself insisting to Mrs. Periwinkle, Sir Avery, and Sybilla that she was neither tired nor sick, but just didn’t seem to be in a mood for idle chitchat.

  “Well, you’d best lighten up, my girl,” her brother advised. “You’re casting a damper.”

  Gillian glared at him and turned away toward the landing, where the trouble seemed to have been settled, and several people were being handed into wherries and barges. Landover had reserved a four-oared barge, a heavier craft than the wherry she had ridden in with Darrow, but she noticed when she boarded that it still listed most precariously. It took the combined efforts of Jack in the boat and Landover on the landing to hand each one of the ladies in safely. Nonetheless, being rowed across the Thames was very nice.

  Sybilla, Henrietta, and Mrs. Periwinkle made suitable exclamations of pleasure, and even Gillian had to admit she was enjoying the ride. The fairy lights reflected on the water, dancing and sparkling on ripples stirred by the rhythmically splashing oars. The music grew louder, and soon laughter and other noises of revelry could be heard. Then, as they neared the Vauxhall landing, the fireworks began. Huge fountains of color, as beautiful as those in the other parks earlier, exploded overhead to be reflected in all their splendor upon the surface of the water.

  “Magnificent,” breathed Lady Henrietta, and Landover smiled at her. Unfortunately, Gillian’s own enjoyment seemed to disintegrate at the sight of this shared enthusiasm. She found herself nearly gritting her teeth instead.

  The barge bumped against the landing, and both Landover and Sir Avery leaped out to assist the ladies. Mrs. Periwinkle, being nearest, went first. Then Henrietta, who had sat next to her, took Jack’s hand and stood up. Gillian, one seat back with Sybilla, moved over, and as a light wave disturbed the boat, she realized she had rested her arm, not upon the gunwale as one might have supposed, but upon the landing itself. Lady Henrietta, reaching toward Landover’s outstretched hand, began to step from the boat, and just at that moment, a huge rocket exploded in a thunder of noise directly overhead, startling everyone. As they looked up at sparks of red, yellow, green, and white flashing in a giant spiral above them, Gillian, whether by startlement or subconscious design, shoved hard against the landing. Poor Lady Henrietta, thrown off balance by the sudden movement, caught her heel, missed both her step and Landover’s outstretched hand, and despite Jack’s efforts to save her, pitched forward with a shriek of dismay and an appalling splash straight into the icy Thames.

  With a start of horror at what she had done, Gillian snatched her guilty hand from the landing to her mouth. Deeply conscious of the cries of astonishment from the others and a veritable surge to help rescue Lady Henrietta, she dared not look at anyone. No one said a word to her.

  Jack had managed to retain his hold on Henrietta’s hand, so she had not submerged entirely, and they got her out onto the landing easily enough. Nevertheless, her dress was ruined, and it was apparent to any but a blind man that she was on the verge of tears. Such mishaps were not uncommon, however, and the boatmen were prepared for them. Jack promptly produced a voluminous blanket from a locker in the stern and handed it to Landover.

  “Wrap ’er la’ship up good, m’lord, and y’d best get ’er back quick, afore she takes a chill.”

  “We will indeed, Jack.” He helped Henrietta back into the barge and saw her well wrapped before turn
ing to his niece. “Here, Sybilla, up you go,” he commanded, handing her safely up to Sir Avery. Gillian stood silently, expecting to follow her, but found herself firmly and unceremoniously pushed back onto her seat instead. “Don’t even think it!” Landover muttered savagely, causing her breath to catch in her throat. He knew what she had done!

  “I’ll see to Sybilla and Cousin Amelia, Landover,” Sir Avery said from above, and by his tone, Gillian knew that he, too, had either seen everything for himself or merely assumed her to be responsible for the mishap.

  Landover was silent for a moment. Then he spoke to the boatman. “Can you find me a second coach, Jack? A hack will do.”

  “No problem, m’lord. Plenty comin’ in and out t’night. Might ’ave to wait a mo’ or two. Or y’ might ’elp yerself t’ m’lord Alvanley’s rig. His man’s got it up on the road there, and ’is lordship’ll not be back till midnight or later. Seein’ it’s you, ’is lordship’d be the first t’ offer, I’m thinkin’.”

  “Right you are. That’s what we’ll do.” He glanced up at Sir Avery. “Sorry lad. I know you’ll not thank me, but I’m sending you home with your sister. You’ll take Alvanley’s carriage and either come back with it, or not, as you please.”

  “What! Why cannot you take her?”

  “Because Hetta must get home as quickly as possible, and she does not deserve to suffer your sister’s company the entire way.”

  Gillian gasped at the harshness in his tone and involuntarily looked up at him. The expression on his face could only be described as ominous. She looked quickly down again, but not before she caught a glimpse of Henrietta’s face above the thick woolen blanket. At first, her eyes seemed accusing, but then the look changed to something nearer puzzlement. Gillian turned away, her thoughts numbed.

  “Why can Cousin Amelia not go with her?” Avery demanded furiously. “She is her companion, after all.”

  “Because my sister would have my head on a platter were I so lacking in sense as to leave you here alone with Sybilla,” the marquis replied flatly. “And we cannot all return, because someone must remain to explain what has happened.”

  “He is quite right, Sir Avery, so do stop quibbling,” Mrs. Periwinkle said briskly. “We must not keep Lady Henrietta in this cold night air. Come, Lady Sybilla. We are to meet your mother near the prince’s pavilion.”

  “Wait!” Sir Avery said sharply. He drew Sybilla to one side and spoke with her briefly, then turned back with a sigh and a narrowed glance at his sister. “Very well, sir, let’s go.”

  The trip back across the river was accomplished in silence. Sir Avery fairly jerked Gillian from the barge and ignored her when she protested that he was hurting her. Jack sent a boy to find the two carriages, and Lady Henrietta was soon tucked up in furs and lap robes in Landover’s carnage. The marquis turned briefly, one foot on the carriage steps.

  “Take her home, Avery. She is to await my return in the study. And, Avery,” he added softly, “don’t dare to murder her before I get there.”

  XVI

  ALVANLEY’S COACHMAN HAD ACCEPTED the marquis’s command that he drive Miss Harris and her brother to Berkeley Square without a blink, and Gillian soon found herself in a carriage nearly as luxurious as Landover’s. Her position was scarcely a comfortable one, however. Sir Avery had well-nigh shoved her inside before climbing in himself to sit opposite her, and he waited only until the vehicle lurched forward before telling her what he thought of the whole affair. He spoke with barely controlled fury and did not mince his words.

  “I’m disgusted with you, Gillian, and the only reason I have not already given you the thrashing of your life is that I wouldn’t think of denying Landover the privilege. And don’t think he won’t do it, either. As angry as he is, I wouldn’t put it past him to take a whip to you.”

  “He won’t, though,” she muttered, fighting tears. “Not that I don’t agree I deserve it, Avery, but he said he has not got the right. He … he has threatened before, but he has never d-done it. He will l-leave it to y-you.” The tears spilled over, but Sir Avery ignored them.

  “He shall have the right, my girl, for I’ll personally give it to him. I kept mum when you dosed Lady Sharon’s punch, and I said nothing about that nonsense with Miss FitzWilliam and Lord Linden, but by God, this business is carrying things entirely too far! I didn’t even like the other two chits, and no lasting harm was done, but I dashed well think Lady Henrietta would make Landover a fine wife. How could you do such a dreadful thing to someone who has been only kind to you? She might have caught her death!”

  Since Gillian didn’t know why she had done it, there was nothing she could say to defend herself. With silent tears streaming down her cheeks, she gazed wretchedly down at her lap while Sir Avery blazed away at her. From time to time he demanded to know what she had to say to this or that, but Gillian couldn’t answer him. She could only shake her head helplessly as the tears flowed freely, punctuated by barely repressed sobs. She heard every word he said, however, and could deny nothing. On more than one occasion before they reached Berkeley Square, his temper rose to such a pitch that she expected him to box her ears at any moment, but somehow he restrained himself, and the carriage drew up in front of the house at last.

  Jumping down instantly, Sir Avery hauled Gillian out after him with bruising force, then turned to dismiss Lord Alvanley’s coachman.

  “You … you are not returning?” Gillian whispered.

  “No point in it,” he grumbled. “Syb says her mother will doubtless turn right about and drive home, since the party’s been spoiled.”

  “Oh, Avery—”

  “Not here,” he growled. His grip on her arm had not slackened, and now he pulled her after him up to the door, where, after a hearty knock, an astonished Jeremy admitted them. Sir Avery strode toward the study, whereupon the footman hastened past him to open the doors.

  “Will you be wanting refreshment, sir?” he inquired, recovering his customary aplomb.

  “No,” replied Sir Avery gruffly. But he changed his mind almost immediately, ordering Malaga. Once the door had shut, he rounded on Gillian. “Now, my girl—”

  “Oh, Avery, no more,” she pleaded. “You have said everything there is to say, and nothing that is not perfectly true. I know I’ve spoiled the day for everyone, and I’m sorry, but—”

  “Save it,” he ordered harshly. “I recognize these symptoms well enough. You are in deep trouble, my girl, and you are about to tell me how sorry you are and to beg my forgiveness. But whether you’re sorry for what you did or sorry you got caught, I’ve no way of knowing, since I cannot begin to understand any of your behavior these last weeks. So keep your sob stories for Landover. Not that they’ll help you there either,” he added, moving toward the desk, “for they won’t. If he follows my advice—and I’ve a strong notion that, for once, he will—he’ll make you wish you’d never been born.” He began to pull out drawers. “Where the devil does that man keep his letter paper? Ah, here it is.”

  When Jeremy entered a few moments later, Sir Avery was seated at the desk busily scribbling, and Gillian, thinking the footman had already seen enough of her ravaged countenance to keep him in gossip for a week, was holding aside one of the curtains and staring fixedly out upon the empty square.

  The tray was set down, the wine poured out, and the footman departed once more before Sir Avery laid aside his quill and sat back to read over his efforts. “That should do it,” he said at last. “Do you wish to read it?”

  “No, thank you,” she answered, having had time finally to recollect herself. She dropped the curtain back into place and turned to face him. “I’m certain whatever you have written will answer the purpose.”

  “Well, I hope it may,” he retorted uncompromisingly as he folded the note in half and propped it against the inkstand. This done, he lifted his glass, but paused before drinking. “Just mind you see he reads it, puss. It’s no use playing off any of your tricks, either, for I’ll tell you to your
head that if I discover Landover has not blistered you well, I shall attend to the matter myself tomorrow. Do you hear me?”

  “I hear you,” she sighed, “and you need not worry. I’ll see he reads it. But I thought you meant to stay.”

  “Well, I don’t. I’m famished, and I don’t propose to dine here in solitary splendor, so I’m going to White’s. I daresay someone or other will be there, despite all the celebrations.” With that, he tossed off his wine and was gone, but not before warning her again to stay put until Landover’s return.

  Alone, Gillian sank down upon the settee, hands clutched in her lap. Despite her brother’s warnings and her own promises, her first inclination was to run away, and it seemed to her as though she must physically hold herself in place. It would be ever so nice just to chuck it all, call for a hackney coach, and … and what?

  The thought of a hack brought Princess Charlotte to mind. No doubt one might follow her highness’s lead. She could find a hack easily enough and have the driver take her to Cranbourne Lodge. The princess’s people would probably be loath to admit her, but she was certain Charlotte would force them to take her in if she was actually at the door. Not that it would do her much good, of course, for it would not be long before Landover would discover her whereabouts, no matter whose protection she sought, and she had no doubt of his ability to reclaim her. And once he did—

  She shivered. The outcome did not bear thinking of. He would be difficult enough to face as it was, but if she ran from his house and then had to face him anyway … The vision of his face as she had last seen it popped into her mind. She could not remember ever having seen him so angry, not even the day she had gone to visit the Grand Duchess of Oldenburg!

  That had been a foolish thing to do, perhaps, but the thing she had done this night was far, far worse. What in the world had possessed her? She could not remember consciously deciding to dump Lady Henrietta in the river. It had simply happened. But she could not fool herself or anyone else into believing it had been an accident. Why had she not thought to cry out, to insist that a wave from one of the other barges or just pure startlement had caused the accident? She should have apologized on the spot, should have made a fuss over Henrietta. Instead, she had sat like a stock, the picture of guilt. Landover would murder her!