‘That’s the thing with family,’ he said affably. ‘Always doing the damnedest things and leaving you totally spifflicated. But that’s not what I came here to discuss,’ he said, as he sat down.
‘Oh?’ Zeus raised one eyebrow. ‘You have come here to have a discussion, have you?’
Jack grinned. ‘Not that either. Astute of you to guess.’
‘It was not a guess. In all the years that I have known you, you have never once shown any interest in starting a discussion for its own sake.’
‘I think I detect a slur upon my character in there somewhere. But I shall let it pass. Because I’ve come to tell you that I have won the wager.’
‘You’ve found the girl?’ Atlas sat up a bit straighter.
‘Yes. And you’ll never guess who she is.’
‘No, I won’t,’ said Zeus. ‘You will spare me the effort of doing anything so tedious by informing me instead.’
‘Her name is Lady Harriet Inskip. She’s the daughter of the Earl and Countess of Balderstone.’
‘Is that so?’ Zeus didn’t look convinced. ‘I was not aware they had a daughter. Three sons, yes, but…’ He spread his hands wide.
‘She’s never been up to Town, according to her aunt. Kept in seclusion in the countryside, apparently.’
‘That accounts for the rustic manners, then.’
Not for the first time in recent weeks, Jack felt a very strong urge to knock a couple of Zeus’s teeth down his throat. Even though he’d teased her along the same lines himself, it was vastly different hearing the words come from Zeus’s mouth, larded as they were with a hefty dose of contempt.
‘How ever d-did you manage it?’ Archie was looking at him, for once, in something like the way he inevitably looked at Zeus. As though he had some kind of divine wisdom.
‘I did not give him the nickname Ulysses for nothing,’ Zeus drawled. ‘He does have a cunning, low-down sort of intelligence.’
Jack grinned at him. ‘That’s me,’ he said, promptly forgiving Zeus for his apparent ill humour.
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs. That was the thing about Zeus. Deep down, beneath the camouflage of unpleasant manners and cutting barbs, Zeus actually rated him fairly highly. Or at least, as highly as he rated any other mortal who crossed his orbit.
And not many men did.
‘And for another thing,’ said Zeus as though Jack had not spoken, ‘he was actually looking.’
‘Meaning you were not?’
‘I confess,’ said Zeus with a shrug, ‘that I did not have as much interest as you. Besides—’ He pulled up short, with what might, in any other man, have passed for an apologetic shrug.
‘What you mean is that you have more important things to do than run round Town hunting down mystery females, I take it?’
Zeus managed to look down his thin, aristocratic nose at Jack, even though they were sitting on a level. ‘I could point out that you also have more important things to do than run round Town hunting down mystery females. Or making wagers which are likely to end up with you breaking your neck, come to that.’
‘You could, but you would not do so, lest I take it as an insult and decide to draw your cork.’
‘I am surprised you do not simply do it, since you are clearly spoiling for a fight and have been doing so ever since you sold out.’
At some time during this interchange, Jack had actually clenched his fists. Though he only realised he’d done so when the waiter came over with his brandy, obliging him to unclench them.
Zeus watched him pour and down his drink, with what looked to Jack like a trace of disappointment. Almost as though he was spoiling for a fight, too. Though he couldn’t imagine why. There were no estate managers telling him he didn’t know what he was talking about and had better leave matters to the men his father and older brothers had trusted. He hadn’t rushed home from a life that had suited him down to the ground, hoping for a deathbed reconciliation with his dying father, only to have the man weep at the cruelty of a fate which had seen his two splendidly brawny sons precede him to the grave, leaving everything in the hands of what he termed the runt of the litter.
Atlas cleared his throat. ‘Gentlemen, don’t you think there is enough fighting in this world without friends turning upon one another over the question of a wager? Or a woman?’ He frowned. ‘Or whatever this is about.’
Both Jack and Zeus turned to glare at him.
‘What will you do, knock our heads together? The way you used to do at school?’
‘I’d like to see him try,’ said Zeus scornfully. ‘In his present state, I think even Archie could overpower him.’
‘What?’ Archie blinked in a bewildered fashion at the other three, having clearly drifted off again and missed the swirling undercurrents that had brought them close to the brink of quarrelling.
‘I was just saying,’ said Zeus, ‘that you could overpower Atlas these days, if you put your mind to it.’
‘Yes, of c-course I c-could,’ said Archie. ‘Under the right c-conditions. Or if I had a weapon that meant I would not have to c-come within reach of his fists. Though why should I wish to? Atlas is my friend.’
‘We are all your friends, Archie,’ said Jack. Though he wondered how long their friendships with each other would last, now they were grown men who had little in common beyond their shared past.
‘Just because Zeus is the only one who has been in a position to do anything for you,’ put in Atlas bitterly, ‘that does not mean that we wouldn’t have done so. Wouldn’t do anything in our power to help you, that is, should you need it.’
‘Well, I know that…’ said Archie, looking baffled. ‘I really d-don’t know why—’
‘Enough!’ Zeus bit out the one word with savagery. ‘It is clear that we all have…difficulties in our lives, which are making us resent what we see as the good fortune of the others. Let us…cease dwelling on them. For tonight, at least. And…’
This time, when he ran out of words, it was Jack who felt obliged to come to the rescue.
‘And tomorrow night, let us all meet again at Miss Roke’s come-out ball. I am sure you have an invitation, Zeus?’
‘I have no idea. My secretary deals with the flood of invitations I get to those kinds of events at this time of year. I generally avoid them wherever possible.’
‘Yes, but tomorrow night, you will delight Miss Roke by making an appearance. And bring these two along with you,’ he finished, waving in the direction of Archie and Atlas.
‘And why, pray,’ said Zeus, pokering up the way he invariably did when anyone else had the temerity to attempt to take the initiative when he was in the room, ‘should I do any such thing?’
‘Why, because that is where Lady Harriet will be.’ At least, he was fairly sure that was where she would be. It was the most exclusive of the balls being held, that he knew of. The kind where all the better-born debutantes would be doing their utmost to attract a husband from the highest echelons of society. ‘And you all need to see her. To verify my claim that she is the same woman who came galloping to my rescue, then thought better of it and let us all feel the force of her displeasure. With her riding crop.’
‘And then this thing between the pair of you will be settled,’ said Atlas hopefully.
Jack very much doubted it. It had been a long time, a very long time, since he’d hung on Zeus’s every word. He’d become an officer. Grown accustomed to command. Had led men into battle. And could no longer go back to the attitude of hero-worship which Zeus still seemed to feel was his due.
‘The wager will be settled,’ said Zeus, confirming Jack’s suspicions. ‘But what ails Ulysses, I fear, will not be remedied until he returns home and deals with the usurpers attempting to keep him from his kingdom.’
Jack sucked in a sharp breath as the
dart went home.
Damned if Zeus wasn’t right.
As always.
CHAPTER SEVEN
On the face of it, the picnic had been a success. It hadn’t rained, the food had been delicious and only one person had been stung by a bee.
And yet it would have been so much more enjoyable if Lord Becconsall had been there.
In the coach, on the way home, Aunt Susan took her to task for looking bored.
‘I should not need to remind you that a lady must always be charming in public. She must never let anyone suspect she is not perfectly content with things as they are.’
At which point Kitty giggled.
‘Yes, well, dear,’ said Aunt Susan, pursing her lips, ‘you did behave much better than some of the girls present, I have to admit. So we will say no more.’
And she hadn’t. They’d all travelled home in perfect amity, Harriet with the sensation of having been given a great accolade. She’d behaved much better than some of the other girls at the picnic. Girls who’d had years and years of coaching in correct behaviour. And who should have known better.
She was smiling to herself as their coach pulled up outside the imposing mansion in Berkeley Square known to all and sundry as Tarbrook House. And kept on smiling as they gathered their shawls, reticules and skirts in preparation for alighting.
The footman let down the steps, Keeble, the butler, pulled the front door wide and stood to one side.
To reveal Lord Tarbrook, standing with his fists on his hips, glaring out at them.
Oh, dear. What had she done now? She racked her brains, but could come up with nothing.
‘You,’ he snarled, pointing not at Harriet, but at Aunt Susan. ‘My study. Now.’
Though Aunt Susan looked puzzled, she only hesitated for a moment before doing as she’d been told, following her husband along the corridor and through the door which he was holding open.
Before it had even shut on the pair of them, he started bellowing. Harriet was too shocked to register the exact words, but between his hectoring tone and Aunt Susan’s protestations, it was clear he was accusing her of something which she was strenuously denying.
And before she could start to strain her ears, Kitty took her arm and propelled her at breakneck speed to the staircase.
‘It’s best to steer well clear of Papa when he’s, um, in a bit of a taking,’ she explained apologetically, thrusting Harriet into her room and scurrying off in the direction of her own.
A bit of a taking?
If ever she did get married, she vowed as she closed the bedroom door, it would be to a man of an even temperament. Not one who flew up into the boughs over every little thing.
Someone more like Papa, who was contented pottering about in his stables, and kennels, and seeing to estate business. Who was happy to let his wife spend all her time on what he considered her hobbies. Who didn’t demand anything…
Well, except heirs, naturally. And he’d always told Mama, and anyone else who cared to listen, how very grateful he’d been to her for presenting him with three such strapping sons in rapid succession in the early days of their marriage.
He’d never said what he thought of the way she’d inexplicably given birth to Harriet—after such a lengthy gap she looked like an afterthought—or if he had, she’d never heard about it.
She supposed that was one point in Uncle Hugo’s favour. He really did seem to dote on Kitty. Even though she was merely a girl.
She shook off the contrary thought and applied herself to the task of making herself presentable for the evening’s outing. It was another ball. This one to celebrate the betrothal of a pretty young heiress to an elderly earl. At last she had a truly lovely gown to wear, of white satin with a white crape overdress which made it look deliciously filmy. Best of all, though, the bodice was of rich green satin, decorated only with touches of silver at the waist and neckline. No more pure white for her, Aunt Susan had agreed. With a bandeau of pearls twisted into her upswept hair, and pearls at her throat, Harriet felt as pretty as she was ever likely to look.
* * *
When it was time to go out, Aunt Susan gave a splendid demonstration of her earlier advice about how a lady ought to behave. From her calm demeanour nobody would ever guess she’d just spent a couple of hours being scolded. Nor did Kitty betray any curiosity about the way her parents had been arguing.
Though Harriet tried to emulate them, she couldn’t help glancing at the doorway rather more often than she ought. But she also kept a smile pasted to her face, even when Kitty’s admirers made the most fatuous comments, and pretended to be interested in what they had to say. And to her surprise, she reaped the rewards at once. One of Kitty’s more bashful admirers, a Mr Swaffham, who’d been thrust to the back of the queue by his rivals, gave Harriet a rueful smile when Kitty informed him that she regretted being unable to dance with him and asked if she wouldn’t mind standing up with him instead.
Mr Swaffham did not give any sign that she was a less acceptable partner than Kitty. Even though he would much rather have been dancing with her cousin. He was unfailingly polite. And yet by the end of the dance, she couldn’t say she’d enjoyed it half so much as she had done when Lord Becconsall had been so rude he’d goaded her into colliding with another lady in her set.
Not that she gave Mr Swaffham the slightest hint how she felt. This time she could see the point in disguising her true feelings. After all, Mr Swaffham had concealed his, so that he wouldn’t hurt her. The least she could do would be to return the favour.
* * *
She must have done so convincingly, because later on another of Kitty’s admirers, a Lord Frensham, also asked her to dance and appeared to be perfectly content with the arrangement until the very moment he returned her to Aunt Susan’s side and abandoned Harriet to return to the pursuit of her cousin.
* * *
On their return home, Aunt Susan gave Harriet the first completely unqualified compliment she’d received since the Season had begun.
‘You are finding your feet in society at last,’ she said, with a satisfied smile. ‘I am proud of you.’
Harriet basked in that compliment all the way home.
But all her pleasure evaporated the moment they set foot in Tarbrook House, to find Uncle Hugo once again pacing the hallway, waiting for them to come back.
‘Hugo, surely, not now,’ Aunt Susan protested, indicating the girls.
‘Right now, madam,’ he replied.
‘But, I’ve already told you—’
‘My study,’ he said implacably.
And far from voicing any more objections, Aunt Susan trudged wearily in his wake. And Kitty hustled Harriet up the stairs.
Poor Aunt Susan must have been exhausted already, after a full day out in the countryside, then a good hour’s scolding before hastily preparing for a ball where she’d sat watching over both her young charges all night.
Yet Uncle Hugo had no pity.
* * *
In fact, she could still hear him shouting at her the next morning, the moment she emerged from her bedroom. The only difference was that now his angry voice was filtering through Aunt Susan’s bedroom door, rather than through the one to his study.
Good grief, had he been shouting at her all night? No, surely not. Even Uncle Hugo would have needed to sleep at some point.
Though Harriet could just imagine him leaving his study and marching Aunt Susan up the stairs so that he could continue accusing her of whatever it was she was still insisting she hadn’t done, in more comfort.
She was just passing Aunt Susan’s closed bedroom door, on her way to the staircase, when something shattered against its other side. She flinched, before scurrying along the corridor to the head of the stairs, out of range. If Uncle Hugo had opened the door at the mome
nt Aunt Susan had thrown whatever it was at his head, she might have been struck by a flying porcelain shepherdess.
That was another thing to be said for her own parents. They might not have what she would describe as an ideal marriage, she reflected as she reached the stairs, down which she needed to go to arrive at the breakfast parlour, but each was content to let the other go their own way. There were never any scenes such as the one Uncle Hugo had enacted last night and Harriet had certainly never felt the need to run and hide from Papa at any time, the way Kitty had advised her to do from Uncle Hugo.
Nor did Mama ever reach the stage where she felt her only recourse was to throw breakables about.
But then…oh, good heavens! Harriet came to a standstill in the doorway to the breakfast parlour, wondering if it was possible to conjure someone up just by thinking about them. For there sat her mother, scattering toast crumbs in all directions from behind the pages of whatever obscure publication she’d brought to the breakfast table with her.
‘Good Lor…I mean, good heavens, Mama? When did you arrive? I had no idea you were coming to stay.’
‘Hmm?’ Mama peered up at her with a distracted air, as though she couldn’t quite recall who she was.
‘She got here late last night,’ said Kitty, who was standing by the sideboard, where a gargantuan breakfast lay spread out.
Since Mama was engrossed in her paper once more, Harriet went over to her cousin.
‘Was that,’ whispered Harriet, since Peter, the second footman, was standing close to the sideboard, in case anyone had need of him, ‘what started the…um…discussion? Between your father and mother?’ What a silly question. Harriet felt like kicking herself the moment she’d asked it. Kitty couldn’t possibly have heard what the argument had been about. But instead of pointing that out, Kitty shook her head, and leaned close, lowering her voice.
‘Not directly. Though Papa did say something about it being the last straw. Though I have to say your mother was absolutely splendid in the face of his accusations,’ she said, darting her mother a glowing look.
Convenient Bride for the Soldier & the Major Meets His Match & Secret Lessons With the Rake (9781488021718) Page 29
