‘It needs to look as if I am leading you,’ he warned her out of the corner of his mouth. Which brought her to a standstill. It was things like this that made her like him so much. Oh, how could he do this to her?
Injecting every ounce of disdain she could muster into her movement, she removed her hand from his arm.
‘Don’t think you can bully me,’ she hissed.
‘What? I say, that’s a bit extreme, even for you. Especially when I was only trying to observe the conventions which—’
‘Stuff conventions!’
To her irritation, he grinned. ‘Well, most of the time I’d agree with you, but if I just let you flounce back into the ballroom with your fists clenched, after everyone saw us going outside together, it would create the kind of speculation that your aunt wouldn’t like, even if you don’t care what anyone thinks of you.’
Having delivered that little homily, he extended his arm to her in the correct manner.
Giving her the choice whether to lay her hand on it and behave correctly, or resume her headlong flight from the terrace.
She didn’t have to think it over for long. She’d come here tonight vowing to support her aunt by behaving impeccably. Creating gossip by making it look as though Lord Becconsall had insulted her in some way, after she’d strayed out of sight of her chaperon, was the exact opposite. And it was a good job Lord Becconsall had reminded her in time.
‘I apologise for implying that you are a bully,’ she said grudgingly as she laid her hand on his sleeve.
‘Was that what you did? I assumed,’ he said as they stepped back into the ballroom, ‘that it was the equivalent of kicking the cat.’
‘Cat? What cat?’
‘The metaphorical one that takes the brunt of your anger when whatever it is that has made you angry isn’t in reach.’
‘Oh, that cat.’ Goodness, but he was perceptive. It was Uncle Hugo with whom she was really angry. Lord Becconsall was…she darted him a glance…incredibly endearing, actually. Even though he’d teased her rather a lot, there had never been any malicious intent to it. He’d warned her how he felt about marriage and stayed away rather than raise false hope in her breast. He’d even taken steps to prevent her from creating a scene—though he had been the one to goad her into losing her temper in the first place.
She was just starting to wish she hadn’t been quite so sharp with him when she noticed that Lady Tarbrook was no longer sitting by herself. Lord Becconsall’s three friends, from the park, were standing all round her.
She felt his arm tense beneath her hand and darted him a look. Hadn’t he known they were going to be here? Was he as embarrassed to see them, with her clinging to his arm, as she was going to be, to have to acknowledge them in front of Aunt Susan? Unwittingly, her fingers gripped Lord Becconsall’s sleeve rather tightly, which was excessively stupid, since he was at the root of her potential humiliation.
But, as if sensing she needed reassurance, he patted her hand and kept his own resting over hers when they drew to a halt before her aunt’s chair.
‘Lady Harriet,’ he said, ‘permit me to introduce you to my friends. Lord Rawcliffe…’ he indicated the one they’d called Zeus in the park ‘…Captain Bretherton of his Majesty’s navy…’ who was the skeletal giant ‘…and Mr Thomas Kellett.’
She let out a relieved breath as she curtsied to them all in turn. For he’d made it sound as though they had only just met for the first time tonight.
They all bowed in their turn and muttered suitable responses. Though each of them stared at her rather harder than absolutely necessary. And in the case of the one they called Zeus, with so much contempt in his eyes that he made her feel like some kind of…insect that he dearly wished to flick from his friend’s sleeve and crush under his heel.
‘Lady Tarbrook,’ said Lord Becconsall, ‘I can see they have already made themselves known to you.’
‘Oh, I have known this scamp ever since he was in short coats,’ she said, reducing Zeus from god to toddler with one offhand remark and a dismissive motion with her fan. The look on his face was priceless. Oh, how she admired her aunt.
‘He has introduced me to his two friends,’ said Aunt Susan. ‘And yours, I now learn, Lord Becconsall.’
‘Yes. We were all at school together.’
‘Oh, that accounts for it,’ said Lady Tarbrook, casting Mr Kellett a rather scathing look. As though he had no business hobnobbing with titled gentlemen. Or captains in his Majesty’s navy.
Harriet felt indignant on his behalf. She hated to see anyone dismissed as being of no account, knowing exactly how it felt. For she’d been of no account pretty much all her life.
‘I have heard of you, I think,’ she said to the man she could have sworn they’d called Archie.
‘Have you?’ He peered at her through the fringe flopping into his puzzled brown eyes, putting her in mind of a shortsighted spaniel. ‘C-can’t think why you should have.’
‘Lady Harriet is, perchance, a follower of all the latest scientific investigations,’ said Lord Rawcliffe sarcastically, ‘and has been impressed by the brilliance of your latest publication regarding your theories concerning the properties of dephlogisticated air.’
If there was one thing Harriet knew about, thanks to her mother’s obsession with all things scientific, it was the vast range of theories currently being hotly debated regarding various gases.
‘Not at all,’ she said, flinging up her chin mutinously. ‘There is nothing the least bit impressive about suffocating mice under glass domes.’
All three men changed the way they were looking at her.
Aunt Susan sighed. As if to say, that is the end of that. For she firmly believed that if there was one thing more detrimental to a girl’s chances of success in the matrimonial stakes than being too old, it was being too clever.
But Lord Becconsall chuckled.
‘You have underestimated her, Rawcliffe,’ he said. ‘She clearly knows all about the experiments to determine what it is in the air that sustains life.’
Something flashed between the two men. Something that looked suspiciously like rivalry. And for some reason she didn’t understand, she felt like confirming the confidence Lord Becconsall had shown in her, whilst taking the odiously cynical Rawcliffe down a peg or two at the same time. She reached into the deepest recesses of her memory for anything her mother might have said, which she could fling at him.
‘Well, who could fail to be interested by the experiments of the British Pneumatic Institution to attempt to treat disease by the inhalation of various gases,’ she said, hoping she’d recalled the name of the society correctly.
‘Science being put to a practical use, rather than merely for its own sake,’ said Lord Becconsall at once, approvingly.
‘Exactly,’ she said without a qualm. Although she had no idea what gases were inhaled, or for what purpose, she didn’t think she’d been too far from saying something vaguely intelligent, because Mr Kellett was nodding eagerly.
‘It is a great p-pity Mr Davy d-did not pursue his initial experiments with factitious airs,’ he said. ‘I think he might have b-been on to something there. My own work—’
‘For the lord’s sake, do not start boring the present assembly with an exposition of your current experiments,’ said Rawcliffe scathingly.
To her fury, Mr Kellett subsided at once, with the air of a spaniel who’d just been kicked by its master.
The naval officer patted Kellett’s drooping shoulders in a sympathetic manner, which made her rather like him. He’d been the one to put a stop to the teasing in the park, too, now she came to think of it. That he’d done it by flinging her up into the saddle had infuriated her at the time, but at least he had enabled her to escape a situation that had been becoming downright unnerving.
‘That’s the tro
uble with being a genius, Archie,’ said Lord Becconsall. ‘You leave the rest of us floundering in the wake of your brilliance. We wouldn’t understand the half of what you are saying.’
‘Yes,’ said Mr Kellett. ‘Not the t-topic for a b-ballroom.’ He shot Rawcliffe an abject look. ‘Forgot.’
‘No matter,’ said Rawcliffe, his expression mellowing a touch. ‘That is what you employ me for, is it not?’
‘Employ you?’ Aunt Susan’s eyes rounded. ‘But—you are one of the wealthiest men in England.’
So why wasn’t she attempting to get him to notice Harriet? she wondered. Or, more to the point, Kitty? It could only mean there was something seriously wrong with him as a prospective husband. She’d have to ask her what it was later.
‘It was my little joke, my lady,’ said Rawcliffe with a sardonic smile. ‘For, although my friend is, nominally, employed by me in the capacity of, ah, chaplain, is it not—’ he gave Kellett a wry look ‘—I have long since learned that, when in pursuit of some new theory, he will give me orders for raw materials and equipment as though I am merely his assistant, whilst shamelessly poaching my staff to act in various menial capacities.’
Mr Kellett hung his head. ‘Forget, sometimes. Sorry.’
‘No need. When you make the discovery that will rock the scientific world, my name, too, will go down in history. As your sponsor and benefactor.’
‘And indeed, I am sure it is very generous of you,’ said Aunt Susan. Although she didn’t look the slightest bit impressed. ‘But, look, Harriet my dear. Here is Mr Swaffham come to claim his dance. If you will excuse her, my lords, Captain, Mr Kellett?’
Harriet had never been so glad to see someone coming over with the intention of asking her to dance. There was something about Lord Becconsall and his three friends that made her extremely uncomfortable. And it wasn’t just the way she reacted, physically, to him. It was…the way they spoke as if each word had a hidden meaning, known only to the four of them. As if there were undercurrents beneath their behaviour that only they understood. Which effectively shut out the rest of the world.
And she’d had quite enough of being made to feel like an outsider by her own family. She had no desire to suffer the same kind of exclusion from people who were practically strangers.
CHAPTER TEN
Poor Mr Swaffham did not receive anything like the attention she’d bestowed upon him during their previous dances together. Because Harriet couldn’t stop watching Lord Becconsall and his three friends, in spite of having told herself she wanted nothing to do with a group of men who’d first witnessed her behaving badly, then given her a bit of a scare and finally just made her feel excluded.
She watched them making their excuses to Aunt Susan and leaving her side almost as soon as Harriet had taken her place in the set. She watched them strolling round the room, greeting acquaintances or, in the case of the odious Lord Rawcliffe, cutting people he clearly regarded as impertinent for daring to accost him. And she watched them making their way, inexorably, in the direction of the exit.
She was glad they were leaving. She had no wish to speak to Lord Becconsall again. Or, heaven forbid, dance with him. No, twice in one night was entirely too much. People would start to link her name with his if she danced with him twice.
Oh. Would they do that with Mr Swaffham? She shot him a speculative glance as the dance came to an end. Thankfully, he was looking rather disgruntled, which meant that any speculation in that quarter was likely to be short-lived.
She smiled at him apologetically as he extended his arm to lead her back to her aunt. But from the cool way he took his leave of her it was highly unlikely he would be asking her to dance with him any time soon.
Oh, dear. Aunt Susan would be so disappointed.
In an effort to mitigate her offence Harriet sat up straight and drew her shoulders back. Not that Aunt Susan had admonished her for slouching. In fact, she wasn’t watching Harriet at all. She was simply staring off into space and fanning herself rapidly. And, Harriet noticed with alarm, looking a most unhealthy colour.
‘Aunt Susan, are you feeling quite well?’
Her aunt turned her head very slowly. And gulped.
It was all the answer Harriet needed.
‘Come along, Aunt Susan,’ she said, taking her by the elbow to encourage her to her feet. ‘We’ll go in search of fresh air, shall we?’
‘Fresh air,’ her aunt repeated in a weak voice. ‘Yes, just the thing. It is very hot in here.’ From the way the older woman was leaning on her, and the slight trembling she could feel through her limbs, Harriet thought her aunt might be perilously close to a faint. A real faint.
She glanced to right and left, desperately trying to recall the layout of the house. She’d been to the ladies’ retiring room when she came in, of course, to leave her cloak and change into her dancing shoes. She was pretty certain that once they left the ballroom, they had to turn right and it would be down the stairs and just along the corridor.
She found a room exactly where she thought the retiring room should be, but the moment they went in, she realised her mistake.
‘Oh, dear, I am so sorry,’ she said, gazing round the empty room in consternation. ‘I have lost my way.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Aunt Susan wearily. ‘In fact, I would as soon sit in here quietly for a few minutes as have some gossipy maid fussing round me in the retiring room.’ She tottered to the solitary sofa positioned before an empty hearth and sank on to it. ‘It is cooler in here, anyway, which is the main thing.’
‘Is there something I can get for you? A glass of water?’ There would have been all that sort of thing if only she’d got her aunt to the correct place. And although she’d said she didn’t want a maid fussing, at least there would have been one who knew the layout of the house and who could fetch…she didn’t know…a vinaigrette, or something.
‘A glass of water?’ Aunt Susan looked at her sharply. And then closed her eyes. ‘That is it. That is why I came over all peculiar. With all the…fuss…today, I quite forgot to eat. I am feeling faint, that is what it is.’
‘Well, then, shall I go and fetch you something to eat?’
Aunt Susan lay her head against the back of the sofa. ‘Yes, please, if you wouldn’t mind, dear. Just something light.’
Harriet backed out of the room, concern for her aunt chasing every other concern from her mind. But…where was the refreshment room? Back through the ballroom, unfortunately. She didn’t want to go there, get a plate of food and a glass of water, and carry it back through the ballroom to her aunt. That would be such unusual behaviour it was bound to attract exactly the kind of attention her aunt wanted least. She racked her brains. Oh, if only Lord Becconsall were a proper suitor, she could go to him and ask him for help. As it was, she’d just have to find a footman to do the fetching and carrying for her.
She retraced her steps to the ballroom, aided by the sound of music, hoping there would be a servant free to see to her needs. And who could be persuaded to employ discretion.
The doors to the ballroom opened outwards and had been left open so that people could come and go with ease. But they had not been pushed quite flat to the wall. There was a slight gap behind which she could easily squeeze and from that vantage point she could peep in through the crack between the hinges and the wall, and locate a servant without anyone seeing her searching.
She was really glad she’d ducked behind the door out of sight of the other guests when not two seconds after she’d put her eye to the crack, Lord Becconsall and his three friends came strolling in her direction.
It was the shock of seeing them when she’d thought them long gone that made her watch them, rather than begin to search for a footman, she told herself the moment she realised what she was doing. It wasn’t because there was something about Lord Becconsall that drew
her gaze like iron filings to a magnet.
Although she couldn’t deny he was a feast for the eyes. It was something about the way he carried himself. With that brisk, upright bearing that was in such stark contrast to the languid slouch of men who’d never done anything with their lives but drink and gamble and amuse themselves. The neat way his clothes moulded his muscular frame, without the slightest hint of flamboyance about his attire was pleasing, too. As was the way he looked as though he was never far from laughing.
Though the laughter was very often at her expense, the beast.
By the time she’d reached this stage in her cogitation, the four of them had drawn close enough to her hiding place for her to hear snatches of their conversation over the background noise of a ball in full progress.
‘So, you agree then,’ Lord Becconsall was saying. ‘Lady Harriet and the girl in the park are one and the same person?’
She froze. Well, she’d been standing still anyway, but the mention of her name on his lips, in that context, made even the blood stop swirling through her veins.
‘If you insist,’ Zeus said, in a bored tone.
‘No, come on, old chap, that is no way to treat such an important subject,’ said Lord Becconsall, though he was grinning.
‘The wager was only important to you,’ said Zeus. ‘I have genuinely important things on my mind.’
Wager? Lord Becconsall had made her the topic of a wager?
Harriet flattened herself against the wall as they passed on the other side of the door.
Lord Becconsall was laughing. ‘You mean, that is what you are going to claim as the excuse for not finding her first,’ he said. Quite clearly. ‘That you were too busy to bother. And then say, when you pay up, that if you had more time, you would have beaten me…’
She didn’t hear any more. They’d strolled past her and were heading for the stairs. Besides, there was a roaring sound in her ears that was drowning out everything else.
She’d thought…no, she’d hoped he’d been…fascinated by her. That he’d sought her out in the ballroom and brought her flowers because he…liked her. That he’d taken her out on to the terrace because he was concerned about her. That he’d prevented her from causing a scene because he felt protective of her. Even if he didn’t want to actually marry her, she’d thought he liked her.
Convenient Bride for the Soldier & the Major Meets His Match & Secret Lessons With the Rake (9781488021718) Page 32
