by Carola Dunn
“Papa just wants me to choose for myself.”
“You will not refuse the guidance of an older and wiser head, however. All three are no better than fortune hunters. My dear, with your fortune and your royal background—unfortunately foreign, but royal nonetheless!—you may certainly aim at a title.”
“But I don't want to marry Sir Wilfred.”
“Sir Wilfred is a mere country baronet, for all his foppery. What say you to Viscount Litton?”
“Lord Litton! I cannot believe he is the least bit interested in me.”
“Come now, Mimi, the colonel told me you were one of only two young ladies his lordship danced with last night, and you cannot suppose he has any interest in a parson's daughter.” Mrs. Forbes grew quite pink-cheeked with excitement. “Besides, has he not stayed at Mere House for several weeks now, when his usual visit is no more than a few days? What else should keep him here?”
“He has shown no sign of partiality,” Mimi insisted.
“La, my dear, he is too well-bred a gentleman to raise hopes where he is not perfectly decided. I consider that you have a very good chance of receiving an offer, if you will only look kindly upon him. Needless to say, I would not have you set your cap at him in a vulgar way, but oh, Mimi, do try to behave with propriety in his presence. I declare, I cannot think what has come over you recently, and nothing is so likely to give a gentleman with such polished manners a disgust of you as the least hint of indecorum.”
“I'm sure you are right, ma'am, but I don't really want to marry his lordship either.”
Leaving her chaperon tut-tutting, Mimi wandered to the window and looked out over the gardens to the gazebo and the spread of green meadows beyond. What was the difference, she wondered, between a nobleman to whom her fortune made her an acceptable bride, and a bailiff who would wed her for her fortune?
The viscount had more choice, she supposed. He must have countless wealthy beauties flung at his head in town, so he might be expected to have better reasons for his selection than just wealth. Whereas to Simon hers might be the only fortune within reach.
Not that he gave any indication of wanting either her or her fortune—or why had he not kissed her in the garden?
Chapter 15
Prim and proper in her faded sprig muslin and straw bonnet, Harriet sat on the bench under the chestnut tree on the village green and wished she were three years younger.
The children were having such fun with Peter's new cricket bat. After a few minutes as a spectator, Judith had forgotten her aspirations to young-ladyhood and joined in—but she was only fifteen. Three village children, watching with envious eyes, had been invited by Peter to take part, so they were four a side.
“That's enough for a halfway decent game,” Peter told Harriet importantly, “if Prue wasn't so little.”
Prue had the bat at present, fortunately one of the new, shorter bats which didn't quite dwarf her. She stood proudly in front of a wicket composed of one old stump of Ferdie's, a forked stick, and a twig balanced across the top. Nor did the ball match the splendor of the new bat, being an aged sphere of India-rubber with a hole in one side where some dog had chewed on it. It hardly seemed to matter.
Jimmy was bowling to his little sister. Harriet was glad to see he took her age into consideration as he ran up and rolled the ball along the ground toward her. Prue struggled to lift the bat, the village boy playing wicket-keeper crouching behind her with a grin, sure of getting her out. To everyone's astonishment, bat and ball connected. Prue herself was far too surprised to run, and Sally, with the ball bouncing toward her, forgot she was supposed to catch it.
“Oh, well done, Prue!” she shouted, jumping up and down.
Harriet laughed and cheered and waved her parasol.
“An admirable hit,” observed a voice close beside her.
“My lord! I did not see you coming.”
“I beg your pardon if I startled you, Miss Cooper.” The viscount stood with one hand, gloved in the best York tan, on the back of the bench, the other holding his horse's reins. “I did not want to spoil the batsman's concentration.”
She smiled at him, relieved that she had not given in to the temptation to pin up her skirts and join the game.
At that moment Peter ran up. With the sketchiest of bows to Lord Litton, he burst into speech. “Harriet, Jim says Prue can't count a run, but she's only little, she just forgot, it's not fair. Tell him not to be mean.”
“Oh dear, it does seem unfair, but there are rules.”
“It's not a proper game, after all. We've only got one wicket 'cause we've only got one bat. The other's just a mark on the ground.”
“Let me suggest a solution,” proposed the viscount. “Instead of dividing into teams, you could all be fielders except the batsman, who only has to hit the ball to score a run. If he or she also runs to the mark, that counts for two runs. And you all take turns, in alphabetical order perhaps, at bat.”
“That sounds all right, sir,” said Peter doubtfully, “except that everyone will have to remember their own score and some will forget and some might cheat.”
“I shall keep score,” Lord Litton promised. As Peter returned to the wicket, he looped his horse's reins over a branch, took a small leather-bound diary and pencil from his pocket, and sat down beside Harriet. “I trust you can tell me the names of the village boys, ma'am?” he queried.
“Yes, of course.” She told him and he wrote them down. “But you cannot wish to stay here, sir.”
“Can I not? I beg to differ, Miss Cooper. What could be pleasanter on a warm summer's day than to lounge in the shade with a pretty young lady, watching a sporting event?”
Harriet blushed. “A sporting event of no significance, my lord.”
“Then let us give it some significance with a wager. I will lay you odds on Miss Sally scoring highest, for I know her to be a spirited young lady.”
“Oh no, Jimmy is sure to win, for he was used to play with Ferdie.”
“There we are then: if young James wins, I shall buy you a fan; if Miss Sally, you shall sing to me when next we meet at Salters Hall.”
Harriet was afraid that Papa would strongly disapprove of her entering into a wager with a gentleman, but the stakes seemed innocent—and flattering. “A plain, ordinary fan,” she said, looking up at him. “Not too expensive.”
“A plain, ordinary fan it shall be,” he promised gravely, then grinned. “You are very confident of winning.”
“I am. Recall that Sally had to be rescued from that tree, for all her spirit! Look, poor Prue is out. I expect she will come over here.”
“No, that is the beauty of the game I proposed. Since all are fielders, no one has to sit about doing nothing while awaiting a turn. We used to play that way at Crossfields, because my eldest sister was wont to escape from the field of combat if left to her own devices.”
“Your sisters played cricket with you?”
“And my brothers. I have almost as many of each as you do.”
Before Harriet could decide whether it would be impertinent to ask for more details of his lordship's family, Mimi and Mr. Hurst rode up, followed by Jacko. Mr. Hurst dismounted and helped Mimi down from Deva Lal's back.
“Good morning, Harriet, my lord,” she cried. “We are on our way to the smithy but I wanted to watch the game first. I must say it doesn't look quite the same as when Papa's sepoys played cricket.”
“What are sepoys?” Harriet asked.
“Indian soldiers in the British army.”
“Oh yes, I think you have told me before. I expect they had two bats and two proper wickets and a proper ball.”
“And white uniforms and an umpire,” added the viscount. “But this is the way we used to play at Crossfields, eh, Simon?”
“Yes, and I've half a mind to join in.”
A ball hit by one of the village boys sailed their way at that moment. Jacko put out a hand, caught it, and sent it whizzing back to Jimmy. The groom looked pleadingly at
Mimi.
“Go on, Jacko, go and play,” she urged.
“I'm going too,” Simon decided, shrugging out of his coat and dropping it on the grass. “Coming, Gerald?”
To Harriet's surprise, Lord Litton cast her a rueful glance and took off his superb brown riding jacket, not without difficulty. “I cannot resist, Miss Cooper,” he said, folding the coat carefully and draping it over the back of the bench. “Guard this with your life, keep score, and pray do not tell any of my London acquaintances what you are seeing!” He strode toward the players, a splendid figure in his white shirt, buff waistcoat, and tan buckskins.
“Help me pin up my skirt, Harriet,” Mimi requested. “If Judith can play, so can I.”
“But Judith is still in the schoolroom,” Harriet protested, to no avail. Mimi departed, leaving her sitting wistfully alone again, decorous but far from content.
It was Sally's turn to bat. Gerald Litton bowled to her, running up with his usual easy grace and sending her straight, gentle balls off which she managed to score two runs before being caught out. She and Prue came to join Harriet. Tired, they wanted to sit quietly and make daisy chains.
So Sally had not won. That meant Lord Litton owed Harriet a fan. Once again she was racked with doubt about the propriety of their wager.
With the little girls' departure, the game had speeded up. Simon took the bat, and Gerald's languid bowling became demonic. The ball flew so hard and fast, Harriet had trouble following its course. Simon scored two fours, even the fielders applauding, then two singles as Gerald became wilier. Then Mimi fielded a hit and managed to throw it straight enough for Jimmy, at wicket-keeper, to knock Simon out.
“I cannot believe my eyes!” said a voice at Harriet's ear.
She jumped. “Oh, Mr. Lloyd, you startled me. I beg your pardon, what did you say?”
The vicar of Highbury was staring at the players with an expression of horrified distaste on his round face. “I cannot believe my eyes,” he repeated. “How undignified, how utterly unsuited to the wife of a clergyman. Miss Lassiter's behavior has been odd of late, but to see her running about in public with her limbs revealed to all and sundry is the outside of enough. My dear Miss Cooper, I cannot sufficiently commend your maidenly modesty, your virtuous dignity.”
As he spoke, Harriet had taken a paper of pins from her reticule. Now, with increasing indignation, she began to pin her skirts up above her ankles. “I have been longing to play,” she told him, “but someone had to guard his lordship's coat and keep score. Pray be seated, Mr. Lloyd. Here is the score book, and be so good as to keep an eye on Sally and Prue, if you please.”
Half defiant, half aghast at her own boldness, she left him spluttering. Unsure where to go, she moved tentatively onto the field of play. Gerald Litton was nearby, his back to her. Then Mimi waved to her and he turned.
“Miss Cooper!” He grinned at her. “I am delighted to see that you too found it impossible to resist the temptation.”
“I did not mean to play, but Mr. Lloyd said such odious things about Mimi...”
“You are a loyal friend. Lloyd would do well to study your father's tolerance and compassion.” His smile was understanding.
“Well, I do think it unchristian of him to be so condemnatory. I told him to guard your coat.”
Gerald chuckled. “Ah, that is both an admirable set-down and a weight off my mind. I feared you had left it to fend for itself.”
Harriet thoroughly enjoyed the game, though she spent more time chatting to Mimi than actually doing anything productive. She took her turn at bat, and with memories of Ferdie's coaching in her youth managed to score a couple of runs. The overall winner of the day, however, was Jacko. Even with Gerald and Simon conspiring against him, he hit three sixes, a four, and several singles. To his delight, the viscount gave him a guinea prize.
“So neither of us has won,” Harriet said to Gerald as they returned to the bench at the end of the game.
“On the contrary, ma'am, both of us have lost. Therefore I owe you a fan and you owe me a song. Agreed?”
Shyly she agreed.
Mr. Lloyd rose as they approached. “I fear, Miss Cooper, I was unable to fathom your method of scoring,” he said with punctilious politeness. “Your little sisters, as you see, have not wandered. Here is your coat, my lord,” he added somewhat acidly, holding it up.
“I thank you, sir,” said his lordship and turned his back, thus virtually forcing the parson to help him into his coat.
Harriet could not quite approve of such cavalier treatment, despite the vicar's obnoxious behavior. She was about to say something to soothe his ruffled feelings when Gerald addressed her.
“Miss Cooper, I am dreadfully afraid there may be a wrinkle or two on my back. If I were to sit down on the bench, would you be so kind as to smooth out any you espy?”
The superfine cloth stretched creaseless across his broad shoulders. Nonetheless, Harriet had met another temptation she couldn't resist. Running her hands over the muscular back beneath the elegant coat, she was lost. And doubly lost when he reached back, took one of her hands, and carried it forward to kiss it.
It was too late to pretend she was half in love with the viscount. He had her heart, her whole heart.
* * * *
“I shall be miserable for the rest of my life,” Harriet wailed. “I shall have to choose between living a spinster or marrying someone other than the man I love.”
“Fustian,” said Mimi briskly. “If you've fallen in love with him despite all your efforts, I shall just have to change my aim. It's not as if he were an earl or a marquis or a duke. Why should not a viscount marry where he will?”
“I have nothing to offer him.”
“You have yourself, and you are the sweetest-natured girl, and pretty, and always neatly dressed and properly behaved.”
“Except for playing cricket yesterday.”
“That didn't give him a disgust of you. It seemed to me he was well pleased when you joined in, and I saw him kiss your hand when you helped with his coat.”
Harriet blushed. “He hates to be untidy.”
“So do you,” Mimi pointed out. “It's my belief he likes you very well. He has no need of a fortune, and you are of gentle birth, so his family can have no real objection.”
“Do you really think not?”
“Simon says they are charming people. On the way to the blacksmith's, we were talking about the cricket games they used to play at Crossfields and he told me all about Gerald's mama and brothers and sisters. His father died when he had barely reached his majority, so he had to help his mama bring them up. He has a brother in the army, and one still at school, and a sister at school, and two married sisters with children. Oh, that gives me a famous idea!”
“What is it, Mimi? What are you planning now?” Harriet asked nervously.
“You must spend more time with him, to give him a chance to fall in love with you. He likes children, does he not? He shall take you to visit Maria.”
“I cannot possibly ask him to take me to Maria's!”
“No, but I shall work it out, just wait and see,” said Mimi, full of confidence in her powers of persuasion.
* * * *
“How very fortunate for me,” Lord Litton remarked, “that Colonel Lassiter's carriage wheel needs repair on just the day Miss Lassiter had promised to take you to see your sister.”
Harriet didn't know where to look. She was quite sure he had seen through Mimi's ruse, and could only pray that he didn't suppose she had anything to do with it. To her relief, his lordship's attention was on his horses as he drove his curricle through the narrow winding lanes.
“And fortunate for me, sir,” she responded, plucking up courage, “that you brought your curricle to Cheshire even though you prefer to ride when you are in the country. Nothing can be pleasanter than driving in an open carriage on a sunny June day.”
“Especially after just enough rain to damp down the dust without making the roads mu
ddy.” He smiled down at her. “When the wild roses are blooming, I wonder why anyone would choose to spend June in town.”
They chatted for a while about flowers, then Harriet gathered her courage to say, “My lord, I know you told Papa you do not wish to hear any expression of thanks, but I cannot keep silent. Your generous offer to build an addition onto the vicarage...”
“Hush!” he commanded. “It is the plain duty of those with livings in their gift to ensure the comfort of the incumbents. I only wish I had realized sooner how inadequate the vicarage is for your family. I fear, however,” he added, with a laugh in his voice, “that I have presented Mrs. Cooper with something of a quandary.”
“Yes, she simply cannot decide which part of her garden she can spare to be built on.”
“I confess that I have been teasing her a little. There is no reason why some part of the meadow behind the house should not be enclosed and added to the garden.”
“Sir, you are too kind!” Harriet cried, overwhelmed.
“We frivolous fellows must do something to justify our existence. Tell me, what are your thoughts on the colonel's orphanage? My aunt is throwing herself heart and soul into the project, and I understand Mr. Cooper is also involved.”
The rest of the way to Maria's, about an hour's journey, they talked of the planned orphanage. Lord Litton was flatteringly interested in Harriet's opinions and ideas.
“Thank you, Miss Cooper,” he said as the curricle drew up in front of the Talmadges' manor house. “I had never considered the subject before, but now I shall be able to discuss it with some show of intelligence. It is so very lowering to appear totally ignorant.”
His groom jumped down and ran to take the horses' heads. The viscount helped Harriet down as Maria emerged from the house, calling a greeting, her two toddlers shyly at her heels.
Harriet was apprehensive that his lordship would be bored by a day spent in her sister's household. However, he soon won over the children and seemed to enjoy playing with them. When George Talmadge, a bluff country squire, joined them for luncheon, the gentlemen talked of crops and herds, and afterward went out together to inspect the Talmadge acres.
