A Midsummer Bride

by Amanda Forester

  They sat around a little table beside Langley’s bed and he dealt. He would be her partner, naturally, and Penelope and Harriet would lose, naturally. In all the years she had played parlor games, Antonia had never met someone who played as well as Lord Langley.

  After three games, Penelope could barely keep her eyes open and Harriet took to open mouthed yawning. “Why don’t you girls turn in for the night,” said Antonia. “I shall play one more game with Lord Langley.”

  The girls rose from their chairs with some relief. “Should I leave you alone in a man’s room?” asked Penelope with a half smile.

  Antonia smiled in return. “I think my reputation can survive attending a man on his sickbed.”

  “Ah, now you have wounded my manly pride,” declared Langley. “’Tis no worse insult to a man than to be considered harmless.”

  The girls curtsied their good-byes and left the room.

  “Good,” said Langley when they were gone. “I was hoping I would have a chance to speak to you alone. How goes the progress of finding Harriet a husband?”

  “Slow considering her current banishment.”

  “How long shall she be sick?”

  “I believe she may return for supper tomorrow, assuming she can learn to behave. You have a very wild granddaughter.”

  “I know it. I wish she had been raised here, but I will do what I can to help her achieve her true place in society as my granddaughter.”

  “I am not sure she wishes to find a place in society.”

  Lord Langley sighed and leaned back on his pillows, absently shuffling the cards. “Being ill has given me time to reflect on a great many things. I do want Harriet to stay here, very much. But she needs to be happy. Tell Madame X that Harriet must be made to fall in love.”

  “A little late for such considerations,” said Antonia. After all these years it still hurt. More than the embarrassment, the shame, the betrayal, was the horrible loss of her friend, the person she loved. Langley had broken her heart. Over the years she decided the experience was good, for it had made her tough, and she needed to be tough. She had buried her husband, her son, and even her grandson—three successive Dukes of Marchford. She had been dealt a difficult hand in life, yet she survived.

  “Piquet?” asked Langley, concentrating on dealing the cards.

  “That will be fine,” said the duchess.

  “I know it is too late to make amends for all the mistakes I have made,” said Langley softly. “But I realize I have more years behind me than ahead, and I would like to live the rest of my life as I wish I had lived my whole life.”

  “Admirable,” said Antonia, playing a card.

  Lord Langley cleared his throat. “I wish to let you know how deeply sorry I am for my actions so long ago. I was wrong. I knew it was wrong when I did it, but I allowed myself to be cowed by my parents. In that regard, my daughter was so much stronger than myself.”

  “There is no need to bring up the past,” said Antonia, though she was gratified to hear him say it.

  “As you wish,” said Langley, playing another card.

  “I am only humoring you until you have returned to health, you understand.”

  “I am not forgiven. I understand that all too well.”

  Nineteen

  “Ye’re awake early again,” said Thornton through the window of her stone laboratory.

  “Yes, I have much I would like to accomplish today,” said Harriet, even though all she had been doing for the past fifteen minutes was picking up bottles and putting them down again, wondering if Lord Thornton was going to arrive. “Besides, the only time I can come up here is before anyone is awake, even Penelope. I am still on my sickbed you see.”

  “Ye look remarkably well for a lady so ill.”

  “I thank you, sir,” said Harriet with a little curtsy. She had been inundated with advice on how to behave from Penelope and the dowager duchess, and she was trying her best to act like a lady.

  “I shan’t disturb yer work. May ye have a pleasant day.”

  “Oh, you are not disturbing me. Not in the least. I mean I am busy, but you could never be a disruption.” Harriet’s smile wavered a bit. She was not sure she was coming across as the sophisticated lady she was trying to portray.

  “I am glad of it.”

  “Are you going for a ride?” she asked, noting his boots and riding crop.

  “Aye, every morning at dawn.”

  Good to know. She now knew exactly where she would be at dawn. “Why are you up here if the stables are down by the house?”

  Thornton was still a moment and shrugged. “Saw yer light. Thought to check on ye.”

  “Oh. Thanks.” He was checking on her. That was nice. Very nice.

  An awkward silence fell and Harriet searched for something to say. “It is good to be awake before anyone else.”

  “Aye, they dinna ken what they are missing.”

  Harriet cocked her head to one side. “Dinna ken?”

  “Och, sorry, lass. I tend to pick up the dialect more when I am in the Highlands. My mother would be so disappointed. She sent me to school in England to try to pry the accent out o’ me, but it still finds me.”

  “I like the way you talk. It sounds nice,” said Harriet, wishing she had phrased that sentiment more articulately. Something about standing in the presence of a handsome man made her speak as if she were still in the nursery.

  “Ye are too American to ken that my speech brands me an outsider.”

  “I am too American to care if you are an outsider.”

  “Ah, verra good!” Thornton smiled, and his eyes gleamed at her. She liked the way his eyes smiled. His eyes didn’t always smile when his mouth did, but they did this morning.

  “I should love to go for a ride,” blurted Harriet before she could remember not to be so blunt.

  “Then ye must join me sometime.”

  “Yes, well, I do not mean to impose myself, only to say it is a beautiful morning for a ride with the mist low in the valley and the sun just creeping over the mountain. This land is beautiful.”

  Thornton’s eyes grew serious but soft. He leaned on the window ledge and talked to her through the window opening. “The wildness of the country is not appreciated by everyone.”

  A rush of something warm flooded through her. He liked the same things she enjoyed. Perhaps, maybe, possibly, he even liked her. “Good. I am glad.” And now she had no idea what to say next.

  “I would enjoy taking you for a ride, this morning even, but I see you are not in a riding habit. Perhaps tomorrow we could arrange it if ye are allowed to leave yer sick room.”

  “Riding habit?” Harriet sat on the window opening and swung herself through. “You Brits have too many changes of clothes if you ask me. I have been riding in this many times.” Her simple muslin gown was out of fashion for London society but was sturdy and sensible. “Besides, if we do not go now, I will never get the chance to sneak out of the house later in the morning. It is so dreadfully dull being shut up in my room all day.”

  A slow smile grew on Thornton’s face. “Then I must invite ye to join me. Give me a few minutes to saddle the horses and convince a groom to come with us.”

  “A groom?”

  “Propriety, my dear.”

  He called her dear! Harriet stifled an immature giggle. “That’s another thing you Brits do too much of, propriety.”

  “I shall be bold and ask him not to follow too close.”

  “You are very bold indeed, but if a groom comes along and it should somehow get back to Penelope that I have been sneaking out in the morning, I’ll be in for it.”

  A wrinkle appeared on his brow as if he was wrestling with an inner conflict. “I canna abandon a lass in distress. I suppose no one will see us if we have a quick ride.”

  “You are my true hero!” said Harriet with feeling.

  Thornton asked her to remain and disappeared into the mist, returning a short time later with two saddled horses. Soon they wer
e both mounted and riding down a road behind the ruined castle out of sight from Thornton Hall.

  “Did ye ride often in America?” asked Thornton.

  “Yes, quite often. Traveling by coach is difficult. The roads are not as developed as they are here. The mud in the spring is quite something. That is why I was traveling by ship down the coast. It is much faster by water than by land.”

  “I am still amazed at all ye have survived. It must o’ been harrowing to have the ship seized.”

  “Seized and sunk.” Harriet shook her head at the memory. “I know it was a bit drastic to confront the military men the way I did, and it has led to my current banishment, but I had to do something in the face of such injustice. Not for myself, but for every sailor who may be at risk for impressment into the British Navy.”

  “I do understand yer concerns. I wish ye to know that ye have got the men talking. There was anger and denial at first, but now I have been approached by some who wish to know more about what happened to ye.”

  “I am glad to know I might have made a difference! I still wonder about the fate of Captain Wentworth. I hope he is safe and has been able to tell my parents what happened.”

  “We shall hope for the best,” said Thornton with a smile.

  “Indeed. I have had to force myself to do so, else I would have worried myself sick. No purpose in that.”

  “None whatsoever. Allow me to help keep yer mind occupied.”

  “Yes, that would be appreciated.”

  He turned off the main road to a path and cantered through the trees at a sedate pace. The wildness of the Highlands was different from that of America, where she was accustomed to tall, thick forest. Here the land was filled with dense, short trees and rocks. The land seemed to be growing rocks. The mist was thicker here and it swallowed them whole.

  “Is this the pace you usually keep in the mornings?” Harriet called.

  Another slow smile lit his face. “’Tis the same path but on occasion I take a more vigorous pace.”

  “Let’s to it then!” cried Harriet.

  This won her a wide grin. Thornton turned back, kicked his mount, and was off. Harriet nudged hers as well and followed. She had to keep close with the thick mist. They raced through the forest, then across a valley, covered with low hanging clouds. Though she could still hear him ahead of her, Harriet lost sight of Thornton in the thick mist. Her mount seemed to know which way to go, so she trusted the horse’s instincts and let the beast run. It was an exhilarating feeling, plunging headlong into the white abyss.

  Suddenly, she was back in the forest again, dodging trees until she came to a worn path that led upward. Finally, she could see Thornton ahead of her as he led them up the side of a large hill. Up and up they climbed until the horses were breathing hard and they suddenly emerged from the thick mist.

  Bright sunlight blinded her. They had climbed above the low clouds just as the sun’s rays were creeping over the horizon. She urged her mount forward until she was on the top of a cliff next to Thornton. Below was a sea of white where the low fog had not yet been chased away by the sun.

  “It is beautiful,” breathed Harriet.

  “Aye.” Thornton turned toward the rising sun, his face bathed in its orange light. The light caught strands of ginger in his hair, giving him an unearthly glow. He was a solid man. His back was straight in his saddle, his shoulders square to the rising sun. He was the master of his domain. Here was the Lord of Thornton.

  Harriet also turned to the sun and watched in silence as the rays crept over the horizon and flooded the heights with its golden bath. Soon they were completely engulfed in the full force of the sun. The fog and mist began to creep away where the sun’s rays touched it. The forest came alive with the sunlight, the birds chattering to each other, some chirping happily, others squawking noisily.

  “I cannot imagine London can have anything to compare to this,” said Harriet.

  “Nay, I suppose the good Lord knows how to make the best show in town.”

  “I would agree. Sunrises for me always came up over the ocean. We have a home close to the shore. The sun would turn the whole ocean red or orange, though usually that meant a storm was brewing.”

  “I should like to see it someday,” said Thornton softly.

  “Truly? You would like to go to America?”

  Thornton frowned, as if not aware of what he had just said. Then he shrugged. “Perhaps a long way to see a sunrise, but it would be an adventure.”

  “The crossing is not too bad—only make sure you are not set upon by pirates or British warships.”

  “Aye, that I can do without.” He turned to her with disappointment. “I suppose I should see to getting ye back before they discover ye are gone.”

  Harriet had to admit he was right.

  Thornton clicked and urged his mount to return down the steep path back into the valley. The sun was rising now, chasing away the mist and giving Harriet a clear view of what before was only a white blanket around her. The field was bathed in purple heather, alive and swaying in the breeze. They crossed it and entered into forest. Harriet caught her breath. The trees, the ground, the rocks were covered by bright-green moss, making it look like little green people huddled about the forest floor.

  “What is this place?” she asked.

  “They call it the faerie glen. Folks say the faeries come to play here. We shall have to keep watch on St. John’s Eve to make sure the fey creatures dinna creep out into our world.”

  “I should like to meet a faerie.”

  “They would most likely cause ye mischief. Best to keep yer distance.”

  Harriet could not help herself. She slid out of the saddle and touched the bright-green, springy moss. “Do you believe in faeries?”

  Thornton also dismounted and stood beside her. “Only the ones that are real, lassie.”

  “But you are not afraid to ride through the faerie realm at dawn?”

  “Nay, they leave me be. Now on St. John’s Eve, that will be another story. I’ll be keeping to my bonfire like a good laddie.”

  “What is St. John’s Eve?” Harriet took a few steps into the forest, marveling at the numerous different shades of green illuminated by shafts of sunlight filtering down through the trees.

  “’Tis been celebrated for centuries, and even after it was discouraged, it was still practiced in the Highlands. Legend has it the faeries and other fey creatures come out to play on Midsummer’s Night Eve. So for centuries people have been building bonfires to keep away unwanted spirits intent on causing mischief.”

  “Like Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream?”

  “Precisely. Best to keep out of the forest lest that mischievous sprite Puck give ye a love potion.”

  “Disastrous! I shall stay away!” She wondered how she could arrange a meeting with this Puck. Might be useful to have a love potion.

  Thornton smiled. “Aye, beware the faeries.”

  If he knew what she was thinking he would do well to beware of her. With some reluctance, she realized she must get back, lest her clandestine meeting be discovered. They walked back to their horses and Harriet realized that even with her height, there was no way to mount her horse with any shred of dignity.

  Thornton kneeled beside the horse and held out his hands. The gesture got her thinking of something else and her heart pounded in response. He is just helping me mount this horse, not proposing.

  Trying to remain calm, she put her foot in his hands and he tossed her into the saddle with ease. He made her feel feminine and almost delicate, a remarkable feat in itself.

  “Time to go home,” he said, easily jumping into the saddle himself.

  Home. For the first time, the word was paired with an unhappy realization. Her home was not his. Going home meant leaving Scotland and Thornton. She may have grown to enjoy his company above all others, but there was a problem the size of the Atlantic Ocean separating them from any future together.

  “Yes,” said Ha
rriet with regret. “Let us go home.”

  ***

  A young lady crept silently up the stairs to the hall where the gentlemen were residing. She hesitated outside Thornton’s door then softly opened it. The room was empty and sparsely furnished. She glanced around and stole quietly to the bed, her skirts brushing against the floor. She pulled up a corner of the mattress and slid a bundle of papers underneath. She blew it a kiss and covered the mattress once more so that none would notice it. With a smile, she slinked away.

  Twenty

  “Come now,” barked the dowager sharply. “We must go down to tea now or we will be late.”

  Penelope looked up from her dressing table in surprise. She was struggling into a spencer coat so skintight it was difficult to pull on. “Late? Since when have you cared for that? Have you not always told me tea will begin when you arrive?”

  Antonia waved off the comment. “Perhaps I am hungry. Have you no compassion such that you would make me wait?”

  “Is something the matter?” Penelope knew the dowager well enough by now to know when she was out of sorts.

  “It’s all Lord Langley’s fault. He emerged from his sickroom today and wished to play cards. So the Comtesse de Marseille, Sir Antony, and I obliged him.”

  “Lost, did you?”

  The dowager’s face scrunched, making her look old, for once. “Lost my pearls to Langley. Pearls that had been in my family for years. They had been my mother’s and had sentimental value.”

  “Whatever made you bet them on a card game?”

  The dowager cast upon Penelope a look that could spoil milk. “The cards were good. I should not have lost! I blame Langley. Or perhaps the comtesse cheated when she dealt.”

  “Of her, I would believe anything,” agreed Penelope. The comtesse may have been one of the dowager’s closest friends, but to those she deemed socially inferior, which was most people, she could be vicious. A noted gossip with a wicked sense of humor, the comtesse was dangerous, yet everyone accepted her opinion on music, art, and fashion as authoritative.

  “I shall be forced to wear the rubies tonight,” said the dowager with a sigh as she opened her jewelry box. “Oh no! Oh goodness no!”