Monty grimaced, pretending it was the temperature of his tea. All eyes had been upon him as soon as he had walked through the door, and he knew why.
“You are mistaken, and must simply go to Hartridges,” one of the girls was saying, apparently talking to Miss Coulson but with her eyes fixed on Monty. “They provide me with the latest fashions, reworked in the most creative ways. You will never see a Hartridges gown identical to another, and so you see…”
What a shame they were all so boring. Monty could not believe it was possible for the conversational topic of a gown—one gown!—to take up more than a minute. Yet, here they were, at least six minutes in, and gowns were still the order of the day.
Did none of them have any intelligence whatsoever?
“—buttons here, as you can see, mother of pearl, of course,” Miss Coulson was saying proudly, as though she had climbed a mountain to retrieve the precious stones. “I have not seen a sleeve to compare to this gown, though I have perused many of the apparel in…”
Monty glanced at Daniel and fought down a snort. While he himself was doing all he could to prevent a glass-eyed expression, his brother was staring at Miss Coulson in rapt attention.
Poor man. It was never easy being the youngest son, of course, and when your brother was a duke, leaving you as a lord, it was an uphill struggle to be noticed most of the time. But that surely did not mean women like Miss Coulson were a good match for him?
Daniel leaned closer and nodded as Miss Coulson continued. His smile broadened, but Miss Coulson did not notice.
A smile crept across Monty’s face, but he averted his eyes, so the effusive Miss Coulson did not believe he was encouraging her. If only she could take pity on Daniel and stop speaking long enough for him to inquire more about her sleeve buttons, or about the thread she had mentioned before, she could find herself falling into a happy match.
His shifting gaze met Harry’s eyes, and he grinned. She returned his smile without pausing in her conversation with Letitia and one of the other girls, who had been invited, but they were too far across the cavernous drawing room to hear their conversation.
If Harry had not been invited, Monty was not sure whether he would have bothered attending. As soon as he could politely remove himself from Miss Coulson’s monologue, he would step across the room for some real conversation.
Or even better, if the three young ladies could leave, it would be members of the gang—those who had grown up together, and those he had always felt more comfortable with.
Harry laughed, and Monty’s gut contracted. It was always good to hear her laugh, like a balm for his frayed nerves. She always knew what to do, what to say, even when he did not know himself.
“And will you be getting married soon, Your Grace?”
Monty blinked and forced his attention back to his segment of the party. The other young lady, previously so uninterested in the conversation beyond the gentle showing off of her Hartridges gown—not that Monty could see why it was so impressive—was staring. Her eyes were narrowed in interrogation.
“I beg your pardon?” Monty allowed a little stiffness into his tone and saw, with pleasure, she colored. It was a rather direct question to ask a duke.
“Miss Roberts inquired,” his brother said quietly, laughter at the edges of every word, “as to whether you would be wedded soon.”
Monty looked from his brother to Miss Roberts, and saw her smile coquettishly, reaching for her cup and saucer in a way to allow a greater view of her décolletage.
With a sinking heart, Monty privately added Miss Roberts to his ever-expanding list of young ladies who were fishing for a proposal and would never receive one.
Where were they coming from? Was it possible Mr. Bishops was getting indiscrete in his old age and had noted his impending need to marry to this granddaughter he had mentioned?
If she was anything like Miss Roberts, he was sure the entire ton now knew.
In as brisk a voice as he could muster without verging into rudeness, Monty said, “No.”
Miss Roberts smiled. “Ah, but I heard tell—”
“Then you have been sorely misinformed,” Monty interrupted. “And you can take the news back to the gossips from the horse’s mouth, Miss Roberts. I am not engaged to be married to anyone, and I have no plans to be.”
He had thought his direct response would stop any further questions. It had never failed before, and in fact, in some circles, he was famous for his blunt honesty. It had not won him many friends beyond his immediate circle, but he did not need more friends. He had Harry, Josiah, the Smythes, and Acton.
But Miss Roberts’s smile became a smirk, a horribly knowing look suggesting they were sharing some sort of jest.
“Well, of course you have to say so in public,” she said, lowering her voice in a mock whisper. “I quite understand, Your Grace. Mrs. Bryant and Miss Ashbrooke have both informed me on separate occasions you have already chosen your bride and are biding your time to announce the fortunate woman’s name. But if you have not…”
Miss Roberts allowed her voice to trail away in what she evidently thought was a seductive manner. Monty stared, open-mouthed. Surely that could not be the gossip going around town—did everyone think that?
“You give Monty far too much credit,” a calm voice interrupted.
Harry was standing behind Miss Roberts, a grin on her face. His shoulders relaxed, the tension built there unconsciously disappearing.
“Monty?” Miss Roberts was looking around the room as though for a child. “Who is Monty?”
With a sweep of her gown, Harry stepped around the sofa and curtseyed to Miss Roberts before saying, “Why, him, of course. Montague Cavendish, Duke of Devonshire. And I can tell you from my extreme experience, Miss Roberts, if he says he is not planning on matrimony, he means it. He is not nearly intelligent enough for all that dissembling.”
Daniel laughed, and Miss Coulson laughed along with him—but Miss Roberts looked scandalized.
“Well, Harry would know,” Monty said with a shrug. “She puts me straight often enough.”
“Harry?” Miss Roberts looked utterly bewildered. “I have not been introduced to a Harry.”
A flicker of annoyance passed through Monty. He never thought about Harry’s name not being entirely appropriate; she was Harry. She had been with him as long as he could remember, always by his side, or up a tree, or covered in mud, but always with him. For some reason, hearing her nickname from Miss Roberts’s mouth felt like sacrilege.
But Harry seemed unconcerned. “You must excuse me,” she said with a curtsey, not bothering to reply to Miss Roberts’s words and returning to the other side of the room, striking up conversation with Letitia, who looked shocked.
“Who exactly is that?”
Miss Roberts was staring, and Monty frowned, unwilling to hide his opinions of her any longer.
“That,” he said stiffly, “is Lady Harriet Stanhope, sister to the Earl of Chester, who would otherwise be here with his bride, sister of the Duke of Mercia, but they are currently on their honeymoon.”
His cold tone evidently was not sufficient to quell Miss Roberts’s curiosity.
She raised an eyebrow. “You are awfully familiar with her.”
“’Tis just their way,” interjected Daniel, obviously concerned the conversation had continued on too long without him. “They have been friends for years, we all have, and it is easy to slip into old habits.”
Monty smiled at his brother. He could always depend on Daniel when he needed him, for it would have been awkward to try and explain his friendship with Harry to this prickly Miss Roberts. What was it to her?
“Oh,” said Miss Roberts coldly. She turned in her seat to glance at Harry and turned back to face him. “And you have not thought of marrying her?”
The thought was so ridiculous, Monty laughed aloud. “Harry? She is my best friend, why on earth would I want to marry her?”
It was perhaps unfortunate at that very mome
nt, all other conversation in the room had ceased.
His words rang out across the room, and all eyes turned to him. All eyes except Harry’s. Her neck flushed, but she did not look around.
Monty swallowed, brushing aside the thought he had caused that flush. It was a coincidence, it had to be. Harry would have found the suggestion as ridiculous as he did.
“Miss Coulson,” he said quietly, focusing on her properly for the first time since they had been introduced. “Do tell me about your gloves, they look beautiful.”
Miss Coulson beamed and launched into an answer that lasted until the end of time. “Why, so good of you to notice, Your Grace! You have a fine eye, and few others have seen the delicate stitching work which is …”
Monty allowed himself to smile and nod for what must have been a full minute, and he glanced over to Harry.
She was not there.
He looked around the room and could not see her anywhere. Harry had gone.
There was a strange sort of twist in his stomach. Had she truly taken offense at his words? He had not intended to be rude, had barely thought about his words at all.
“Harry? She is my best friend, why on earth would I want to marry her?”
Well, he had not been rude, had given no reason other than his affection for her as a friend. But the fact remained Harry had heard him and then left the room.
What was he to make of that? Harry was not the sort to be easily offended. It was part of the reason they got on so well.
And it was Harry. The idea of their getting married was so utterly ridiculous, it made him smile just thinking about it. Harry! She was a better friend to him than his brother was, and the idea that they could—
Monty’s mind moved, unconsciously, to the memory of two nights ago when Harry had crept into his bedchamber. It had made him smile at the time, it was so like her, so impetuous, not considering the consequences at all.
But there had been something utterly feminine about the way she had looked when she had held his hand.
A moment, that was all. But it had been enough to stay with him, and for some reason, it flashed into his mind. Harry had been Harry, but she had also been…more. Something else. Something he did not know.
Something painful poked into his side, and Monty blinked. Daniel had nudged him and was smiling in a forced way.
“What?” Monty said wildly. “I do apologize—what did you say?”
Both Miss Roberts and Miss Coulson glared, and as one, they rose with their cups and walked to the other side of the room to join Letitia and the other young lady.
Daniel laughed. “Oh, Monty. You will never get wed if you are this absentminded with the ladies—why do you not leave them for those of us who are serious about matrimony?”
Monty sighed. “I am serious about matrimony, you know that. ’Tis just…well. There is no one I wish to wed.”
Chapter Five
Harry’s lungs were going to explode if she could not slow her breathing. She could feel the red-hot pinch in her throat, the pain in her chest, and her feet did not stop moving as she paced in Letitia’s garden.
With every step, the memory of what had just happened became more ingrained in her mind. But she could not stop. She had to keep moving. That would keep the pain away.
If she stopped, she might have to think.
Harry drew a deep breath. This was stupid. She knew she was foolish to allow emotions to overwhelm her like this. Only children allowed themselves to get worked up, as though the world was ending.
She had known it for years. The fact Monty did not see her as anything like a woman was not news to her.
But it was something quite different, having that fact spoken, in a loud voice, with a laugh, into a crowded room.
“Harry? She is my best friend, why on earth would I want to marry her?”
Reaching down, she picked a leaf from the ground and started to shred it with her fingers as she walked, venting all the fury and frustration soaring in her heart.
She was foolish to expect anything different. Her shame and embarrassment could not be laid at his door.
Had he not always been fair to her? Monty had not needed words to tell her she had never been included in his marital prospects. She had known deep in her heart that if Monty ever did write out a list of all the eligible women he would consider for his bride, she would not be on that list.
He had been honest with her, and she had not been honest with herself.
A breeze whipped through the garden, and all the tiny leaf pieces flew into it. Autumn was coming, and they would be plunged into the Season, and she would have to watch woman after woman dance with Monty and try to seduce him.
Her feet continued moving as she snorted. Monty, seduce anyone. The thought was laughable!
But her laughter quickly halted as the true desire of her heart rose to the surface. If only he wanted to seduce her.
The way Monty had laughed when he had spoken so callously cut into her very soul. It was torture being this close to him continuously.
Harry dropped the remains of the leaf and picked another one, tearing it apart even more furiously.
What a shame it was she loved him.
It had been foolish to leave the room. Now everyone in there would be wondering why, and some would perhaps connect Monty’s comment with her disappearance.
She should have stayed inside, forced herself to laugh with Monty at what he evidently thought was such a hilarious joke, and tried to push away the thought that she would never be a bride—for if she could not walk up the aisle to Monty, she never wanted to at all.
“What did that leaf ever do to you?”
Without thinking, without turning around, Harry smiled. She knew that voice, and it was both a cause of pain and balm of relief.
Twisting about, she looked at Monty. “It got in my way, and this was the only thing I could think to do to it.”
He was standing there, his hands in his pockets, the breeze blowing his sandy hair about, giving him a roguish look.
Harry’s stomach twisted. Why, oh why, was he so handsome? It was not enough that he was the most caring and witty man she had ever met, but he had to be so handsome it was impossible to look at any other man when he was in the room.
“Pacing?”
Harry nodded, her feet itching to be moving again. “It always helps me think, work out a…a problem.”
“You and that brother of yours are notorious for it,” said Monty, taking a step forward. “You did not have to share a room with him at Eton, or at Cambridge, for that matter. Josiah used to run the floorboards smooth when he was struggling with natural philosophy.”
Harry smiled. It was a habit from childhood neither she nor her brother had broken. Whenever they had a problem, whenever a solution needed to be found, it was always found while pacing.
Something of her frustration must have shown in her face because Monty took another step forward with a look of concern. “May I pace with you?”
Harry smiled wearily. If he were less loveable, this would be less of a problem. If only she could find some horrible part of Monty’s personality, some dark secret, something to repulse her rather than draw her in closer.
She nodded, and without saying another word, Monty fell into step with her as she started up again, moving toward the grove of ash trees Letitia’s mother had planted years ago, when they had all been children.
Monty allowed her silence for several minutes. “I must apologize.”
Harry forced herself to keep her eyes forward, not looking to see whether he was apologizing from genuine emotion or awkward pity. “What for?”
“For…for jesting about matrimony. About getting married,” he said heavily. “I know I should treat getting wed more seriously.”
Harry did not say anything, but relief seeped through her heart. So, he had not noticed it was his immediate dismissal of herself as a bride, which had forced her from the room.
“I know a few young ladi
es have been…hassling you on my behalf is the only way I can think to phrase it,” Monty continued, “and I am sorry. It is not your job to field off desperate women.”
If Harry had not had such good control of herself, she would have laughed. Innocent, clueless Monty; if only he knew the most desperate woman of them all was herself!
Biting down her remark, she turned on her heels and said, “I am happy to act as guard dog for you, Monty, but I am not entirely sure what you are looking for.”
Monty sighed. Her heart skipped a beat as she saw him frown.
“Neither do I,” he said. “But it does my soul good, Harry, to see I am not the only one finding it difficult to accept that I will have to marry soon. You find it strange, and so do I. Daniel, on the other hand, seems delighted.”
Harry snorted with laughter, and Monty looked surprised.
“Oh, come now, Monty, you must see it,” she said. “Daniel thinks as soon as you are wed, society’s focus will naturally move to him, giving him the opportunity to move into the spotlight. You must know Daniel better.”
He was walking a few inches from her. If she allowed her hand to fall from the leaf she was still picking apart, it would be right beside his.
“Daniel is not concerned about being the younger brother.”
Harry heard the uncertainty in his voice. “Daniel does not know what he is up against, and he may not be so excited to hit the marriage market when he finds out. Why, Miss Ashbrooke alone is a formidable woman!”
“The matchmaker?”
Harry nodded. “She accosted Josiah, you know, and I heard she had said some inappropriate things to Lady Charlotte before she married the Duke of Mercia.”
Monty did not immediately reply. As they came toward the house once more, Harry turned away from it and shot another glance at Monty. Should she have mentioned the society matchmaker? Was she just giving him ideas?
“It is good to laugh about such things,” he said finally. “I can feel more cheerful about it, seeing you so at ease.”
Harry wanted to shout to the rooftops she was not happy, that she was miserable, and living a miserable existence because he could not see her for what she truly was. She could make him happy; they were a perfect match and could live the rest of their lives as husband and wife with more joy and laughter than most people could ever hope for.
Always the Best Friend (Never the Bride Book 4) Page 4
