Page 54 of The Chaperone
‘Is there so much to forgive, my lord?’ she asked, softly.
‘Your cousin, I … I have lusted after her, there is no nicer word for it, but never, never, my darling, have I thought of her with love, as I do you, and now it seems so wrong to want you, who are so much better, so sweet, so pure …’
She looked down onto the top of his head, bent over her hands, and for a moment felt completely in control.
‘Plain lust should be banished, but love cherished, and physical desire is a part of love, surely? I … I cannot see that wanting me is wrong, as long as you never again want her. But can you, truly, want me? Me?’ There was modest disbelief in her soft voice.
He half scrambled to his feet in his urgency to take her in his arms and prove that he did. His arms went about her and she lifted her face for his kiss, and as his mouth closed over hers he knew that the memory of Susan Tyneham’s kiss was obliterated, that he would never look upon her with desire again, because his Harriet’s lips were soft and full, and trembled with her emotions, and having her in his arms was so much better than any thought of her cold, manipulative cousin.
‘I want you,’ he breathed, between kisses. ‘I want you to be my wife, Harriet, darling Harriet. I love you, only you, want only you. Marry me, please, marry me.’
She melted in his arms, and her ‘Yes’ was both an assent and a request that he continue. Only when the need to claim a breath overwhelmed them did they part, trembling, and laughing a little guiltily at the power of their passion. He kissed her hands once more, the backs and then, more sensuously, the palms.
‘I shall get leave of absence from the Colonel and post into Suffolk immediately.’
‘Not this minute immediately, I hope, sir. It is dark, and besides, I like you with me.’ She blushed at her own daring, and then, abandoning herself to shamelessness, took his right hand in her own, raised it to her lips, and kissed the misshapen end of his ring finger. ‘Was it something very brave?’
He laughed again, shakily, for the small intimacy thrilled him.
‘No, sweetheart, mere self-preservation.’
‘I am so glad, so very glad, you were not wounded more severely, but had it been so, I would still have fallen in love with you.’
‘Say that again,’ he whispered, huskily.
‘I would still have fallen in love with you. Oh, Edward, I love you so very much.’ She blinked away a tear and was taken into his embrace once more.
When Lady Harriet took her place with her beau for the waltz some minutes later, one elderly lady, who disapproved of such a licentious dance, pointed her out.
‘See that chit, see the look on her face. “Dancing” you call it? Might as well have ’em kissing and caressing to the scrape of fiddles. Disgusting!’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The news that Lady Harriet had received aproposal of marriage was greeted with pleasure below stairs in Hill Street. This was both because she was considered to have always been a very nice young lady, even from when small, according to such worthies as the housekeeper, the cook and Mr Bembridge, and also because it must surely put her thoughtless cousin’s nose out of joint. Miss Susan was not well liked.
The ‘thoughtless cousin’ was indeed piqued, and congratulated Harriet in such a way that it sounded as if Lord Edward was better than nothing, but only just, and that if he had been more impressive, Susan would have secured him for herself. If Susan hoped to irritate Harriet by this she failed signally, since Harriet was inhabiting a private cloud of joy so elevated as to be beyond cousinly barbs. Sophy noted the words but said nothing. After all, the proof was there to be seen; Harriet’s hand had been sought and Susan’s had not. If Susan went about with a private scowl, Sophy could not care the less.
For her own part Sophy felt herself relax a little. She could not be said to have failed her mama if Harriet’s betrothal was assured, and to a man whose lineage could not be faulted. Mama could see how succeeding with Susan was an impossibility, and would merely sigh over it, and say that some things were beyond achieving.
With Lord Edward’s return from East Anglia, bearing Lord Chelmarsh’s benison and a few wise words upon the importance of good animal husbandry, the announcement was made public. Whilst Harriet herself received congratulations, Sophy was actually rather surprised to receive so many herself, from the matchmaking mamas amongst whom she had become a temporary member. Lord Edward was not so great a prize that any felt his attaching himself to Lady Harriet Hadlow had lessened their own progeny’s chances of achieving a stunning match, but at the same time it was acknowledged that he was an excellent young man with the finest of connections and an easy competence, comprising a very pleasant estate in Nottinghamshire, and one also in Leicestershire, inherited from his maternal grandfather.
Harriet had been quite surprised to find that she was not going to be a wife who might at any moment be called to follow the drum, and confessed to her sister that she was more comfortable knowing that she had no need to learn how to bandage wounds or skin a rabbit. Her face was so serious that Sophy laughed.
‘I am sorry, Harry, but the idea that you might be whisked away upon some foreign campaign is so … outlandish. You might rather have become bored, with a husband whose duties meant residing in London outside the Season. However, I think your Edward’s decision to sell out will be to your advantage, since you can be together and make his house a home.’ She paused. ‘I will miss you, Harry, but after all, it is not as if Nottinghamshire and Suffolk are so far apart that I may not visit you occasionally.’
Harriet opened her mouth, but thought better of it, and simply said nothing. The idea had occurred to her that her sister might not be travelling from Suffolk at all. Worcestershire was, thankfully, as far as she could remember from her lessons in geography, about the same distance from Staythorpe as Suffolk.
Whilst engrossed in her own happiness, Harriet had still found time to wonder why Lord Rothley did not feature in her sister’s plans for the future. She had little doubt that Sophy liked him extremely, or that he was taken with her, although of late they had not been so much in company because his lordship had been away from London on those Worcestershire estates. She liked Lord Rothley, although she found him a little too needle-witted for her tastes, and sometimes had to ponder his witticisms, which Sophy did not.
In fact, Lord Rothley was occupying a vast deal of her sister’s waking thoughts, and her dreams also, but not in an entirely pleasant way. She wondered whether his withdrawal to the country, which she had discovered had coincided with her last sharp comments to him, had been in response to estate matters or her treatment of him. She also recalled those things which she had said which he might think referred to his character in a slighting way. Such thoughts were lowering. Many hours were spent in her bed rehearsing various ways in which she might make it clear that she had been in error, misled by circumstance, and had only with extreme reluctance thought the worst of him. Telling a man one had believed him a heartless Lothario was not, however, at all easy, especially if one also wished to intimate that in reality he was almost constantly in one’s thoughts and inspired the most tender of emotions.
It was therefore inevitable that their first encounter upon his return to London would be marked by awkwardness. He had discovered the news of Harriet’s engagement via both the notice in theMorning Postand from Sir Esmond Fawley, whom he had encountered whilst dining at his club on his first night back in the Metropolis. Sir Esmond, who had been the recipient of mild confidences from Harriet in the manner of an uncle, which, he declared wryly, made him feel terribly old, was able to flesh out the bare facts, and also reveal ‘the elopement that never was’.
‘I am telling you because I know you will keep the confidence, and because I need someone to tell me that I really ought to give up on a girl so lacking in common decency.’
‘But do you think she had any idea what she was doing, beyond escaping “incarceration” and cocking a snook at Society?’
‘No, I don’t. From what I gather, her planning extended to throwing herself at the only man she thought she could persuade that she would do away with herself if he did not assist her, and then marrying him to spite everyone. The cold realities of what that entailed almost certainly never entered her calculating little head. I daresay that if he had set off towards the Border with her, she would have been not just outraged but violent if he had not engaged separate bedchambers, for a start. I have no proof of that, it is merely a fool’s instinct.’ Sir Esmond sighed. ‘At least you can be assured that Lady Sophy is not so stressed now that Lady Harriet is safely betrothed, and whatever bumble-broth Miss Susan tumbles into, it cannot ruin her sister’s chances.’
