Page 88 of The Duke's Rules Of Engagement
Now, she and Lilly walked down Harley Street, trading the heavy pot between them as their arms grew tired.
“When do you think he’ll propose?” Lilly asked Jo.
Jo felt like falling into Matthew’s role of being obtuse and asking, “Who?” but she knew very well who. “The duke meant to speak with Harriet at the ball last night, but she wasn’t there, of course. I’m sure as soon as she’s well enough, he’ll pay her a call.”
“I hope it’s soon,” Lilly said. “Charles told me that he will announce our engagement the day after theirs becomes official.”
Jo’s brows rose. “Has he written to your father?”
“What is the point?” Lilly asked. “He will give us his blessing.”
“Of course he will, but it would be nice if he didn’t hear about your upcoming nuptials after everyone else in town already read the announcement,” Jo said drily.
“Hm.” Lilly tapped her chin. “You’re right. Should I have Charles send a letter today?”
“Wait until it is official between Harriet and Crestmont, please,” Jo said. It would be official—she was going to do everything she could to make it official—but it would still be wise for Charles and Jo to practice a bit of patience. Not to mention discretion.
They arrived at the Cherrington townhouse and knocked on the door. The house wasn’t nearly as large or as fine as the one belonging to the Duke of Crestmont, but it was tidy and in a fashionable area as befit an earl’s nephew.
The butler led them to the drawing room, where Harriet sat with the twins. Harriet was working on needlepoint—another of her great ladylike talents, Jo thought with rancor.
The thought rattled her so much, she faltered in her step. What was happening to her? This jealousy felt like a poison wending through her, leaving bitterness in its wake.
Even as her mind roiled, she pasted on a smile as Lilly offered greetings and asked after Harriet’s health.
“I am all better. It was just a little cold, but I didn’t want to attend the ball with even a slight possibility that my nose might run all over my dance partner!” Harriet said. “But thank you so much for the lovely stew. I shall have it for my dinner, and I’m certain it’ll banish any remaining symptoms forevermore.”
Tea was called for, and they sat around the table and began to chat about all the frivolous things ladies chatted about when in a group, the Houghton House ball being the first order of business.
“I’m so sorry I missed it,” Harriet said with a sigh. “But,” she added, “it wasn’t so bad being ill, and it has made our drawing room smell wonderful.” She gestured to the two large bouquets of flowers—one on the side table and one as a centerpiece on the round table. The smaller bouquet was a pretty splash of color—lilies, daisies, and wildflowers. The larger one was an almost garish mass of red roses—perhaps fifty of them.
“That one”—Martha pointed to the smaller one—“came from the Duke of Crestmont, and that one”—she gestured at the enormous one—“is from Mr. Gifford.”
Lilly gazed at it, wide-eyed. “My goodness. That is quite a dramatic bouquet. Who is Mr. Gifford? I have not met him.”
Everyone looked at Harriet, who glanced down modestly. As if on cue, her cheeks turned a dainty pink.
Harriet even flushed perfectly. When Jo blushed, her skin from chest to cheeks colored with mottled splotches of varying shades of red.
“I was introduced to him at Lady Campbell’s ball—the same ball where I met the duke. He has been out of London in the foreign service for several years and has only recently returned.”
Jo and Lilly exchanged a glance. Jo remembered Harriet dancing with the man, but she wanted to know more—everything—about Mr. Gifford, because the massive bouquet practically screamed his interest in Harriet. Jo didn’t know how to politely ask, however. Harriet’s expression was a perfectly smooth mask. She couldn’t read it at all. Should that worry her? Harriet’s demeanor was always serene, it seemed, no matter the situation.
“It was very kind of him to send you such a lovely bouquet,” Jo finally said.
Harriet smiled. “It was quite kind. And it included a lovely note with his wishes that I enjoy a quick recovery. As did the duke’s.” She turned her smile to the smaller bouquet.
Jo wanted to growl. She should have told Matthew to send her the largest bouquet possible. Maybe a wagon full of flowers. Something that didn’t look so simple and diminutive in the shadow of all those obnoxious roses.
Yet, she hadn’t known that Harriet had another suitor, let alone one who preferred to make grand gestures. Come to think of it, Jo hadn’t reminded Matthew to send a note or flowers at all, and he’d thoughtfully done it anyway. And, if one removed the ostentatious roses out of the scene, then his bouquet would have been lovely on its own.
Lilly, who had taken the seat on the sofa beside Harriet, turned to Harriet with a sly smile. “So, tell me. Do you think the duke is prepared to propose?”
Jo tried her best to make herself appear unconcerned, though she felt poised on the edge of a cliff waiting to hear what Harriet might say.
“She does have some news.” Martha hid her grin behind a cup of tea. “Tell them, Harriet.”
Harriet clasped her hands tightly in her lap. “Well, in the note that came with the flowers the duke sent, he said that if I was feeling well enough, he would come to visit Friday and that he had something important he wished to discuss with me.”
