Read Lady Harriet's Unusual Reward Online
Authors: Em Taylor
Lady Harriet's Unusual Reward (2 page)
Six weeks later
Harriet looked up from the ledger she was poring over and smiled at Mrs Aitken and the footman. Joe laid the tea tray on the desk, bowed and exited.
“Thank you,” she said to the back of the servant and to Mrs Aitken. “I need a rest. I cannot look at this any longer. I do not understand it at all. Mr Holroyd wants me to make a decision about planting next year but I honestly have no idea what to say to him. My governesses taught me how to embroider samplers and play the pianoforte. They never covered crop rotation and animal husbandry. And I have tried to read some of these books, but I think Papa’s books may be somewhat out of date for modern farming methods.”
“The earl has been in the kitchen again and has taken Mary away from her duties, Lady Harriet.”
Harriet ground her teeth. How many times had they had this discussion? How many times had she told William he could not just take the maid away from her job?
“Has he?”
“Yes. And my lady, you know it has been six weeks since we found his lordship and Mary outside the barn after their first time and Mary has not been to me for anything for her courses. The maids always come to me.”
“You think she is with child.”
“I believe she may be.”
“I see.”
“My lady, they have been, umm, together since then. Her dresses have been stained a few times and your brother’s sheets show evidence of him taking her to his bedchamber.”
Something caught Harriet’s attention out of the side window of the study. She turned her head to see William kissing Mary outside—for all the world to see. His hand cupped her breast and played with it in a most scandalous fashion.
“Oh God.” She stood and ran out the door, through the foyer and down the steps of the house. She didn’t care that she was no longer being ladylike. As she approached her brother she was gasping for air.
He looked up and rolled his eyes. “Harry, go away.”
“No,” she hissed. “I will not go away. You are behaving in a most ungentlemanly manner and you are going to cause terrible scandal for Mary.” He had the decency to look a little chagrined. “You cannot grope a lady in public like that, William. It is unseemly.”
“They are a little sore, William,” whispered Mary.
“Oh I am sorry. I did not mean to hurt you, Mary. I would never hurt you.”
“I know, my love.”
He smiled at the endearment.
“And you cannot keep taking Mary away from her duties.”
“I can if I want to. I am the earl.”
“That is precisely why you cannot. You have responsibilities. To your station and to your staff. If you take Mary away, other staff have to do her work.”
“Stop trying to be in charge, Harry. You are not in charge.”
“I am in charge. Papa put me in charge.”
“No, he did not. I’m the earl and you’re just a girl.”
“But I am the eldest.”
God, she felt like she was eight years old again.
“I’m taking Mary to my bedchamber and you can’t stop me, and I’m going to tup her.”
He took the maid’s hand and marched her off in the direction of the house. Mrs Aitken was at her side. She had heard most of the conversation.
“What are you going to do now, my lady?”
“Firstly I am going to find whichever stable hand taught William the word ‘tup’ and strangle him, and then I’m going to load William, Mary, you and me in a carriage and go to London. A couple of years ago a gentleman promised me that if I ever needed anything—anything at all and it was within his gift to give it to me, he would. Time to see exactly how far gentlemanly honour really does stretch. Will it stretch as far as the altar, do you think, Mrs Aitken?”
****
“Papa!”
Lord Stephen Charville, brother of the Duke of Halimead and next in line to the title should some hideous accident befall his brother Theodore, looked up from the missive he was writing to the dowager duchess, as a six-year-old bundle of pink muslin, ribbons and brown ringlets came rushing into his study and threw herself at him. He turned his chair and lifted Phoebe onto his lap, hugging her as he looked up into the stern eyes of his sister-in-law.
He raised an eyebrow, daring her to say anything.
Yes, he spoiled his precocious daughter. And how dare she chastise him for it with her haughty aristocratic sniff.
“How was Hyde Park? Did you see the ducks?”
“Yes, and a few swans.”
“And were you good for your Aunt Elizabeth?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly? That is not good enough, Miss Charville. You must always follow Aunt Elizabeth’s instructions. You know this and we have talked about it. We shall discuss it later.” He pushed a large finger through one of her brown ringlets. Her hair was so like her mother’s and it made him smile in remembrance of Sarah’s trilling laughter and devil-may-care attitude to life. But he wasn’t melancholy as many seemed to think he was. He wasn’t anything really. He didn’t care enough even to be sad.
Except about Phoebe. He cared about Phoebe.
“I am sorry, Papa. I will listen to Aunt Elizabeth’s instructions in future. Clara and I knew we were not supposed to run but we were just so excited when we saw the family of squirrels.”
“I see. Well, your aunt has that look on her face that says she wants to scold me so take Clara up to the nursery. I’m sure Nanny can find you some milk and biscuits and keep you amused for now while I take my lecture.”
Elizabeth harrumphed but did not deny it, coming further into the room to allow Phoebe’s escape. It was amazing that two six-year-old girls could sound so much like a herd of elephants running up one staircase.
He motioned to the two high-backed chairs at the hearth, pulled the bell cord and ordered tea when the butler appeared. He looked his sister-in-law up and down as if considering a horse for sale at Tattersall’s.
He understood why Theo had married her. She was the daughter of an earl, demure, pretty, buxom, wide-hipped, accomplished and clever. Her taste in clothes for the most part was exemplary except…
“Lizzie, what the hell are you wearing on your head? It looks as if a bird’s nest fell on you while you were in Hyde Park.”
Elizabeth sniffed disdainfully at her brother-in-law and adjusted the monstrosity.
“I assure you, my lord, it is the height of fashion. Not that you would know, cooped up in here, day after day. When was the last time you went riding during the fashionable hour, or attended a ball or a rout or even went to your club?”
“It seems as if it’s rather dangerous to go out in London these days if random bird’s nests are going to fall on my head,” he said, grinning. “I’m surprised half the pigeons in London did not attack, trying to mate with that bonnet. That would have been a sight to see. Almost worth going out for.”
“Stephen, you are beastly.”
“Yes, I am rather. That is why it is best that I stay in. It means I am only beastly to those forced into my company by dint of birth or marriage.”
A footman arrived with a tea tray and the conversation halted for a few moments. As soon as the servant left, Elizabeth poured the tea then began her attack.
“I am concerned about Phoebe.”
“Oh God, here we go. Lizzie, I haven’t sold her to the local chimney sweep. She is fine.”
“Stop blaspheming and she is not fine. She does not have to be a street urchin to be harmed by your neglect.”
Stephen laid his cup on the side table, afraid he would either break it in his hands or throw it into the fireplace… or worse… at Elizabeth.
“I do not neglect my daughter, Elizabeth.”
“Stephen, her dresses are getting too small. She needs a governess, not a nanny. She’s wild and uncontrolled. She needs to learn to be a lady. She should be learning embroidery and to play the pianoforte.”
“There is time for that. And you always deal with her clothes anyway. So do whatever it is you do and send me the bill.”
“We are going back to the country tomorrow, Stephen. Theodore does not want me to be rushing around so. He wants me to rest this time.”
“This time?”
“Yes. This time. I am increasing again. Third time lucky since Clara hopefully.”
“Oh Lizzie. Congratulations.”
She held out her hand.
“No, not yet. It is too soon.”
He nodded.
“I understand. I hope it goes well for you.”
“You need to change your lifestyle, Stephen. For the sake of Phoebe. For the sake of yourself. Perhaps you could remarry.”
“No.” He did not even need to consider the possibility. He did not want to remarry.
“Sarah would not have wanted this.”
“It has nothing to do with Sarah. It is what I want.”
“No one believes that, Stephen—least of all you.” With that, the Duchess of Halimead stood, brushed down her skirts and swept out of the room. He heard her ask the footman to arrange for her daughter to be fetched and a few minutes later his relatives taking their leave.
She was wrong, of course. He missed Sarah. He had loved the woman with all his heart. But he was not one of those tragic heroes, lost forever and unable to bear the idea of another in his wife’s bed. But as with everything else in life, since Sarah he was just not interested. Life held no spark. As a second son he had no estate to run, no fortune to invest. Oh yes, he had money and enough of it to live out his days and for his daughter to have a substantial dowry. Had he chosen to marry again and had a son and more children, they would have wanted for nothing. He was very well heeled.
Life was just rather grey. The only colour in it was Phoebe, and a six-year-old could not hold his attention for too long. She was in bed early in the evening, in the nursery for most of the day. And frankly, the lives of the idle rich annoyed him. Nothing irritated him more than gossiping women and nattering gentlemen. Oftentimes the male of the species were worse than the females.
Marriage would be a disaster. A woman would nag and hound him. He’d be dragged to balls and other
ton
entertainments.
He would need to find out about getting a governess for Phoebe. He moved back to his desk and to the missive he had just started writing to his mama. She would know who to ask. And then he needed to work out how to get the child some new clothes. Lizzie had always seen to her clothes. Would a governess deal with such things? What about his housekeeper?
Devil take it. He couldn’t take her into a ladies dressmaker. And is that where little girls were fitted for dresses anyway? He would ask his mother that too.
He dipped his quill into the ink.
Damn, sometimes Lizzie did make a good point.
Harriet moved Mary’s arm out of the way and tugged on the muslin of her gown. It made a satisfying ripping sound and Harriet looked down at the frayed edged just at Mary’s waist.
“My lady, you ripped my dress.”
Harriet tried to look apologetic but she suspected that she failed miserably as she turned her face towards the maid-turned-companion.
“I know, I am sorry but it was necessary.”
“Necessary for what?”
“I need time alone with Lord Stephen so I need a reason for you to leave the room. You will be taken away to have your gown mended.”
“Oh.” Harriet could tell that Mary was still rather confused. They were sitting in the drawing room of Lord Stephen Charville’s townhouse in South Audley Street awaiting his return.
The entire trip to London had been fraught, with William being truculent and ornery, claiming he wanted to stay in the country with his horse. He hated London and all its restrictions and Harriet understood. People stared at him and his odd behaviour. Ladies tittered behind their fans. And she regularly felt traitorous towards her brother for feeling embarrassed by him. He could not help that he spoke too loudly or out of turn at times. He laughed in the wrong place when they went to the theatre or rushed up to pet horses at the side of the road. Sometimes he would give coins to street urchins for no apparent reason.
On their one night in a coaching inn, Harriet had been forced to share a room with Mary to stop William from bedding the girl. And she knew they had spent the night together last night in the town house. The whole situation was untenable. They were going to have to marry—and soon.
There was one positive thing. Mary could at least speak with proper diction. It turned out that Mary’s mother had been a lady’s maid and had taught her daughter to speak properly. It was not until the girl was about six that it became clear that Mary lacked the mental capacity of other girls. Unable to grasp the basics of letters and numbers, her mother had taught her basic housekeeping skills. When Olive Callahan died, Mary was twelve years old and the girl was already working in the kitchens of Oldbeck House. Her father had died when she was a baby—from a mining accident.
For now Harriet had decided to pass Mary off as her companion as she went about town. Mary was wearing one of her old gowns. Mrs Aitken had hurriedly hemmed it as the former maid was a couple of inches shorter than Harriet, but the fit was reasonable.
The front door opened and closed and Harriet heard a quiet discussion in the hallway. She was sure that Lord Stephen would be surprised at her visit and even more surprised that when she had found him not at home she had insisted on waiting. It was not the done thing but desperate times called for desperate measures.
Lord Stephen walked into the drawing room and Harriet and Mary stood to greet him. Harriet noticed out of the corner of her eye that Mary’s attention was on the rip on her dress and not their host. She moved her hand slightly to tap the girl and draw her attention back to his lordship. Thankfully it worked and Mary dutifully curtseyed when Harriet did. Lord Stephen bowed and gestured for them to take a seat.
“Oh, I wondered if perhaps someone would be able to help out my companion, Miss Callahan. Her gown was caught on a railing and was ripped as we walked down Curzon Street. She is rather distressed about it. Perhaps one of your maids is handy with a needle and thread.”
“Oh of course. Though it would leave you unchaperoned, Lady Harriet. I would not want…”
“I am sure your staff can be trusted, my lord. Your butler appears to be a man of the utmost discretion.” Harriet turned her gaze on the man still standing in the doorway. He drew himself up to his full height.
“Of course, my lady.”
“And you are a gentleman, are you not, Lord Stephen? Surely I am safe with you.”
“Well of course, Lady Harriet.”
“Then that is settled. Miss Callahan?” She gestured to the door and Mary did as she was bid, curtseying to Lord Stephen and her mistress as she left.
Harriet turned to her prey and smiled.
“Please take a seat, Lady Harriet. I must say, you have me intrigued.”
Harriet sat on the chaise she and Mary had been occupying until recently. Her façade was dropping now that he was here. Bravado was all well and good but it took real courage to carry out her plan.
“I do apologise for just appearing without an invitation, my lord.”
She looked up into kind brown eyes. He waved away the apology as if social mores were of no consequence.
“Please, my lady, do not think on it.”
“You did say that day, when your daughter fell in the pond, that if I ever needed anything—anything at all—I must come to you.”
He nodded gravely.
“I did.”
She swallowed hard.
“I need a husband.”
****
If Lady Harriet Weatherby had stood up and kicked him in the balls, Stephen could not have been more stunned.
A husband.
He blinked. Then he blinked again as his gaze swept up the young woman seated in front of him, all blue muslin and femininity, biting her lip suggestively in a most innocent fashion. Her eyelids fluttered as if she had shocked herself with the brazenness of her own suggestion.
Her fingers tangled in the tie of her reticule and she lowered her gaze.
“It is not for me. It is for my brother, you see.”
“For your brother?” he choked. “Lady Harriet, I am pretty sure that the Archbishop of Canterbury will not provide a special licence for me to marry your brother. He may be a doddering old fool but even he is not that senile.”
“No!” The frustration was evident in her voice. “You would marry me. But I need to marry for my brother’s sake.”
“You do? Who on earth is your brother?”
“The Earl of Oldbeck.”
Stephen wracked his brains. He never paid much attention to Debrett’s. His mother and Elizabeth would have known who the hell the Earl of Oldbeck was but he was all at sea on this one. Certainly not someone with whom he had attended Eton. Did she need money? No, that could not be it. She would be the one bringing the dowry. Was she with child? But then why would that affect her brother? Brothers were never troubled by the scandals of their sisters. He narrowed his gaze on her and a flicker of memory came to him. “Ah your brother is William. He is the imbecile, is he not?”
“Yes.” Her voice was quiet.
“You do not like that word, do you?”
“I prefer not to use it, my lord.”
“Then I apologise for using it.”
“William cannot count and has difficulty reading. His manners are not always what they should be. He can be loud and brash and is often childish in his understanding of the world. But he is not always as daft as people make him out to be.” Her words were defensive and there was fire in her green eyes. Her chin was raised as she made her little speech. “But he cannot run an estate. He has discovered the fairer sex—Miss Callahan in particular. He says they are in love. She says they are in love too. He will not follow my instructions. He is a child trapped in a man’s body with a man’s… urges and I cannot cope.” Tears welled in her eyes now as her arms waved in front of her.
The poor girl was nearly having a fit of the vapours and his heart went out to her. He wondered what it would be like trying to deal with Phoebe with her childish wishes to climb trees and feed the ducks but grown up with a woman’s urges to flirt with men and bring them home to her bed. The thought did not bear thinking about. He’d lock her in her bloody room.
“Can you not send Miss Callahan away? Is she just your companion?”
“She was the kitchen maid until a few days ago and now she is increasing.”
“A kitchen maid? Give her a cottage in the village and a stipend and send her on her way.”
Lady Harriet’s mouth fell open, her eyes wide.
“You are a brute. Why do men seem to think that everything can be fixed with a dank little cottage and a yearly sum of money? The girl is just like William. She is not able to fend for herself. William loves her. Love is all he has to give.”
“He has money.”
“Spoken like a true aristocrat,” she observed tartly.
Stephen sat back on his seat and studied the young woman in the blue day gown as she removed a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed her eyes and nose. Once she had composed herself she turned to him.
“So, my lord, do I take it that you are no longer an honourable gentleman and I am to leave here without my reward for saving your daughter’s life?”
“Would you let me try to help your brother without marrying you? You need help. I understand that. Perhaps I could honour my vow to you by giving you help with the earl. A guiding hand, as it were. Then if it does not work, I shall indeed marry you as you have asked.”
“I… I suppose that might work,” Lady Harriet answered, looking somewhat sceptical. “You have a week.”
“Come now, Lady Harriet. You do not want to marry a dried up old cynic like me.”
“I must admit, I have not thought too hard about actually being married to you, my lord. My concern is for William.”
He allowed his gaze to rake over her. Best that she realise this was not a game. If he was to end up marrying her, it would be a proper marriage. He may not have much of a notion for the fairer sex these days but he did remember his reaction to this pretty little thing in her wet transparent gown. She had haunted his dreams for weeks after that house party. And truthfully, in the six years since Sarah’s death, she had been the only woman who had stirred him beyond a single fantasy.
He may as well put the prim and proper miss off the idea completely. He was not going to allow her to upset his perfectly easy, grey and unexceptional life with her burnished red hair, her emerald eyes sparkling defiantly at him and her pink cheeks burning red with embarrassment or anger, he wasn’t sure. He allowed his gaze to linger on her décolletage for a moment.
“Well, that is probably for the best, my lady, as I would be pretty insatiable. It has been rather a long time since a pretty lady has warmed my bed sheets.”
She heaved in a breath, improving her décolletage and stirring parts of his anatomy he had to will not to be stirred.
“My lord, that is not proper.”
“That is precisely why you want me to succeed with my plan and not have to move on to yours, my lady.”
He gave her a wicked grin as Miss Callahan hurried back into the room.
“I do apologise my lady. I cast up my accounts just as they were finishing. Luckily I made it to the necessary in time. Everyone says this is going to keep happening for another couple of months.”
Tears welled in the girl’s eyes.
“Ginger,” said Stephen quickly. “Suck on ginger and that should help. My wife had to do that for the first three months she was increasing. Helped immeasurably.”
“Oh!” Miss Callahan said. “Thank you, my lord.” Then she turned to Lady Harriet. “I thought you said it was a secret.”
“It is, but Lord Stephen is different. He is going to help us.”
“Yes, Lord Oldbeck and I are old friends. In fact I am returning with you to your townhouse to see him. I shall just arrange for our outdoor clothing.”
“Oh, he will be pleased to see you,” Mary said, hurrying for the door.
“She gets a little excited,” Lady Harriet said, apologetically.
He smiled reassuringly.
“Please do not concern yourself, Lady Harriet. I understand the situation and do not judge Miss Callahan. Nor will I judge your brother.” He watched her features relax somewhat. This was going to be an interesting week, he suspected. The grey in his life seemed to be dissipating and blue and lemon were beginning to take its place.
Of course dealing with Harriet’s brother was going to be no mean feat. Not because of the brother, but because of the lady herself. She obviously liked to be in control and making her relinquish it was going to take cunning and guile. But devil take it. He loved a woman with spirit, who was bossy and who had such an attractive flush to her cheek and to the slender columns of her neck. And as for that bosom…
Oh God, he was done for.
