Marrying Harriet (8 page)

‘Sit down, Charles,’ he said, waving an elegant hand at a vacant chair on the other side of the newspaper-strewn table. ‘Have some chocolate and tell me how you go on.’

‘Tolerably well,’ said Lord Charles. ‘How are your gambling debts?’

‘Monstrous,’ said Mr Lawrence cheerfully. ‘Alas, I shall have to return to the country and rusticate. The duns are bothering my peace of mind.’

‘I could arrange for you to stay in Town a little longer,’ said Lord Charles.

‘That would be vastly pleasant. How do you mean to do it? By paying my gambling debts?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Dear boy. I am moved.’ Mr Lawrence leaned back in his chair and surveyed his nephew with a mixture of cynicism and affection. ‘And what am I to do in return?’

Lord Charles smiled slowly. ‘Listen, Uncle dear,’ he said, ‘and I shall tell you . . .’

Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it,
For jealousy dislikes the world to know it.

Lord Byron

It looked as if Harriet Brown might refuse point-blank to attend her first London ball. For it was to be a masked ball held at the Marchioness of Raby’s. The late Mr Brown had damned all forms of dressing up as licentious and sinful.

It was Yvette, the French dressmaker, who saved the situation. She arrived at Holles Street with her baby, George. Harriet thought George a very fine boy indeed. The sisters retired and left her alone with Yvette. Yvette had been instrumental in persuading the stern Miss Brown that it was not sinful to wear fashionable clothes. Perhaps she could be equally persuasive about fancy dress.

‘Your baby is a handsome, strong boy, Yvette,’ said Harriet. ‘Your husband must be very proud of him.’

‘I have no husband and never did have one,’ replied Yvette calmly, opening a book of sketches.

‘What happened?’ asked Harriet bluntly.

Yvette sighed and rested the book on her lap. ‘There was a French tutor the ladies had hired to school one of their charges. I was very much in love with him and . . . indiscreet. When he ran away and abandoned me, I tried to kill myself, but Miss Amy – ah, the so formidable Miss Amy – she would not let me. She said I must have my baby and she and Miss Effy would help to bring it up. Now, thanks to the generosity of Mr Kendall, the previous young lady’s father, I have my own business, my own salon, and a sound future for George which
I
will make for him.’

Now Harriet knew that her father would, on hearing this news, have forbidden her to have anything to do with such a woman. But Amy Tribble had acted with Christian charity. It would have been a supreme act of cruelty to turn Yvette out in the street. Harriet began to feel uneasily that the Tribbles had more genuine charity and kindness in their souls than her late father.

And the Tribbles saw nothing wrong in dressing up for a masked ball. As Miss Amy had pointed out, having fun was as much part of life as sorrow.

‘What is the name of this man who betrayed you?’ asked Harriet.

‘A Monsieur Duclos.’

‘Is he still in this country?’

‘No, miss, I believe he is in Paris working as valet to the Comte De Ville.’

‘And does he know of his son?’

‘No, Miss Brown, and you ask too many questions. Do but look at these pretty sketches and choose one.’

‘Yvette, I cannot be quite convinced that a masked ball is a respectable event, even though sanctioned by the Misses Tribble.’

‘La! The whole of the Season is a frivolous game. Why balk at one event? It will be exactly like an ordinary ball and very sedate. The Marchioness of Raby is all that is
convenable
.’

‘Are the Misses Tribble going in fancy dress?’

‘Yes. Miss Amy wanted to go as a corsair, but I told her that the gentlemen prefer ladies to be dressed as ladies and so she is going as Queen Elizabeth, and Miss Effy is going as a gypsy. I do not suggest you should go in Turkish costume. Everyone in London seems determined to dress as a Turk. I suggest a shepherdess costume.’

‘No, I cannot countenance the romanticization of shepherdesses.’

‘Perhaps as a Greek goddess?’ Yvette held out a sketch.

‘Oh, no!’ exclaimed Harriet, recoiling from the drawing of a vision in transparent muslin. ‘Anything else?’

‘Here is a pretty one – queen of the fairies.’

‘I am not ethereal enough. Wait a moment. I saw something which might serve very well.’

Harriet searched among her small stock of books and then opened one at a steel engraving that depicted a young lady in the severe Puritan dress of the reign of Cromwell. ‘This would do very well,’ she said.

Yvette spread her hands in a Gallic gesture of resignation. She was very busy and had many fashionable clients, and although her first loyalty lay with the Tribbles, she did not, on the other hand, wish to waste hours in trying to persuade Miss Brown to wear something more frivolous. She promised to return the following day with some sketches and then went downstairs to prepare Miss Amy and Miss Effy for the forthcoming shock of sponsoring a Puritan maid to her first ball.

‘It’s the outside of enough!’ exclaimed Effy. ‘Yvette, did you not talk to her of men? Of romance?’

‘I never waste words,’ said Yvette. ‘I shall make her a most becoming gown. Now I come to think of it, it will serve very well. She will stand out among all the Turks and gypsies and shepherdesses.’

‘The trouble is, she’ll probably act the part to perfection,’ said Amy gloomily. ‘What is it, Harris?’

‘A Mr Lawrence has called,’ said the butler.

Effy looked at Amy and Amy looked at Effy. ‘Isn’t he that gambler?’ said Amy at last. ‘I seem to have heard some talk about him. What does he want, Harris?’

‘He appears to be making a call,’ said the butler.

‘Very well,’ said Amy. ‘Show him up.’

Yvette picked up her baby and took her leave. Before Mr Lawrence made his entrance, Effy said, ‘I think Lord Charles has lost all interest in Harriet – not that I think there was much there in the first place. He has not been to call. Still . . .’

She broke off as Mr Lawrence made his entrance. He carried two huge bouquets of flowers, one of which he presented to Effy and the other to Amy.

‘You must forgive my presumption, ladies,’ said Mr Lawrence, making a courtly bow. ‘But I have long admired you from afar. My nephew, Lord Charles Marsham, suggested I call.’

Effy fluttered her lamp-blackened eyelashes and begged him to be seated.

‘You are too kind, sir,’ she said.

‘I was not prompted by kindness,’ said Mr Lawrence. ‘The day is fine and I have my carriage outside. May I persuade you both to come driving with me?’

‘We have a certain Miss Brown to look after,’ said Amy doubtfully.

‘Ah, who has not heard of your school for manners?’ Mr Lawrence kissed the air somewhere above his finger-tips. ‘But you cannot always be working, and the day is fine.’

Effy stole a look at the square of grey sky showing through the windows. ‘I suppose, Amy, it would do no harm,’ she ventured.

Harris entered again and announced the arrival of Mr Haddon and Mr Randolph, who came in hard on his heels and stopped short in surprise at the sight of Mr Lawrence.

Effy made the introductions. Mr Lawrence surveyed both gentlemen with severe dislike. Then he turned to Amy. ‘May I suggest you ladies fetch your bonnets?’ he said. ‘I will make your excuses to these gentlemen.’

‘What has gone wrong?’ demanded Mr Haddon sharply.

‘Nothing,’ said Mr Lawrence airily. ‘I am taking these angels driving in the Park.’

Both Mr Haddon and Mr Randolph sat down suddenly, side by side, on the sofa. Amy flashed a look at Effy and in that look was all the girlish mischief of years gone by. ‘Come along, Effy,’ she said, and urged her startled sister from the room.

Harriet was very cross to learn that both ladies were going out driving with a gentleman of whom she had never heard. Amy and Effy in their excitement forgot to tell her that Mr Lawrence was Lord Charles’s uncle, and so she thought, as she had thought in the recent days when he had failed to put in an appearance, that Lord Charles had forgotten about her plans of marriage for the Tribbles.

Mr Haddon and Mr Randolph took their leave without waiting to see the sisters depart on their drive. ‘Lord Charles must have been telling the truth,’ said Mr Haddon wonderingly as both men strolled in the direction of Oxford Street. ‘Which one do you think he fancies, Miss Amy or Miss Effy?’

‘Bound to be Miss Effy,’ said Mr Randolph.

Mr Haddon walked on for some moments in silence. ‘I would not be too sure of that,’ he said at last. ‘Miss Amy has very fetching ways.’

Amy and Effy had told Harriet to continue with her French lessons in their absence, but no sooner had they gone than a message arrived from the French tutor to say he was indisposed and so Harriet was free. And then Lord Charles Marsham made his entrance, the cat at his heels, a cat that now sported a smart red collar studded with rubies.

‘I do not like Tom in that collar,’ said Harriet severely. ‘It is a stray cat, an undistinguished cat. To dress it up thus is making a mockery of the animal.’

‘I am bringing it into fashion, Miss Brown,’ said Lord Charles plaintively.

Harriet turned to the butler, who was standing by the open door of the drawing room. ‘Is it quite correct for me to receive Lord Charles?’ she asked the butler.

‘Yes, miss. Mrs Lamont, the housekeeper, is at hand and I will leave the door of the drawing room open.’

‘And now the conventions have been satisfied,’ remarked Lord Charles when the butler had withdrawn, ‘tell me how you go on and why have you not been out and about in society?’

‘I have,’ said Harriet, ‘but not to any major event. Alas, I have not met any young female who would suit your taste. But I am to go to the Marchioness of Raby’s masked ball.’

‘I, too, will attend. What are you going as?’

‘A Cromwellian lady.’

‘How eminently suitable.’

‘I am sure that is not meant as a compliment,’ said Harriet. ‘Now, to business. Have you done anything at all about the Misses Tribble?’

‘Fie, for shame, Miss Brown, when I just saw both of them driving out with my uncle.’

‘Your uncle! Mr Lawrence is your uncle? But he does not have a title.’

‘My mother’s side of the family are very plain.’

Harriet smiled on him with such warmth that he blinked. She was always pleased to find her faith in the human race justified. ‘I knew there was some good in you. If only you were travelling to Paris.’

He smiled lazily and patted the cat. ‘Why Paris, Miss Brown?’

‘You could be of such use to me. Have you heard of Yvette, the dressmaker?’

‘Of course.’

‘There is no “of course” about it,’ said Harriet tartly. ‘Gentlemen do not usually know the names of dressmakers.

‘You will find in society,’ said Lord Charles meekly, ‘that any man worth his salt knows the best dressmakers and the best milliners and the best place to buy feathers . . .’

‘Why?’

‘In order to be able to converse with the fair sex. I have spent many a happy evening discoursing on the merits of glove-makers.’

Harriet looked at him doubtfully. It was hard to understand a man of mature years and good physique who had fought in the wars and yet whose mind appeared to be wholly given over to dissipation and triviality. Still, he had done his best for the Tribbles.

‘Yvette,’ she began, colouring slightly, ‘has an illegitimate baby. The father is a Monsieur Duclos, now working in Paris as a valet to the Comte de Ville. He is not aware he has a son.’

‘Allow me to interrupt, Capability Brown. You wish me to ride to Paris and drag the guilty father back to London at the wheels of my chariot?’

‘Something like that,’ said Harriet with a grin.

‘There is, however, the post. Had you not thought of writing a letter to this seducer?’

‘My French is poor, very poor, and I could hardly ask my tutor to write such a delicate matter for me.’

She looked at him pleadingly, her eyes very wide and blue.

Again he felt that bubbling feeling of amusement. ‘Find me pen and paper, Miss Brown,’ he said, ‘and I will write a letter.’

Soon he was sitting at an escritoire in the corner of the room while Harriet stood behind him, watching eagerly as he wrote busily. He was conscious of her standing close behind him, he could feel the heat emanating from her body. ‘Is that the way one spells “deception”?’ he asked. Harriet leaned forward. He had the letter half shielded by his arm. She bent lower until her face was on a level with his own. He could feel a tendril of her hair brushing his cheek.

‘Yes, I think so,’ said Harriet. ‘It is spelt like the English way, although I suppose you know it means “disappointment”. From the little French I have learned, I know that much.’

He turned his face quickly and kissed her lightly on the cheek. She started back as though he had bitten her and scrubbed at her cheek.

‘You should not have done that,’ said Harriet furiously. ‘Please leave and never come here again.’

He swung round and smiled at her maliciously. ‘A fine reformer you are, Miss Harriet Brown. You would cast me out and leave me to my old ways. I apologize, but old habits die hard. Now, are you not even curious to know how I coerced my uncle into paying court to the Tribble sisters?’