Marrying Harriet (9 page)

‘Yes, I am curious,’ said Harriet. ‘But you must behave yourself in future, my lord. Is that clear?’

‘Very clear, ma’am. I am all repentance. I kiss the hem of your gown.’ He half-rose to his feet.

‘No!’ said Harriet sternly. ‘Sit down there and finish that letter and then tell me about your uncle.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ He finished writing, sanded the letter, promised to post it after he had found out the address of the Comte De Ville, and then told her about the bargain he had struck with his uncle.

‘Oh, dear,’ said Harriet. ‘That sounds a little bit like blackmail.’

‘No, it is a comfortable arrangement to everyone’s satisfaction. The Tribbles will be rejuvenated by his attentions, I assure you.’

‘We’ll see,’ said Harriet doubtfully. ‘But I have not asked you how you go on.’

‘Tolerably, Miss Brown. I spend my nights gambling and drinking deep and my days are passed in recovering from the nights.’

She looked saddened and disappointed, so he said quickly, ‘But of course, this sterling female you are going to find for me will change all that.’

‘I am beginning to wonder if you should marry at all,’ replied Harriet.

‘But I must! It will be the making of me. And why should I do all the work – writing letters to seducers and persuading my elderly uncle to go courting? It is high time you did something for me.’

‘I shall try to find you someone,’ said Harriet. ‘We are to attend a musicale this evening. Surely there will be someone there. And now I think you should take your leave.’

He kissed her hand and left with the cat at his heels.

As he strolled down the steps to his carriage, he noticed a sandy-haired man and a drab-looking female walking up and down. He was sure they had been there the last time he had called.

They noticed his sharp scrutiny and walked quickly away. He stood for a moment looking after them.

From a closed carriage at the corner of the street, Jack Perkins watched his former friend. He would find out who lived at that address.

Miss Spiggs and ‘Dr’ Frank did not speak until they were in Oxford Street.

‘He looked at us so strangely,’ said Miss Spiggs nervously. ‘Do you think he is suspicious?’

‘Shouldn’t think so,’ said Frank. ‘We’ll wait a bit and go back. We now know her name’s Harriet Brown and we’ll need to hope she comes out alone one day or just with her maid.’ He patted his pocket, feeling the reassuring bulk of his pistol. ‘Then, when she does, we simply walk up to her, put the gun in her ribs, and march her off to a hack and take her to our lodgings.’

Miss Spiggs shivered with excitement. ‘And do you think the Tribbles will pay up?’ she asked. ‘Course,’ said Frank. ‘Bound to.’

Harriet, hearing the laughing and chattering on the stairs, at first thought some young female friends of the Tribbles had come to call. But it was Effy and Amy themselves, giggling and laughing. ‘And did you notice the way Mr Lawrence squeezed my hand?’ said Effy. ‘La, I did not know where to look, sis.’

‘Which is just as well,’ said Amy with a grin. ‘For he immediately pressed my hand when you were looking the other way.’

For a moment, Effy looked furious, but then she began to giggle again. ‘What a rake,’ she exclaimed. ‘And he insists on coming with us to the musicale tonight. I told him it was German
lieder
, and he said he doted on the Germans and I am sure he thinks “
lieder
” is the name of a dish.’

‘I hope Mr Haddon will not be angry with us,’ said Amy.

Effy bristled. ‘He has no right to be angry. Besides, he and Mr Randolph said they were going to be otherwise engaged.’

Both Mr Haddon and Mr Randolph had forgotten about the musicale. They arrived at Holles Street that evening, only to learn that the ladies had left for Lady Huxtable’s mansion in Berkeley Square.

‘Forgot all about it,’ said Mr Haddon. He felt very disappointed. He had been looking forward to his usual evening of cards and gossip and flattery. Both gentlemen were turning away when Harris, the butler, added with a certain tinge of satisfaction in his voice, ‘The ladies were escorted by Mr Lawrence.’

‘What is that fool of a mountebank doing dancing attendance on our ladies?’ raged Mr Haddon as they walked off down the street.

‘He has gambling debts, I believe,’ said Mr Randolph gloomily. He squinted down at his new frilled cambric shirt. It was very fine and he had been looking forward to Miss Effy’s flattering comments on his taste.

‘Lawrence can’t be hoping to make money out of the ladies,’ said Mr Haddon, so overset that he tossed a guinea to a crossing-sweeper in mistake for a penny. The boy grabbed the coin, dropped his brush, and ran off whooping with delight into the night.

‘Perhaps he really is thinking of marriage.’ Mr Randolph was feeling as if an earthquake had rocked his safe world. He had imagined his pleasant life would go on the way it always had, with walks with his friend in the parks and visits to the Tribble sisters.

He waited for Mr Haddon to pooh-pooh such a suggestion but his friend walked on, his head bent. At last Mr Haddon said, ‘We still have our cards for Lady Huxtable’s affair, have we not?’

‘Yes, I still have mine.’

There was another long silence and then Mr Haddon said, ‘I feel it is our duty to go and see if the Misses Tribble need our protection.’

‘Yes, yes, let us go by all means,’ gasped Mr Randolph, now quite breathless with trying to keep up with the long angry strides of his tall friend.

It was the very first time Miss Harriet Brown had seen the cream of London society gathered together. Here, she thought bitterly, was no room for reform. With their carefully studied arts and graces and their hard, assessing, arrogant eyes, here was a world of people who would consider the merest suggestion that they were other than perfect the height of impertinence. For the first time, Harriet began to wonder why on earth Lord Charles put up with her. But the thought of Lord Charles reminded her of her mission, and when she left her cloak in an ante-room provided for the occasion and sat down at a toilet-table to tidy her hair, she studied the other young ladies reflected in the glass. One in particular caught her eye. She was tall and modishly gowned. Her brown hair was exquisitely dressed and her beautiful face slightly marred by the hard expression in her eyes. Harriet sensed she was probably shallow and acquisitive but of very good lineage. Harriet thought she would make a good match for Lord Charles; she looked the kind of young lady who would find a rake amusing.

Harriet rose to her feet and arranged her shawl about her shoulders, headed for the door, affected to stumble against the beautiful girl, and apologized profusely.

The young lady’s eyes took in the elegance of Harriet’s blue-and-grey gown of half mourning. ‘You are forgiven,’ she said with a slight smile. ‘Have we met? I am Lisa Seymour.’

‘No, I do not think so,’ replied Harriet. ‘I am Harriet Brown, one of the Tribble sisters’ problems.’

Lisa smiled even more warmly. The Tribbles were good
ton
and the marital success of their charges was well-known.

‘You do not look like a problem to me, Miss Brown. What is supposed to be wrong with you?’

‘No money and prim manners,’ rejoined Harriet.

Lisa gave her a startled look and then began to laugh. ‘You are an Original, Miss Brown. Shall we endure the tedium of this concert together? And you must introduce me to the legendary Tribbles.’

They walked into the music room together.

People were standing around in groups chatting before the start of the concert. ‘Now where are these old quizzes of yours?’ demanded Lisa.

‘The Misses Tribble are fine ladies,’ said Harriet severely. ‘You must not criticize them or I shall become angry.’

‘You have very high and mighty airs for a penniless “problem”,’ pointed out Lisa acidly.

‘No, I am a loyal friend and could be one to you.’

Lisa was about to cold-shoulder this lady whom she was beginning to damn in her mind as an awkward oddity when Lord Charles strolled into the room and came up to join Harriet.

‘I am so glad you are come, Lord Charles,’ said Harriet. ‘May I present Miss Lisa Seymour.’

Lord Charles bowed. ‘I have already had the pleasure of meeting Miss Seymour.’

‘Oh.’ Harriet’s face fell. Lisa’s eyes darted from one to the other curiously. Lord Charles could not possibly be interested in this Harriet female. She was quite old, surely about twenty-five! But then, despite the nasty rumours that the Tribbles’ last charge had eloped with the Duke of Berham to get away from them, she
had
married a duke, and the ones before her had all married well. Lisa had been confined in the country with measles during what was to have been her first Season. That was why she was being brought out at the Little Season. She had had time to study the field and had already decided that Lord Charles Marsham was the most eligible man in Town. He appeared on friendly terms with Miss Brown. It would therefore do no harm to cultivate Miss Brown’s friendship.

‘Of course,’ Lord Charles was murmuring, ‘I rely on your sound advice, Miss Brown.’

‘You sound as if you share a secret,’ said Lisa.

‘There are no secrets between Miss Brown and myself,’ said Lord Charles. ‘Miss Brown is a model of all the virtues.’ He made those virtues sound like a dead bore and Lisa smiled.

‘Perhaps you will allow me to call on you, Miss Brown,’ Lisa said. ‘I have no friends in London as yet.’

‘Gladly.’ Harriet decided the best thing was to leave the pair alone together. ‘I must see my chaperones,’ she said, dropping a curtsy.

She moved off and Lord Charles’s eyes followed her across the room. ‘I wonder who her dressmaker is,’ said Lisa.

‘I can reveal it is none other than Yvette,’ replied Lord Charles.

‘Indeed! I must tell Mama to patronize her. Miss Brown’s style puts us all in the shade.’

‘Nothing,’ said Lord Charles fervently, ‘could put such beauty as yours in the shade, Miss Seymour.’

Lisa gave a delicious laugh and raised her fan to cover her imaginary blushes. ‘You are determined to turn my head, Lord Charles.’

‘Not I! I only speak the truth.’

Harriet stole a covert look at the pair from across the room. They appeared to be getting along famously. She felt depressed because all of a sudden twenty-five seemed very old indeed.

Mr Lawrence was laughing and flirting with both sisters in turn. Amy’s great laugh rang across the room and Effy fluttered and simpered and twitched at her gauze draperies. Mr Haddon and Mr Randolph made their entrance. Mr Lawrence saw them arrive out of the corner of his eye and flirted harder than ever.

Amy and Effy both felt glad that for the first time Mr Haddon and Mr Randolph could see that someone found them attractive. But it was Amy who remembered their duties first and made her excuses and sought out the Marchioness of Raby.

‘I have a new charge, Lucy,’ she said to the marchioness. ‘Miss Brown. Over there.’

The little marchioness raised her quizzing-glass and studied Harriet. ‘Fine female,’ she remarked. ‘Lots of character in that face. Pity. Looks intelligent. Damning. Mouth too big.’

‘She has little money and high principles,’ said Amy.

‘Ah, well, you are in luck. I have just the fellow for her. The vicar of our local parish is here. I invited him to stay. Mr Feathers. Widower. Thirties. Should get married. Come with me.’

Amy followed the marchioness to a corner of the music room where a tall, earnest-looking man was talking to an elderly lady.

‘Mr Feathers,’ said the marchioness, interrupting his conversation without apology. ‘Step aside.’

Mr Feathers did as he was bid.

‘Now, Mr Feathers,’ said the marchioness sternly, you have been a widower for long enough and it don’t do to have an unattached man as vicar. Sets all the silly hens of the parish in a flutter. Miss Tribble here will introduce you to a suitable young lady. I’m not ordering you to marry her, mind, but make a push.’

‘Certainly, my lady,’ said Mr Feathers with a sycophantic smile. ‘You have only to command.’

‘Disgusting lack of backbone, but what would you?’ remarked the marchioness in a loud aside.

Amy eyed Mr Feathers speculatively. He had a good head of brown hair and a long, not unpleasing face. He was dressed in plain severe clothes of good cut. Her glance flicked down to his legs. Disappointing. But no one expected the clergy to have good legs. ‘Come with me, Mr Feathers,’ said Amy.

He meekly followed her across the room, where she introduced him to Harriet and then left them together.

‘Is this the first time you have been in Town, Miss Brown?’ asked Mr Feathers.

‘Yes, sir,’ replied Harriet.

‘It must be very exciting to be in society.’

‘Yes, everyone looks so grand,’ said Harriet cautiously.

‘Have you come from far?’

‘Scarborough, Mr Feathers.’

‘Ah, but you must have enjoyed many frivolities there.’

‘On the contrary, my father was a Methodist preacher and I was involved in helping him with the work of the parish.’

‘How commendable,’ bleated Mr Feathers, although he was as shocked as if Harriet had declared herself to be a Roman Catholic. He cast an anguished look in the direction of his patroness, who returned it with a scowl that seemed to tell him to get on with it.

The start of the concert was announced and Mr Feathers found chairs for both of them. Harriet noticed that Lord Charles was finding chairs for himself and Lisa Seymour and was paying her every attention. She should have felt glad but did not. She put her lowness of spirits down to the strain of her first important social engagement and tried to console herself by turning her attention to Mr Haddon and Mr Randolph, who were looking suitably annoyed at the way Mr Lawrence was fussing about the Tribbles like the best of devoted courtiers. His gambling debts must be immense, reflected Harriet rather sourly. Mr Feathers was saying something, and she automatically answered, ‘Yes,’ and then wondered what he had said, for he looked surprised. It was very lowering to think that Harriet Brown was considered fit consort only for this boring member of the church. Harriet blushed at her own worldliness and wondered whether London was already corrupting her morals. She had never damned anyone as boring in her life before.