My Wayward Lady (26 page)

My Wayward Lady

by Evelyn Richardson

come, see your sister. I have ordered a hackney to conduct her home as soon as I pay off the postboys." Charlie followed Lord Chalfont outside where he assured himself that his sister was not the worse for wear after her harrowing experience and helped her out of the post chaise and into the hackney, then climbed in beside her. As they pulled out he leaned out of the window to address the marquess, "I can't thank you enough, Chalfont. You can rest assured I shall do my part and no one will be the wiser." Adrian nodded. "I count on you to take it from here." Then smiling at Harriet, he gave a sign to the jarvey and they were off down the street, leaving him standing there to feel strangely bereft when he should have felt elated. For the first time since Waterloo, he felt as though he had actually done something. He had outwitted the enemy, pitting himself mentally and physically against Sir Neville in a way that had gotten his blood flowing again, and had proven to his own satisfaction that he had not lost all the skills he had spent so many years perfecting. In fact, it had been a most invigorating day, but now it was over and he had just bid farewell to the most invigorating part of it.

"Damn and blast!" Adrian cursed as he vaulted into the saddle. "You are a proper fool, Chalfont, blurting out your feelings like a schoolboy still wet behind the ears. You have gone and ruined it. At least before this you could talk to her as a friend, but now—" Realizing that he was speaking aloud like some poor creature from Bedlam, the marquess closed his mouth with a snap, but he could not close his mind, which kept picturing Harriet again and again in one scene after 241

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another: Harriet struggling furiously against Fletcher, Harriet smiling that special smile of hers as she realized that he had come to save her, Harriet with her eyes closed opening her lips beneath his, and Harriet, her eyes large and bright with unshed tears whispering, "I quite understand." And that was the damnable thing of it all—she did understand. It was her understanding and compassion for Mrs. Lovington's ladies that had drawn him to her in the first place. And it was her understanding of so many things—world affairs, the political problems facing England, his own corroding sense of boredom and uselessness—that continued to draw him to her.

But now he had to forget all that. Having declared himself, he could not seek her out now, pretending that it had all never happened, disguising his need for her company with teasing banter. Unlike so many other females he knew, Harriet was too honest to laugh and flirt when she had more serious concerns on her mind. She was very different from his first love who had been able to win a duke as her protector, swearing all the while that her heart was Adrian's alone; and she was definitely not like his own betrothed who never let a serious thought threaten her perfect equanimity. Being unable to ignore what had occurred between them or, to be more exact, what he had precipitated like the cursed fool that he was, both he and Harriet would now be forced to avoid one another instead of enjoying one another's companionship as they had before—a companionship that had come to mean more to Adrian than he liked to think. To be sure, they had promised to remain friends, but that blessed state of 242

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indifference was unlikely to occur for a long time, for him at least. His memories of her were too powerful, his feelings too raw for him to be able to hide them.

Wrapped in these gloomy thoughts, Adrian made his way slowly home, paying so little attention to his direction that he was forced to backtrack when he discovered that in his preoccupation he had completely missed the turn into Mount Street His wretched state of mind was not improved as, dismounting, he caught sight of an elegant barouche sweeping by and he suddenly remembered that he had entirely forgotten his promise to drive Alicia and her mother in the park that afternoon. "Hell and damnation!" He clapped a hand to his head. "I am in the basket now. I shall never hear the end of it."

Arriving at his lodgings, he handed Trajan over to one of the stable boys and raced up the stairs to his chambers two at a time. After giving Richards a hasty recapitulation of the day's events, he asked his batman to lay out fresh clothes while he did his best to wash up and refresh himself after the day's adventures. In short order he was on his way again, resplendent in a superbly cut bottle-green coat, elegantly tied cravat, and biscuit-colored pantaloons, looking as though he had involved himself in nothing more arduous all day than strolling along Bond Street and enjoying a hand of whist at White's.

Framing various excuses in his mind he had almost made it to Hanover Square when he suddenly stopped dead on the pavement. Chalfont, your wits have gone begging, he muttered to himself. To appear abjectly on her doorstep full 243

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of apology is only to invite an uncomfortable session while she makes you feel as though you have failed utterly in your position as her fiancé. It is far better to settle this by sending an explanatory note than to endure the pained expressions. That decided, he executed an about-face and retraced his steps, shaking his head at his own stupidity. It was unlike him to be so obtuse. Ordinarily he was awake on all suits, easily capable of outthinking his fellow creatures, and he could only blame his lapse in good sense to his obsession with a certain red-haired sprite.

"Do not say a word, Richards," Lord Chalfont growled as his startled servant opened the door for him. Striding over to his desk, Adrian pulled out a heavy sheet of crested stationery, grabbed a pen, thrust it in the ink, scrawled a few words, sealed it, and handed it to his hovering batman. "And you can wipe that silly grin off your face. My attics are not completely to let, you know. Now take this around to Miss De Villiers in Hanover Square, would you." Richards was able to contain his mirth, but it was not without a struggle. He found it truly amusing that his lordship had been too concerned about a certain young lady to spare a passing thought for his betrothed. And when he had finally come to his senses and remembered Miss De Villiers, he had hurried off to beg forgiveness with an alacrity that spoke volumes about how guilty he felt. Lord Chalfont was not one to live under the cat's paw; in fact, he often frustrated his betrothed by refusing to play the role of her abject servant, a role she quite obviously expected him to fulfill. Only one thing could make him act in such an apologetic manner and that 244

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was a feeling of guilt for ignoring the claims of one woman in his overriding concern for another.

However, the closer Richards got to Hanover Square, the more sober he became. In truth, it was a grave situation and one that even the resourceful batman was forced to admit looked hopeless. It had been humorous to see his lordship's guilty haste and his equally guilty realization that he was not up to facing the wrath of his betrothed, but it was not the least humorous to think of him in that woman's toils. Richards had known women like Miss De Villiers, women who were not satisfied until everyone danced to their tunes. Oh, they could be sweet enough about having everything their own way—all smiles and charm—but the fact still remained that they always had things exactly as they wanted them regardless of the wishes of others. Richards knew that such a life would be a living hell for his lordship after all those years of freedom and independence—not that the marquess would ever allow himself to be twisted around the lady's little finger—but it would be a never-ending struggle of wills. Now with the other one. Lady Harriet, there would be battles of course, for both the marquess and she were proud, strong-willed, and hot-tempered, but the battles would be the kind that would flare up and be over with no rancor on either side. Both of them were too free-spirited in their own rights to want to bend the other to their will and too warm-hearted to bear a grudge.

The batman shook his head. It was definitely a predicament, but he was determined to sort it out for it was as plain as the nose on his face that Lord Chalfont belonged 245

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with Lady Harriet. After he had spent time with her he returned refreshed and full of energy and enthusiasm for life, while any time spent with his betrothed left him quietly cynical and bored to death by all he surveyed. Such a future did not bear thinking of.

Richards would have been astounded to know that at least one other person in London was in full agreement with him. While not so convinced of the necessity of her own presence in Lord Chalfont's life, Harriet was as convinced as the marquess's batman of the deleterious effect of Alicia's influence on her betrothed. Harriet had returned from her adventure more certain than ever that the Marquess of Kidderham and the Honorable Alicia De Villiers were completely unsuited to each other and that their marriage would be a constant source of irritation, if not worse, for both of them.

One look at Lord Chalfont as he had faced Sir Neville, hands clenched into purposeful fists, nostrils flaring, and eyes blazing had proven to Harriet beyond all doubt that he was thoroughly invigorated by the confrontation. To be sure he had been infuriated by Sir Neville's dastardly behavior and worried about her, but beyond that, he had reveled in the opportunity to pit his wits and skills against another's, to take on a challenge and win. How well she understood this feeling and sympathized with it. Alicia, on the other hand, would have considered the entire episode to be excessively bad
ton
and been made miserable by it, no matter how happy the outcome.

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There was no doubt about it, the two of them would be wretched with one another and since no one else appeared to have recognized this obvious state of affairs, Harriet decided it was up to her to do something about it. After all, she owed the marquess a great deal—possibly even her life—for had he not rescued her she would certainly have done either herself or Sir Neville a mischief.

But what was she to do about the situation, now that she was aware of it? Propping her chin in her hand, Harriet gazed absently out the window of the hackney as they made their way to Berkeley Square and struggled to come up with a solution as all the while Charlie blathered on about what a Trojan Chalfont was—not, of course, that he could not have done the same thing for his sister had he but known about the episode, but being on guard duty, he had been entirely in the dark until he had received the marquess's note. Clever fellow, that Chalfont, had a plan for everything and a solution to every possible problem.

"Owe Chalfont a great deal. Harry, you know," the captain commented, handing her down from the carriage when they had arrived in Berkeley Square. "Must make it up to him."

"I shall, Charlie. I shall," his sister responded abstractedly as she climbed the front steps, her mind working feverishly. Then, suddenly remembering her role, she turned, speaking loudly enough to be overhead, "And thank you, Charlie, for escorting me to the Egyptian Hall. Of course Napoleon's carriage was interesting, but I found the animal exhibits more amusing." With a quick wave she disappeared behind the 247

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door being held open for her by one of the Fareham's longsuffering footmen.

"Thank you, Wibberly." Sighing with relief that no family members were around to observe her, Harriet raced upstairs to the peace and quiet of her own bedchamber. There, curled up in a chair by the window, she began to hatch her plan. Ordinarily, Harriet would have scorned such machinations for she deplored, scheming females, but this was all for a good cause, and though her major objective was to free the marquess from Alicia's confining society, she sympathized enough with women whose livelihood depended on men not to leave her former schoolmate high and dry without a replacement for Lord Chalfont.

Harriet smiled slyly as a devilish thought struck her. No, she would not ignore Alicia; in fact if all worked according to plan, she would supply her with a partner equally as eligible as the Marquess of Kidderham and far more malleable. That it would help out Lady Harriet herself, who was finding Lord Aylward's attentions just the tiniest bit embarrassing, hardly entered into it at all.

Harriet hugged herself in delight at her own cleverness. The Earl of Woodbridge and Alicia were perfect for one another. Both of them were attractive enough in a conventional sort of way and neither of them possessed an original bone in his or her body. At the moment they were both paired with people who made them distinctly uncomfortable. For his part, Lord Aylward was far too wellbred to do anything but follow politely any conversational topic Harriet might introduce. Yet more than once she had 248

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seen an involuntary spasm of unease convulse his pleasant features when she waxed too enthusiastic on some particular issue. No, the Earl of Woodbridge, like his friend Rokeby, deserved a biddable young woman as his wife. Alicia was not necessarily biddable, having grown accustomed, as beauties often did, to having her own way, but she was far too concerned with the good opinion of the
ton
to cause Lord Aylward a moment of discomfort.

Harriet sighed with satisfaction. She had arrived at a practicable solution to everyone's problems. Now all that was left to do was to set things in motion, which she planned to do the very next evening.

She had at last prevailed on her family to attend
La
Clemenza di Tito
where she could only hope the De Villiers and Lord Chalfont would put in an appearance. Lord Aylward and Lord Rokeby had already agreed to accompany the Farehams, so with a little luck, Harriet could begin her campaign to free Chalfont and bring Lord Aylward and Alicia together tomorrow at the opera.

That settled, she could now free her thoughts to concentrate on her next course of action as far as Mrs. Lovington's ladies were concerned. Having found a position for Fanny, she could turn her attention to Lucy or Violet, though she had far fewer connections of use to a potential tavern serving girl or nurserymaid than she did for a seamstress.