The Frog Earl (24 page)

“Of course. Did you imagine either would turn down such an opportunity?” Lady Thompson finished her last mouthful of pie and rose to her feet. “Now do not sit too long over your port, pray,” she said, and swept out with a self-satisfied expression on her plump face.

Under Baird's direction, two footmen cleared the dishes from the table. The butler set out decanters of port and brandy.

“Will there be anything else, my lord?”

“Thank you, no, unless you can tell me what has put this notion into her ladyship's head.”

“I'm sure I can't say, my lord,” said Baird with an air of conscious rectitude. He bowed and departed.

“Won't say, more like,” Simon grunted. “Aunt Georgina can't afford a Season any better than Harriet Cooper, can she? Do you suppose she expects the colonel to pay her expenses too?”

“Probably. I shall frank her, of course, if it comes to the point, but I doubt that it will. I shall speak to Miss Lassiter tomorrow.”

Simon poured himself a large brandy. So his suspicions were justified: his cousin meant to offer for Mimi. He could ride to Salters Hall now, tell her who he really was, beg her to marry him—but then he would never know whether she loved him for himself or for his title.

No, he would have to risk Gerald's succeeding. He was sure Mimi didn't love the viscount, so if she accepted him it would be only because he was a viscount. In that case she was not the girl he had fallen in love with, and losing her would not be quite so dreadful.

He hoped.

The next morning he watched from a window as Gerald rode off under a pall of gray clouds. Was he crackbrained not to spike his guns by going with him? He sat down to read a book Wickham had recommended, but it was impossible to concentrate. Every few lines he found himself listening for Gerald's return. Giving up, he wandered restlessly about the house until he could stand the suspense no longer.

He went to the stables, saddled Intrepid, and departed at a gallop toward Salters Hall.

Chapter 20

Mimi was in the ladies' sitting room, gazing out of the window and wondering if it was going to rain, when Waring came in.

“Lord Litton to see you, Miss Mimi.”

Mrs. Forbes looked up from her sewing. “I suppose we must receive his lordship in the drawing room,” she said, sticking her needle into a singularly ugly garment of dark brown flannel and beginning to fold it.

“His lordship desires a private word with Miss Mimi, madam.”

“With me?” Mimi was aghast. She had never really thought of the viscount as a suitor. Harriet would be brokenhearted if she found out.

“I daresay your father would permit it,” said Mrs. Forbes resignedly, “seeing that you have entertained alone every young man for miles this past week. Certainly Lord Litton is the most eligible of them by far, though if he has spoken to the colonel it is more than I have heard. Modern manners!” She unfolded the depressing petticoat again. “Off you go, child.”

“But I had rather not, ma'am.”

“You must see him, if only to refuse him, my dear. I should never have been permitted to reject so flattering an offer. You are fortunate to have so indulgent a father.”

Mimi trailed out, trying desperately to think of something to do or say that would forestall the unwelcome proposal. Her mind was blank.

The viscount was leaning against the mantel, staring into the empty grate. He turned as she entered the room and came towards her, a remarkably attractive and well set-up figure in an elegant snuff-brown riding coat and cream breeches.

“Miss Lassiter.”

Before he could say anything more, she blurted out, “Good day, my lord. Would you like to see my tadpoles? Their legs are fully developed and their tails beginning to shrink.”

He looked so disconcerted she wanted to laugh, but ingrained manners came to his rescue. “Thank you, not today, ma'am. Will you not be seated? I... I have something most particular to ask of you.”

Mimi chose a straight chair near a window and sat stiffly upright, her hands folded in her lap. Botheration! she thought; if she had sat Indian-fashion on the floor he would have found it practically impossible to address her, but she would feel a real ninnyhammer if she moved now.

He stood leaning against the windowsill. Though his features were shadowed, she could make out an expression of embarrassment on his handsome face. He didn't exactly seem eager to make her his bride, she realized with indignation.

“Miss Lassiter, you are in Miss Cooper's confidence, I think?”

A wave of relief washed over her. It was Harriet he was interested in. “I am, sir,” she agreed cordially, curious as to what was to follow.

With an impatient movement he pulled up a chair beside her. “I know I can trust in your kindness to your friend, and I believe I can also trust in your discretion,” he said with unwonted earnestness. He ran his hand through his dark locks, the first time she had ever seen his hair disarranged. “I fear you will think me a coxcomb.”

“Possibly.” She smiled, and he gave her a rueful grin.

“Deuce take it, this is difficult.” Rising abruptly, he took a quick turn about the room, then came back to stand with one hand on the back of his chair, his cheeks flushed. “I want to marry Harriet. Am I foolish to hope that she might one day come to love me?”

“Whyever should she not?” asked Mimi, astonished.

“Oh, I am a frippery fellow, knowing more of fashion than of orphanages, though I do my best to be a good landlord, and son and brother...”

“And nephew.”

“...and nephew.” He smiled absently. “And if intentions count for anything, I shall be the best husband in the world. She shall lack for nothing that can add to her happiness! Yet I dare hope to be loved for myself, not because I am wealthy and titled.”

Mimi looked him straight in the eye and said positively, “Harriet has a soul above such considerations.”

The tension visibly seeped out of him. “Yes, of course. I am a coxcomb to have doubted her. Bless you, Miss Lassiter.” He took her hand, pressing it lightly as he bowed over it. “Pray excuse me now.”

“Good day, sir. I am glad to have been of assistance. Harriet is the dearest girl. You will never regret your choice.”

“No, never.” He strode to the door, then turned and said in an uncertain voice, “But will she have me?”

There was only one possible answer to that. “Go and ask her,” Mimi advised.

Pensive, she watched him go. The London ploy had worked. Yet if Gerald, Viscount Litton, was so unsure of himself, Simon Hurst, without his lordship's manifest advantages, might well lack confidence. Was that why he didn't propose? Or was it pride? Or simply that he wanted nothing more from her than friendship?

Before reflecting on these multitudinous impediments could drive her right into the dismals, Waring appeared at the drawing-room door.

“Mr. Blake requests a private word, miss.”

“Oh lord!” Mimi groaned. “Did you inform Mrs. Forbes?”

“Yes, Miss Mimi.” The staid butler grinned. “Madam threw up her hands and demanded to know what the world is coming to. I was unable to give her a satisfactory response, I fear.”

“Well, best get it over with. Show him in, Waring, show him in.”

* * * *

Harriet walked down the village street, a laden basket over one arm, Prue's little hand clasped in hers, and Sally skipping alongside. As they passed the green, she remembered the cricket game, her wager with Gerald, the rose-painted fan that was too precious to use. On the other side of the street was Mrs. Mullins's haberdashery, where Mimi had bought the ribbons for the gown she had given Harriet, the one she wore the first time she sang to Gerald.

Lost in memories, she was unaware of the presence of the subject of her thoughts, tying his horse to the vicarage fence, until Prue tugged her hand free and ran to meet him.

Skidding to a halt, she dropped a curtsy. “Hallo, my lord. Did you come to see us? We went shopping and Harriet bought some peppermint bull's-eyes. You can have one if you promise not to tell Mama.”

“Lords don't eat sweeties, silly,” Sally told her.

“This lord does,” said the viscount, his laughing eyes meeting Harriet's over the children's heads.

“So does Papa,” Prue assured him earnestly.

“I have come to see your papa.” He was not laughing now; indeed, his voice was diffident. “Miss Cooper, do you suppose the vicar could spare me a few minutes?”

“I expect so, sir. Pray come in.” Harriet was disappointed. She had hoped he was calling on her, not on parish business.

They escorted him to her father's study, then repaired to the kitchen with the shopping. Leaving it for the cook-maid to put away, Harriet took the paper of bull's-eyes and gave the girls one each.

“Go and fetch your books,” she said. “Mama and Judith are out, so you shall read to me while I do some mending in the parlor.”

Ten minutes later she was patching a rent in the seat of Jimmy's breeches while Sally, on the sofa beside her, stumbled sticky-tongued through Mr. Charles Lamb's Adventures of Ulysses. The enchantress Circe had no sooner turned the hero's crew into swine than Lord Litton came in.

“Off you go, girls,” he said cheerfully, “or I shall turn you into frogs. I want a word with your sister.”

Harriet scarcely heard their protests as he herded them out. She sat frozen, the torn breeches in her hands, until he gently removed them, sat down beside her, and took her hands in his.

“Marry me, Harriet,” he said.

The warmth in his eyes made her blush and lower her gaze, but she had seen anxiety too. “Yes,” she breathed, “oh yes.”

She could not say more, for he crushed the breath out of her, alternating tender words and tenderer kisses. Putting her arms about his neck, she pressed close to him. He must love her, for no other reason could explain his wanting so ordinary a girl for his wife. But did he understand that she loved him too? She had to be sure he didn't think she would marry him for his title.

Pulling away a little, she took one of his hands and held it to her cheek. “I must tell you, my lord...”

“Gerald.”

“Gerald,” she repeated obediently.

He stroked her other cheek. “Wild roses,” he murmured, and bent his head to kiss her again.

“Wait, Gerald. Let me speak. You see, I love you. I tried hard not to, because you are so far above me in station I knew it was hopeless, but I could not help it.”

“And it was not hopeless after all.” His laugh was joyous. “I fell in love with you at the cricket match, of all places. When you joined in, despite your qualms, to support your friend. No, it was before that, when you asked for a plain, inexpensive fan. Where is it, by the way? I have not seen you use it.”

“It is too precious to use. I feared it might be the only thing I had to remember you by.”

“You shall have a dozen fans, a hundred, and not a one of them plain or inexpensive.”

“I shall still treasure that one.”

That statement called for another kiss, which his lordship duly provided.

Emerging at last from his embrace, Harriet said guiltily, “Oh dear, your neckcloth is sadly crushed.” She tried to smooth it, but he caught her hands, grinning.

“Do you know when I decided that you would be the perfect wife for me? It was shortly after I fell in love, when you ordered poor Lloyd to guard my coat with his life.”

Harriet chuckled, but before she could speak the door was flung open and two grubby boys bounced in.

“Harry... Oh, hello, sir... Harriet, Sally says you bought some bull's-eyes,” cried Jimmy. “Where are they?”

“Hello, sir.” Peter bowed and thoughtfully eyed the viscount's arm about his sister's waist, but decided not to mention it for fear of distracting his lordship from serious business. “When will you play cricket with us again?”

The little girls appeared in the doorway. “Sir,” begged Sally, “pray tell Prue you won't really turn her into a frog if she comes in.”

“You are quite safe, Miss Prudence. I am finished with Harriet... for the moment.” Gerald arranged a time for a cricket game while Harriet discovered the bull's-eyes under Jimmy's torn breeches.

She admired the way he dealt with the children, but at the moment she would have given anything for a few minutes of peace to consider quietly the amazing fact that he loved and wanted her.

He turned to her and took her hands. “You will want to talk to your parents, I am sure. If I come back in an hour—or two, if you insist—with my curricle, will you go for a drive with me?”

She glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Mama should be back any time now. One hour will be plenty.”

He kissed her hands, both of them, and then, as if powerless to resist, he folded her in his arms and kissed her full on the mouth right in front of the fascinated children.

“Deuced bad form,” he murmured, his eyes laughing, “but I couldn't help it.”

* * * *

“Ahem, Miss Lassiter, I daresay you think me a dry stick of a lawyer, but I assure you I am capable of passion.” Mr. Blake folded Mimi in his arms and kissed her full on the mouth.

Mimi kicked him on the shins and pulled away. “Ouch!” She rubbed her sore toes in their thin slippers. “How dare you, sir! I didn't give you permission to maul me.”

“Ahem.” He straightened his cravat. “Not in so many words, I am prepared to admit, but your behavior has been such as to lead me to believe that my advances would not be unwelcome. Indeed, I have wondered at times whether you are quite suited to become the wife of a professional man such as myself, whose reputation must be beyond doubt in every particular.”

“Not at all suited.”

“However, my undying devotion has overcome my scruples. Miss Lassiter, be mine!”

As he was advancing on her again with open arms, Mimi was delighted to hear a loud “Ahem!” from another quarter.

“Miss Mimi.” Standing in the doorway, Waring announced in his most butlerish voice, “I beg your pardon for interrupting, but there are frogs all over the kitchen and Cook is throwing forty fits.”

Mimi jumped up and sped to his side, where she paused long enough to look back and say, “No, I won't be yours. Good day, sir.”