The Indomitable Miss Harris (21 page)

Gillian sat up straighten Lord Darrow’s tiger leaped to the horses’ heads. But this time, his lordship got down slowly, hesitated on the flagway, and seeming to find his neckcloth too tight, tugged at it once or twice, then squared his shoulders and started up the steps.

Gillian jumped up and flew to her dressing table. Her dress, a simple sprigged muslin with a wide, bright green sash, was fine. Her complexion might have been rosier, but she pinched her cheeks and decided it would do. Her hair … well, it would do, too.

Suddenly nervous, and certain that Landover would soon send for her, she paced, wondering what she would say, wishing she had enough courage to tell Darrow she had made a mistake, certain she could never do so.

It occurred to her that the marquis might assume she would want to give Darrow her decision personally. What on earth would she do then? It might be easier; then again, it might be a thousand times more difficult. She did not think she would be able to say no, knowing as she did how much it would hurt him. She had thoughtlessly led him on. She could see that now. The whole awful business was her fault. If he were the hateful sort, she could send him about his business without a qualm. But he was not, and since she had brought the whole thing on herself, it was only fair that she be the one to suffer, rather than poor Darrow. And, after all, it was not as though he would make a dreadful husband.

The door opened midthought, and Bet popped her head in. “’is lordship be wishful t’ see ye in the study, miss,” she said quickly. There was a glint of sympathy in her eye, and Gillian guessed that Landover had made no secret of his displeasure over the entire business. She drew a deep breath and went downstairs, feeling somehow as though she were leaving a haven of safety to walk into the lion’s jaws.

To her utter astonishment, the marquis was alone, sitting grimly behind his desk. Her eyes widened when he bade her enter and sit down.

“Where is Lord Darrow?” she asked, despising the tremor in her voice.

“He has gone.”

“Gone!”

“Indeed. I am afraid I have decided you are too young for marriage, Miss Harris. Your behavior last night left me in no doubt of the fact. And so I have told his lordship. He is leaving London today to spend a week or so at his country house. We agreed that it might be wise to let things cool a bit between the two of you.”

Nearly limp with relief at the thought that she need not even face Darrow right away, Gillian could think of little to say other than to parrot Landover’s own words. “You … you told him I was too young?”

“I did. But you need not fly into a pelter about it. I explained that you are not averse to the notion of matrimony and that if the two of you are of the same mind a year from now, there would be none to stand in your way.”

“A year!” She wanted to thank him but could think of no way to do so. It occurred to her that she ought to apologize, to explain that she had made a mistake.

“Yes, a year. It may seem like a long time now, but it will pass quickly.” He had misunderstood her. He thought she objected.

“Please, my lord—” How to apologize? How to let him know how grateful she was to him?

“We’ll not debate this matter, Miss Harris,” he said stiffly. “Next you will remind me that I am not your guardian and have no right to do this. But, believe me, I feel strongly about it and would have no hesitation about forcing your compliance. And do not be so foolish as to think your brother would support you against me. He will not.”

“You have discussed this with Avery?”

“I have.”

Her cheeks flamed. Good God, she wondered, how much had they discussed? Surely, even Landover, arrogant and unfeeling as he could be, would not discuss intimate details with her brother!

“What did he say?”

“He agrees with me that you behaved very badly last evening and deserve to be punished.”

“Punished!” He had no notion, could not have an inkling of how much she had been punished already. But whatever compunction she had had to beg his pardon vanished as in a puff of smoke. “What will you do?” Her own voice was stiff now, her expression apprehensive.

His harsh gaze softened noticeably. “I daresay you’d just as soon hear the penalties your doting brother suggested for making such a goose of yourself. But I am not an ogre, child. I will simply ask that you keep to this house today and tomorrow, without visitors, and spend the time giving some deep thought to what transpired last night. On Saturday, you may return to your normal activities. It is scarcely harsh justice, since there can be very little on your social calendar at the moment.”

“But I haven’t seen anyone in a fortnight!” Gillian protested automatically. “And we were going to Drury Lane with Lady Harmoncourt tonight!”

“Abigail will excuse you,” he retorted, his voice hardening again. “Have you anything further to say?”

“No, sir.” She looked away, ashamed of her outburst. She had sounded exactly like a child denied a treat, and he was perfectly right. The penalty was a fair one, lighter than she deserved. She had protested out of habit, no doubt simply because he always seemed to stir her to rebellion. She sighed and rose gracefully to her feet. “May I be excused now, my lord?”

He nodded, watching her narrowly as though he questioned the ease with which she submitted to his decree. But she said nothing further, merely dropping a small curtsy before letting herself out the door.

Back in her bedchamber, however, Gillian did not feel so acquiescent. Despite the fact that her better judgment told her she was being let off easily, she could not help being provoked by the way Landover so peremptorily assumed control of her life. It was true enough that her actions the previous night had been disgraceful, and she had to admit that had any of her friends been discovered in so compromising a position, their punishment might have been a good deal more severe. It was not unheard of for fathers to beat their well-beloved daughters for such an offense. She tried to imagine what Lady Harmoncourt’s reaction might have been, had it been Sybilla who was discovered in Darrow’s arms instead of Gillian. The thought brought forth a small shudder. Poor Sybby would no doubt have been locked in her room for a month on a diet of bread and water.

But even such thoughts as these did not reconcile her to her own lot. Landover was scarcely her father, and if she had behaved badly, well then, so had he, and he certainly had no intention of remaining cooped up until Saturday. She realized now that he had not even apologized for his actions, and Lord knew they were far more reprehensible than Darrow’s had been. Blushing at the memory, she nibbled on her lower lip. If she deserved punishment, so too did his lordship.

The chambermaid popped her head in a few moments later to announce that a light nuncheon was being served in the dining room.

“I’m not coming down, Bet. I’ll have something here—a bowl of soup, bread, cheese, and some fruit.” She was famished, but she certainly didn’t feel up to a meal with Landover and no doubt her brother as well. In fact, if she had her own way about it, she would just as soon avoid the marquis altogether for the time being. Her eyes gleamed. That was it. If he wanted her to stay home, she would obey him, but his lordship would soon discover that she would never march tamely to his piping!

The maidservant brought her meal on a tray, and Gillian set to with gusto. It was delicious, and when Bet returned for the dregs, she asked that the fruit and a small basket of sweet biscuits be left to nibble on later. The girl smiled at her.

“Ye shouldn’t stay cooped up on such a day, miss. The ol’ sun’s been peepin’ out this hour past, and the day be gettin’ warmer. Like as not ye’ll be wantin’ a stroll in the park a bit later.”

Gillian glanced outside. The girl was right. The sky was clearing. She sighed. It would be a good afternoon to ride with her friends in Rotten Row. Giving herself a mental shake, she got up and went in search of paper and ink. Whatever else she did or did not do, she must reply to Princess Charlotte’s note. While she was explaining that she was mildly indisposed but would visit her highness early Saturday afternoon, Ellen entered to discover her mistress’s plans for the rest of the day. Gillian explained that she had been ordered to keep to the house until Saturday.

“Oh, my poor lamb!” exclaimed Ellen in suitable outrage. “That beastish man! Whatever possessed him?”

Gillian made a wry grimace. “’Tis a punishment, Ellen, and not undeserved, I’m afraid. But it means you will have little to do for a day or two, so if you’d like to have the time off …”

Ellen, grateful for the offer, said she really had no place to go but that she wouldn’t mind a free afternoon or two for shopping or just a leisurely stroll. Gillian grinned at her and agreed that it sounded like heaven.

“If you wait but a moment or two until I finish this note to her highness, perhaps you might send one of the footmen with it to Warwick House.”

Ellen agreed cheerfully, and a moment later, Gillian was alone again. She curled up in the window bay with
The Castle of Otranto.
The book held her attention easily, sending delicious shivers up her spine from time to time, and the afternoon passed quickly until Mrs. Periwinkle’s return. That lady sailed blithely into the room and greeted her charge with a cheerful smile.

“I won three pounds at silver loo!” she announced.

“Good for you, ma’am.” Gillian marked her place and set the book down upon the seat beside her, quite ready for some conversation. But Mrs. Periwinkle had returned only in order to prepare for the evening ahead. When Gillian informed her of Landover’s orders, the old lady was quite taken aback.

“Not go! Then I shall remain with you, of course, my dear. ’Tis only an impromptu outing, after all. Her ladyship will quite understand.”

“Nonsense, ma’am,” Gillian protested. “It is a family party, and you know Lord Harmoncourt has promised to take everyone to dinner at the Clarendon Hotel after the play. You will not wish to miss such a treat. I shall be perfectly all right here by myself. A light supper and an early night will be good for me, I expect. You are not to worry.”

Mrs. Periwinkle was easily persuaded, and Gillian went back to Mr. Walpole’s thriller until Ellen returned to ask what she would wear to dinner.

“I’m not going down,” Gillian said. “Please ask Mrs. Trueworthy to send up a tray. Then you may do as you please for the rest of the evening. I shall not want you.”

She glanced at her book again until Ellen had gone, but deciding she had done enough reading for one day, she got up and went to the washstand, pouring cool water into the basin to wash her face and hands. Then she stepped over to the dressing table and smoothed her hair into place. But after that, she was at a loss. She had, all protests to the contrary aside, already had a good deal more solitude than she was used to, and the thought of another full day of it was rather daunting, to say the least. But everyone else was going out anyway, so even if she went downstairs, it would be to a solitary supper. And if she should chance to encounter Landover, he would expect her to be civil, submissive. Far more sensible to remain safely in her room.

The door opened, and plump, gray-haired Mrs. Trueworthy stepped inside, a worried frown on her usually placid face. “Miss Gillian, the master says …” Her voice faded slightly, and she stilled her hands in the folds of her bombazine skirt. “I’m sorry, Miss Gillian,” she went on more firmly, “but his lordship has ordered that meals be served only at the table. He said to tell you dinner will be served at eight in the dining room, as usual, and that he will look forward to your company.”

“I thought he was dining out with Lord and Lady Harmoncourt.”

“No, miss. He sent his regrets. I suspected that might have been why you ordered a tray sent up, and so I told his lordship. Shall I send Ellen to help you dress?”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Trueworthy.” Dine
tête-à-tête
with Landover! Never! At any rate, certainly not while she was out of charity with him. Let him have a taste of solitude. It was better than she could have hoped. “You may tell his lordship, if you please, that I am indisposed. A headache, I think,” she added musingly. “Yes, I feel sure a headache is coming on.”

Mrs. Trueworthy was distressed. “I don’t think he will allow me to send up a tray, my dear, even for a headache. And there’s some lovely roasted partridges,” she added temptingly.

“I’m sure they will be delicious, but don’t worry. I shan’t starve overnight,” Gillian answered with a twinkle. Mrs. Trueworthy returned a smile, albeit a weak one, and went off to face her master.

Gillian found the next half hour oddly unnerving. She could not sit still, nor could she seem to think straight. Finally, she realized she was listening for Landover’s approach. Somehow she had not expected him to accept her indisposition lightly but to storm the bastions, so to speak, to demand her attendance at table. But the time passed by, however slowly, until she knew he would not come. She ate the fruit and biscuits left over from her lunch and finally, after a good deal of searching, discovered some working candles in a drawer, and took up a piece of embroidery she had begun some weeks earlier, but it was not long before she was thoroughly bored, and by ten o’clock, she was in bed and sound asleep.

A twinkling Bet brought extra hot rolls and quince marmalade with her morning chocolate, and Gillian fell upon the feast hungrily, wondering what on earth she would do for lunch, not to mention dinner! Perhaps Ellen would be willing to visit a bakeshop for her. But when Ellen came to help her dress, and the suggestion was made, she shook her head unhappily but firmly.

“I dare not, Miss Gillian. His lordship’s made it plain as a pikestaff that such a thing would be worth my place.”

“Nonsense, Ellen. You don’t work for Landover!”

“He pays my wages, Miss Gillian,” replied the maid simply. “It may be Harris money, but ’tis his lordship who decides where it goes and how much be spent. I send half my earnings to my family in Sussex, and much as I love you, I cannot afford to take such a risk.”

“No, of course not,” Gillian said contritely. “I wasn’t thinking properly.”