To Dream of Love (16 page)

“Please let me get down and walk for a little,” begged Harriet. They had already stopped twice to change the horses, but each time Bertram had asked her to remain in the carriage.

He agreed reluctantly that there would be no harm in her walking about near the carriage until his return.

Bertram planned to hire someone’s house for an hour.

Harriet wandered across the village green. The day was warm and overcast and very still. She felt a long way away from London and experienced a pang of anxiety. She must ask Bertram how long they were going to be on the road. She had thought they would be comfortably back in London by mid-afternoon when her absence would not have created any comment. She had left a note for Aunt Rebecca, saying she had gone out walking and planned to visit the dressmaker before returning to Hill Street.

The coachman, over by the carriage, said something to one of the two grooms, and then they looked across to where Harriet was standing and exchanged sly smiles.

She had not turned over in her mind what she should do about her engagement. She found that thinking about the marquess was too painful. Life with him seemed terrifying, so why did life without him stretch in front of her like a dreary desert?

Meanwhile, Bertram had secured the use of one of the villagers’ parlors, exclaiming that his “sister” wished to rest for a little and did not want to go to the common public house.

Having completed the arrangements, he hesitated before returning to Harriet. He was hit by the full force of what he was actually doing. He had lied to his cousin’s fiancée and had run off with her.

In his dreams about Harriet, Bertram’s future life had always ended at the altar, with only a vague thought of life in a rose-covered cottage afterward. Now he felt weighed down with responsibility. Spoiled by his doting mother ever since he was a baby, and now firmly protected from the evils of the town by the marquess, young Bertram had never known the weight of any responsibility in his life.

The Harriet who was waiting for him so patiently suddenly was no longer the happy-playmate Harriet or romantic-persecuted Harriet but the female he was going to have to marry and support. He thought illogically that it was very selfish of her not to realize all he was sacrificing, forgetting that as far as Harriet was concerned she was merely out on a call.

Like a schoolboy creeping unwillingly to school, he went reluctantly back to where she was waiting and said that the inn was too low and noisy but that a friend would supply them with some refreshment.

“This outing is taking a very long time,” said Harriet anxiously. “If I am not back in town by this afternoon, they will think I have run away.”

“Not much longer,” said Bertram morosely.

The parlor into which Bertram led Harriet surprised her. No one could describe it as being in the first stare of elegance. The furniture was dull and heavy: stiff, high-backed chairs and the type of table the ton only used in their nurseries. The room was dimly lit by one candle, and that was a poor tallow one with a cotton wick. A tall, narrow, and tasteless mantelpiece framed a dull, squat stove of semicircular shape, with a flat front. The tall fire irons leaned against the mantelpiece, and a bowed fender of perforated sheet brass enclosed the hearth. A small hearth rug with a fringe and a bell cord with a plain brass ring completed the furnishing of the room.

A sly slattern of a woman came in and put two pewter mugs of porter on the table.

“May I not present my compliments to your host?” asked Harriet, taking the woman for the servant.

“Not now,” said Bertram, looking at the once-imagined love of his life with something approaching dislike.

“Look, Harriet,” he said. “Your worries are over. We are eloping.” Harriet looked at him in horror.

“Aye, well you may stare,” said Bertram, beginning to stride up and down. “But there you are. I decided to rescue you, though ‘tis sad to be out of London when the Season is at its height.”

“Bertram,” said Harriet weakly. “My very dear Bertram. I am very flattered, very moved, by your determination to rescue me. But I cannot run. away without seeing Lord Arden first and telling him that our engagement is at an end. I wish you had asked me first. We are very dear friends, but I do not think you
really
want to marry me.”

Women, thought Bertram bitterly. Well, all they needed was a strong hand.

“You’ll do as you’re told,” he said masterfully. “You are to be my wife, and you will obey me.”

“Take me back to London
immediately,”
said Harriet firmly. “Don’t be so silly, Bertram.” She wearily removed her bonnet and shook out her curls.

“You
call
me
silly.” Bertram’s face had become suffused with color.

A pin fell from Harriet’s hair, and she bent and picked it up. “You must see reason,” she said. “Even if Lord Arden is given to horsewhipping mistresses, it does not follow that—”

“Oh, I made that up,” jeered Bertram. “God knows all the plotting and planning Cordelia and I have had to do to save you, and yet you do not appreciate it one bit.”

“You made it up!” Harriet put her hands to her cheeks.
“You made it up
. You and Cordelia. My dear Bertram, Cordelia is only interested in getting Arden for herself. And Agnes! Agnes who cries so much and looks so guilty! Agnes who suddenly has new clothes and is allowed to entertain Mr. Prenderbury. Cordelia must have told her to tell me all those lies. Oh, God, let me return to London before it is too late.

“Do you not see what has happened, my poor innocent? Cordelia tricked you into this escapade. I am not in need of rescue from Arden, Bertram. I am in need of rescue from Cordelia.”

“I will not have you make a fool of me,” said Bertram. “Cordelia will already have told Arden you eloped with me, so elope with me you will. Gracious, if he ever found out how I tricked him, goodness knows what he would do to me. You are an ungrateful and unreasonable girl.”

Harriet looked at him strangely. “Why did you shoot the hens, Bertram?”

“The—? Oh, the
hens
. They were pecking away and I wanted to try out my new gun.”

“And to whom does this house belong?”

“One of the villagers. I rented it for an hour. I had to explain things to you.”

“And so you have,” said Harriet. “So let us leave.”

“You are being silly and stubborn,” said Bertram passionately. “You will
marry
me.” He looked at her in fury. That such a slip of a girl should stand up to him.

“No, Bertram,” said Harriet. She made for the door.

Beside himself with fury, Bertram swung her around and slapped her resoundingly across the face.

“There!” he said triumphantly. “And I will hurt you worse if you do not do as you are told.”

Harriet stood for a moment, her head bowed, her hand to her flaming cheek.

Then she drove her fist with all her force into Bertram’s stomach. Young ladies of the ton usually did not boast any muscles to speak of, but Harriet had been carrying heavy weights and chopping wood for years.

“I am s-sorry, Bertram,” she said, appalled at her own violence.

He staggered toward her, and with a little scream she picked up one of the still-full tankards and banged it down on his head, then ran from the room.

She ran out through the small garden and stood, irresolute, on the road. Unless she hid, and quickly, Bertram would summon his servants.

She turned and ran as hard as she could in the opposite direction, not stopping until she was clear of the village and out in the countryside.

She walked behind a tall hedge and sat down on a hummock of grass, feeling shaken and sick. She had left her bonnet, but her reticule was still attached to her wrist.

She had only a few shillings, not enough to hire a carriage. She would need to wait until Bertram had left and then set out for London on foot. Somehow, she must get back and tell Lord Arden how she had been tricked. But she did not think he would believe her. He had told her not to go out with Bertram, yet she had gone. A large tear rolled down Harriet’s cheek. He would never forgive her.

The Marquess of Arden had eaten a leisurely breakfast that morning. There was little to interest him in the newspapers.

He looked impatiently at the clock. He was eager to see Harriet again, to tell her he loved her. He had bought her a pretty necklace, and as he put aside the newspaper, he dreamily imagined how it would look against the whiteness of her neck.

He was sure Harriet kept early hours. Better to see her before Cordelia got out of bed.

He dressed with more care than usual, slipped the necklace into his pocket, and walked to Hill Street.

Despite the early hour—it was eleven in the morning—he found to his surprise that Cordelia was awaiting him, dressed in her finest.

“I am delighted to see you, Lady Bentley,” he said, kissing the air a few inches above her hand, “but I am anxious to see Miss Harriet.”

“Alas, poor Arden.” Cordelia sighed. “To be cuckolded by your own cousin.”

He went very still. His face looked older, harder. “Again, my lady,” he said softly. “What did you

say?”

“It is terrible,” wailed Cordelia, wringing her hands. “Harriet is gone with Bertram. One hopes they will marry. She left a note saying she loved him.”

The marquess closed his eyes briefly and then demanded in a flat voice, “The note, madam. Where is the note?”

“Why, I have not got it! I was so disgusted that she should do such a thing, I threw it on the fire.”

“She would not do such a thing,” said the marquess. “No matter what it cost her, she would face up to me and tell me she wanted to marry Bertram. Where is Miss Clifton?”

“Asleep, poor old thing,” said Cordelia. “The shock was too much for her. I had to administer laudanum and put her back to bed.”

“Why did you encourage your sister to go about London unchaperoned in Bertram’s company?”

“But I did not! As far as I knew, they only went for drives in the park, which, as you know, is quite
convenable
, provided the carriage is an open one.”

“And you knew nothing of this … did not know what was in the wind?”

Cordelia looked at him steadily and put her hand on her heart. “By my word,” she said, “it came as much of a surprise to me as it did to you.”

All at once, he had to get away from her. She, the whole house, the whole situation, disgusted him.

He
hated
Harriet, and he could not wait until he found her to tell her so.

“Where are you going?” asked Cordelia. “Pray stay with me a little and take some refreshment.” She smiled at him seductively.

He looked at her in surprise. “I am going after them.”

“Oh, no, you must not,” said Cordelia, appalled. What if that fool Harriet repeated the stories she had been told about him? “Only think of the humiliation … the blow to your pride.”

He looked down at her curiously. “Do you hate your sister?” he asked.

“I?” Cordelia gasped. “Have I not given her a home? Did I not marry old Lord Bentley to alleviate her hardship? Did I not sacrifice myself?”

But the marquess was not Bertram Hudson. “When I called by chance at Pringle House, your sister and aunt were living in abysmal poverty,” he said. “One of your gowns, the price of one of your dresses, would have gone a long way to alleviate their hardship. I will never forgive your sister for what she has done, but Bertram is in my charge and must be rescued from his folly.”

He turned on his heel and walked from the room. Cordelia stood, biting her lip. Everything was going wrong. Agnes has fled. Cordelia longed to take her to court but knew she would be the laughingstock of the ton if she did so. Why was everyone so
ungrateful?
Hadn’t she bought Agnes new gowns and let her entertain that fool Prenderbury as if she were the mistress of the house?

She hoped Arden would be too late to find Bertram before his marriage. Harriet would tell such lies. That girl had always had a sly, lying streak. And after I saved her from death! thought Cordelia. And so she worked on the lies until they had practically become reality. Poor Harriet and Bertram, so young. They would not have a feather to fly with. If she, Cordelia, could not bring Arden up to the mark, then she would just need to sacrifice herself again by marrying Lord Struthers.

When the Marquess of Arden heard Mr. Prenderbury was waiting to see him, he told his butler to send the man away.

Prenderbury had no doubt called to discuss arrangements for the wedding, and the heavy-hearted marquess felt he could not bear to waste valuable time in painful explanations.

He went straight around to the mews to see to the harnessing of his matched bays. After ordering his traveling carriage to be brought around as quickly as possible, he returned to his house.

To his amazement, Mr. Prenderbury was struggling on the steps of the marquess’s town house with the butler and one of the first footmen.

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded the marquess.

“I must see you,” said Mr. Prenderbury, gasping. “These persons would not let me await your return.”

“Come inside for a moment,” said the marquess brusquely. “You must speak quickly. I am leaving for the north.”

He shouted to his valet to pack a trunk as soon as they were indoors and then led Mr. Prenderbury into the library.

“I thought you had called to discuss arrangements for my wedding, which is why I could not find time to see you,” said the marquess. “There will be no wedding.”

“I left it too late!” exclaimed Mr. Prenderbury. “Miss Harriet’s mind has already been poisoned against you.”

“Speak!” said the marquess harshly. Mr. Prenderbury retreated cautiously behind a chair.

“I am to wed Miss Agnes Hurlingham, Lady Bentley’s companion—Lady Bentley’s
former
companion.”

“Good heavens, man, get to the point.”

“Lady Bentley had forbidden Agnes to see me. She said that unless Agnes did what she wanted, then not only would she be treated like a slave, but she would never see me again. She told her to poison Miss Harriet’s mind against you.”