Page 31 of Tempting Harriet
It quickly became clear to Harriet what the purpose of the occasion was. The duke bowed over the hand of theCountess of Barthorpe, Lady Phyllis’s mother, when dinnerwas announced, and led her into the dining room. He seatedher to his right at the head of the table. The arrival of theduchess in town was obviously moving the courtship intoanother phase, making it almost official. Or perhaps entirely official. Perhaps an announcement was to be madeafter dinner. Harriet’s stomach lurched at the very thought.But no. He would have led in Lady Phyllis herself if matters were that far advanced.
Harriet exchanged a few words with Viscount Travers to her right, though most of her attention during dinner wastaken by Lady Sophia to her left. She was glad of the necessity of talking almost without ceasing. It took her mindoff the strangeness of the occasion. She was dining with theDuke and Duchess of Tenby. There were twenty-four attable. She held the lowest rank of all of them, being a merebaroness.
She tried to keep her eyes and her mind off the Duke of Tenby at the head of the table. It was hard on such an occasion to think of him by any other name. And hard to realizethat the same man was her lover.
Lover. Harriet’s stomach lurched again. Somehow she was beginning to think of him as her lover, although ofcourse he was not that. But he appeared to have taken heraccusations during last week’s quarrel seriously. Eventoday. After talking with her throughout the carriage ride,he had been silent in the bedchamber. He had kissed herlong and lingeringly—and tenderly—as soon as they hadarrived there and then he had made long and slow love toher. It was treacherously easy to start using that term to describe what was happening between them. It had seemedthat he was making love to her. Her head knew differently,of course, but her heart...
She had closed her eyes and given in to fantasy. When she had once opened her eyes on the bed, after he hadraised himself onto his elbows as he moved rhythmically inher so that she would not be oppressed by his weight, shehad found that his too were closed. Almost as if he did notwant to see reality any more than she did. Afterward he hadheld her close and covered her with the bedclothes and allowed her to sleep. And when she had woken up later, although his hand gently massaging her head had told herthat he was awake too, he had not taken her again but hadlain quietly with her until it was time to get up. Strangely, ithad felt like love. More so than if he had had her again.
Oh, so very, very like love. She had been disturbed by it after she had arrived home. She was losing touch with reality. She was allowing her dreams to become too real.Dreams and reality should never be allowed to mix. The reality was that they were having a physical relationship andthat there was a certain fondness between them. That wasall. Next time she must keep her eyes open.
But she knew that she had made the biggest mistake of her life when she had agreed to become his mistress. Betterto have him briefly than never at all, she had told herself.She had even persuaded herself that once she had had him afew times she would be satisfied and would be quite able togo back home and forget about him. How very foolishlynaive she had been. She dared not contemplate the extent ofthe heartache she was facing when it was all over. Amandawas quite right, of course. But it was too late now to benefitfrom either good advice or her own newly acquired experience.
The Duchess of Tenby motioned the ladies to rise and follow her back to the drawing room. The Marquess ofKingsley on one side and Harriet on the other helped LadySophia to her feet.
* * *
He had had an argument with his grandmother on his return from his assignation with Harriet earlier in the afternoon. Not that one ever really argued with the duchess, of course. One could only hope to negotiate with her. She hadwanted him to lead Lady Phyllis in to dinner. And she haddecided that there was to be dancing in the drawing roomafter dinner. She had even taken it upon herself during theday to hire a pianist and a violinist and cellist to come andplay. He was to lead Lady Phyllis into the first dance—anold-fashioned minuet.
He knew very well what his grandmother was about, although she had not yet even met Lady Phyllis. She was trying to force his hand, make it impossible for him to back out of his vow to marry during the summer. She was eventrying to precipitate matters, fencing him into such markedattentions to the girl that he would feel constrained to offerfor her long before the Season’s end.
He would dance first with the girl, he had reluctantly agreed. He would not lead her in to dinner. It was toomarked a favor to offer a young unmarried girl whom hewas not even officially courting yet. He remained adamantagainst his grandmother’s hard look and stubborn jaw.
“You have not even set eyes on her yet, Grandmama,” he had said in exasperation. “How do you know that youwill want to promote this courtship so ruthlessly?”
“It really does not matter what my eyes see, Tenby, does it?” she had said. “Or what yours see, for that matter. She isBarthorpe’s girl and will be a suitable hostess for you in thecoming years. And, more important, a worthy mother foryour heir.”
He had sighed. “I will lead the countess in to dinner,” he had suggested eventually. “Will that satisfy you?”'
“It will be most proper, Tenby,” she had said after a moment’s consideration, “since the girl is being presented to me for the first time. Better than my suggestion. Verywell.”
It had been quite a minor victory. Everyone, from his servants upward, could be in no doubt of the purpose of the dinner and informal dance afterward. It seemed that one didnot have to announce a courtship. One merely made one’sbow to an eligible party and speculation quickly gave placeto certainty. Once he had led Lady Barthorpe in to dinnerand opened the dancing with Lady Phyllis, any boats hehad left to him would be quite effectively burned. He triedto imagine spending the rest of his life with the girl. Hetried to picture himself in bed with her. But such thoughtscould only bring a feeling of gloom, even nausea. Hewished sometimes that he had been born a commoner.What a luxury it would be to be free to choose his ownbride or no bride at all.
What he should have been adamant about, he realized after all his guests had arrived and they were all seated atdinner, was that Harriet not be on the guest list. He couldnot have done so easily, of course, out of courtesy to hisaunt, but he should have hardened his heart. His grandmother, at least, would have been relieved. He found thathe could concentrate on nothing and no one except Harrietsitting and smiling cheerfully beside his aunt eating verylittle because the demand of talking to her was taking almost all her time. She looked quite breathtakingly beautiful. He wished she had not worn that particular gown. Howcould one be expected to keep one’s eyes off her? But thenHarriet would look beautiful in a faded sack.
He relaxed somewhat when the ladies left the dining room, but he knew he must not do so for too long. Therewas the necessity of returning to the drawing room beforethe ladies could start to feel neglected. And so he rose fromthe table less than half an hour after the ladies’ departure.
He danced with Lady Phyllis, Lady Leila, and the Duchess of Crail. Lady Phyllis was quiet, Lady Leila giggly, the duchess talkative. His grandmother, he knew,would count the evening a success. Harriet had dancedonce, with Sotheby, Barthorpe’s brother, who had an eye toher and was one of her regular court. Travers had sat besideher for a while until he moved away, doubtless as a resultof having to repeat everything he said for Aunt Sophie’sbenefit. The duke smiled inwardly. Good old Aunt Sophie!He struggled with himself not to laugh aloud and startle theDuchess of Crail as he remembered Harriet’s little joke before dinner and the embarrassment she had suffered when it had suddenly become very public. Ah, his sweet littleblusher.
He wandered to his aunt’s side between dances. He knew that his grandmother was well aware of his attraction toHarriet and that she would be watching him like a hawk.But Harriet was, after all, his guest. And it was only politeto spend a little time in his aunt’s company. Most of theother guests were assiduously avoiding her. Not that sheappeared to notice. She was doting on Harriet like a grandmother.
“Ah, there you are, dear Archibald,” she said, raising to her eye the jeweled lorgnette she had affected for the occasion. “You dance prettily, my boy.”
“Prettily.” He played with the ribbon of his quizzing glass. “Do I thank you, Aunt Sophie, or stare at you haughtily through my quizzing glass?”
She rumbled. “It would not work on me, boy,” she said. “I had perfected the art with this little jeweled toy long before you were even thought of.” She tapped her lorgnetteon his sleeve.
Harriet was playing with a fan, opening it on her lap to reveal a spreading bouquet of pink rosebuds, and sliding itshut again. He did not realize he was watching her until hisaunt spoke.
“You must dance with her Archibald,” she said. “She is without a doubt the prettiest little girl here tonight and hasbeen drawing more than her share of glances. Yours included, dear boy. Dance, my pet. You should not be stuckhere with an old woman when there is dancing to be doneand more bucks to be slain.”
Harriet’s fingers whitened against the sides of the fan after she closed it. But she looked up with a smile. “I canthink of no one I would rather be with, ma’am,” she said,reaching out a hand and resting it on the back of his aunt’sgnarled one. “You remind me of home and of—of Godfrey.”
His grandmother would have his head on a platter. The duke bowed and reached out one hand. “Ma’am?” he said.“It is to be a waltz, I believe. Will you do me the honor?” Ithad been agreed between his grandmother and himself thathe would dance the first waltz with Lady Phyllis—thoughhe had thought it might be bad form to dance with hertwice.
Harriet’s eyes traveled up his waistcoat and his neckcloth to his chin, paused there, and lifted finally to his own.Those beautiful candid green eyes that he had purposefullyavoided looking into as he had made love to her during theafternoon. She blushed as deep a pink as her gown. “Thankyou, your grace,” she said, and placed her hand in his. Thesame soft little hand he had held on the way to and fromtheir assignation earlier.
His aunt nodded in triumph. His grandmother was smiling and yet looking tight-lipped all at the same time. He would suffer a tongue-lashing for this before he went to bedthat night, he would wager. Bruce grinned at him andwinked. Travers and Sotheby were looking envious—aswas the Marquess of Yarborough, interestingly enough.The man was old enough to be her father and was one ofLondon’s most persistent rakes. Lady Phyllis was being ledonto the floor by the Duke of Crail. And he himself was towaltz with the prettiest, daintiest lady in the room—evenconsidering his bias, his aunt had been in the right of itthere. Harriet’s eyes were fixed on the diamond pin in hisneckcloth as she set her other hand on his shoulder.
