Page 50 of Tempting Harriet
“You are despicable.” She was almost whispering. Her large, candid green eyes looked directly into his. “I am gladI have seen you as you are at last. I should have known it,of course. You knew I was an innocent, and an impoverished innocent at that, six years ago, and yet still you pursued me and would have ruined me. And this year youpursued me again, although you knew very well that youmust select a bride before the Season was over. I pity LadyPhyllis, your grace. I am glad my eyes have been opened. Suddenly it is not difficult at all to say good-bye. Quite thecontrary. And I would prefer to walk home than have tospend more time in your presence.”
He allowed her words to whip about him like a lash. Yes, perhaps it was better this way after all. He had hurt herenough. She was right. He was no gentleman. He wouldhave set her up in a way of life that would have killed herspirit. And now he had allowed her to sacrifice her conscience when he might have offered his name as well as hisbody. She was right. It was better that she had seen thetruth and had come to hate him. Perhaps she would sufferless.
“I shall not inflict my company on you, ma'am,” he said, making her his most elegant bow. “Allow me to escort youto my carriage. It will convey you home.”
They walked side by side and in silence down the stairs, past the impassive servant who opened the door for them,and out to his waiting carriage. He handed her inside andwaited for her to settle her dress about her, clasp her handsin her lap, and stare straight ahead with pale, set face. Hehesitated, decided to say nothing, and closed the door quietly. He watched as the carriage disappeared down thestreet. And then he went back inside the house and upstairsto fling himself diagonally across the rumpled bed, his faceburied in the pillow that still bore the imprint of her head.
He had always treated with some amusement the ridiculous poetic idea of a heart breaking with love. He did not feel at all amused at this precise moment.
Clara Sullivan had been thin and pale and unable to walk when Harriet had worked for her. She had suffered alengthy, debilitating illness during the years she had spentin India with her father, an illness that had killed hermother there. She had married Frederick Sullivan, knowingthat he was a mere fortune hunter, because she was lonelyand twenty-six years old, and because he was, so she hadtold Harriet, beautiful.
When she came down the steps outside the house at Ebury Court to greet Harriet, as soon as the latter alightedfrom the carriage Sir Clive had insisted she travel in, it wasalmost hard to realize that she was the same Clara. Slim,but no longer thin, elegant, her cheeks tinged with healthycolor, her dark hair short and wavy, her dark eyes shining,she looked almost beautiful and certainly happy. Shehugged Harriet tightly and bent to exclaim over Susan'sprettiness and to admire her new doll.
And Frederick Sullivan, who had come out with her, still darkly and quite devastatingly handsome, was greeting herwith what seemed like a smile of genuine welcome. Helooked now, Harriet thought, like a potential lady-killerwho had decided that perhaps it was more satisfactory tokill only one lady—with love. It was Freddie, dissolutegambler and wastrel, who had somehow convinced Clarathat she could walk again, who had somehow brought joyinto the life of a lonely woman. And who somehow seemedto have fallen in love with her in the process.
He kissed Harriet’s cheek as he shook her hand. “Harriet,” he said, “you are looking remarkably smart. Slaying the poor male population of London by the score, I wouldnot doubt.”
“Modesty forces me to admit, Mr. Sullivan,” she said, “that it has been by the dozen, not the score.”
He offered her his arm as Clara took Susan by the hand. “Now before we set one foot inside the house,” he said,“let’s have done with this Mr. Sullivan nonsense once andfor all, shall we? My name is Freddie. A rather disreputable-sounding name, perhaps, but you must blame myparents for that.”
“Freddie,” she said, smiling and blushing.
“We must take Susan up to see the boys, Freddie,” Clara said. She turned to Harriet as they entered the house.“Kevin may still be sleeping, but we promised Paul that hecould come down when Susan arrived. He wore Freddieragged this morning by positively refusing to get down offhis pony’s back when our ride was over. They stayed outfor longer than an hour after I had brought Kevin inside.”
“Ah, one escaped convict,” Frederick said as a very dark, wiry little boy came streaking down the stairs toward them.“And one distraught nurse left behind in the nursery, Iwould not doubt.”
Harriet could feel herself relaxing. It felt so good, so very good, to have left London and the past month behind her.So very good.
Paul wanted to go outside. Without a moment’s delay. So did Susan. Frederick sighed, chuckled, bent to swing hisson up onto one shoulder, looked down into Susan’s wistfulface, stooped down again and lifted her more gently to hisfree shoulder, and retraced his footsteps down the stairs.
Clara linked her arm through Harriet’s. “Will you mind if we do not join you immediately, Freddie?” she called afterhis retreating back. “I want to hear all about London andthe Season. Have you had great success, Harriet? I am sureyou must have. You have not lost one iota of your beautysince I first knew you, and now you add great elegance toit. Have you met anyone special? I do hope you have. Iknow Lord Wingham was special to you, but as I keep saying to Freddie, I do hope you will soon find someone withwhom you can spend the rest of your life in happiness.Someone just like Freddie.” She laughed.
“Well,” Harriet said, “I have had two offers of marriage, one of them very eligible indeed. But it is too soon yet. Toosoon after Godfrey. I have been content merely to enjoymyself. And I have certainly done that.” She smiledbrightly as they entered the drawing room and Clara rangfor tea.
“Have you?” Clara looked at her closely. “I am glad, Harriet.” She hesitated. “Freddie says that Tenby has beenin town.” Clara had been fully aware of her painful infatuation with Lord Archibald Vinney six years before.
“Yes,” Harriet said, still smiling. “I have seen him, Clara, and even danced with him once or twice. He has just become betrothed to Lady Phyllis Reeder, the Earl ofBarthorpe’s daughter.”
“Yes, she would be,” Clara said. “He was always very high in the instep. There was no—leftover-feeling there,Harriet?”
“Oh, goodness no.” Harriet laughed. “He is still as handsome as ever. But fortunately I am older and wiser, and being married to Godfrey taught me that there is far moreto look for in a relationship than good looks.” She sighed.“I wish Godfrey had lived longer. He was not an old man.”
Clara smiled her sympathy. “He gave you Susan,” she said. “She is quite delightful, Harriet, and so like you that itis almost comical. I sometimes envy you your daughter except when I remember how weak with love and pride I amover my sons. They are both going to be as handsome asFreddie. Did you know that Julia and Daniel have had another boy? Daniel was quite upset, apparently, when heknew there was a third on the way.”
“I called on her yesterday morning,” Harriet said. “He is positively fat, Clara, and quite adorable. And Lord Beaconswood did not look at all upset. He had that look—oh,that look I remember on Godfrey’s face when Susan wasborn.” She settled gratefully into a conversation about children.
The Duke of Tenby got up early on Friday morning so that he could ride in the park and give his horse its headwithout endangering anyone’s life but his own. He shouldpen some apology, he had been telling himself since the afternoon before. He should write to her and apologize foreverything, particularly for his harsh and unfair words ofthe afternoon. And yet he could not write. The fairest treatment he could afford her was to honor her good-bye, toleave her strictly alone. It was better if she thought him anutter scoundrel, who could not even beg her pardon for insults given.
Had it been rape? He had been haunted by the possibility. She had said no. But she had told him it was not easy, and he had felt the control she had tried to keep imposed onherself. He had deliberately broken through that control andturned her no into a yes. A temporary yes. Did that constitute rape? A yes reluctantly given? A yes that he hadknown in his heart was really no? She had released him ofthat charge, at least, but he was not sure he could releasehimself.
He was to accompany Phyllis and her parents and his grandmother to a garden party that afternoon. Before thenhe must come to terms with himself or at the very least retreat safely behind his customary mask. He must. He owedit to his future wife to appear to be glad of her company.Perhaps he could redeem himself somewhat in his own eyes if he could at least treat his fiancee with the proper respect and perhaps even affection. He must cultivate affection for her.
He resolutely put Harriet out of his mind, or at least as far back in his mind as he could force her.
Both his grandmother and his aunt were in the breakfast room when he arrived home. His grandmother was often upearly. His aunt claimed to have been driven up by crampsin her legs.
“Dear Archibald,” she said as he bent to kiss her cheek. “I always had a weakness for gentlemen in their ridingclothes. They always look at their most virile then.”
