Page 36 of To Ruin a Rake

“I know,” Harriett moaned, grateful for her sister’s steady, nimble fingers. “But I had no choice. Not if I wish to keep Papa happy. Had I dismissed the blackguard, Papa would have been intolerable for a month.” She sighed with relief as her gown at last slid off. She nudged the stinking pile away with a toe. It would have to be washed thoroughly and dyed again. Or burned. “Help me into the lavender—no wait! The green, I’ll wear the green.”

“I agree, it is a much more flattering color for you,” said Cat, going to the wardrobe and taking out the celery brocade contouche.

Harriett scowled. “That’s not why—no, leave the stomacher. I don’t have time to change it out now. We’ll just hide the top with a fichu. As I was saying, that isn’t why I w

ant it. I don’t wish to wear anything that might be looked upon as mourning.”

“Then you’d best take off that ring. Again.”

She looked down at her hand and stilled. She’d forgotten she was even wearing it. “It doesn’t matter. He’s already seen it.” He kissed that hand…The memory made it tingle. “To take it off now would raise suspicion.”

“And you wouldn’t want that after inviting him to break bread with you.”

Ignoring her sister’s sarcasm, Harriett slipped on the garment Cat held out for her and switched to the more important issue at hand. “He’s up to some foul trick, complimenting me the way he did.”

“How dare he extol your virtues in such a manner!” gasped her sister with mock vehemence. Her tone turned deadpan. “I fear the shock of it shall never leave me.”

In spite of herself, Harriett laughed. “If you knew him as I do, you would question his sincerity, too. He can be charming when it suits his purposes, but underneath the thin veneer is a deep well of black-hearted intent. That man is out for blood.”

Her sister paused in her ministrations to stare at her for a long moment. “Are you certain you are not making a mistake in assuming the worst?”

“Completely. I know what his game is, Cat, and I intend to best him at it.” She held together the front-side pieces of the contouche over her mismatched stomacher while her sister threaded a fat, deep green ribbon through the loops in a lattice pattern. With shaking fingers, Harriett inserted a deep green, pleated fichu into the gap to cover the offending blue before her sister pulled the ribbons tight and tied them off across her front in a large, pretty bow.

“There,” said Cat, stepping back. “Now what about your hair?”

“I haven’t time for much, and Ann always takes so long.”

“Sit,” commanded her sister.

Harriett complied and watched as Cat took down her half-fallen bun, brushed out the heavy mass, and plaited it into a chignon.

“Do you want any pins in it?”

“No. It’s just dinner.”

“Well, you must wear earrings, at least,” insisted Cat. She rummaged in Harriett’s jewel box. “Ugh. These won’t do,” she muttered, casting a pair of “emerald” drops back into the drawer. “You can get away with paste in the dim light at a ball, but not here...I’ll be back.”

While she waited, Harriett smoothed her hair, applied a light dusting of powder to her face, and daubed a bit of lavender scent to her neck. Her sister returned a moment later and presented her with a pair of gold filigree earrings. “Where did these come from?” She was sure she’d never seen them before.

“Arabella gave them to me,” answered Cat with a shrug, handing them to her. “They were a birthday gift from Elizabeth and Sir George. I think they’re lovely, but she didn’t much fancy them. I couldn’t believe it when she gave them to me.”

Harriett stared down at the jewelry in her palm. The work was exceptionally fine. Elizabeth would never have given Arabella such a gift. They had to have come from Oxenden. She wondered how many other “gifts” he’d given her in secret. She sat quietly while Cat fixed them onto her earlobes. She felt odd wearing them, but to refuse would arouse her sister’s curiosity.

“There, now you look a veritable queen,” said Cat, pleased with her handiwork. “Shall we?”

It was then that Harriett noticed her sister’s appearance. “You’re already dressed.”

“Yes, well it is nearly seven, you know.”

“I am well aware of the time,” Harriett snapped. “Exactly how long has Manchester been here?”

“He arrived just after three.”

Harriett didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or scream. “Do you mean to tell me that, knowing the problems I’ve had with the man, you left him alone with Papa?”

Cat rolled her eyes. “I assure you their conversation had nothing to do with you. They were nattering on about some new building project Manchester is planning to finance. I was neither needed nor wanted, and as I was bored out of my wits by it all, yes, I left them and came up to change.”

The new sick ward. It had to be! Harriett’s heart beat a little faster. He had been serious! The smile she’d felt forming on her lips faltered. Or was it all part of some hideous ruse? She dare not allow herself to hope.

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