Page 46 of The Marquess and the Maiden

Harriet stared at the closed doors.

Agnes bumped her friend’s hip with her own.

“Why would he do this?”

“Because he quite obviously likes you,” Agnes said frankly.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“No, you’re ridiculous.” Agnes slipped off her shoes and bounced a bit on the mattresses to test their give. “Do you know that I heard the most extraordinary thing about Lord Davenport?”

Curiosity ate at her. “And you haven’t told me yet?”

“I haven’t had a chance.” They sat facing each other on the mattresses, their knees pressed together as they’d done as girls. “His overspending serves a greater purpose.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Actually, it does. His ties to Benedict’s. Rumor has it that they grew up together and lived near each other. Benedict’s father was a baron and the marquess, Oliver’s father, convinced the baron to make a certain investment. They lost everything. Had to sell the title and small estate. Davenport is reported to have funded Benedict’s gaming hell and then ensured it became the most popular club so that his friend would regain his own family’s lost fortune.”

Harriet’s heart pounded wildly in her chest. Had she so misjudged him?

“They also said that he did the design of this house, to rebuild it, and did much of the labor himself.”

Harriet wasn’t quite certain what to do with this news. He had never denied his greed, and though he had rebuilt his family’s estate and coffers, he continued to grow his fortune until he was likely richer than the Crown. That made no sense other than to reveal a heart inherently full of greed. She would have to speak to him again about his wealth and perhaps persuade him to parlay a portion to those who were less fortunate. Perhaps he merely needed a push to shift his generosity to those he didn’t know personally.

She should commend him on his charity and tenacity at righting his father’s wrongs. She had certainly known when the Davenports had fallen on hard times. She’d been young, but she’d listened to her parents discuss it. Her mother had passed along gowns, barely worn, to Oliver’s mother so that her friend would have appropriate clothing to wear.

Then his father had died. Under questionable circumstances. Though no one ever spoke of it, Harriet’s mother had always said the man had killed himself. Dug a hole so deep, he’d buried his family and then he’d crawled out to die somewhere alone, leaving them to scramble upward on their own.

A pang of compassion filled her. Perhaps it was understandable that Oliver clung so desperately to his funds. She certainly had never known what it was like to wonder if she had food for the following day. Her greatest concerns had involved keeping up with the latest of fashions.

Agnes sprang to her feet. “Shall we practice?”

“Yes.”

“Should we invite Justine and Tilly?”

Harriet shook her head. “I can’t imagine that they would be upset, but I’d rather they not know that Lord Davenport is aware of our group. So many members blamed Iris for the exposure in Lord Ashby’s newspaper.”

“Yes, I believe you’re right.” They began with a few general exercises to warm up their bodies. Lady Somersby had taught them that they could only be as effective as they were agile and alert. She had always insisted that her girls, as she called them, had skills in a variety of areas. Though they were never called upon to physically fight during their duties, Lady Somersby felt very strongly about them all being trained to protect themselves.

Harriet and Agnes sparred for several moments before either of them spoke again. “I have missed this,” Agnes said. “I do hope we uncover Lady X’s identity soon so that we can return to our duties.”

“Indeed. That woman has ruined everything for us. Before we know it, pickpockets will have the run of Bond Street,” Harriet said.

“Perhaps Iris and Lord Ashby are having some fortune uncovering the woman’s identity,” Agnes said.

“Or they’re busy planning their wedding.”

She went through the motions of the fighting with Agnes, but admittedly she wasn’t focused on the task at hand. She kept replaying Agnes’s words… He likes you. He’d said he desired her, described in detail what he’d wanted to do, and followed through with some of those promises last night. Her body reacted to the memory; desire burned through her veins. Harriet longed to do anything to shake the feeling of guilt that ate at her. If she’d misjudged him about all of this, then perhaps his proposal had been sincere.

She could not afford to tangle with Oliver. She wanted a man who would love her in return, and she knew that he could never offer her such things. Marrying him would be pleasant, he’d proved as much last night. But all the sinful pleasures of the flesh that he could offer her wouldn’t make up for the fact that eventually she’d love him and he would tire of her.

She would rather be alone than in a marriage by herself.

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