A Midsummer Bride (11 page)

Overall, it had been a successful morning with the military leaders. Marchford had carefully selected men of understanding and vision to review their current military operations and make recommendations for future strategy. Marchford considered waking Mr. Neville to let him sit in but decided to let the man sleep.

There was also considerable distrust between the Foreign Office and the military leaders. The Foreign Office feared rogue commanders might surrender to Napoleon or, worse, join his ranks. They pushed for more control. On the other hand, the admirals and generals were convinced that recent security breaches could be laid at the doorstep of the Foreign Office and, as a result, did not wish to have their battle plans revealed in detail to those who might share them with enemy agents.

Marchford was distressed at the depth of distrust. Napoleon did not need to set foot on English soil to cause turmoil, discord, and confusion; the English top officials were already doing it to themselves. Without trust, they might as well concede defeat.

This is where Marchford hoped to play a role. He was a spy hunter. If he could ferret out the cause of the leaks, he could restore trust, and hopefully the two sides would begin to work together again.

The meeting had gone well, if tentatively. Everyone was on edge. Everyone needed to be reassured that the people with whom they spoke were trustworthy, and no one showed all their cards. Napoleon’s armies seemed unstoppable, having conquered much of Europe. It was clear now that his sights were set on England. He was coming, that much was clear. But when? And where? And what could they do to stop him?

After a brief respite for some refreshment, the men gathered once more in one of the castle’s more opulent drawing rooms. Marchford scanned the room with satisfaction. The generals and admirals were seated around the table in a sober style which befitted the occasion. Together they were going to plot a way to end this war and bring an end to the threat Napoleon posed.

Marchford was certain that, with some directed effort, they could devise a plan to end the turmoil and strife that had plagued him for most of his adult life. He wanted to see an end to the war in his lifetime, not have it drag on like previous conflicts between the two countries.

Marchford stood to address the prestigious men assembled before him. He had carefully prepared his next statements to focus their attention on the issue at hand and avoid any strife between the factions. It was a delicate situation, one that needed to be handled with precise diplomatic care.

“My esteemed guests—” began Marchford.

“Aha!” Miss Redgrave burst into the room followed by two rather irate footmen. “I knew you would be meeting today and I have something to say!”

“Miss Redgrave! This is a private affair, please leave immediately,” demanded Marchford.

“Forgive me, but I have important business to discuss.”

“Get my grandmother and Miss Rose,” said Marchford in an undertone to one of the footmen.

“Several months ago I was sailing to New York and my ship was attacked without provocation by a ship of the Royal Navy,” began Miss Redgrave.

“Get Thornton too,” said Marchford in a low voice to the other footman.

“Our ship was fatally damaged. Once our captain conceded defeat, the English boarded our vessel and proceeded to press our sailors, most of them Americans, into service of the Royal Navy. Now I ask you, does this seem right?” asked Harriet.

“I do apologize for this interruption,” said Marchford. “We shall continue presently.”

“We are American citizens! By what right do you attack our vessels?” demanded Harriet.

“Miss Redgrave, please cease this instant,” said Marchford in a low voice that everyone obeyed.

“I do thank you for this opportunity; it will not take long.” Miss Redgrave turned to him with a wide smile—one that said she had no intention of listening to anything or anyone besides her own agenda. Short of physically removing her, which was something he knew would only add to the spectacle, Marchford was at a loss as to what to do.

“You must know that outrage in America is growing,” continued Miss Redgrave. “The populace will not tolerate this continued aggression. You must act now to stop it!”

“Miss Rose!” Marchford waved Penelope into the room. “Would you not like to take Miss Redgrave to your salon?” He had to do something to get rid of this travesty called Harriet Redgrave.

“Hello, Penelope,” said Harriet. “I was just addressing our esteemed guests to discuss the very real danger of attacking American ships and pressing her sailors into service. The American people will not stand for this forever. Eventually, the Americans will rise up again to throw off the fetters that bind them. In this era of crisis and uncertainty, you can ill afford to wage wars with both France and America.”

“Miss Rose—do something!” hissed Marchford.

“Yes, of course,” said Penelope. She walked to the middle of the room next to Harriet. “I believe Miss Redgrave has a point, one that you all would do well to listen to.”

“Miss Rose,” groaned Marchford.

“Is something the matter?” asked Thornton, also entering the room.

Harriet shocked the room by actually standing on a chair. “Gentleman, please, I ask you to consider the problem of British war ships attacking American vessels for the purpose of abducting their crew for your war effort. The only reason I stand before you today is because I also was abducted off of a sinking vessel and taken against my will to England. This practice must stop. Heed my warning!”

“Thornton?” Marchford was desperate to stop this tirade.

Thornton strode into the room, his serious eyes piercing. “Miss Redgrave.” He bowed before her and offered his arm. She took it and stepped off the chair.

“Have you come to escort me out of the room?” she asked.

“Aye.”

“You think I am wrong?”

“Nay. I ken ye have the right of it,” answered Thornton. “Good day, gentlemen. We will leave ye to yer deliberations.”

Marchford shook his head and looked to the heavens.

***

Harriet kept her hand on Thornton’s sleeve and walked out of the room with her head held high. He had said she was right. He had defended her in front of Marchford and all the old generals.

“Thank you for your support!” gushed Harriet when they were safely in the hall.

“I merely spoke the truth,” replied Thornton.

Harriet noted the looks on the faces of Penelope and the Duchess of Marchford and realized she was not safe quite yet.

“Foolish gel, I’m ashamed of you,” declared the dowager. “Whatever gave you the idea of breaking into one of Marchford’s meetings?”

“I need to do what I can for the American sailors who are being pressed into service,” Harriet defended her actions. “They are seizing ships and forcing the sailors to serve in their navy. It is slavery!”

“You simply cannot address a room full of people to whom you have not been introduced.”

“They know me now. I doubt they will ever forget my name.”

The dowager threw up her hands and turned her back on her.

“While I appreciate the passion you feel for your cause, you must understand you are ignoring protocol, bucking tradition, and defying conventions,” said Penelope.

“And this is bad?” asked Harriet.

“Only an American could ask such a question,” said Thornton, but he smiled when he said it. “Perhaps ye would enjoy a walk through the gardens.”

Penelope nodded her approval. “There are others in the garden so you will not be alone, but please do not leave the garden.” She hustled off to find the dowager, who had left in disgust.

Thornton led Harriet out a back door to the gardens behind the house, which opened up into the wilderness of the Highlands. Unlike the front of the estate, which was meticulously maintained, the back of the house was less carefully kept. Harriet instantly decided she liked it better.

“I know breaking into the meeting was unusual—” began Harriet.

Thornton made what might be considered a snort and raised an eyebrow at her.

“Yes, yes, fine, it was very unusual,” conceded Harriet. “But it was the only way I knew to address the council. I fear war between our countries.”

Thornton led her down an open path with low hedges, past a fountain, long since turned green with age and neglect. He turned past a higher hedge until they were no longer visible from the house. Here, he motioned toward a bench and they both sat down.

“I do thank you for getting me out,” said Harriet softly. “Once I was in, I figured they would have to cart me off.”

“I appreciate ye not requiring me to carry ye.”

Instantly, she regretted her hasty surrender. She could have left in his arms. “Perhaps another time,” she murmured. The emotions and odd feelings she had experienced with this man earlier flooded back. She struggled to keep her mind focused on her mission. “Do you think they will listen? Do you think they will heed my advice?”

Thornton shifted slightly on the stone bench. “Yer approach did guarantee that they heard ye, but perhaps did not win them over to yer cause.”

Harriet’s shoulders sagged. “I suppose you are right. It’s only that if our two countries go to war, my father and brothers will be called to fight. I do not wish to see them in harm’s way.”

“Yer sentiment is perfectly understandable. I will say I find it outrageous that yer ship should be attacked and ye brought here against yer will. I am impressed ye held yerself wi’ such poise.”

“Thank you.” Something within her melted, and she realized how angry she had been. “Thank you,” she repeated. “I think I needed to hear someone acknowledge that it was an injustice.”

“It was. I would be quite angry.”

“Yes! I have been furious, but I didn’t know quite what to call the emotion. How is it that you can identify quite quickly the nature of the problem when no one else seems to be able to?”

Thornton shrugged. “I’m not English, for a start.”

Harriet gave him a wide smile. “That’s right! You are a Scot.”

“Worse yet, a Highlander.”

“Not half as bad as an American.”

Thornton smiled and spoke with his soft Highland lilt. “Verra true.”

“We should band together. It is not so bad being an outsider if you can do it together. The outsiders looking in on God’s chosen.”

Thornton cocked his head a bit in thought. “I dinna believe that the Lord reserves his love more for some than for others. Are we all not his children? The good Lord must appreciate differences. Look at the variety o’ plants and animals. He made them all and called it good. Why would he make only one type of person?”

“You sound like my mum. I thought she was attempting to save my feelings when it became plain that I was a bit different from all the other girls.”

“Different? How so?” His eyes, black and deep, met hers.

“Thank you for pretending not to notice, but I recognize I am awkward in society. First, I am ridiculously tall for a girl. Second, I have a passion for science and chemistry which is unusual in the extreme. I have always been different.” Harriet looked away. It was a sensitive subject.

“Just as yer Creator made ye to be,” said Thornton softly.

Harriet looked up slowly and once again became caught in his gaze. “Thank you,” she whispered. He seemed to understand what she needed to hear. She leaned closer on the bench.

Voices coming nearer distracted her. On the other side of the hedge, young ladies giggled at their own jokes.

Thornton leaned close to her ear, sending shivers down her spine. “And I think ye are the perfect height.”

He was gone before the young ladies rounded the hedge and found Harriet sitting demurely on a bench with a radiant smile on her face.

“Miss Rose.” The Duke of Marchford said her name with definite disdain.

“Yes, Your Grace?” answered Penelope as she entered the blue room to have her meeting with Marchford. She was dreading it. She knew there would be comment regarding the behavior of a certain American; it was inevitable.

“About Miss Redgrave.” The duke rose and directed Penelope to take a seat. “Today Miss Redgrave accosted every man present without respect for rank, age, or title. She pursues questionable if not destructive hobbies, and is unabashedly American. Why, Miss Rose, why is my grandmother sponsoring her presentation into society?”

“She was asked to do so by Lord Langley.”

Marchford began to pace, his hands clasped behind him. “Your reasoning is not sound. There are few in this world whom my grandmother holds in less regard than Lord Langley.”

“I learned that fact myself,” said Penelope, “You should have seen them sparring in the parlor.”

“Miss Rose, I must know what this is about.”

“I fear I am not at liberty to say, but I invite you to speak with your grandmother. I cannot be her companion if she knows I would betray her confidence.”

“I thought we had an arrangement, Miss Rose.” The duke’s words were low and soft and for some reason resonated within her.

“Our agreement was that I would keep you informed of anything that might assist you in apprehending spies, traitors, and enemies to the Crown. I never agreed to tell you what schemes your grandmother was plotting.”

“Can you tell me if one of her schemes is to embarrass me before all the military leaders of our time?”

“I believe this is an incidental occurrence,” answered Penelope. “But since we are exchanging information, can you tell me what happened between Lord Langley and the duchess?”

The duke sat across from her, looking every bit the man for the title in an impeccably tailored coat of royal blue and a cravat so white it gleamed. “My grandmother was not born into the aristocracy. In truth, she was born the daughter of a respectable gentleman of moderate income and what might be considered modest connections. She hit London by storm and with naught but her wit and her charm was soon accepted into some of the most elite circles in Town. Lord Langley fell in love with her and made a rash offer, but his parents did not approve. In the end it was all handled very badly and my grandmother was left on her wedding day with a broken engagement and, if the rumors are true, a broken heart.”

“This is all very romantic, but how did she end up marrying a duke?”

“Apparently, my grandfather had been a friend to Langley, disagreed with his treatment of her, and made an offer on principle.”

“That is quite remarkable.” Penelope paused, considering this bit of news. She had always assumed Antonia’s marriage had been arranged. It also explained why the duchess had so little money of her own and needed to pursue the career of matchmaking to maintain her living without being banished to the dower house. “I suppose that explains why she is not of a romantic nature, since her own attempt at love went so terribly wrong.”

“Yes, which is why I am at a loss to explain why she is helping the granddaughter of a man she loathes. Come now, Miss Rose, I shared information with you; it is time you did the same.”

Penelope sighed. She had a feeling he already knew or suspected their involvement with the infamous Madame X. “Lord Langley is anxious to have his granddaughter respectably wed. The dowager knows how to contact Madame X, and so she did.”

“A matchmaker,” he spoke the word low, like a curse.

“Yes, a matchmaker. I understand you do not have positive associations with the word.”

“Why would you suppose that? Just because my arranged marriage resulted in a supposed alliance with a lady already married.”

“It was unfortunate Lady Louisa decided to wed another.” Penelope kept a straight face, although now she could hardly think back on the event without laughing.

“And not tell me about it,” growled Marchford.

“It was revealed before the engagement ball.”

“The
day
of
the engagement ball.” Marchford paused a moment. “I just realized I have more in common with my grandmother than I realized.”

“So what are your plans for matrimony now? You know you are a hunted man.”

“Yes. Quite. I would not doubt that matchmaker of yours has been hired to trap me into matrimony.”

Penelope smiled and said nothing of the plots the dowager was fostering to get Marchford wed to her choice. “You will get no rest until you have wed.”

“Perhaps I should enlist the help of a matchmaker.” Marchford spoke in jest, but then his eyes turned serious. “Why not? You are right: I will get no rest until I am engaged.”

“Engaged, wed, with an heir bouncing on one knee,” said Penelope lightly.

“True. I cannot be bothered with trying to find a bride. I am currently occupied with important matters of state. What I need is someone to analyze the candidates and find a likely few. I will make the final choice, and the engagement will be announced. Yes, this will be perfect. I would like you to arrange a meeting for me with Madame X.”

Penelope coughed compulsively. He could not possibly have asked for that. “I cannot.”

“Why not? You are helping Lord Langley.”

“Madame X is very exclusive.”

“She would take the case of an American but not me? Odd sort of exclusivity.”

“I meant to say she is reclusive. She will not meet with anyone.”

“But she meets with you and my grandmother. Tell me the truth, have you met the woman?”

“Yes,” squeaked Penelope, for it was the truth.

“Then she will arrange things through you?”

“Yes, but—”

“Good, you will tell her what I am interested in and you will arrange it with her.”

“Her services are quite dear.” Penelope was desperate to evade him.

“She may send me the bill and it will be paid.” Marchford waved a hand as if he could not be bothered with trivial details. “Now then, take some notes on what I would like in a bride.” He pointed to a writing desk.

Unable to think of a plausible reason to recuse herself, Penelope moved to the desk and took a piece of paper. Marchford waited for her to dip the quill in the inkwell before he began. “First, she needs to be sensible and not too young. I cannot have some giggling miss twenty years my junior.”

“Then she would only be eight years old.”

“Quite so. Unseemly.”

“And illegal.”

“She needs to be well-read and accomplished. She needs to be able to run my household with efficiency. And most important, she needs to be able to hold her own against my grandmother. Someone who can treat Grandmother with respect, but also be her own person.”

“And what of appearance?” Penelope’s voice was raw. This is where she was passed over every time. Men might say they wanted a sensible wife but would then make an offer to the prettiest face in the room.

The duke looked up to the ceiling as if picturing his perfect bride. “I am not in need of anyone with striking looks, for I have found the women with the most beauty are often the least confident and most needing of reassurance. Also, I would dislike having to constantly defend my territory. No, give me a woman of quiet beauty and inner confidence.”

Penelope could not think of what to say. Could he really mean this?

“Did you get all that?” asked Marchford after a long pause.

“Oh! Yes, quite. And what of fortune? Family connections?”

Marchford shrugged. “I have no need for an heiress. Give me someone from a respectable family. I do not wish for in-laws who will cause problems or be looking to be bailed out of a fix.” Marchford frowned. “I have enough interference from my grandmother as it is; perhaps it would be best if my future wife is an orphan.”

“Anything else of importance?”

“Let me think. She must be sensible, intelligent, self-confident, and able to work with my grandmother. I am not sure where you can find such a saint, so wish Madame X good luck.”

Penelope reviewed the list. It could not be. Had he truly just described her? “I shall do my best.”

“Good! I look forward to reviewing a list of candidates.”

Marry
me.

“Yes, of course.” Penelope banished traitorous thoughts. A peer of the realm, particularly a duke, did not marry a little nobody companion. She was a sensible girl and it was time to get her errant imagination under better regulation.

“I will see you at dinner,” Marchford turned back to his newspaper as if nothing unusual had occurred.

She was dismissed.

As Penelope was walking out, Mr. Neville walked past and spied Marchford.

“Your Grace!” Mr. Neville called and entered the room uninvited, closing the door behind him.

Marchford regarded him with annoyance. One of the reasons he had called these meetings to take place in the Highlands was to avoid such persons as Mr. Neville. He had thought Scotland too far for Neville to travel. He had underestimated the man’s resolve.

“I understand you had meetings today. Meetings to which I was not invited,” accused Neville.

“Yes, you are correct,” said Marchford mildly.

“But… but… I have come all this way to participate in these meetings,” sputtered Neville. “I must know that things are being conducted in a secure manner. I need the names of the attendees, careful notes must be taken and kept secure. I must review any documents or plans that may be developed as a result of said meetings.”

“I understand your concern.” Marchford turned back to his newspaper. Maybe if he ignored the man Neville would disappear.

“Marchford!” demanded Neville.

Marchford looked over his paper at him. “I did not realize we were on such familiar terms.”

“Your Grace,” Neville ground out. “I demand you include me tomorrow!”

“I fear that is not possible.” Marchford held up his hand to quiet any rebuke. “You must understand the level of distrust between the generals and the Foreign Office is deep. If you were to come, others would leave. Let me work with them first, then we can discuss any plans that evolve.”

“Well, I suppose that will have to do.” Neville appeared slightly mollified. “I only want what is best for England.”

“God save the King.”

“Crazy man that he is,” muttered Neville as he left.

***

“Are you feeling better?” Harriet asked her grandfather. She was followed into the room by Penelope and the dowager duchess, who surprised her by expressing an interest in visiting Lord Langley.

“All this fresh country air. Bad for the lungs,” complained Langley from his sickbed. He was marginally improved, but the process was slow.

“What you need is company,” advised the dowager. “Miss Redgrave, perhaps you should stay with your grandfather tonight. I shall arrange for your meals to be brought here.”

“No,” croaked Langley on a hoarse throat. “I want her downstairs, meeting gentlemen.”

“She has introduced herself to enough gentlemen today,” retorted the duchess.

At Langley’s confused face Penelope said, “Today Miss Redgrave presented herself at Marchford’s meeting with the military leaders and informed them of the injustice of capturing American vessels to press men into service.”

Langley was quiet a moment. “Bet Marchford was riled up. Well, can’t say I approve, but that’s the Langley spirit in you!”

“Incorrigible, the both of you,” declared the dowager. “The point is Miss Redgrave has made a serious social error. She may be ostracized from society no matter how great her dowry. Fortunately for you, I have circulated a rumor that she has contracted the same illness as you and her actions today were the result of delirium and high fever.”

“So I must stay here with my grandfather?” asked Harriet.

“Yes, until this crisis is averted.”

Harriet smiled. It was the best news she had heard all day.

“I’m sorry, dear,” said Langley. “Perhaps we should do as they suggest.”

“I do not mind a bit,” said Harriet. “I would quite enjoy staying here. Let us bring over a table, Grandfather. Do you play cards?” A happy vision of domestic tranquility danced before her eyes.

“Too bad we don’t have four people for a set,” said Langley, giving the dowager a hopeful look.

“Oh, fine then,” the dowager snapped. “Penelope bring over two more chairs, Lord Langley wants to play whist.”

Lord Langley graced his former fiancée with a wide smile. And a sneeze.