A Midsummer Bride (16 page)

He pulled away. “I apologize.” His eyes were wide, his lips parted. It was not so much a kiss as an accident. One she hoped to repeat in the near future.

“My fault entirely,” said Harriet, looking down. “I am graceless as always.”

“Nay, this is my fault.” He reached for her, his eyes fierce with desire. She slid off the rock toward him, landing in his arms. He held her tight and their lips met, not just warm but searing hot. She feared she would burn yet pressed closer. Though she had only known him a short time, she felt she had been waiting her whole life for this moment.

He broke the kiss and bowed his head, touching his forehead to hers. He was breathing hard, as was she.

“Forgive me. I should no’ have…” He turned and stepped away toward the blue loch. The magic of the moment was gone.

With a slice of fatal awareness, she realized she would give it all, her fortune, everything, to be with this man. The realization flooded her with fear. What of her parents? She needed to return home. How could she be so careless as to lose her heart to a Highlander?

“We should get back to the house.” Thornton spoke without looking at her. His formal, taciturn style had returned. “I would ask that ye keep what ye learned today to yer own counsel.”

“Yes, of course,” said Harriet. “You can trust me.” And she meant it.

“I know. ’Tis why I showed ye.” And he meant it.

When Harriet returned to the manor house, Penelope and the Duchess of Marchford were waiting for her. They wished her to meet someone.

The Duc d’Argon.

“What the Duc d’Argon lacks in appearance he more than makes up for in charm,” Penelope commented to the dowager. Penelope pulled a shawl around her shoulders as they descended to tea, ignoring the exasperated look from the duchess, who did not appreciate the shawls that covered Penelope’s new wardrobe.

“For fifty thousand pounds, he has a great deal of inducement to be charming,” replied the dowager. “Now let’s see if we can guide this romance along its proper course.”

“I should hope he would not marry her only for the money.”

“You have met our dear Miss Redgrave. I should be happy if anyone should wish to wed her for any reason.”

“Not anyone,” reminded Penelope. “He must have a title after all.”

“Naturally.” The duchess glided regally down the stairs for tea.

Penelope had meant it as sarcasm, a sentiment utterly lost on the more pecuniarily minded duchess. The Duc d’Argon was a recent entry into the marriage mart games at this house party and was welcomed by many in the tearoom with some interest. He was in possession of a medium build, which was dressed to perfection.

Penelope may not have esteemed fashion, but she knew quality when she saw it, and the duc certainly was in possession of an enviable tailor. The cut of his coat and the gleam of his boots were underscored by his own personal polish, which outshone every man in the room.

In truth, the duc’s visage was hardly notable, with a long, hooked nose and a weak chin. On him, however, he made it appear rather regal. He was quick to notice those of importance and made conversation with those most notable in the room, including the comtesse, whom he complimented profusely in French. If Penelope’s ears did not fail her, he criticized others in the room with such wicked humor that he made the comtesse laugh out loud, a rare occurrence in itself.

Penelope took a cup of tea to the dowager, where she sat watching the events from one corner of the room. “But how can we have any assurance he would take an interest in Harriet?” asked Penelope in a quiet voice.

“He is a refugee in England, living off of the kindness of English nobles who feel some affinity for French aristocracy displaced by the Revolution. He has not a farthing to call his own, however, and more than anything, he is in need of a rich wife.”

The duchess lowered her voice even further. “And I have it from Leclair that he arrived traveling post without a valet of his own and had to be assigned one of the footmen. Marchford also had to settle his bill with the grocer to whom the duc had promised to pay a crown for a ride to Thornton Hall. His debts are extensive and pressing. If he cannot raise funds soon, he must return to the continent. And that, for him, would prove fatal.”

“I do see your point, but why should Harriet be inclined to wed?”

“He is a French duke. He has all the charm and polish she lacks. I would see it as an advantageous match on both counts. Now all I have to do is plant the seed.”

“Please tell me you are not going to tell him her worth.”

“As you wish, my dear.” Antonia rose from her chair, smoothed her perfectly coiffed white hair, and glided over to the duc, who was standing among a throng of admirers. Penelope had no doubt he would soon be in possession of a certain number. Fifty thousand pounds. The amount any man willing to wed Miss Redgrave would instantly take into possession. It was enough to turn the head of even the bluest of bloods.

From the smile that lit his face, she could already see his head turn.

***

“May I present the Duc d’Argon?”

Harriet curtsied and came up slowly with a half smile, the one she was trying to perfect—pleasant but not overly encouraging. She glanced at Penelope, who gave her a supportive nod.

“Miss Redgrave, it is indeed a pleasure to meet you.” The duc spoke with a French accent that made even his most banal words sound seductive.

“Yes, it is a pleasure, Your Grace.” Harriet glanced at Penelope again and had a strong suspicion that matchmaking motivations were at play. If there was to be any matchmaking, she was more inclined to an earl than a duke. What she wished to do now was to have some time to think about what had happened between herself and Thornton.

“I understand you have recently arrived from America,” continued the duc. “I should very much like to hear of it.”

“Truly?” Harriet was surprised. Most of those she had met treated her American birth as something needing to be hushed up.

“I should think you would be getting many of the requests to talk of your homeland.”

“No, not at all. I believe most people think it an embarrassment for me.”

“Ah, but we French, we look at it with the different eye, no? We helped with your defeat of the British.”

“Yes. And were quite instrumental in that regard, or so my father tells me,” agreed Harriet.

“I should like very much to hear more of this.” He smiled at her and she smiled in return. Perhaps he was only charming her to get her money, but he did it better than most.

“Perhaps tonight we can talk. I should like to hear of France and the terrible things that have happened there of late,” said Harriet.

“Ah yes, they are terrible indeed.” He paused, only for a moment, but the emotion still appeared raw.

“I would not wish to bring up difficult memories,” Harriet hastily added.

“Not at all, not at all.” The duc graced her with a pleasant smile. “Tonight we shall talk of our homelands and how we come to this. Until then.” The duc gently took her hand and kissed the back of it. Usually she found such affectations rather ostentatious, but he did it with such an air, she could only find him charming.

***

“Ye’re sure o’ the numbers?” asked Thornton, desperate for something, anything to make what he was hearing somehow different. The amount they owed was shocking, their assets plundered. His plan to save the estate by selling racehorses now seemed futile in the face of such mounting debts.

“I am certain,” said his steward with regret. “I have been over these numbers many times since I received this most recent contract from Lady Thornton.”

“How is it that she entered into such an arrangement?”

“It was entirely without my knowledge,” defended the steward. “I would never have—”

Thornton held up his hands to stop the man. “I know ye woud’na have advised this.” Thornton sighed. “I don’t know what to do.”

“I shall submit my resignation, my lord,” said the steward quietly.

“No, no I dinna wish for that.”

“Truth is, sir, ye dinna have the money to pay me. To be blunt, I hav’na been paid in over three months.”

Thornton stared at him and swallowed convulsively. “How is that? I put the funds in the account myself.”

“Lady Thornton hired an attorney to find the funds we had sequestered. Without my knowledge, the accounts were drained. At first I thought we had been robbed, but inquiries led to the realization that the money had gone into the account of General Crawley on the authorization of Lady Thornton.”

“Ye were right in the first place. We were robbed.”

Thornton rode home at a slow pace. What was he to do? Without a sudden influx of capital, he was in serious trouble. No longer was he simply going to lose Thornton Hall; he might be forced to flee to the continent.

He did not know how General Crawley had manipulated his mother, but it was clear Crawley meant him to marry Priscilla. If Thornton was going to marry an heiress, it would not be Miss Crawley. The memory of Harriet’s lips on his returned to mind. He wanted more. It had taken everything he had to pull away.

He had never met anyone like Harriet Redgrave. She was smart and honest and kind, and mysterious, and more than a little touched in the head. And her fifty thousand pounds would fix everything.

Thornton pulled up so short his horse whinnied in complaint. What was he thinking? He had sworn he would never marry for money. Never! He must stay firm. If he married an heiress now, he would never know if he was attracted to her character or her money. Harriet deserved better than that.

He dug in his heels and urged his mount to a gallop. He knew what he must do.

***

Her face hurt from smiling too much. Or perhaps it was the falseness of the smile that hurt. She was trying, valiantly, to fit in, to not make a scene, to appear smaller and frailer than she was, and to not speak of anything of which she had actual knowledge. It was exhausting.

After dinner, the ladies retreated to the drawing room where polite feminine arts and conversation were to ensue. Instead, at least to Harriet’s mind, the young women discussed the young men with as much a critical eye as one would choose a bonnet. The men were examined for their manner, their appearance, and their pocketbook. The mothers were no better, adding to the conversation such important facts as the man’s connections and the location and condition of his estate. Potential bridegrooms were evaluated on a variety of scores—namely appearance, rank, wealth, and whether their estates were advantageously situated.

No one spoke of common interests or any real affection. The interests of these young women seemed fleeting, bestowed lavishly on one gentleman one day and then another gentleman the next. Foremost in the conversation was how to get the gentleman to propose: whether he would, when he would, and what could be done to increase the likelihood that he would.

Of these conversations, Harriet had no part. She was tolerated only as a necessary evil. An American among them. Uncouth but rich. At times there was open discussion of whether one gentleman or another would be tempted to offer for Harriet’s hand due to his financial constraints. No one considered her prospects as anything other than a marriage of convenience, and these conversations occurred with only the poorest attempts to shield her from the embarrassment of overhearing.

The dowager and Penelope were supportive once more, but they could not stand by her side at every moment, and so she was often forced to read a book in a corner while pretending not to hear anyone. Harriet was not sure if the ladies assigned a sentry, but there was always a call that the men were coming, so that inappropriate conversations could be stilled, books and needlework could be raised, and everything could appear proper when the men arrived.

Harriet wished to run away to her room again, but she was not a coward. She was determined to stay a respectable amount of time in the drawing room. The cry came that the men were coming and Harriet tensed in response.

This was the worst part of the evening, for Harriet was swarmed by men of all ages who flattered her without thought. They were the fortune hunters, of whom Penelope had warned her. The advice in this case was unnecessary. Harriet could see quite clearly their interest lay squarely in her bank account.

One gentleman even had the audacity to compliment her “golden curls” when her auburn hair was pulled back into a simple knot. He had his eye on a beauty with flaxen ringlets across the room.

Harriet gave him a painful smile and patted her hair. “Thank you, sir, I have often thought my blonde hair to be one of my great beauties.”

“Yes, yes, quite right,” said the man, who clearly heard nothing she said.

“Would you care for a drink?” asked another man, who noted a raven-haired beauty had walked to the refreshment table.

“No, no I will get her a glass,” demanded another, with an eye on a similar prize.

“You young cubs, go. I will keep our dear Miss Redgrave company,” said an older gentleman with a bushy moustache and fingers stained yellow from smoking cheroots. “I’m sure she has some charming anecdotes that can amuse us all.”

Enough. She had enough of this. “Why thank you. Perhaps you would like to know a little something of America?”

The men looked at her blankly if they looked at all.

“We have some different customs regarding marriage and dowries.” Harriet quickly began to twist together a convincing story.

All heads turned to her. She was speaking of money and she now had a captive audience.

“Did you know that the age of majority in America is much older than here? Why, a girl has to be at least thirty before she can see a penny of her inheritance.”

The men looked at her blankly. Their smiles had vanished. Her own smile didn’t hurt so much anymore.

“And how old are you?” asked a young buck with painful bluntness. A few gentlemen winced at the directness of the question, but all leaned in to hear the answer.

“Oh, I won’t see thirty for many years. Also, were you aware of a new law passed in America that the dowry must only be allocated in America? I do hope my future groom will be willing to move to Massachusetts; otherwise, I shall forfeit my entire inheritance.”

Her swarm of suitors all appeared slightly pale and very disappointed. She smiled again. And this time it didn’t hurt at all.