To Ruin a Rake (27 page)

“So you’re letting him win, then?”

“I’m
not
letting him win. I’m leaving the battlefield to satisfy my need, not his. A most imperative need.”

“Well, I think you’re making an enormous mistake.” Cat crossed her arms and glared. “Russell is not the right—”

“Perhaps not,” Harriett snapped, weary of arguing. “But he
is
a duke, Cat. Unless someone better comes along before I am required to decide, I simply cannot turn him down. Not only would Papa kill me if I did so, but we have other considerations besides our own, don’t forget.”

Her sister’s eyes lowered. “I have not forgotten. Even so, I still believe you ought to at least
try
to marry someone with whom you can be happy.”

“If I am able to do so, I shall.”

“Promise me, Harriett. I don’t want you to end up like Elizabeth.”

Now it was her turn to look away. “I will try, but I cannot guarantee I will have any better luck.” Better to make no promises—to anyone, including herself.

Entering the salon, they waited with Papa for Lord Russell to arrive. They did not have to cool their heels for very long. His punctuality belied his eagerness.

Harriett greeted him with warmth, thinking of Arabella. If young Hammond did not come to scratch with an offer for Cat before the end of this Season, she might very well have to marry Russell in order to save them all. She could ill afford to show anything but the greatest pleasure in his every word and deed.

The man in question was now regaling them with a description of his family’s country estate, Woburn Abbey in Russellshire. She left off her musings and concentrated. After all, he was describing what might very well be her future home.

“The place needs renovation, of course. I’m thinking of having Holland draw the plans,” he said, flicking a nonexistent bit of something off his cuff.

A frisson of excitement worked its way through her.
This
she could talk about! “His style is elegant and his execution of the work is very efficient, provided he is allowed to procure his own labor. If he is not available, there is always Flitcroft. He’s worked with numerous friends of ours and is also quite worthy of consideration.”

Russell stared at her blankly for a moment. “I suppose…I could consider him, if you like,” he answered at last.

Her father lowered his brows in disapproval. Beside her, Cat cleared her throat and coughed.

Harriett’s stomach tightened. Apparently, she’d just crossed some invisible line. Smiling, she tried one of Cat’s tricks. “I would not have suggested it, but I heard from one of Papa’s friends that he was very talented and I thought you might like to know.”

Russell’s smile returned. “If you are an admirer of his work, then I shall look into retaining him. As to the interior decoration, I shall of course leave that to the preference of my future duchess.”

His expression was warm and hopeful, telling her for certain this visit was more than just a matter of his wishing to renew old acquaintance. Not that she hadn’t already known it, but it was always best never to assume.

This is it, my opportunity to secure his interest or send him on his way
. Need overruled doubt. She required a husband. “Few women are given the gift of being able to create their own world around them in such a manner. Your bride shall be a very lucky lady indeed to have Woburn as her canvas.”

Such an encouraging statement was the definite opening of a door, and if the widening of his smile was any indication, Russell recognized it as such. Courtship could now begin in earnest. Beside her, Cat sighed. Only Harriett knew it was a sigh of disappointment rather than an expression of sentiment. She ignored it.

“I can vouch for Flitcroft, as well,” said Papa. “He recently completed the interior at Lilford and is currently working at Wentwood.”

“Then I shall most definitely inquire as to Mister Flitcroft’s availability,” said Russell. His gaze swung back to Harriett. “If his skills can add to my prospective bride’s happiness, I shall be grateful.”

“Tell me more about Woburn,” she asked, causing him to pink with pleasure. She did her best to maintain a pleasant, attentive expression, even though it was painfully clear her opinions would be worth next to nothing without the backing of some male to support them. Reason told her that in this he was no different from the typical man, but it still didn’t sit well to be treated as though she was incapable of possessing an informed, valid viewpoint.

William had never belittled her, not even by exclusion. He’d asked her opinion about everything and he’d listened. Papa always said he’d spoiled her, and perhaps he had, but it stood to reason that if William could acknowledge her intellect, others could as well. Even his boorish brother, despite his many faults, respected her intelligence—once he’d gotten over the shock of discovering it, of course.

Unbidden, a smile formed on her lips. The look on Manchester’s face when Nurse Hayes had unwittingly exposed her would live in her memory forever.

Inwardly, she sighed as her father and her prospective husband began to discuss matters at Parliament. Matters that, although she was very well informed about them, she dare not speak of now. No indeed, she knew her “place” and held her tongue, telling herself to be more like Cat. Marry first,
then
inform.

It was a wearying prospect. If only she could be herself! Would Russell ever be able to accept the real Harriett? She had to hope he would. She looked at him, quashing a twinge of annoyance. It didn’t help that he was so dramatic in his mannerisms.

She’d felt the same way two years ago when he’d vied for her favor. William, on the other hand, had been like a cool bath of calm reason and even temperament. He’d never once raised his voice above a stern, quietly issued command. He’d never bawled out poorly composed toasts to her beauty at parties. He’d never cried or clung to her in public or threatened to jump off a bridge. He’d never once embarrassed her in any way.

Russell
had
embarrassed her, and she greatly feared he would do so again. He seemed incapable of containing himself. Every emotion the man possessed was worn openly. She’d heard it said that his tirades in Parliament were quite something to behold. He’d incurred the king’s wrath with one such display, and had only recently managed to work his way back into their monarch’s good graces. He lacked the prudence and self-control necessary to be successful at court.

Manchester on the other hand would no doubt excel at politics—provided he ever took an interest and stayed sober, that is. Though not without emotions of his own, he’d proven quite capable of controlling himself when he wished. She sighed. He had such potential for greatness and could be so successful if he would only apply himself…

“I should like for you all to come and visit me there one day,” said Russell, interrupting her thoughts.

Thoughts I ought not to be having.
She struggled to focus on the conversation at hand, knowing she’d missed more than half of what he’d said to her.

“Woburn is so very lovely in the summer,” he continued, not seeming to have noticed her lack of attention. “When you come, I’d like you to tell me what improvements you think ought to be first on the list for Messires Holland and Flitcroft.”

“I would be delighted. Provided you approve, Papa,” she said, looking to her father.

“I think it an excellent idea,” he agreed, beaming.

“Then I shall send an invitation as soon as may be arranged,” said Russell, rising. “And now I fear I must leave you, as my mother is expecting me for dinner this evening. She will no doubt be pleased to hear my news.”

Harriett refrained from groaning aloud.
I’ll just bet she will
. She’d almost forgotten about the Dowager Duchess of Russell. The woman would no doubt question her son’s sanity for attempting to woo the same woman again after having once been refused.

“It has been a pleasure, Lord Dunhaven, Lady Harriett, Lady Catherine,” said Russell, bowing to each of them. “I look forward to calling again soon.”

The gaze he leveled at Harriett made her stomach tighten, but not with desire. His eyes had taken on the same moon-addled look they’d had two years ago. She allowed him to lift her hand to his lips, steeling herself to have to pull it back if he did not behave appropriately. His hand shook a little, but he released her almost at once.

It was a good sign. A very good sign. Perhaps this time things would be different after all.

Saying his final goodbyes, Russell left.

“Not bad,” Papa muttered as they watched him walk down to his carriage, his step jaunty and light. “Definitely worth considering, although he could be a bit less effusive.” He turned to her and smiled. “Reserve will come with age, I suppose.”

Harriett held her tongue. “I’m sure it will, Papa.”

“Keep working on him, Harriett,” he told her. “I expect he’ll come to ask for your hand soon enough, but keep working on him. He’s a good catch.”

He’s the only catch—so far.
The thought was dismal. But that would soon change if all went according to plan.

As she and Cat made their way upstairs, her sister began to chuckle.

“What?” Harriett at last asked.

“Do you really want to marry him?”

“He’s a duke,” she answered, shrugging. “He’s interested. And I am rather short on options at the moment.”

“You’ll have to have that Fitzholland fellow build you a separate house just to have some place to escape your lord and master every now and then. Or, like Lady Brockhurst, simply refuse to leave London.”

“He’s not
that
bad. And it’s Flitcroft and Holland,” corrected Harriett, unable to keep from smiling. “Russell can be quite pleasant, you know. As long as he’s happy I shouldn’t have any problem getting on with him just fine.”

“And when he’s not?”

“When he gets too worked up, I shall send him out for a calming walk in the garden or ask him to read aloud.”

Cat looked at her sidelong. “You enjoy hearing prose as much as I. Let us hope for your sake Woburn Abbey has an extensive garden.”

To Harriett’s utter disbelief, Manchester honored the truce and their agreement. From the moment she stepped over the threshold of the Hospital on Monday, he was civil toward her. More than civil—he was
gentlemanly
and remained so, despite her private prediction such behavior would last but a day or two. His manner was earnest, and he appeared to take both her and his duty to the Hospital quite seriously.

With each passing day, her surprise mounted until she wasn’t quite sure what to think.

When exactly one week after their initial discussion—as promised—he placed an advertisement in the London papers, she was flabbergasted. To be sure, it was a long and detailed advertisement with an exhaustive list of requirements. Reading it, she wondered whether anyone would dare apply.

To be fair, it was thorough and specific, and there was nothing in it that could be considered off-putting to a truly suitable applicant. There would be no time wasted interviewing unqualified candidates for either of them—a relief as there was a great deal to achieve in a few short months.

What was not a relief was the fact that he was now constantly at her side. He was her shadow, watching everything she did, listening to her every word. If she’d thought it difficult to be near him before, it was even more so now that he was being so nice. It had reached the point where she tried not to look at him unless it was necessary.

Unfortunately, whenever it
was
unavoidable, she could not help marking how handsome he was. Her eye was drawn by the way the light played in his warm, whiskey-brown eyes. Her belly tightened every time he gave her one of his rare smiles. And they were rare, even more so now than before.

A deep sadness seemed to have settled over him. It wasn’t evident in anything he said or did, but she felt it nonetheless. And it pulled at her heart. No doubt being here, in this place his brother had built, affected him so. She truly hoped one day he would see it as she did: a place of comfort, a place where he could be close to William’s lingering presence.

The thought elicited a frown. Her feeling of closeness with William seemed to have diminished of late. A side effect of having decided to move on, she supposed, dismissing the errant idea. Now was definitely
not
the time to reflect on what the Hospital meant to her. Such thoughts would only cause her further discomfort when it came time to cut the ties.

Manchester proved just as sharp-minded as he’d boasted when it came to running a business. But when it came to the other aspects of operating the orphanage, the skills about which he’d expressed some concern were indeed sorely lacking. He was every bit as inept when it came to dealing with the staff and children as he’d said. In the space of one particularly difficult afternoon, he managed to offend two nurses and cause a volunteer worker to quit.

“You cannot be so harsh with them!” Harriett scolded, pulling him aside. “That girl was helping us out of the goodness of her heart, and she’d been here but two days. You cannot expect her to know every rule in so short a time. Now she’s gone, and we’re short-staffed again!”

“How the bloody hell was I supposed to know the difference?” retorted Manchester, a bit of his former irritability showing through.

“Which is why I keep telling you to learn the names and faces of the regular staff. I know in your view they’re little more than servants, but the children here depend on them—and so do you. If they don’t come to work, you don’t have a way to care for the children.”

“She looked just like the other workers here,” he said, seemingly determined to remain obstinate. “We ought to have the volunteers wear a different color apron or something, so one can tell them apart. I want to be able to tell at once who is in the pay of this facility and who isn’t.”