Tuesday's Child (Heroines Born on Each Day of the Week Book 3) (24 page)

With reluctance, she was forced to give less time to Arthur, who rode without her.

At breakfast, on the day of the ball, Arthur’s eyes shone. “Mamma, I did not fall off when Prince jumped over a ditch.”

Horrified, Harriet stared at her father-in-law. “You should not have allowed Arthur to take such a risk.”

Pennington’s eyes mocked her. “You must not dote on the boy so much.”

Tight-lipped she refrained from arguing in Arthur’s presence. Later, alone with her father-in-law, she would remonstrate.

“The ballroom?” the earl asked.

“Is festooned with garlands of flowers and greenery, and large urns filled with plants have been between the windows.”

“The great hall?” he asked.

“The housekeeper assures me it has been cleaned from top to bottom. The banners have been shaken free from dust, the shields cleaned and the table is spread with the finest linen and set with Wedgewood china, crystal glasses and silverware.”

Her father-in-law’s smile did not warm his eyes. “The bedrooms?”

“Everything has been done to ensure the visitors’ comfort. Your daughters have been assigned the rooms in which your butler told me they usually stay, Major and Mrs Tarrant –”

“Enough.” Pennington waved a finger at her. “I did not ask for the details. This morning, confirm the menu with the chef.”

He was losing patience because she had frequently discussed it with him. And who could blame him?

“I would ask you to choose the wines with my butler if you were familiar with my cellar – or should I say vault? – in which, for many years, I have collected the finest vintages.” He indicated his cup. “More coffee.”

Harriet filled it.

“This evening, we shall dine later than usual,” Pennington continued. “At four o’clock, my guests will join us in the drawing room where I will introduce you to those whom you have not already met. At five o’clock, Arthur will join us so I may present him to the company.” He dissected the kidney on his plate with a sword-sharp knife, and speared a piece with the prongs of his fork. “You look fatigued, my child. It is understandable because you were not raised to be mistress of a nobleman’s country seat. I suggest you rest after nuncheon.”

Arthur, who remained silent while he ate his eggs, ham and a buttered roll, put his knife and fork down. “I am looking forward to meeting my aunts and my cousins ’cause I never had any before.”

“You are mistaken, Arthur. You have always had cousins, whom you will soon meet,” the earl explained, before Harriet could ask Arthur to say because instead of ’cause. “Today, you will meet my oldest daughter, your aunt, Lady Templeton, who is married to John Templeton, Viscount Buckley.

“You will also meet my younger daughter, Lady Isabel, Lord Marriot’s widow, and –”

“My mamma is a widow,” Arthur interrupted.

“Just so,” his grandfather murmured. “I intended to say, you will meet her son, John, Lord Marriot, Earl of Wareham.”

“Will he play with me?” Arthur asked.

Pennington raised his plucked eyebrows, the question obviously surprising him. “He is eighteen years-old, so I doubt it.”

“Oh,” Arthur murmured, his disappointment obvious. Harriet caught her lower lip between her teeth. Was her son lonely? If his father had survived, by now, Arthur might have a younger brother or sister to play with. She decided she would invite well-born children from neighbouring families to visit him after the ball.

Chapter Nineteen

Harriet gazed at her reflection in the mirror with admiration for her patent gold net ball gown, worn over turquoise silk. Above the low cut bodice her white skin glowed. Set in gold, the sapphire necklace and earrings enhanced her eyes.

“A glass of wine, my lady?” Plymouth suggested.

Harriet shook her head. “No thank you. Tonight, so much wine will flow freely so I must be careful not to imbibe too much.”

Plymouth adjusted the tiara set with diamonds and sapphires. “Perfect, my lady. If I may say so, you will be much admired.”

“Thank you.” Harriet’s hands trembled. “What would her sisters-in-law think of her? She slipped the loop of her painted fan over her left wrist.

Harriet paused for a moment. She scrutinised her mirror image in the pier glass to make sure no detail of her toilette had been neglected.

* * *

“You are tardy,” Pennington remarked, when Harriet entered the drawing room.”

“My apologies, I needed to attend to one or two matters before I changed into my ball gown.”

Harriet glanced at ladies, who wore exquisite gowns and valuable jewels, and at fashionable gentlemen.

Her father-in-law held out his arm. Trying to force her hand encased in a white kid glove not to tremble, Harriet placed the tips of her fingers on it.

“Come.” The earl guided her to three ladies and two gentlemen seated in a group at one side of the hearth, in which stood an enormous urn filled with greenery and scarlet roses.

Pennington eyed the group. “Lady Castleton, the lady on the right is my daughter Lady Katherine. She is seated next to her husband, Lord Templeton, Viscount Buckley.”

Grateful to her father-in-law’s secretary, who had added notes describing some of those on the guest list, Harriet eyed her forty-two-year-old sister-in-law. Gowned in lime green satin, the generously curved mother of two married daughters and four sons, inclined her head instead of speaking, the expression in her hazel eyes unfathomable.

Buckley, dressed in the height of fashion, but without starched shirt points too high to turn his head, stood and bowed. “A pleasure to meet you, Lady Castleton.”

Pennington cleared his throat. “My younger daughter, Lady Isabel, is seated opposite Lady Katherine.

Isabel, a slender widow, elegant in lavender silk and diamond and amethyst jewellery, greeted Harriet with a wistful smile.

“Lady Castleton.” The lady spoke in a faint voice. She dabbed her forehead with a handkerchief perfumed with eau-de-cologne. “The scent is so refreshing,” she murmured, then looked up at a young gentleman, who stood at one side of the fireplace. “If your dear father were alive he would have cossetted me on the journey here.”

Her son shook his head. “Nonsense, Mamma, he was kind but not the type of gentleman to cosset anyone. Moreover, he would not have pandered to your languishing airs any more than I do.” His delightful smile, and a kiss on his melodramatic parent’s pale cheek, banished the sting of his forthright words.

Nevertheless, for a second, irritation flickered across Lady Isabel’s face while she held out her hand to Harriet. “So, you are, my poor, dear brother Edgar’s wife,” she murmured. “Allow me to introduce you to my son, John, Lord Marriot, Earl of Wareham.”

“I am delighted to meet you, Aunt Harriet. Please call me Jack, for the rest of the family do, and tell me when I may meet my Cousin George?”

At first sight, Harriet liked him. “Soon, when your grandfather presents, him.”

Pennington frowned. “Jack, I would prefer you to call your cousin Arthur.”

“Dear Papa is so eccentric,” the widow purred, like a cat with sheathed claws.

“No more than you Mamma,” muttered her undutiful son, causing Harriet to suppress an amused smile.

“Your unkindness and the journey here has exhausted me,” Isabel lamented. “Where are my smelling salts?”

“You don’t need them, Mamma, so don’t playact.”

Although Jack spoke gently, Harriet suspected his mother wearied him beyond endurance, and that he was on the verge of losing patience with her. He inclined his head then, before she could speak, he strode out of the drawing room.

Pennington laughed. “Well, Isabel, you must admit that although your son’s only eighteen years old, he’s got spirit. One day, if you are not careful, one day, you will regret your foolish, die away airs.”

The earl turned towards a gentleman dressed in black with a simply tied cravat and a lady dressed unpretentiously in a rose-pink sarcenet gown worn over white satin. A malicious gleam appeared in the earl’s eyes. “Lady Castleton, my nephew Mister Stanton, who, I believe you already know is in holy orders, and Mrs Stanton.”

The Stantons stood to make their bow and curtsy.

Instead of greeting them, Harriet almost took an involuntary step backward, asking herself if she glimpsed malevolence, unbefitting to a man of the cloth, in Wilfred Stanton’s eyes? She transferred her attention to Sarah Stanton. The lady’s hostility, revealed by a frown and hands clenched in white kid gloves, was unmistakable.

Of course, no longer first in line to become the next Earl of Pennington, it would be natural for Mister and Mrs Stanton to resent being displaced by Arthur.

Sarah Stanton’s voice interrupted Harriet’s thoughts. “I hope Lord Castleton will enjoy meeting my son, Frederick.”

“Of course,” Sarah’s husband began, “although he is much younger than Lord Castleton, he enjoys other children’s company.”

“I look forward to seeing Frederick,” Harriet responded, although, in her opinion, such a young child should have been left at home in his nursery.”

“We cannot bear to be parted from him,” Sarah explained. “At the moment, he is asleep in my boudoir with his nurse in attendance.” Her hand strayed to her rounded stomach.

Harriet remembered making the same gesture when she was with child, and guessed Frederick would soon have a brother or sister with whom he must share his parents’ affection.

“Oh!” Sarah exclaimed, “My cousin, Mrs Tarrant, and her husband have arrived.”

The Tarrants crossed the floor and stood near them.   Pennington inclined his head towards them. “Of course, Lady Castleton, you have not met Major Tarrant, one of our gallant soldiers who lost his leg in the war against the French.”

There was nothing untoward in the words, but somehow or other, her father-in-law conveyed contempt or? – She could not think of the right word to describe it.

After the introductions, the major bowed.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady.” He shrugged. “Please don’t believe your father-in-law. Many fine men, including your husband, were more gallant than I could ever have aspired to be. My inability to dance at your ball is a small price to pay for my life.”

While the major, whose hair gleamed like newly minted gold coins spoke, Pennington eyed Georgianne Tarrant. “To the victor the spoils,”

Puzzled, Harriet frowned, neither able to understand the meaning behind her father-in-law’s statement, nor the reason for the major to take a step forward, his fists clenched.

“As you have so eloquently pointed out,” Pennington continued, “you, Major, are alive and have a son, while my sons lie in their graves.”

“So do many other heroes.” Georgianne’s voice filled a brief silence. “Lady Castleton, thank you for your kind invitation and your letter; I often think of you, and am delighted to see you again. How is your son?”

“In the best of health, thank you. I hope you will visit us and see him soon.”

“Thank you for your kind invitation,” Harriet replied.

Her father-in-law nodded at her. “Lady Castleton, I shall leave you with Major and Mrs Tarrant.”

While perplexed by an imaginary ice-cold wind, which blew between the earl and the Tarrants, Harriet heard Arthur’s unmistakeable giggle from the doorway. With her son perched on his shoulders, Jack entered the drawing room and made his way towards her.

He knelt to allow Arthur to slide down his back onto the floor.

“Mamma, have you met my Cousin Jack?”

“Yes, I have and you must not impose on him.”

“No such thing, Aunt Castleton, we have been getting acquainted,” Jack intervened. “I often amuse Francis, my young brother, by carrying him around on my shoulders.”

Isabel looked reproachfully at her son. “Such unsuitable behaviour in your grandfather’s drawing room. What must his guests think of your deplorable manners?”

Harriet suppressed her amusement. She did not doubt Lady Isabel intended her fan, which she fluttered to and fro, to give the impression of frail womanhood in need of support.

“Who are you?” Arthur asked.

“I am your Aunt Marriot.”

“I never had an aunt before. “Arthur eyed her somewhat doubtfully, perhaps not sure he wanted one.

Her ladyship waved her fan even more languidly. “Such original phraseology, child. No, no, don’t look bewildered by the long word. Did you not know you had aunts whom you are meeting for the first time?” She waved her fan in Lady Katherine’s direction. “See the lady dressed in lime green – she is your other aunt. With your Mamma’s permission, go and make your bow to her.”

Harriet nodded. About to hold Arthur’s hand to lead him to Lady Katherine, Jack forestalled her.

“Best get the introduction to the dragon over and done with,” her nephew by marriage whispered in her ear, too low for anyone to overhear.

Harriet followed the cousins to her eldest sister-in-law, choking back her laughter.

Arthur performed a creditable bow. Her expression cold, Katherine