Chapter 3

She felt like a girl fresh from the schoolroom, in the company of a young man for the first time, noticed by one for the first time. She felt weak-kneed and breathless and tongue-tied. She was a woman of eight-and-twenty, she reminded herself. She was a widow. She had known many men as friends and acquaintances. She had known one man as a lover. She raised her eyes to his again.

Silver. They were pure silver. And they were watching her, a mocking smile lurking somewhere not far from their surface.

“Is it so hard to realize that I have become such a grand personage?” he asked. “My grandfather died quite soon after you sent me away from Ebury Court.”

“I am sorry,” she said.

“That he died?” he asked. “Or that you sent me away?” 

“That he died,” she said. “Were you fond of him?”

“Ours has always been a close family,” he said. “And now they are all mine. All my responsibility—a grandmother, a mother, uncles and aunts and cousins galore. Were you ever sorry that you sent me away?”

Yes. To her shame, yes. Sorry at the time and sorry for painful weeks and months afterward. Sorry even after she had married Godfrey and he had somewhat surprised her by making a real marriage of it and she had wondered what it would have been like...

“No, of course not,” she said.

He was smiling at her. “You hesitated a little too long and have allowed a little too much color to flow into your cheeks,” he said. “I have regretted it, Harriet. And I am ready to kill out of jealous rage. Where is he? Is he in the ballroom?”

“Who?” She looked at him blankly.

“Lord Wingham,” he said. “Your husband.”

He did not know. Obviously he knew as little about her as she knew about him. For the same reason? she wondered. But no, of course not. What reason would he have had to remember her and deliberately avoid pursuing any news of her?

“Godfrey,” she said. “He died fifteen months ago.”

“Ah,” he said. “You are the merry widow, then. And you have come to take the ton by storm and to enjoy yourself quite ferociously until the Season’s end.”

He made the truth sound rather sordid and her rather heartless. “I loved him,” she said.

His eyes roamed over her face. His voice was almost gentle when he spoke. “Did you, Harriet?” he asked. “Did some accident take him from you?”

“It was heart failure,” she said. “We found him dead in his bed one morning.” His valet and she. The valet had been alarmed by his stillness in bed and his lack of response to having the curtains drawn back from the window and to the man’s discreet cough to announce the arrival of the baron’s shaving water. The valet had come for her, afraid to check more closely for himself. Godfrey had been cold to her touch. He had been dead for several hours.

“Ah,” the duke said.

She knew that he must be wondering. But of course he would not ask the question. “He was sixty years old,” she said. “His heart had been weak for years.”

It was only after she had spoken and he continued to look at her while she gazed beyond him that she heard the echo of what sounded like defiance in her voice. It would seem to him that she had married an older, ailing man for his money and for position. It would seem that she was conniving. Here she was little more than a year after his death in London enjoying herself at one of the grand balls of the Season. And there would be some truth in his assumption. But only some. She would not have married Godfrey if she had not liked him and if she had not believed in her heart that she could and would make him a good wife.

She looked back up into the Duke of Tenby’s eyes, defiance in her own now as well as in her voice. “I loved him,” she said again. “He was good to me.”

“I am glad of both facts,” he said softly. “I never said otherwise, Harriet.”

“No,” she said, “but you thought it. You thought I refused your very generous offer because it did not include respectability and then went and did better for myself in Bath by marrying a wealthy man who could not be expected to live long.” Where were the words and the ideas coming from? She felt dismayed and mortified. She had no need whatsoever to be on the defensive with the Duke of Tenby.

“Did I think so?” His eyes were mocking again. “How very ungentlemanly of me. I am sorry for your loss, Harriet. It must have been painful. But I am glad you are beginning to put it behind you. You have come to enjoy the Season, I presume? And are enjoying it? You appeared to be doing so until you began to dance with me, anyway. Have I diminished your joy?”

“Of course not.” Her eyes slipped to his neckcloth. He must have a very skilled valet. Godfrey had always worn his simply tied.

“The devil!” he said suddenly and his arm at her waist tightened and drew her right against him for the merest moment before loosening and setting her at the correct distance again. “An imminent collision avoided. Bixby is twirling his partner with wild enthusiasm.”

Harriet glanced over her shoulder to find that it was indeed so. Her body and her mind reacted belatedly. She had felt him, every contour of his hard, muscled body, through the thin satin and lace of her gown. She raised her eyes unwillingly to his.

“Ah, Harriet,” he said. “Harriet.”

She lowered her eyes and was aware suddenly and for the first time of people around them—couples twirling on the dance floor, groups standing or sitting about its edges, either conversing or observing. They were being watched, she knew. He was being watched.

“Where are you staying?” he asked.

“I am a guest at Sir Clive Forbes’s home.”

“Forbes?” he said. “Ah, yes, I know. May I call on you there, Harriet?”

Why? To tease her? To renew his dalliance with her? But did it matter why? She had come to town in the conscious hope that she would see him again, had she not? Well, then, she was getting more than she had hoped for. She had seen him again on her first real appearance in public and he had singled her out for attention and wished to call on her at Amanda’s. Why should she hesitate? For fear of getting hurt again? It was an absurd fear. She was a mature, experienced woman now. She would be hurt only if she chose to be hurt.

“You can do dreadful things to the esteem in which I hold myself, you know, Harriet,” he said. “Are you about to reject me—again? And yet all I have asked for is permission to call on you.”

“I would be happy to receive you, your grace,” she said.

“Would you?” He smiled. “Happy, Harriet? You are not happy at all to see me, are you? Do you despise me? Because I am the sort of man who takes mistresses? You would scarce be able to find a man to respect in this ballroom if you have such high standards for everyone, my dear.”

Harriet flushed and his smile deepened.

“I have never known any other woman blush as charmingly as you,” he said. “Did my words outrage you? I am sorry. I am not, however, sorry that this is the supper dance. The music is coming to an end, but I may still have your company for supper. Come.” He bowed to her when the music stopped and offered his arm. “Let me fill a plate for you and you shall tell me all about the excitement of living in Bath. That was where you lived with Lord Wingham?”

“Yes,” she said and set her arm along his. “It was never exciting. But I have always been comfortable there.”

He chuckled. “Comfortable!” he said. “Poor Harriet. I hope you feel more hungry than I do. It would suit my inclination far better to take you out onto the terrace and draw nourishment from fresh air and moonlight and kisses, but unfortunately we are being too closely observed. Did you know that I rarely dance?”

His words were outrageous and were spoken aloud solely to draw her blushes, Harriet supposed. But even so they made her feel weak at the knees again. Moonlight and kisses. She could remember his kiss. He parted his lips when he did it. Godfrey had never done so, though he had liked to kiss her frequently.

“Don’t you?” she said. “Don’t you enjoy dancing?”

"I enjoy it immensely when there is a lady I wish to get close to,” he said. “I even enjoy protecting her from wild twirlers. What I do not like is being thought to be shopping at the marriage mart. That is what balls of the Season are all about, Harriet. Is that why you are here, by the way? But don’t answer. You could hardly admit it if it were true, could you? I, on the other hand, will admit it. With dragging feet and the greatest reluctance I am bowing to my family’s anxieties this year. They believe that at the advanced age of two-and-thirty I really cannot wait any longer to begin setting up my nursery and securing the succession. It is quite enough to make one wince, is it not?” 

Harriet was blushing.

“And so,” he said, “I made my appearance here tonight to see what earls’ or dukes’ or marquesses’ daughters are available. I cannot go lower. My grandmother would not be able to go contentedly to her grave if I did. But I was distracted by the sight of you. I suppose I should make a determined effort after supper to do what I came here to do. My maternal relatives expect frequent letters and become depressed when I have nothing to report in the matrimonial line. It would cheer them no end to know that I had danced with an earl’s daughter at Chloe’s ball.”

Harriet had got the message. She had learned a great deal in six years. He did not have to put it into words. The interest was there as it had been before. He would single her out for a dance as he would single out almost no other woman. He would even perhaps call on her at Amanda’s if he did not change his mind. But she must clearly understand the nature of his interest. Of course she understood it. He had not needed even to hint.

“What I really want to do, Harriet,” he said, “is go home and to bed and relive in memory our waltz and that near collision.”

He really was shameless.

“I recall your blushes very well indeed,” he said when it became obvious that she was not going to reply. “What I do not remember, Harriet, is the slight tightening of the lips that goes along with them. Did you not realize six years ago that I was a rogue but realize it now?”

“Perhaps.” She looked up at him. “When do you expect to marry?”

He grimaced and then laughed. “By September,” he said. “I have promised my grandmother that it will be no later than that. I have also promised that by Christmas ... But never mind. The completion of that sentence would draw your blushes, Harriet, but I will spare them this time.”

That by Christmas his heir would have been safely begotten. He would have married and done his duty and would be able to return to his mistresses by this time next year.

He laughed softly. “You have completed the sentence for yourself,” he said. “For shame, Harriet. Shall I seat you beside Hammond and his partner and fetch you a plate?”

“Yes, please,” she said.

Mr. Hammond smiled at her and introduced her to Miss Grainger. She watched the Duke of Tenby as he made his way to the food table, settled two plates in the same hand, and began to select dainties to place on them. She remembered seeing him for the first time in Bath at Clara’s wedding and thinking him quite the most gorgeous man she had ever set eyes upon. Clara’s Freddie was incredibly handsome too, of course, but in a darker, more sensuous way. And she had disliked Frederick Sullivan quite intensely at that time because she had known that he was a mere smooth-tongued fortune hunter. But Lord Archibald Vinney...

She remembered his having Mr. Lesley Sullivan, Freddie’s brother, present him to her after the wedding was over and her sense of surprise that he had even noticed her, a mere lady’s companion. She remembered the way those remarkable silver eyes had moved over her appreciatively and the pleasure she had felt despite the prim indignation. She had been lost from the start. As she was still lost now. He was in search of a wife, a woman of suitably noble rank.

Harriet turned her eyes and her mind determinedly toward the conversation Mr. Hammond and Miss Grainger had begun.

Even after the Duke of Tenby had had his favorite horse saddled and brought around and was riding on it away from his mansion on St. James’s Square, he still did not know quite where he was going. To White’s Club? But he had been there in the morning to read the papers and to exchange news and gossip with various acquaintances. It was too fine a day to spend the afternoon cooped up there too. For a ride in the park? It was a little late in the day to do so merely for air and-exercise and yet still too early for the fashionable hour when the place would be crowded with gentlemen to converse with and ladies to ogle. To Bridget’s? But he did not even give the idea serious consideration. The thought of spending the rest of the afternoon in her stuffy and perfumed boudoir was a trifle nauseating. Besides, he had spent all night with her, or what had remained of it after the Avingleigh ball, and had not particularly enjoyed himself. He had found himself wishing that he had gone home to bed after all to dream of a soft and shapely little body that he had held protectively against his own for a moment during the supper waltz.

Should he go to call at Barthorpe’s, then? That had been his declared intention when he had called for his horse. He had danced with Lady Phyllis after supper the evening before and discovered that in addition to being pretty and amiable, she had some conversation too, even if it was not profound. One did not expect profundity from prospective wives, anyway. Her mama and papa had been openly interested too. But that was the trouble, the duke thought with a frown. If he called at Barthorpe’s today, the afternoon following the ball, speculation would be rife. Especially since he had had a posy sent around during the morning. He might well find himself backed into a corner before he was quite sure that he wished to be there.

No, he thought, turning a corner abruptly enough to cause his horse to snort in protest, and taking the opposite direction from that which would take him to the Earl of Barthorpe’s house, he would leave that call for another day. Tomorrow, probably. He would not leave it too long or he would lose his nerve. But today would make him appear altogether too eager. In fact, he was not eager at all. Only resigned.

He knew where he was going. Of course. He had known deep down all along. Just as he had known the incredible truth the evening before while he had danced with her. He had loved her six years ago, his love for her had prevented him from caring for any other woman in the intervening years, and he loved her now. Quite maddeningly but quite irrevocably. He was bone deep in love with her. He could not think of her in terms of marriage, of course. And not in terms of dalliance either. She was a virtuous woman who claimed to have loved a man more than thirty years her senior who had suffered from a weak heart. And she probably had loved him. Harriet would not marry for money, though she had seemed to believe that he would think so.

She was a decent, virtuous woman. It was incredible to know that he could be so deeply in love with a woman like that. The mere description was enough to make him shudder. And he had probably been right about her reason for coming to town. She had come to find a second husband. Another reason why he could not dally with her himself. She deserved love and marriage. She would not be happy without. She would have been desperately unhappy if she had given in to the temptation he knew she had felt six years before to become his paid mistress. He was glad she had said no.

Liar, he told himself with a wry smile as he approached Sir Clive Forbes’s house and wondered how he would be received.

*   *   *

When Harriet returned from a walk in the park with Susan after luncheon, she discovered from the butler that she had missed Mr. Hammond, who had called to pay his respects and left again after a half hour had not brought her home, and that Mr. Kershaw was with Lady Forbes in the drawing room. Harriet took her daughter upstairs to the nursery and hurried to her room to tidy her hair and wash her hands. She had run on the grass, playing ball with Susan, and was looking somewhat disheveled.

He had not come after all, then, she thought, satisfied again with her appearance and going back downstairs. He had either not been serious or he had changed his mind. It was just as well. There was no future whatsoever in pursuing that acquaintance. She smiled at Mr. Kershaw and thanked him for the nosegay he had sent that morning. She accepted a cup of tea from Amanda and sat down. She had had two nosegays that morning and two gentlemen visitors that afternoon. Life as a wealthy widow showed every sign of being a great deal more exciting than life as impoverished Miss Harriet Pope had ever been, she thought ruefully.

And then the drawing-room doors opened again and Sir Clive’s butler announced the Duke of Tenby. Yes, a great deal more exciting indeed.

“How d’ye do, ma’am,” he said, bowing over Lady Forbes’s hand and carrying it to his lips. “Lady Wingham?” He bowed again and let his eyes rest on her face for a moment “Kershaw?”

When they all sat down, they immediately became two couples, the duke conversing with Lady Forbes, Mr. Kershaw with Harriet. Perhaps, after all, he had not come to see her, Harriet thought after five minutes had passed. Though why he would be calling on Amanda she did not know. Perhaps it was just a courtesy call since he had mentioned calling last evening. He had danced a set with Lady Phyllis Reeder after supper and made Harriet ridiculously jealous, though she had been partnered for every single set herself and had even had to reject the offers of several gentlemen because there simply were not enough sets in the evening.

“It is a beautiful afternoon for spring,” Mr. Kershaw said, looking toward the windows. “Far too lovely to be spent indoors, Lady Wingham.”

“My feeling exactly, Kershaw,” the duke said, raising his voice and entering their conversation for the first time. “I came to ask if you would drive in the park with me, Lady Wingham.”

Mr. Kershaw, she noticed, looked distinctly annoyed. He had been going to ask her himself, she realized. And the duke had realized it too and cut him out very deftly. One could do such things when one was a duke and get away with them, she supposed. She felt inclined to refuse his offer, but then of course she would be unable to accept Mr. Kershaw’s if he made it. And she wanted to drive in Hyde Park. It was the thing to do in the afternoon during the Season, she knew. And it had been so lovely there earlier when she was with Susan. Besides, she wanted to say yes.

He was looking amused when she glanced into his face. He had felt her hesitation. She wondered why he had come calling and why he was going to take her for a drive when he had made it quite clear the evening before that he had a mission to accomplish before the Season was out or at the latest before September. But of course she knew why. It was silly of her to pretend that she did not.

“That would be very pleasant, your grace,” she said.

He got to his feet. “I will return home for my curricle, then,” he said, “and be back in half an hour, ma’am.” He bowed to Lady Forbes and Mr. Kershaw and left the room. And Mr. Kershaw, who had been there longer than he, of course felt obliged to take his leave too, though he might in all courtesy have stayed longer.

“Perhaps you will drive with me another afternoon, Lady Wingham,” he said.

“I would be delighted, sir,” she said, smiling at him. He was a pleasant young man, quiet and amiable, good-looking rather than handsome, her own age or perhaps even a year or two younger at a guess. He was the heir to a fortune but not a title, Lady Forbes had told her the evening before.

And he seemed to have made no secret about town of the fact that he was in search of a wife.

“You could scarcely do better, Harriet, dear,” Lady Forbes had said. “But of course you must make no hasty decisions. I would predict that you will have at least a dozen serious suitors before the Season is out. You can afford to wait for that very special gentleman to come along. And he will, you know. You have a gift for inspiring devotion and a gift for giving love too.”

Lady Forbes had been in Harriet’s dressing room after the ball and had dabbed at moist eyes. “How sentimental I become in my old age,” she had said, though she was in truth only in her early fifties. “But I cannot help remembering how Godfrey married you after remaining stubbornly single for so long and spent the rest of his life worshipping you. And dear little Susan, of course. She was the great joy of his old age. Though he was not so very old, was he? Poor Godfrey.”

When Mr. Kershaw had taken his leave, Harriet turned toward the stairs to get ready for her drive. “You do not mind my going?” she asked Lady Forbes. “We might have walked out together, Amanda. It is indeed a lovely day. One could almost believe it is summer except that the air is fresh.”

“Fresh air and walks were never my idea of pleasure,” Lady Forbes said. “No, my dear, you must go out whenever you have the opportunity and not mind me. That is why you are here, is it not? To enjoy yourself and to see and be seen. To find yourself that special gentleman. Though I could not help being a little annoyed when Mr. Kershaw was ousted with such naughty skill by Tenby. And I am a little worried by his attentions, Harriet, though they are flattering and will definitely ensure that you are brought into fashion. You could see that last evening, could you not? But what can he mean by them?”

“I met him when I was with Clara Sullivan,” Harriet said. “Six years ago. He is a close friend of Mr. Sullivan’s. I believe he is being polite to an old acquaintance.”

“If you believe that,” Lady Forbes said, “you must be naive indeed. You are an extremely pretty young lady, Harriet, and his every glance at you shows that he appreciates the fact. He would not marry more than a notch or two below his rank at the greatest, you know. The Vinneys have always been incredibly high in the instep.”

“You mean he would not marry the daughter of a poor country clergyman?” Harriet said with a laugh. “Even after she had elevated herself by marrying a baron? I know that, Amanda. You need not fear for me. I am not a total innocent. He danced with me last evening. He is taking me for a drive this afternoon. Do those few facts have to mean anything? I am not going to be shattered by disappointment when he does not arrive tomorrow with a marriage offer.” Lady Forbes climbed the stairs at her side. “No, I suppose not,” she said. “I just hope he does not think you are the typical widow.”

“Typical widow?” Harriet raised her eyebrows.

“Well, if there is such a thing,” Lady Forbes said. “It seems to be the general belief that widows enjoy far greater freedom than either unmarried girls or married ladies. They have less to lose than the girls, if you understand my meaning, my dear, and yet they do not owe fidelity to any man.” 

“Widows are expected to have affairs, then?” Harriet said.

“Well, perhaps not expected,” Lady Forbes said. “Let us just say that it is believed many of them do. And it is not considered to be particularly scandalous if done discreetly.” 

“As long as people do not know for sure,” Harriet said, “they will continue to treat the widow with all due respect?”

“But of course,” Lady Forties said, “you are not that type of widow, Harriet. The very thought! I really cannot imagine you ... But I just hope Tenby realizes it. If he does not, it is a good thing you are not the type, dear, for I imagine that Tenby is the sort of man who could easily break a woman’s heart. He is an extremely attractive young man. Even I, who am old enough to be his mother, can appreciate that. What color would you say his eyes are?”

“Silver,” Harriet said.

“Let him bring you into fashion, dear,” Lady Forbes said. “But don’t let him break your heart. I am foolish to worry, though, am I not?” She reached out to squeeze Harriet's arm before allowing her to escape into her dressing room. “You are a very sensible young lady despite your affectionate heart. You would not allow someone like Tenby to turn your head.”

Harriet smiled rather bleakly as she let herself into her room.