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She shook her head. “I cannot. I cannot even bear to think about it.”
“Tell me, or I shall force you to waltz with me right now.”
“Please don’t. I’m hopeless!”
“Mr. Lightmore has not instructed you in it?”
When she answered that he hadn’t, Court felt the gentleman redeemed a shade in his eyes.
“Good. You are not to dance the waltz with anyone other than me. Ever.” As he said it, he began to move with her, a slow rehearsal of the steps.
“You are always saying things like that,” she said, gripping his shoulder. “How possessive you are.”
“Perhaps, but I will not apologize for it. I know some couples of the ton think nothing of stepping out on one another, but you’ll never do that with me.”
“Or you with me,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “You must honor our vows too.”
“I am not the one between us known for making irresponsible and reckless choices.”
“And I am not the one between us known for depravity and vice. I have no intention of stepping out on you, as you say,” she said, stumbling over one of his feet. “I’m rather insulted to be lectured about it.”
“Not a lecture.” He arrested her when she would have swayed in the wrong direction. “A warning. Don’t, or I will make you very miserable in consequence.”
“Warnings and threats don’t become you,” she said, stiffening in the midst of a 1-2-3 beat. “Haven’t I been a good wife to you? I am trying.” She raised her voice slightly and took two steps back from him. “Do you know what happened at Almack’s? I popped out.”
“You what?”
“I was waltzing with the Earl of Havershaw and I tripped and he tried to catch me. I grasped at him and fell and at some point my…my bountitude escaped the bodice of my dress.”
He gaped. “Both…bountitudes?” He could picture it far too easily. “Oh, no.”
“Oh, yes,” she said, her voice gaining outrage by the word. “And Havershaw stood there like a ninny, staring, and numerous other people saw too. I pulled up my bodice but it was too late, and I also scuffed my knee and ripped my favorite stockings, all because I cannot waltz for a prayer. They were right to forbid me, you know.”
It explained Lord Havershaw’s inability to hold Court’s regard ever since the betrothal. He put a hand to his mouth to hide his smile. “Oh, my dear,” he said. “A debacle indeed.”
She glared at him. “If you snicker, I may do something very unseemly that you will not like at all, and then you will probably punish me for it afterward and it will be a thoroughgoing mess.”
“I don’t wish to laugh,” he said, “but I may not be able to help myself. The Earl of Havershaw, of all people. He wouldn’t know what to do with your ‘bountitudes’ if they landed in his outstretched hands.” He gave her a look. “They didn’t, did they?”
“No. Although I believe he fainted afterward, which was probably what I should have done. Perhaps then I wouldn’t have had my waltzing privileges revoked.”
“No,” said Court, struggling to hold back the mirth that choked him. “I’m quite certain it was over for you the moment your bodice failed you.”
“You see, it wasn’t my fault, it was the way I fell!” She began making vague gestures of illustration that finally defeated him. He burst into laughter as she stood with her arms crossed over her chest.
“You’re a fine example of a husband,” she snapped. “Laughing so hard at my misfortune you can barely catch your breath.”
“It is not misfortune,” he said, wiping his eyes. “If not for this episode, perhaps Havershaw would have fallen in love with you. Courted you, married you. What a shame that would have been.”
“For him,” Harmony groused. “Not for you.”
He sobered, took her arm and pulled her close. “Despite what you believe, I am glad we ended up married. Even though I try to improve you, Duchess Bountiful, you must remember that I love you just as you are.”
She stiffened and pulled away from him. “Oh, Court!”
He spun at her shrill cry, prepared to guard against the attack of some beast, but Harmony was only bounding over to a spindly rose bush. “Do you see?” She pointed as he came to her side.
“It is a rose.”
“It is a winter rose. The only flower in the whole garden. How do you suppose it came to be here?”
“Er…it grew on that bush?”
She tore her attention from the downy white flower to scowl at him. “You have no sense of romance. You do not find it spectacular, that this one lone flower thrives here in this icy garden? And so beautifully too.”
He gazed back at her for a long moment. “I do find it spectacular.” He crouched down beside her to look more closely at the rose, only because he knew she would be upset if he didn’t. He studied the bloom as she traced its contours with a gentle caress. The flower was fully opened, its surfaces smooth and pearlescent. “Such showy petals,” he said quietly. “What now? Must I make a wish on this spectacular and unexpected flower?”
She shrugged, a little shadow falling across her face. “You might, if you believed in them.”
“Will you make a wish then?” he asked.
“I already have,” she said. She of the showy petals, and he, dry and thorny and not given to wishes at all.
*** *** ***
Harmony came to love the gardens at the St. James house nearly as much as Court’s comfortable library. When she had to get away, escape the smothering walls and gloomy portraits and constant watchful eyes of servants, she stole to this manicured expanse and breathed the chill air. It was the one place the dowager never came.
Harmony could almost forget they were in town when she walked deep in the gardens. She could forget about her lessons, about developing pomp and hauteur. She understood that Court had to be close to town to fulfill certain duties, like attending the King’s court and taking his seat in the House of Lords. She was proud to be wife to such a lofty person, and truly wished to remake herself as the elegant lady he deserved. A lady more like Lady Wembley, Court’s ideal.
He never said aloud that Lady Wembley was his ideal but it was plain enough she was eminently suited to be the wife of an esteemed figure like him. Lady Wembley and her husband were coming to dinner this very night and Harmony was pleased to hear it, for she planned to study the lady and emulate her in any way she could.
Court was not so pleased. At least, he hadn’t acted pleased when his mother surprised him with news of the dinner plans. After riding with Harmony in the park, he escorted her back to the house and raced off on his horse in a great temper. Poor Spartan. The stallion was probably accustomed to his master’s moods. He probably enjoyed being ridden well and hard now and again. Like you, Harmony.
She put her hands over her eyes, horrified by her increasingly corrupt thoughts. How could her husband expect her to become a refined lady considering the things he did to her behind doors? She shook her head and hurried to the house to seek out Redcliff’s guidance in what to wear for the dinner party. She would do her best to make her husband proud.
On her way back to the house, she saw a hound limp across the lawn and slink into the cover of some trees. Poor thing. She thought it was too large to be one of Courtland’s dogs, but if it was in pain it ought to be seen to. Against her better judgment, she hurried to the stables to tell Jeb to alert the groundskeeper about the unfortunate creature.
Now, running late, she proceeded upstairs to prepare for dinner. Redcliff insisted she bathe, and Harmony enjoyed the warm water after the bite of wintry weather outside. She dried off and regarded her face in the mirror as Redcliff bustled around the dressing room, collecting combs and pieces of jewelry.
“I have to look perfect,” she told her lady’s maid. “Hair, gown, everything.”
“We ought to put you into the silver flocked dress His Grace favors, with the gilded trim. We can use matching silver ribbons in your hair.”
Har
mony clapped her hands. “Oh yes, Redcliff. It shall be magical. It is not too much for dinner, is it?”
