Growing up, she’d always wanted to be like her older sister, Mercy. Mercy was the epitome of the perfect Society miss—graceful, slender, with auburn hair and beautiful moss-green eyes—quite the contrast to Harriet’s boldness, short stature, lush curves, and rich black hair. Harriet would never be admired, like her sister was, for her elegance, and early on, she’d learned that there was no sense in comparisons. She didn’t want to be the perfect Society miss. That was so boring, although she loved her sister dearly, and especially her new husband, Wolf, the Duke of Wiltshire. She wanted to talk about books and astronomy and travel to faraway lands instead of constantly talking about the weather.
What was so interesting about the weather? It bored her to tears.
No one really cared about London weather. It was rained quite a bit, and when the sun did come out, Hyde Park was so crowded that one could hardly walk along the path. Not that Harriet really liked walking in the park. She’d rather be atop her mare, Meribelle, galloping in the early morning hour before anyone else was about. Besides, she hated gossip. She’d never been the subject of it, but she wasn’t ignorant of the ruin it could cause. Every young lady was schooled not to invite scandal upon herself or her family.
If there was one thing Harriet hated more than the restrictions placed on young women, it was gossip. Gossip had a way of taking on a life of its own—a beast without constraint that very rarely held any nugget of truth. Why couldn’t people mind their own business and go about their day without worrying about what everyone else was doing? She had no doubt that news of her actions this evening would make it back to London in no time. By next spring, it should be old news. Or, at least, she hoped so. The last thing she wanted was to upset her mother.
“I am sorry, Mama, for being so bold,” she said. That seemed to mollify Eleanor a little, but she still looked worried. Hermother was naturally concerned about any possible scandal that could affect her debut next spring.
Harriet wasn’t looking forward to a London Season. She’d witnessed the ups and downs of interacting with Society with Mercy, and it wasn’t something she wanted. The problem was that she knew her mother would insist on a Season for her. How could she disappoint her mother when she’d been nothing but loving and supportive? Perhaps if she appealed to her grandmother, Gran would talk to her mother, and maybe they’d agree to delay her Season for a year. A short reprieve would suit Harriet just fine.
Besides, she much preferred the fresh air of the country, where she could ride to her heart’s content without encountering another soul. That had been the most joyous activity in her early life until her cousin Robert became the new Earl of Collin after her father’s untimely death. Robert had at least had the decency to allow them to mourn her father’s passing for the full year before he evicted them from the only home she’d ever known. She’d hated leaving behind her beloved mare, but Robert had had no intention of gifting the horse to her. When her new brother-in-law, the Duke of Wiltshire, gifted her Meribelle, it took the sting out of having to leave her other mare at the estate with Robert. She absolutely adored Meribelle—the duke had chosen well.
“Harriet, dear, what are you thinking?” her grandmother asked. “You have such a faraway look in your eyes.”
She sighed. “I was thinking about life before Papa died. I did love our country manor, and this place reminds me of it.”
Eleanor patted her daughter’s hand. “I know, but now we have a new house in London and are enjoying a wonderful summer in Bath. Don’t you agree?”
Harriet looked at her grandmother. “I do love the countryside surrounding your estate, Gran. Perhaps I can go riding soon. Will Meribelle arrive from London soon?”
Marian nodded. “The groom is bringing your mare today.”
Harriet’s eyes lit up. “That’s wonderful. I knew I loved her the moment the duke gifted her to me. There are such wide open spaces to ride around here, where she can stretch her legs.”
“Yes, you may ride to your heart’s content,” Marian said.
“I look forward to it, Gran. Thank you so much for sending for her.”
“Of course, my darling. I know how much you love to ride, and there’s no sense leaving the horse in London for the summer.”
Harriet was happy her mare would be delivered soon, and perhaps she’d run into the Earl of Hartley again. He wouldn’t escape her so easily if she were also on horseback, not that she’d ever tell her grandmother that.
She didn’t want her mother to talk about her dance with the Earl of Hartley anymore, so she turned to Lord Spenser. “Do you see Miss Weston yet?” She watched as he scanned the room and knew the instant he spotted her. “You must ask her to dance.”
He chuckled. “Are you issuing orders, Lady Harriet, like a general to his troops?”
Harriet laughed. “I do like the way you think, my lord. And yes, I shall be the general and order you to dance.”
Spenser nodded and rose from his seat. “A good soldier always follows orders,” he said before walking across the dance floor to Miss Weston.
“My dear, what’s gotten into you this evening? It’s good that Lord Spenser is kind-hearted; I don’t believe many other lords would take kindly to be ordered about. You mustn’t be so bold, especially in public. It’s not becoming of a young lady,” Eleanor admonished her.
“Of course, Mama.” She had no wish to argue with her mother, especially not in public. Her mother was right—she’d caused enough of a stir this evening, although both she and her mother knew she wouldn’t change her ways. Harriet had no problem trying to be less bold, less forward in her words, less everything... at least for the rest of the evening.
Tomorrow would be a different story.
She saw a pair of young men walking toward their table and inwardly groaned. She really had no desire to dance with anyone else this evening. How could she when she’d already had the most perfect dance of her life? Nothing else could possibly compare to that waltz with Lord Hartley.
“Lady Dalling, a pleasure to see you this evening,” the first young man said.
“Ahhh, Lord Cawley. Lovely to see you again. How is your dear mother? Is she in Bath for the summer?”
“She is, my lady.”
“I shall certainly send a note around inviting her for tea then.” Her grandmother introduced Harriet’s mother and then turned toward her. “Lady Harriet, may I present Lord Cawley? Lord Cawley, my granddaughter.”
“Pleased to meet you, my lord,” Harriet said, standing for a quick curtsey.
