“How else do you think marriage comes about?” Philippa stood then and walked over to refill her glass with sherry. Becoming a widow had erased any desire she previously had, small though it was, to conform to decorum.
“Fondness, courtship … love …?” Harriet murmured.
Philippa returned to the settee and frowned. “Unfortunately, I don’t think Lord Alexander will offer much of those. Fondness, perhaps. He’s said to be quite enthusiastic in”—Philippa paused for a moment—“his interactions with women.”
“I’ve read as much, and I’m well aware that I am not the sort to entice him.”
Philippa’s mouth tugged into a frown, as it did whenever Harriet trended toward self-deprecation. “For all his reputation as a rake, he seems to be rather generous with women. He’s had a mistress for a while who is said to live quite well in St. John’s Wood.”
“Splendid! Shall I head over there now and get some lessons in how he likes to be swived?” Harriet felt frenzied.
Philippa choked on her sherry.
“Harriet! I didn’t even know you knew the word!”
“I’ll admit, I’ve never used it before. I heard one of the Thompson boys say it a few months back and I’ve been anxious to employ it.” Harriet chewed on her lip then, thinking.
“I understand he’s not your first choice—”
“He’s not my 4,485th choice,” Harriet interjected, which Philippa ignored.
“Nevertheless, you must marry him.”
“I agree.” There was no other option; she had to put sentimentality aside. “The question ishow.”
“Blackmail, seduction, putting his name in the paper. Hell! Knowing your skill, you might be able to talk the man into it! I haven’t won an argument with you since you were six years old. No one has.”
“You suggest I knock on his door, hand my card to his butler, and hope he’s accepting callers?”
“Well, I don’t think he’ll be coming to you any time soon. And with Father out of town until Lord knows when, it’s not as if anyone else is going to track the man down and force him to the altar.”
Harriet got rather silent then. Philippa was so disturbed by her lack of talking that she went around the rarely used sitting room straightening any little knickknack she could find and dusting off a chair no one had sat in since the 1700s, which had surely beendusted the day before by one of her maids. Finally, Harriet spoke up again.
“Let’s head to bed. Ideas had after midnight aren’t to be trusted.”
“Oh see, those are the only ones I listen to.”
“I know,” Harriet said, with a weary smile. She let Philippa lead her up to one of the many guest rooms kept at the ready. At the threshold, Philippa pulled her into an embrace and kissed the top of her head.
“It will sort itself out, Harriet. I promise.”
Harriet nodded, afraid that if she opened her mouth, she’d tell Philippa precisely what she planned to do.
Chapter Five
IF LIFE HAD TAUGHTHARRIET ANYTHING, IT WAS THAT PROBLEMSdid not sort themselves out. As her family’s resident problem sorter, she did not have the luxury of believing such nonsense. Problems demanded action, not patience or hope. Certainly not sleeping soundly assuming someone else would step in and solve them.
Harriet left a note for her sister before slipping out the servants’ entrance and hailing a hackney carriage. She had never been in a carriage alone before, and never alone in the city at this hour; each passing moment brought more doubt. Doubt was replaced with panic as the hack rolled to a stop in front of a dark, imposing townhome. As she alighted, a shiver ran down her spine, only partially from the cool night air. The driver looked at her and then up at the house.
“You sure this is the right address, miss?”
Harriet gathered herself. “Yes, thank you, sir.”
“Should you like me to wait here for you? I’ll charge you a shilling for four hours.” Harriet wanted to snort, both at his assumption that she had the money and that she might be the type of woman who would stay at this address for that long.
“No, thank you, sir. Good night.” With that, Harriet began her walk to the grim front doors. Perhaps it was the darkness of the evening and the task at hand that made them appear so foreboding. Surely during the day, they were ordinary doors. At least, that’s what Harriet told herself. She reached her hand up to knock softly, the sound frightening her even as she made it. She bit her lip and rocked back on her heels, hoping she wouldn’t have to knock any louder. Hoping someone had heard. Certainly the butler of a rakehell such as Lord Alexander was up at this hour. Indeed, men who weren’t half as promiscuous as he stayed out all hours of the night.
Just as she was about to give in and knock again, the door swung open, and a shockingly affable old man inclined his head. “Apologies for the delay, miss, I didn’t expect you at this door. I’ll take you right up to his room. He’s not in yet, but I will send a message along to apprise him of your presence.”
