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The sun was low in the sky as she let herself out. She’d stayed longer than intended, and now the shadows were long. Setting a rapid pace, she made certain to squarely meet the eyes of all who crossed her path. By the time she reached her street, her feet ached mightily. Slowing her steps, she put on a cheerful face before entering the house.
“At last,” burst Cat the instant the door closed. “I’ve been waiting for ages.”
“I’m sorry. It couldn’t be helped. He signed the papers and there was so much to be done. I couldn’t afford to wait.”
She moved toward the stairs, but Cat stopped her. “Papa is waiting for you in the sitting room. He said he wanted to speak with you the moment you returned.”
Oh, no. “Did he say why?”
“If he had, don’t you think I’d tell you? Now go,” urged Cat. “Before he finds you in here nattering away with me and we both get into trouble.”
Reluctantly, Harriett did as she bade and marched to the drawing room. It would have been nice to change and trade her boots for some comfortable slippers, but she dared not delay.
Seated by the window, pipe in hand, was her father. “There you are. I’ve some news for you, Harriett.”
“For me in particular or just news in general?”
“For you specifically,” he said, knocking out the dottle and refilling his pipe. “Your sister sent word. She wishes you to attend her when the time comes. I would like for you to do so, as well, if you’re amenable. I think it will make things easier for her to have you take charge of the”—he looked to the door and lowered his voice further—“it and see it to its destination. But I leave it to you to decide. I won’t force you to go if you do not wish it.”
“Of course I’ll go,” she said at once. “I would never trust anyone outside our family with such a task.”
“Then it is settled. You’ll need to plan ahead and have your nuptial
arrangements in order before you leave, so you’d best make it a quick courtship.”
She refrained from making any smart comments about the preferred order of carts and horses as he lit his pipe and drew upon it. The bowl came alive with a faint orange glow.
“I have spoken with Oxenden,” he said in a flat voice, smoke puffing from the corner of his mouth. “He has, as I anticipated, refused to have anything to do with the situation. We are on our own.”
Biting her tongue, she said nothing. To open her mouth now would be to uncork a flood of invective that would earn her father’s stern disapproval—despite the fact that he likely shared the sentiment.
“Now, why are you so late getting home?” he went on, switching from one unpleasant topic to another. “It is past five.”
“I am sorry, Papa.” She was bloody tired of apologizing to everyone and having to make excuses. “One of the children needed looking after, and it took me longer than I thought it would to extricate myself.”
“Mm,” he grumbled, glaring. “I cannot in good conscience forbid you from your charitable acts, but even you must admit you spend an inordinate amount of time at the place. You should be concentrating on finding a husband, not playing nursemaid to a bunch of sickly, fatherless brats.”
“Yes, Papa, but William—”
“William is dead,” he snapped. “And you are no longer invisible, Harriett. I know you’ve become accustomed to doing as you please from behind the shield of your mourning, but that time is over. You are once more under scrutiny, and people will be looking to find fault with you. I know you walked back. Wandering about London on your own will only cause talk. Under the circumstances, none of us can afford to step even so much as a toe out of line.”
She was sick of hearing that word: afford. There was so much they could not afford—in any sense of the word—these days. Perhaps she ought to make more of an effort to catch a husband. At least as a married woman, she would be under the aegis of another family’s reputation and finances.
“I understand, Papa,” she said, bowing her head and peeking up at him with what she hoped looked like contrition.
“Good. Now go and change for dinner. I shall expect you downstairs within the hour.”
Dismissed, she trudged up the stairs, her feet protesting each step as she reflected on her earlier thoughts regarding marriage. The man she married didn’t have to be Croesus, but he certainly needed to be of adequate means to ensure their family’s security. And not a gambler. She had yet to understand how anyone could logically arrive at the conclusion that it was wise to wager their limited income on any game of chance. She would not tolerate such imprudence in her husband.
And he had to be faithful. She never wanted to have to worry about catching the pox or any of the other potentially unpleasant side effects of one’s husband keeping mistresses or visiting brothels.
Above all, her husband must treat her with respect. She was not a mindless ninny and would never endure being treated like one.
There were a good many things she’d decided she would never tolerate in a husband, actually. The standard to which she’d become accustomed while engaged to William was a hard one to meet, if indeed such a thing was possible. Never had they fought or even argued. There had never been cause for conflict between them. They’d shared the same beliefs, goals, and ideals. His dream had coincided with hers, and the two had blended together seamlessly. It had been most agreeable.
Chances were she’d be forced to settle for less than perfect this time. There had to be a comfortable middle ground somewhere—a man with whom she could at least be content, if not deliriously happy.
William’s brother’s face popped into her mind. Good heavens! Why on earth am I thinking of him? Seeing the blackguard had rattled her more than she’d thought. The Gazette had confirmed her suspicion the morning following the Twickenham ball—he had not been a hallucination. But why she should think of him just now was beyond comprehension. She blamed tiredness for the strange intrusion and dismissed it.
