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He chuckled in the dark. She wouldn’t be expecting to see him again so soon, given that he’d said they would discuss the terms of her surrender on Monday. Surprise was always an advantage.
Now he wished he’d answered Sandwich’s invitation, but it wouldn’t matter—Sandwich was family, albeit distantly related, and would be delighted to see him again. Once he was there, he’d give an excuse not to ride in order to stay behind with the ladies. With all the men gone for horses and hounds, he’d be like a prince in a harem.
He’d look a veritable prince, too. The first of the new clothing he’d ordered had arrived yesterday. He had not been idle while absenting himself from the Hospital. The plan required that he give the appearance of all seriousness in his pursuit. To that end, he’d ordered the new clothes and a complete refurbishing of his London residence, including the duchess’s chambers. And just yesterday he’d purchased several pieces of jewelry that would leave any woman speechless. No doubt even the quick-tongued Harriett would pause for a breath or two—should she ever see them.
Every chin in London would soon be wagging about how he was preparing to select a bride. And the moment he was observed paying special attention to her, they’d assume Harriett was the lucky lady. He’d be his most charming self—attentive, chivalrous, and above all impervious to her provocation.
The perfect gentleman. Her rivals would be only too happy to get in line once he was free of her. Essentially, he was killing two birds with one stone: getting rid of Harriett and finding a wife.
His step was light as he disembarked and entered his residence. It was nearly ten, but there was a great deal to do yet before going to bed. He sent orders for the groom to prepare his favorite horse for tomorrow and had his valet pack garments for the event. While having a brandy to avoid the fuss in his chambers, he perused the contents of his post, penning gracious acceptance to several invitations—all of which were to events Harriett was likely to attend.
It was half past midnight before he was finally in bed. Such was his anticipation of the coming day, however, that sleep eluded him. He stared at the ceiling, planning his battle strategy for every possible scenario with Harriett. If his thoughts wandered where they should not have with regards to the hellion, well, that was the whole reason he was doing this, wasn’t it?
~ * ~
Dawn had not yet arrived when Harriett awakened to the distant rumble of thunder. She rose nonetheless and dressed. Rain or shine, the hunt would go on. This day would be long—but hopefully fruitful. The sealed envelope on her desk awaited delivery. Snatching it up along with her shawl, she went downstairs and handed it to the butler. “See that this is delivered at once.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Satisfied Russell would receive it before leaving, she went to the breakfast room and sat at the table, her mind awhirl. “Papa, do you suppose there will be many unmarried men in attendance today?”
Her father looked up from his plate, his loaded fork halfway to his mouth. He stayed like that for a long moment before apparently remembering himself and his dignity. Snapping his mouth shut, he straightened. “Of course there will. It’s a hunt. Shame you won’t ride. Be a good opportunity to meet a few of them.”
“Papa, you know I dislike any animal being tormented and slaughtered for sport.”
“Blast it all, Harriett—kings and queens have participated in it and enjoyed themselves for centuries. Why cannot you? It’s an old sport and an honorable one.”
She indulged in an eye-roll. “Next you’ll tell me the poor fox has a fighting chance.”
“If the little beggar is quick and clever, yes,” insisted her father, sticking out his pugnacious chin. “It has every chance of escape.”
“Name one hunt you’ve ridden where the fox got away,” she challenged.
He sputtered for a moment. “Well, that’s not the point,” he finally said. “The point is that the beast has a chance—whether or not it actually uses it is its own concern, not mine. Now, you’ll not spoil the day with your sentimental rubbish.” He stabbed a finger down on the table beside his plate, nearly upsetting his glass of juice. “I’m going on that hunt and I intend to take the paw.”
“Of course, Papa.”
“You’d be wise to at least ride, you know,” he again suggested, his manner more placating. “The best men will be out enjoying the air, not sitting on their bums at the house with the womenfolk.”
Enough was enough. She sighed. “Perhaps, but I should hate to shame us both by becoming ill in front of everyone at the last.” As anticipated, his expression grew much less insistent. “I’m afraid I shall have to make the best of it with the other ladies until your return. But rest assured I shall make up for my absence by charming every man in sight tonight at the real hunt—the ball.”
“There’s a good girl,” said her father, his smile returning. “By George, with that attitude you may very well beat your sister to the mark. God willing, both of you will be married by the end of the year.”
“What’s this I hear about Harriett beating me to the mark?” said Cat from the doorway.
“Is it a competition now?”
“Good heavens, no,” Harriett chuckled, patting the chair beside her. “Papa was just trying to convince me to join the hunt today.”
“And you refused, as you always do.”
“I don’t know how you can do it, Cat,” Harriett said, eyeing her plate with a little less enthusiasm than before. She opted for a piece of toast instead of the bacon the servant was offering.
“Simple,” answered her sister, snatching a piece of crispy bacon before the plate could be withdrawn. “I wish to catch a husband. I dislike hunting as much as you, but if pretending excitement over chasing some silly animal is going to help me win the right man over, I’ll do it.” She sat and took a bite of bacon, sighing with pleasure. “Well, get on with it,” she urged the servant, gesturing at her empty plate. “I haven’t got all day.”
Harriett smiled, wondering how she stayed so slender with such a ferocious appetite.
“Listen to your sister, Harriett. She’s got the right idea,” grumbled her Papa. “About the hunt, I mean.” He leveled a hard stare at Cat’s rapidly filling plate. “Catherine, I refuse to spend a single shilling on alterations,” he said as she added two pieces of ham to the growing mound of food.
