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“But I need you to help me sort my embroidery silks,” was the plaintive reply. “You have such a splendid eye for color. I wonder that you never do any fancywork yourself.”
Harriet did not say,Because inscribing tiny flowers onto a cloth is tedious beyond belief.She had once, long ago. Her mother had laughed then. She was unlikely to do so today.
The closed door of the parlor rattled, and Harriet’s grandfather burst in like a charging bull. Harriet’s mother started and yelped. She’d pricked her finger. A spot of red appeared on her embroidery.
Grandfather didn’t notice. His smile was the one he used when he’d put one over on a competitor, showing plenty of teeth. “The Duke and Duchess of Tereford have come to Ferrington Hall,” he declared.
“What?” Harriet stared up at him. “Why?”
“I have no notion, but I know you are well acquainted with them.” He rubbed his hands together. “We must call at once. Let my neighbors see that!Theywon’t know them. Sir Hal may wish to change his tune when he realizes I have such high-ranking friends.”
Harriet could not deny that she—andnother grandfather—had become friends with the Duchess of Tereford during the season in London. Or with Cecelia Vainsmede, as she’d been before she married. Harriet glanced at her mother. Mama had known Miss Vainsmede’s mother at school, and she’d written Cecelia asking for advice and aid with Harriet’s debut. This was back when Mama still showed some spirit and initiative. Cecelia had agreed to help apply a bit of town polish, and Harriet had found she liked her. She’d expected to disdain the leaders of society, the sort of people who had scorned her until she became an heiress and fawned over her once she had. And she had disliked many of them. Cecelia was one of the exceptions. Harriet didn’t know the duke nearly as well. But her grandfather had pushed in at one evening party, and she’d been forced to introduce him to them both.
“Get up, girl,” he said to her now. “Change your dress. You too, Linny. You look like a sloven.”
Harriet hated the way he spoke to her mother, with a dismissive nickname as if she was a dim child. This had grown far worse now that they were alone with him in his own house. She had to fight down icy rage before she could say, “You wish to go now?”
“Of course. The sooner, the better.”
“It’s not the right time of day for a call. We had better go tomorrow morning.”
“Now would be improper?” her grandfather asked.
“Yes,” Harriet lied. She would not descend on Ferrington Hall without preparation, of various sorts.
“Very well. Midmorning?”
He was actually deferring to her. Harriet agreed.
“I’ll see about something to take them. From the Indies, perhaps.” He nodded. “Yes. That will be a novelty.”
“Gifts aren’t necessary,” replied Harriet.
“Nonsense. We want to impress them.”
He would offer something ostentatious and most likely inappropriate. But there was no stopping him. He wielded his wealth like a bludgeon and then couldn’t understand when people resented the blow. He bustled out, rubbing his hands together in satisfaction once again.
“I hope the duke doesn’t snub him,” said her mother when he was gone. “He will be so angry.”
“Cecelia is my friend,” Harriet replied. She didn’t fear rejection from the Terefords. She did wonder why they were here in a house not their own. The duke certainly had plenty of properties they might visit.
Harriet dispatched a note to Ferrington Hall declaring their intention to call. It was cordially acknowledged, and this made her grandfather affable enough to placate her mother. Harriet managed to convince Mama to lie down for a bit before dinner, which gave her a sliver of time to slip out and make her way to the Travelers’ camp.
Her heart sang as she threaded her way through the middle of a dense thicket. It had become an odd habit, rushing along this path through the woods, anticipating the sight of one particular gentleman who affected her as no other ever had.
She found Jack the Rogue chopping wood not far from the camp’s central fire. He wore no coat and had rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. Muscles flexed in his arms as he raised the ax and let it fall. His skin was bronzed by the sun and sheened with perspiration. His movements were deft and precise. Not so long ago, Harriet had felt that strength sweeping her away in the dance. What would it be like to run her fingers over his heated skin? She found herself transfixed by the question.
He seemed to sense her gaze. After the next fall of the ax, he turned to look and spotted her. He stopped at once and smiled so sweetly that her heart contracted. “Miss Finch,” he said. His voice seemed to reach out and caress her.
Harriet felt her cheeks burn. If he had any idea what she’d been thinking… But, of course, he did not. “Ah.” She had to clear her throat. “You should stay away from the hall,” she said. “Some visitors have arrived.”
“I know.” He set the ax aside and moved toward her.
Of course he knew. He noticed everything. There had been no need for a warning. She’d wanted an excuse to see him.
“Friends of this Lady Wilton, I hear,” he added.
Where had he heard anything like that? Harriet was surprised he remembered the old lady’s name. “Not so much friends as relations,” she answered. “Lady Wilton is Tereford’s grandmother.”
