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“He is living there, calling himself Jack the Rogue.” Cecelia looked amused.
“What?” said Harriet again.
“James says he is quite the wag.”
“But…that can’t be.”
“It is odd, isn’t it?” replied Cecelia.
“Surely…surely the duke is mistaken?” He had to be. Jack could not be an earl. He was the antithesis of the pretense and spite she’d observed in London society. He represented a different sort of life.
Cecelia shook her head. “He admitted it when James pressed him.”
Harriet grappled with an astonished numbness.
“Most reluctantly,” continued her friend. “James said he was very annoyed at being exposed.”
Events of the past few weeks began to move and shift in Harriet’s memory, falling into a new order. She’d ignored the fact that Jack’s manner and accent sometimes seemed quite polished. Or not ignored, but simply accepted them because they fit in her world. She hadn’t stopped to wonder why an American shipping clerk should sound so familiar. Or why he’d been perfectly at ease peering into Ferrington Hall. Because it was his house! Hadn’t her reluctance amused him? He’d mocked the duke with his rustic performance. Without compunction or the least sign of deference. Who but another nobleman would behave so? Harriet felt emotion building in her chest. She’d thought he represented a new sort of life. She wasn’t usually so naive.
He had kissed her! She had kissed him. Harriet felt the threat of tears and ruthlessly suppressed them. He’d told her he hadn’t written that letter. He’d let her make a fool of herself.
“We’re not going to tell anyone where he was,” Cecelia added. “It’s to be a secret.”
“Is it?” Harriet replied through clenched teeth.
“Well, it might be awkward for him if it was widely known.”
“Might it?”
“We don’t care for such things. But think of Lady Wilton.Scoldis too mild a word. And other high sticklers might disapprove.”
“We wouldn’t wantthat.”
“Is something wrong, Harriet?”
“What should be wrong?”
“I don’t know. But something clearly is. Surely you don’t mind that he stayed with the Travelers?”
Harriet let her parasol fall between them briefly and struggled to control her expression. How fortunate she hadn’t told Cecelia about Jack, she thought. Her humiliation was quite private. “Of course not,” she managed and was glad to hear her voice sounded normal.
“Are you annoyed you didn’t discover him yourself?” her friend asked, teasing a little. “You can’t have had many opportunities to investigate.”
She’d had them, and she’d ignored them, too busy falling in love with a rogue to use her brains. In that moment, Harriet despised herself. She stood straighter and shifted the parasol so she faced Cecelia squarely. There would be no more such failings.
“We’re going to slip him into Ferrington Hall as if he’s just arrived.” Cecelia’s smile invited Harriet to share the joke. “Since no one knows him outside the camp.”
“Did he say so?” Harriet asked.
Cecelia shrugged. “I don’t know. But how could they?”
They might have walked in the forest and encountered a man who claimed to be a rogue, Harriet thought. They might have talked with him and laughed and danced with him and begun to care about a person who did not exist.
“And the Travelers are his friends and will not betray him.”
Anger broke its bonds and washed over Harriet. She acknowledged she had never been so furious in her life.
“What is it?” asked Cecelia.
