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“Up to their necks in salt water?” asked Cecelia sweetly.
“They say immersion is good for one’s health.” Tereford’s tone was even, but a smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“Theybeing the people who rent out the bathing machines?”
“And, er, experts.”
“Oh,experts.” Cecelia laughed. Her husband clearly appreciated the sight and the musical sound.
Jack the Earl was eying the duke and duchess as if they were some fascinating curiosity he’d never encountered before. Harriet’s mother was pleating her handkerchief in nervous fingers.
“Never visited Brighton,” declared Harriet’s grandfather. “I don’t care for the sea. You never know what’s in there, do you? Something could swim up and pull you under. Never be seen again.”
“And what would the experts say to that?” murmured the duke.
No one ventured a reply.
Having disposed of that topic, Harriet’s grandfather turned to Ferrington. “Our properties share a border,” he said.
“Indeed. I noticed you have some men posted there,” the earl replied.
There was no limit to his effrontery, Harriet decided. He could sit there and speak of things they had endured together as if he’d only just noticed them.
“To guard against those filthy Travelers,” her grandfather replied.
“The ones you wrote the letter about,” said Harriet, goaded beyond endurance. “Giving them permission to stay on your land.”
Her grandfather glared at her. The duke looked amused, Cecelia curious, Mama distressed. AndLordFerrington held her gaze briefly, before turning back to his host.
“I’ve always found them to be decent people,” he said.
Harriet had to appreciate the way he faced down her grandfather, practically daring him to disagree. A wave of feeling threatened to engulf her. She shoved it away.
It seemed for a moment that Grandfather would choke on the dilemma—his strong need to state his opinions warring with a reluctance to offend his noble neighbor.
“Will you take refreshment?” blurted Harriet’s mother.
The butler had arrived with a tray and a means to dissipate the awkwardness. Drinks were poured. A plate of macaroons was passed. Harriet watched Ferrington grow more and more restless. He kept glancing in her direction, as if urging her to come closer. Which was, of course, impossible in this small, crowded room. Should she have wished to. Naturally, she did not. Instead, she indulged in a savage enjoyment of his plight.
The callers stayed a generous half hour. When they rose to go, her grandfather ushered them out.
As soon as they were gone, Harriet missed the reprehensible earl. The energy seemed to go out of the room with his departure.
“Why did Papa bring them here?” wondered Harriet’s mother. “You don’t think he will do so with other callers? This was to be my private parlor. It was agreed.”
Harriet understood her anxiety, but she couldn’t assuage it. She had no idea what Grandfather would do. Except that it would be whatever he liked. Moreover, she heard his heavy footsteps returning along the corridor. The chagrin on Mama’s face when he walked back in was pitiable.
“This is most convenient,” he said, his round face radiating satisfaction. “A fine match plopped down right next door to us, Harriet. And no other young ladies nearby to cut you out.”
“Oh, Papa,” murmured her mother.
Expecting an annoying thing didn’t make it any easier to bear, Harriet observed. “The earl may have his own ideas about his future,” she said. And of course, she cared nothing about them. She didnotwonder why he had come to sit and stare at her like a tongue-tied suitor. He was not a suitor. He was a weasel.
“He’ll be on the lookout for a wife. These titled fellows want to secure their succession. And he’ll want her to have plenty of money, too.”
Harriet had known her grandfather was vulgar. But this was so blatant. “He’ll want to look about next season and choose from the debs, I suppose.” The idea was surprisingly unpalatable.
“Not if you make a push to attach him, girl.” Her grandfather glowered.
