Regency High Society Vol 1: A Hasty Betrothal / A Scandalous Marriage / The Count's Charade / The Rake and the Rebel. Mary Brendan
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fingered his cravat, as though it were suddenly too tight.
‘Your hat and a glove—I recognised them both, of course …’
‘And?’ said Harriet stiffly, aware that something worse was to follow.
‘A gentleman’s pocket flask—it had contained brandy,’ choked the viscount, unwilling to meet her shocked gaze. ‘And a crumpled cravat.’
‘Also a gentleman’s, I take it?’ Harriet’s eyes glittered.
Sandford nodded in dumb resignation.
‘All the signs of a sordid tête-à-tête, in fact?’ Harriet inquired in a deceptively sweet voice. ‘No wonder you didn’t want to listen to me!’
‘You had the smell of brandy on your breath!’ exclaimed Sandford hotly, in his own defence.
‘So that’s what that funny taste was,’ mused Harriet. ‘They must have given it to me after I passed out.’
Chagrined, Sandford reached out for her once more, but she neatly sidestepped him and opened the office door. Swiftly he strode towards it, attempting to block her exit, but she was out into the hallway in a trice.
‘No doubt your parents—who have proved themselves my true friends—have by now provided you with the correct version of that morning’s events,’ she said in a low voice, not wishing to attract March’s attention. ‘And your only excuse for your appalling behaviour is to tell me that you think you love me—well, we obviously have a very different understanding of the meaning of the word “love'', my lord. The man to whom I give my heart will never doubt my word, never assume my guilt—even if confronted with the blackest of evidence—but, most of all, he will be prepared to lay down his life to protect my name and my person and—’ here her voice broke ‘—I shall do likewise for him. You, my lord, are not and will never be that man!’
She turned to leave, but Sandford caught her arm. His face was rigid, his eyes unfathomable.
‘I wish you well in your search for this paragon,’ he grated, ‘although such a pattern of perfection is unlikely to choose you as his mate …’ He stopped, aghast. My God, what am I saying, he thought, horrified at his own words. He let go of Harriet’s arm and bowed stiffly. ‘My apologies, ma’am,’ he said and re-entered the office, closing the door behind him.
For a moment Harriet stood frozen with shock. His damning words, which continued to echo in her ears, had shaken her to the core, for she was obliged to acknowledge that he was right. In spite of her high-flown speech, she was painfully aware that it had been mostly her own impetuous and foolhardy behaviour that had brought her to this stand. From the time she had left her home in Lincolnshire, right up to this very moment, she had insisted upon going her own headstrong way, ignoring advice from all sides, interfering in other people’s lives—people she hardly knew, she realised, her face suddenly scarlet at some of the memories—and presumptuously assuming that she knew what was best for everyone. No gentleman on earth could be expected to regard such conduct with anything but the deepest abhorrence. What might be considered charming in a wayward child was not acceptable in a full-grown female. Would she never learn? she pondered in despair. Time and time again she had disregarded the warnings and now, it seemed, she had reaped the whirlwind and those rash and arrogant words she had so haughtily vaunted would surely return to torment her.
Hot tears welled up into her eyes as she made her way to the foot of the staircase and the sudden blurring of her vision caused her to stumble on the first step. She was aware of a firm hand on her elbow and an anxious March at her side.
‘Miss Harriet?’ His voice was gentle. ‘Are you unwell? Shall I call Rose? Come and sit down for a moment until you recover.’
He led her to a nearby chair and stood uncertainly by, not wishing to exceed his duties but angry that something or someone had upset his little favourite. Ever since that first evening when she had tiptoed nervously down the stairs in her borrowed finery he had felt that she was something special. Always a smile and a kind word for the servants, quick with her thanks for their services and he, for one, had never heard a single complaint pass her lips. He had watched her change from that laughing-eyed, bright-haired angel into a silent shadow of her former self, all in the space of three weeks. One hardly ever heard her spontaneous and infectious laugh these days, he thought morosely, and if that’s what being engaged does for a girl he was damned if he was going to offer for Maudie Hiller. He watched closely, wearing his usual impassive expression, as Harriet composed herself, dabbing at her eyes with the ridiculous piece of lace the ladies called a handkerchief, longing to offer her his own pristine equivalent but knowing that it would be quite overstepping the mark to do so.
‘Thank you, March,’ said Harriet tremulously, rising to her feet. ‘I fear I must be coming down with a cold. I will go up to my room now—if you would be so good as to send Rose to me?’
‘At once, Miss Harriet,’ said the loyal footman. ‘And perhaps a glass of wine—a well-known restorative, so I’m
told?’
‘Thank you, I would be glad of that.’ Harriet nodded, avoiding his eyes.
He watched her walk unsteadily up the stairs and had the most disrespectful urge to ‘pop’ his lordship ‘one on the beak'. Blinking, he moved smartly to the green baize door that led to the lower stairs and delivered his instructions to Rose.
Sandford, meanwhile, had been staring blindly at the sheets of paper in front of him on the desk, unable to believe that he had uttered those unforgivable words.
Any minute now I shall wake up, he thought, praying that he must be in the throes of some dreadful nightmare but, raising his eyes to the window and perceiving the peaceful summer scene beyond, he knew beyond doubt that the whole episode had been only too real.
With a shaking hand he reached for the decanter on the side table and cursed when he saw that it was empty. Damned servants! What did they think they were employed for? He tugged angrily at the bell-rope and waited impatiently for March to appear. Pointing curtly towards the tray, he raised his brows imperiously.
March bowed his head in acquiescence. The fact that the room had been occupied for some considerable time, preventing the carrying out of certain domestic tasks, was no excuse for such laxity, as well he knew and offered no plea in his own defence. He picked up the salver and walked swiftly to the door.
‘Your lordship’s pardon,’ he said, exiting at the double. ‘I shall attend to it at once.’
Sandford eyed the closed door sourly. The whole damned house seemed to be going mad, he thought, quite certain he had sensed hostility in young March’s demeanour. It’s her fault, he concluded savagely, sweeping the papers to one side. She has everybody under her spell, from the lowest boot-boy right up to …
‘Me, confound it!’ he shouted, leaping from his chair. ‘But I won’t have it! I shall leave! I shall go back to London—Paris—anywhere! Put it down, man, and, for God’s sake, get out!’
This last was to March, who had returned with the full decanters. The footman stared at the viscount in open-mouthed astonishment, unable to believe his eyes and ears. Never before had he been spoken to in this manner, not in this house! He carefully set the silver tray down into its appointed place and bowing, with ill-disguised contempt, he left the room once more.
Sandford was astounded. The man was nothing short of insolent, he decided. He’d have him out of here before he could say …! Suddenly, he checked, took a deep breath and gripped the edge of the desk to steady himself, grimacing with shame at this inconceivable lapse. Collapsing limply into his chair, he buried his head in his hands and shuddered in despair.
‘Oh, God, Harriet! Forgive me!’ he whispered brokenly. ‘What am I going to do? The whole world is falling apart and I’m powerless to prevent it!’
He remained, for some time, slumped at the desk until the sound of the hall clock chiming the hour infiltrated his brain. Straightening up, his eyes fell