Reforming Harriet Read online

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Harriet greatly respected William Wilberforce. A tireless advocate of reform, he had helped win passage of the bill abolishing the slave trade. Since he did not care for social gatherings, she had been surprised and delighted to find him at Lady Symington’s ball. He ought to have had her undivided attention. Instead, it was riveted on two figures across the room: Lord Westwood and Caroline Forth.

  “The bill was a step,” Mr. Wilberforce was saying, “but I will not rest until slavery itself is abolished —”

  “Nor should you,” Harriet agreed, her gaze straying over Mr. Wilberforce’s shoulder to lock with Lord Westwood’s half a room away. Her fiancé nodded absently at her, then returned his attention to the ravishing Caroline.

  “Nor should we all,” Mr. Wilberforce corrected. “Anyone who values the sanctity of human life should stand with me. I hope I may count on you, Lady Harriet, to use your influence with the members of Parliament now that you have resumed your salons.”

  As Caroline placed her hand on Lord Westwood’s sleeve, Harriet forced herself to meet Mr. Wilberforce’s gaze. “You have always had my support,” she assured him. “Indeed, sir, I have repeatedly offered you the opportunity to address our little gatherings, but you have always declined.”

  “I know.” He sighed wearily. “Most of my evenings are spent in writing and, I confess, resting from the demands of my days. All this traveling is a bit fatiguing at my age. Sometimes I despair of living to see slavery abolished, but just as I reach my lowest point, I realize there is more I can do.” He hesitated. “I understand that Lord Castlereagh has consented to attend your salon on Thursday next.” To Harriet’s amazement, he blushed.

  “My dear Mr. Wilberforce,” she said with a smile, “if you are trying to wangle an invitation, say no more. I will send one round in the morning. It would be my very great honor.”

  “You are too kind, Lady Harriet, though I have handled this awkwardly.” He gave her an apologetic smile, then bowed. I fear I am not at my best at society balls. If you will excuse me —”

  “Even your worst is a delight, sir,” Harriet replied gallantly. “I look forward to seeing you next week.” She smiled as he took his leave. Her next salon was shaping up to be a lively and important event.

  It was what she enjoyed most — bringing together influential leaders with disparate views in the exchange of stimulating ideas. Her salons had come about gradually, perhaps in tandem with the decline — for that is how she had come to view it — of her marriage with Freddy. Harriet saw no use in sitting at home waiting for him to return when most likely he would not. Instead, she had redoubled her own social schedule, and discovered a number of philanthropic causes that awaited her assistance.

  That had been rewarding, but at the same time it had been impossible to escape the realization that for many in power, society’s ills suited them perfectly. Indeed, they saw nothing wrong with the way things were — happily for them, they had been born on the right side of the banquet table — and viewed change as unnecessary. But those locked in the past were incapable of crafting a vision for the future. Harriet’s salons aimed to foster open-mindedness and tolerance.

  Harriet did not feel tolerant at the moment. That is because she had just registered the sudden disappearance from the party of her betrothed and Freddy’s former mistress.

  If Lord Westwood wished to take the air with Caroline, it should not disturb her in the least, Harriet told herself. Nevertheless, as she stared at the spot where they had stood in such a friendly fashion not moments ago, it disturbed her a great deal.

  And before she could truly examine the reason, Harriet found herself crossing the ballroom, ignoring the greetings and stares that came her way as her gaze fixed on the large double doors that led out onto Lady Symington’s secluded terrace.

  Her pulse pounded in her ears, blocking out everything but those beckoning doors and the black night beyond.

  ***

  Elias was lazily contemplating the front of Lady Forth’s gown. She had a way of toying with the bodice that made the neckline gape provocatively. All the while, she regarded him with wide-eyed innocence, as if she thought he would find the combination of superficial virtue and sincere seduction irresistible.

  Clearly, Lady Forth had marked him as her next conquest. Normally, Elias did not mind that sort of game. He wondered why this one irritated him.

  “I find the night air most stimulating,” Lady Forth said in a husky tone as she studied a potted rubber tree near them on the terrace. Her fingers played with the emeralds that dipped into the shadow between her breasts.

  “Do you?” Elias tried for a neutral tone. No need to be openly contemptuous, although something told him she would scarcely notice.

  As Lady Forth turned to him, she ran a tip of her finger around the trim of her bodice, which afforded him an even closer view of her charms. She pulled a dainty lace handkerchief from her décolletage and brought it to her lips. “Most stimulating,” she affirmed. “I am a notoriously poor sleeper, my lord. I fear I am at my best long after others have retired.”

  The woman might as well wear a sign advertising her services. “And is Lord Forth a night owl as well?” Elias asked blandly.

  Lady Forth sighed in mock fatigue. “My husband prefers to keep to the country, where he rises with the chickens and goes to bed at an obscenely early hour. The country does not suit me. We have therefore come to an accommodation. I keep my own hours in town, while he remains in the country. It is an equitable arrangement, do you not think?”

  “Certainly a convenient one.”

  Smiling, she nodded. “One does grow lonely. As a man who travels, you must find that to be true.”

  “One compensates with various amusements.”

  “Yes.”

  She moved closer. The front of her gown brushed his lapel. She did not try to make the contact appear accidental. Instead, she inclined her face upward, a clear invitation in her eyes. He felt her hand on his tailcoat. Her lashes fluttered shut as she waited — it was abundantly clear — for his kiss.

  Lady Forth was a beautiful woman, Elias thought. Her lips were lush and ripe, ready for the taking. No doubt she bestowed a cornucopia of sensual delights on her beyond-willing paramours during those illicit, late-night hours. And though she did not make the blood run to his head in a dizzying rush, it was certainly flowing to another, more responsive part of his anatomy.

  Her lips parted with the assurance of one at the pinnacle of her allure. While Elias did not find her charms irresistible, there was little doubt they were sufficiently diverting. He lowered his mouth to hers.

  And in that moment, sultry with promise, something heavy and unpleasant struck Elias’s leg with the force of a dead weight. With a little shriek, Lady Forth jumped backward — even as a large, shiny object thrust itself into the rapidly enlarging space between them.

  It was a rubber leaf, heralding the fall of the tree itself. The large potted plant toppled to the ground, landing at Elias’s feet with a resounding crash. His gaze shot to the place where it had stood. To his amazement, Lady Harriet now occupied that very spot.

  “Oh, dear!” His faux fiancée looked stricken. “I did not see that shrub. I’m afraid that I — I tripped and knocked it over.”

  Elias eyed the unwieldy tree at his feet. “An unobtrusive little bush, to be sure.”

  Lady Forth, to her credit, looked only a bit rattled. “Harriet, dear,” she managed, recovering quickly. “How good it is to see you again. My felicitations on your betrothal.”

  “Thank you, Caroline.” Lady Harriet’s gaze moved from Elias to Lady Forth and back to him.

  An awkward silence descended. Curious as to how Lady Harriet intended the scene to play out, Elias elected to remain silent.

  “Well,” Lady Forth said quickly, “you will excuse me for not lingering to chat, Harriet. Lord Westwood was kind enough to escort me out here to take the air, but I believe the night has taken a chilly
turn.”

  With a perfunctory smile, she walked inside the house, apparently not the least disconcerted at being caught in a provocative position with another woman’s fiancé. Clearly, it would take more than a rubber tree to faze Lady Forth.

  Standing in the shadows, Lady Harriet wore an unreadable expression. Elias cleared his throat. “I expect I should apologize.”

  She bent over the tree, busying herself with the task of trying to set the pot upright. “There is no need.”

  “I was on the point of kissing the woman,” he pointed out unnecessarily.

  “That is your concern, not mine.” She pulled hard on the plant, but its weight and bulk prone was more than she could manage. She bit her lip.

  Elias reached down, lifted the tree with one hand, and set it upright. “Many women would object to finding their betrothed in such a circumstance.”

  She looked up at him. “I suppose so. But ours is not a real betrothal. You owe me no special loyalty.”

  That was exactly the thought that had run through Elias’s head when he had strolled outside with Lady Forth — and what he would have told Lady Harriet if she had challenged him. The fact that she did not was oddly disturbing.

  “You did not mind that Lady Forth and I conducted ourselves in a manner that could have made you the object of public ridicule?” He eyed her curiously. Their betrothal might be a sham, but all of London thought it real. Had his tête-à-tête with Lady Forth progressed, Lady Harriet would have been humiliated. Elias knew he should have thought that through before accompanying Lady Forth outside. His brain, however, had not been the part of him in control at the time.

  “I do not set myself up as judge of other people’s behavior,” Lady Harriet said tightly.

  “You merely throw trees at them.”

  She flushed. “That was an accident. I would never do such a thing intentionally.”

  “Of course not,” he agreed easily. “As you have said, you are not given to displays of excessive emotion. Was she Freddy’s mistress?”

  Shock registered on her face but she did not answer.

  “He wouldn’t have made the effort to disguise it,” Elias said. “You knew all along.”

  Her chin rose defiantly. “What does that matter? Many men have interests outside of marriage.”

  “Fox-hunting or boxing, perhaps.”

  She eyed him coldly. “I see no point in discussing it.”

  “And, since you do not judge others,” Elias said, studying her, “I assume you bear the lady no ill will.”

  There was a moment’s silence.

  “That is not quite true,” she said at last. Her candor surprised him. “I was glad she made him happy, but I do wish she had not been quite so...insistent in her efforts to please him.”

  Elias frowned. “I do not take your meaning.”

  “Freddy was not well. He would have done better to come home that night, instead of going to her. She should have seen that.”

  “That night?” Elias stared at her. “Do you mean that Lady Forth was —”

  “The last person to see Freddy alive,” she confirmed. “He died in her arms. I suppose he died pleasurably, but I have never been able to look at Caroline in quite the same way since then.”

  It was a miracle that Lady Harriet had not thrown ten rubber trees at them. “I am sorry.” The phrase sounded empty, even to his ears.

  Her too-bright smile almost made Elias cringe. “Thank you, my lord. And now, perhaps you would care to return to the party. I believe Caroline was right. The night has grown chilly.”

  “I will take you home.”

  She eyed him in surprise. “We have not had supper yet. And I do not want her to think —” She broke off, embarrassed.

  “You do not want to give Lady Forth — or anyone else who might have noticed — the satisfaction of knowing that she has caused you distress. That is understandable. But the fact is she did cause you pain. I see no need for you to remain.”

  “I am not the sort of woman to leave a party early claiming a headache,” she insisted. “I do not give in to such weakness.”

  “Perhaps it is time you did.” Elias put his arm lightly at her back and steered her toward the house. “I will make our excuses.”

  “I did not give you leave to order me about, my lord,” she protested.

  Elias did not respond. Lady Harriet had some devilish queer ideas, but he was not about to prolong her suffering. He propelled her through the ballroom toward the exit. For her own good, someone needed to take the woman in hand. It would have to be him.

  As it turned out, she made very little protest in the end. By the time the carriage rolled away from Lady Symington’s, she had lapsed into silence. But the stubborn set of her chin and the tightness of her features told him that while she had assented to leaving, she was by no means signaling any charity toward him. Given Lady Forth’s role in Freddy’s downfall, Elias could scarcely blame her.

  Had she really shoved that rubber tree at them? It was possible that she had tripped and sent it sprawling, but the pot and tree together must have weighed nearly four stone. It would have taken a determined push to move it.

  Elias wondered why Lady Harriet was so insistent on disavowing her anger. To be sure, he sometimes struggled with his own temper, but he had never denied its existence, as she seemed intent on doing.

  Had her marriage proved so very disappointing that she must hide her anger beneath platitudes about not judging others? Elias could well imagine that Freddy had been a trial. The man had been a scamp and a gambler with no business sense. Westwood Imports succeeded because Freddy had been content to permit Elias to make the decisions. But Freddy’s detachment, which worked for their business partnership, would have been disastrous in a marriage.

  Elias did not understand why Freddy had felt the urge to stray. Lady Harriet was infinitely more interesting than the manipulative Lady Forth. Even as a young bride, she must have been captivating. Elias hadn’t attended the wedding — he’d been in Jamaica at the time — but he suspected that even then Lady Harriet possessed an intriguing combination of innocence and intellect. Clearly, Freddy was not the man to appreciate such gifts.

  Something gnawed at Elias, now that he thought on it. Six years ago, at the time of Freddy’s wedding, Elias had been overseeing the small property they had purchased to start their business. He had never questioned Freddy’s sudden infusion of funds a few months after the wedding, assuming they derived from the man’s gambling successes. That money had enabled Elias to expand the business, purchasing more farmland and dramatically increasing the quantity and quality of spices Westwood Imports offered, which in turn increased the company’s profits and scope.

  Freddy, however, rarely had gambling successes. That night at White’s, when they agreed to take his winnings and start a business, had been an isolated event. Until Freddy’s wedding, in fact, the business had struggled.

  Now Elias understood what bothered him: The money that rescued his business must have come from Lady Harriet’s dowry.

  Lady Harriet, not Freddy, had made the expansion of Westwood Imports possible, however unwittingly. And while Elias had reaped handsome profits, the return on her investment had been a faithless husband.

  ***

  “I will take some brandy, thank you.”

  Harriet did not recall offering Lord Westwood brandy. Indeed, all she wanted was to retire to her room in peace and try to forget about the hellish evening. She had felt the stares on her all evening, but that was perhaps to be expected at her first formal ball since Freddy’s death. Then there was the presence of Caroline, undoubtedly giving rise to more curious gazes. That she had disappeared with Lord Westwood would have only fueled wagging tongues. All in all, it had been a trying few hours.

  Lord Westwood was probably famished, since they had missed Lady Symington’s late supper. But Harriet could offer him little in the way of a proper meal. Celestial had the night off, and Heavenly had gone to Kensington to
visit a friend. Horace was probably around somewhere, but he was of little use in the kitchen.

  “I regret depriving you of your dinner, my lord.” Harriet’s thoughts were a jumble. The image of Lady Forth’s lovely face turned up to Lord Westwood’s, awaiting his kiss, lingered.

  She shook her head, trying to banish those thoughts. Lord Westwood was not Freddy. He wasn’t even her betrothed. There was no need to deprive him of drink and dinner, especially when he had cut short the evening because of her. Harriet poured him a glass of brandy from the decanter on the sideboard, and made for the kitchen. To her surprise, he followed her.

  Harriet had never held with the fashionable practice of relegating the kitchen to the basement. The food from such a kitchen never arrived hot to the table. A damp, airless basement was not the place for culinary inspiration. Remodeling Freddy’s townhouse so that the kitchen and dining room were but steps apart had been one of her first acts as his wife. Perhaps that fact spoke volumes about their marriage, Harriet thought ruefully.

  Tonight she was grateful for her airy, cheerful kitchen and its modern conveniences. The iron stove had long since cooled, but the cold chamber, filled with ice from the adjacent icehouse, kept milk, meat, and other perishables properly chilled so they did not spoil. The wine-roasted gammon, fruit, and baguettes left from last night’s meal would make a perfect cold buffet.

  She felt Lord Westwood watching her as she set the meat on a platter and prepared to carve the joint.

  “Allow me,” he said, taking the knife from her. He proceeded to cut the meat into neat, perfect slices and arrayed them on the platter.

  He noticed the basket of persimmons on the table and picked up each one and inspected it, inhaling deeply. “This will not disappoint,” he said, placing one red-orange specimen on the tray. Deftly, he removed the top leaf and broke the fruit in half, offering one piece to her.

  Harriet eyed him in surprise. He handled food — and knives — as if they were second nature. Perhaps in the West Indies, customs were different from those in England, where men did not exert themselves in the preparation of food, only its consumption.