us go and see which of us is right.”
They went back up to Susan’s bedchamber. Harriet scratched at the door and then quietly opened it. Susan lay sprawled like a rag doll facedown on the bed and fast asleep again.
“The supper dance is mine, I think,” said the earl.
“What on earth am I to do with her?” wailed Harriet.
“Make sure she stays awake in the ballroom,” he said, “and let her beauty do the rest.” His harsh face softened as he looked at the sleeping Susan. “She is quite the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.”
“I think young Charles Courtney might be highly suitable,” said Harriet.
His eyes glinted down at her. “Perhaps an older man might be what she needs.”
Harriet led the way out of the bedroom. “I do not think so,” she said over her shoulder, trying to keep her voice light. He followed her to the drawing room and she wondered just how long he meant to stay. She found him disturbing and unsettling and had a sudden sharp longing for the quiet, placid days of her old life.
“Come for a drive with me, Miss Tremayne,” he said suddenly.
“Now?” She glanced at the clock. “It is not yet the fashionable hour.”
“We do not need to be fashionable. See, the sun is shining and it is quite warm.”
“But, Susan…”
“Miss Colville will no doubt sleep happily until our return. Besides, how can I present myself as a correct suitor if I do not gain your approval?”
She looked at him, startled. She wanted to cry out that never would she let such an experienced man of the world marry Susan. But Bertha and everyone else would think her quite mad to turn down anyone so eligible.
And yet she found herself accepting his invitation. She murmured that she would change into her carriage dress.
The earl nodded by way of reply and settled down to wait. The drawing room was restful, he thought. The long windows were open and a faint breeze stirred the lace curtains and sent them billowing out over the polished floor. There was a jar of potpourri on a side table giving out a pleasant scent, an apple-wood fire burned on the hearth, the clock ticked, and he had a feeling of being at home. He reflected that he had done nothing at all to the town house, or the country mansion, for that matter, leaving the pictures and furniture of his ancestors in place. His eyes roamed around the room again. There was a bowl of flowers, prettily arranged, and a piece of sewing lying on top of the work basket, books and magazines on a console table. A place to come home to. He was overcome by a temptation to flirt with the severe Miss Tremayne. He wondered idly what it would be like to kiss that passionate mouth and see those magnificent eyes of hers cloud with desire.
Harriet returned very quickly—he had expected her to take at least an hour, but she had been gone only fifteen minutes. She was wearing a carriage gown of gold velvet and a smart gold velvet hat, very small, tilted on one side of her head. Her hair, he noticed, was thick and curly and glossy.
“Where are we going?” asked Harriet when she was seated beside him in his carriage. He stretched his long, booted legs against the spatterboard and turned and smiled down at her. “Oh, just about. Here and there.”
He set the horses in motion. They drove smartly out of Berkeley Square. Harriet felt a sudden surge of exhilaration. As he made his way through the press of traffic in Piccadilly and then slowed as he found his way blocked by a government sledge surrounded by soldiers taking the national lottery to the Bank of England, he said, “Who are those ladies glaring at you? Do you know them, or have complete strangers suddenly taken you in dislike?”
He pointed with his whip.
Miss Barncastle and another member of the sisterhood, Miss Carrington, were standing at the edge of the pavement, glaring at Harriet.
She waved and smiled. They gave little
They went back up to Susan’s bedchamber. Harriet scratched at the door and then quietly opened it. Susan lay sprawled like a rag doll facedown on the bed and fast asleep again.
“The supper dance is mine, I think,” said the earl.
“What on earth am I to do with her?” wailed Harriet.
“Make sure she stays awake in the ballroom,” he said, “and let her beauty do the rest.” His harsh face softened as he looked at the sleeping Susan. “She is quite the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.”
“I think young Charles Courtney might be highly suitable,” said Harriet.
His eyes glinted down at her. “Perhaps an older man might be what she needs.”
Harriet led the way out of the bedroom. “I do not think so,” she said over her shoulder, trying to keep her voice light. He followed her to the drawing room and she wondered just how long he meant to stay. She found him disturbing and unsettling and had a sudden sharp longing for the quiet, placid days of her old life.
“Come for a drive with me, Miss Tremayne,” he said suddenly.
“Now?” She glanced at the clock. “It is not yet the fashionable hour.”
“We do not need to be fashionable. See, the sun is shining and it is quite warm.”
“But, Susan…”
“Miss Colville will no doubt sleep happily until our return. Besides, how can I present myself as a correct suitor if I do not gain your approval?”
She looked at him, startled. She wanted to cry out that never would she let such an experienced man of the world marry Susan. But Bertha and everyone else would think her quite mad to turn down anyone so eligible.
And yet she found herself accepting his invitation. She murmured that she would change into her carriage dress.
The earl nodded by way of reply and settled down to wait. The drawing room was restful, he thought. The long windows were open and a faint breeze stirred the lace curtains and sent them billowing out over the polished floor. There was a jar of potpourri on a side table giving out a pleasant scent, an apple-wood fire burned on the hearth, the clock ticked, and he had a feeling of being at home. He reflected that he had done nothing at all to the town house, or the country mansion, for that matter, leaving the pictures and furniture of his ancestors in place. His eyes roamed around the room again. There was a bowl of flowers, prettily arranged, and a piece of sewing lying on top of the work basket, books and magazines on a console table. A place to come home to. He was overcome by a temptation to flirt with the severe Miss Tremayne. He wondered idly what it would be like to kiss that passionate mouth and see those magnificent eyes of hers cloud with desire.
Harriet returned very quickly—he had expected her to take at least an hour, but she had been gone only fifteen minutes. She was wearing a carriage gown of gold velvet and a smart gold velvet hat, very small, tilted on one side of her head. Her hair, he noticed, was thick and curly and glossy.
“Where are we going?” asked Harriet when she was seated beside him in his carriage. He stretched his long, booted legs against the spatterboard and turned and smiled down at her. “Oh, just about. Here and there.”
He set the horses in motion. They drove smartly out of Berkeley Square. Harriet felt a sudden surge of exhilaration. As he made his way through the press of traffic in Piccadilly and then slowed as he found his way blocked by a government sledge surrounded by soldiers taking the national lottery to the Bank of England, he said, “Who are those ladies glaring at you? Do you know them, or have complete strangers suddenly taken you in dislike?”
He pointed with his whip.
Miss Barncastle and another member of the sisterhood, Miss Carrington, were standing at the edge of the pavement, glaring at Harriet.
She waved and smiled. They gave little
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