Regency High Society Vol 1: A Hasty Betrothal / A Scandalous Marriage / The Count's Charade / The Rake and the Rebel. Mary Brendan
should have done so when you asked me—but in a few days you will be free of me …’
‘Free of you!’ Sandford choked. ‘I don’t want to be free of you—I want never to be free of you. What I want is …’
But the viscount was unable to finish his passionate words as the carriage had drawn to a halt and Pritchard, the groom, was opening the door and letting down the steps for him to alight. Barely controlling his impatience, Sandford held out his hand to Harriet and led her into the house.
‘Won’t you come into the library—just for a few minutes?’ he pleaded. ‘There is something I must say to you.’
Harriet shook her head resolutely and moved towards the stairs. This is all madness, she thought, in a panic. In a few days my grandfather will come for me. I shall return to Scotland with him. That is what I set out to do. That is what I must do.
Sandford, his heart heavy, saw his hopes crumbling away as he watched her climb the staircase, for he realised that, from now on, she would be very much on her guard in ensuring that she did not find herself alone with him again.
He turned away from the unremitting spectacle of her rigid figure, divested himself of his cloak and hat and, handing them to the patiently waiting March, dismissed the servant for the night.
Much later, sprawled in his father’s high-backed chair in the library, he emptied another glass of brandy and reviewed his situation for the umpteenth time.
Trounced by a pair of green eyes, by God! After all his years in the field! Plenty of other fish in the sea, of course—and they’d be queuing up, once he let it be known he was hanging out for a wife—which he wasn’t—didn’t need one. Beldale’s future was safe—Phil’s boy was a fine enough heir—Ridgeway would help him run the estates.
Ah, yes, Ridgeway! His lips twisted as he remembered. He was being mighty friendly to Harriet this evening—supposed to be in love with Judith, too—very interested when he heard the engagement was a sham. Too interested, perhaps? Maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned her inheritance, he thought, but he shan’t have her—I’m damned if I’ll let him have her—damned if I’ll let anyone ….
March found him slumped in the chair the following morning when he came into the room to open the curtains. The footman stared down at Sandford in distaste and picked up both the fallen glass and the empty decanter.
‘He’s had a skinful, I’ll be bound,’ giggled Lizzy, the young housemaid who had accompanied him, but he frowned at her and motioned her to be silent. She flounced away pertly with the tray he had handed her.
‘My lord!’ March gently shook the viscount’s shoulder. ‘Your lordship!’
Sandford’s bleary eyes dragged open and he blinked rapidly to focus them upon March’s expressionless face. Struggling upwards into a sitting position, he groaned as his head roared out its protest.
‘What—time—is—it?’ he croaked, carefully and slowly.
‘Six o’clock, my lord,’ March’s answer came back smartly. ‘Shall I bring you a pot of coffee, sir?’
Sandford started to nod, then quickly changed his mind as the battery of cannon exploded violently across his temples. He flapped a slack hand at the man and closed his eyes once more as March bowed and, with a very unsympathetic grin on his face, walked towards the door.
His lordship breathed deeply for several minutes, trying to remember why he should have chosen to sleep in the library, in such a damned uncomfortable chair when he had a perfectly good bed upstairs. His eyes were still closed when he heard the sounds of the door opening and footsteps approaching.
‘Just put it on the table, March, thank you,’ he murmured weakly.
‘I shall do no such thing,’ came a bright and well-known voice.
His eyes flew open in shock and he tried to rise, but Harriet’s hands pressed him firmly back into his seat.
‘Sit still,’ she said, calmly pouring out a cup of coffee and, to his surprise, taking a sip of it herself.
‘This is for you.’ She indicated and handed him a tall glass full of an evil-coloured liquid.
Sandford sniffed at it and pulled a face. ‘What is it?’ he asked plaintively.
‘It is vinegar and raw eggs—and it is quite horrid,’ she said, with a laugh in her voice that woke him up immediately. ‘Drink it!’ she commanded and came down on her knees beside his chair.
‘I can’t—it would make me—that is—I should …’
‘Yes, I know—you would be sick! Well, my lord, you will either bring it up or keep it down—whichever way, it will still cure your hangover.’
Manfully, he struggled to down the contents of the glass, hypnotised by the laughing gleam in her green eyes. She removed the tumbler from his shaking hand and put it carefully on the side table, but remained on her knees studying his face with a very serious expression upon her own.
‘I came down early, to see if I could catch you before you left,’ she said, after a minute or two. ‘March told me you had spent the night in here—and that you were feeling somewhat …under the weather!’
‘Did he, indeed—blast him!’ gritted Sandford, who was fighting a desperate battle with the contents of his stomach and determined to win. ‘I suppose that foul concoction was his idea?’
‘No,’ she said sweetly. ‘It was mine!’
He blinked in astonishment at her answer and discovered at the same time that his head was indeed beginning to clear.
‘Set on poisoning me, are you?’ he asked roughly, his eyes engrossed with the nearness of her face.
‘Of course.’ She started to get to her feet, but when he beseechingly put out his hand she smiled and remained at his side. ‘You’ll survive, I’m sure.’
‘Only with the right treatment, I think—and it may take a very long time.’
She laughed softly and the explosions in his temples were reduced to mere firecrackers. Tentatively he took her hand in his.
‘Why were you hoping to catch me before I went out?’
‘I thought you might allow me to ride with you—but I fear you are not up to such vigorous exercise just yet. Perhaps in an hour or two?’
‘And until then?’ Sandford asked hopefully, but Harriet thrust his hands aside and jumped to her feet.
‘ You will go and lie down on your bed.’ She dimpled at him. ‘I shall go and eat a substantial breakfast and, perhaps, take a walk on the terrace—with the faithful Davy, of course—and await your return.’ ‘With bated breath?’ ‘There is always that possibility!’ The viscount rose gingerly, holding on to the back of the chair with great deliberation. He certainly felt a good deal better than when he had been woken by March, but perhaps a short rest and a change of raiment would be the best plan to follow at the moment. He looked at Harriet, trying to make sense of her mood.
‘You have had a change of heart, perhaps?’ She shook her head at him and pointed to the door. ‘Go now and have your rest—I shan’t say another word on the subject until you return!’
Somewhat perturbed, but too confused to argue, he allowed himself to be shepherded to the foot of the staircase where he found Kimble waiting in frowning disapproval.
‘Your arm, my lord,’ said his valet stiffly and proceeded to help his young master slowly up the stairs.
Harriet watched until the pair had disappeared from sight, then turned and smiled at the ever-present March and said, ‘Is Davy Rothman about, March? I should like to go for a walk after breakfast, if he is available?’
She still wasn’t totally at ease with the idea that Beldale’s