Mary Brendan – Regency High Society Vol 1: A Hasty Betrothal / A Scandalous Marriage / The Count's Charade / The Rake and the Rebel (страница 33)

‘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 servants were there for her to command and she regarded the idea of one wasting his time just walking along behind her as perfectly ridiculous, but since she had agreed to it she was prepared to fulfil her part of the bargain.

March’s face creased with concern at her request. ‘Young Rothman, Miss Cordell? I’m dreadfully sorry, but his father sent him down to the village just five minutes ago—we didn’t expect you to be rising this early, miss—after being so late last night and all.’

Harriet laughed and put her hand on his arm. ‘Don’t look so worried, March—it isn’t the end of the world. I shall have my breakfast and, if Davy hasn’t returned, surely you have another youngster who is prepared to give up his duties to be my shadow for an hour?’

‘Of course, miss.’ March’s face cleared. ‘I know just the lad. You would like your breakfast now, miss? I shall inform Mr Rothman.’

With that, he bowed and left the hall and Harriet strolled into the breakfast parlour where the early morning sunshine was just beginning to filter its pale light through the rear windows of the house.

She stood for a while, watching the gardeners tidying the terrace flower-beds, and marvelled at the amount of work that had to be done in a great house before the occupants rose. Dusting and polishing, sweeping, cooking and even gardening—and so many people involved, so many people dependant upon so few for their daily bread. A terrible responsibility, she realised, and was no longer so sure that she had come to the right decision, after all.

For, after a sleepless few hours, she had at last made up her mind. Sandford’s continued protestations of love certainly seemed genuine and she was almost sure that he had been about to ask for her hand when they returned from Westpark last evening. Having searched her conscience thoroughly, she could see no good reason for refusing him. There were times when she actually liked him, although she found him very disconcerting too—and very high-handed, but that was to be expected in someone of his rank and position. He had been used to dealing with hundreds of men from different walks of life, many of them rather unruly and very badly behaved, as she well remembered. He would have had to be very strict and autocratic with some of them, she felt sure and, after so many years, it had probably become second nature to him. He wasn’t always like that, as she herself could testify and he was often very amusing to be with. She was sufficiently level-headed to realise that refusing an earl’s son would be considered absolute folly by the bastions of English Society and, although she knew none of these worthies, she felt that even her unknown grandfather would view such a refusal as somewhat puzzling from a girl with her unusual background. Besides which, she had to admit that the idea of immuring herself in a Scottish castle in a lonely glen was growing less appealing by the day, especially after having been in this glorious Leicestershire countryside for these past weeks.

She was not, she had to own, completely comfortable with the idea of marrying for the aforementioned reasons, especially after her high-flown speech about love and chivalry, and she was uneasily certain that Sandford would not be at all impressed to have any one of them offered to him as her justification for accepting his hand.

However, she was sure that they could learn to deal perfectly amicably together, which was more than a great many married couples could claim. She was well aware that her own parents’ marriage had been most unusual in having been a love match and, in contemplating such a union between Sandford and herself, her cheeks grew hot and her heart seemed to skip several beats. Her lips curving in anticipation, she allowed herself to visualise the wicked glint that would appear in his eyes when she gave him her answer. Ridiculous! She admonished herself for her foolish thoughts, vowing to concentrate on only the practical aspects of the matter.

She finished the rolls and coffee that Rothman had brought to her and went into the hall to see if young Davy had returned from his errand to the village.

March shook his head. ‘Sorry, Miss Cordell,’ he said. ‘He’s not back yet—but young Cooper would be glad to accompany you—he’s not that keen on polishing silver!’ He grinned at her and she smiled in return.

‘I can sympathise with that—a thankless task!’

March went to the back stairs to call Cooper up. Harriet walked through the small parlour out to the rear terrace, where a blushing young footman joined her a few minutes later.

At this early hour the dew was still wet on the grass and Harriet was glad she had pulled her riding boots on before coming downstairs. Having dressed with a view to being ready to ride at moment’s notice should Sandford have been available, she was still wearing her riding habit. Not the most suitable skirt for a walk on the grass, she realised, but since she would have to change later to attend the church service she elected not to waste any more of the beautiful morning worrying about a damp hem and set off across the park with Cooper in train.

After some moments, the increasing absurdity of the situation brought a smile to her face and she motioned to Cooper to come alongside. ‘I hear that you are not fond of silver-polishing.’

Cooper grinned shamefacedly and nodded.

‘Will you enjoy being a footman, do you think?’ Harriet persevered.

Cooper looked at her in surprise. Enjoying one’s work had never been a question that any of the staff had given a great deal of thought to as far as he was aware. ‘I think I should like Mr March’s position, miss,’ he ventured shyly. ‘But it has taken him more than ten years to get to be first

footman and I’m not sure I’d want to wait that long—or even if I’d be that good at it!’

‘I suppose you didn’t really have a lot of choice in the matter,’ Harriet mused, more to herself than to the youth. ‘What would you have done otherwise?’

‘I suppose I could have gone in the stables—or the gardens, like my dad, but I’m not that keen on an outdoor life,’ said Cooper. ‘What I’d really like, miss, is to be a carpenter—but I’d have to go for apprentice and it’s not that easy these days.’