Still, there was atinypart of her, an insistent, niggling voice that kept whispering in her ear that perhaps there was just asmidgenof truth in what he said.
She’d been the one to suggest Lord Wyle as a match for Harriett. If she’d kept that opinion to herself, Harriett might never have developed a preference for the man. Young ladies were suggestible, and they’d hardly been in London a week before Harriett declared herself enamored of him.
Of course, so had every other young lady in London.
But that didn’t change the fact that Phee had been the one who’d planted that seed in Harriett’s mind, and she’d also encouraged the match. Didn’t that make her in some sense responsible for the disaster that had followed?
Lord Fairmont might be an arrogant, condescending villain, but the truth was, she didn’t have any business meddling in Harriett’s affairs. That had been true last season, and it was even more so this time, now that Lord Fairmont was here.
What was she to do, then? How could she in good conscience abandon Harriett to the stormy seas of the marriage mart, when she knew Harriett was madly in love with Gilly? Her blasted conscience, the contrary thing that it was, wouldn’t allow her to interfere this time, but neither would it permit her to turn her back on her dear friend.
Goodness, what a conundrum!
What was she to do? How was she to help Harriett?
She made her way past the eastern lawn and began to mount the steps that led from a small terrace back into the library, but before she could gain the top step, one of the glass doors swung open, and Harriett appeared on the threshold.
“Phee! Is James gone?” She scanned the lawn behind Phee, her brow pinched.
“I believe so, yes.” Phee mounted the stairs, and followed Harriett into the library, closing the door behind her. “Hiding from him won’t help matters, dearest.”
Then again, if Harriettwashiding, Lord Fairmont was to blame for it, for treating his sister in such a high-handed manner. He didn’t deserve her sympathy but try as she might, she couldn’t erase the memory of his bewildered expression when he’d mentioned it wasn’t like Harriett to break an engagement.
Cursed conscience. Nagging, useless thing.
“I know.” Harriett threw herself into a chair with a dramatic sigh. “But he’s so dreadfully interfering, Phee! I swear, if I have to hear Lord Farthingale’s name one more time, I’ll scream.”
“He interferes because he cares about you, Harriett.” She took a seat on the arm of the chair Harriett had plopped into, and rested a hand on her shoulder. “I wish I’d had someone who’d cared about me during my first season.”
“I know, and I love him dearly for it, I just… I don’t like him much at the moment. He’s an excellent brother— he always has been— but he’s so stubborn! There are times when I’d dearly love to slap some sense into him.”
Slap Lord Fairmont? Why, she couldn’t imagine such a thing as…
Wait. Yes, she could. Indeed, it was tremendously satisfying, to imagine it.
“James’s trouble is that he’s so certain he’s always right, that he dismisses any opinion that varies from his own. The maddening thing is, if he’d only give Gilly a chance, he’d see for himself what a sweet, wonderful man Gilly is. But after that scene in the Ring, I know he never will.” Harriett looked up at her, her pretty blue eyes filling with tears. “What am I to do, Phee?”
“Oh, my dear. Don’t cry. We’ll find a way to make it right, I promise you.”
“It isn’t Gilly’s fault he doesn’t always know the proper way to act.” Harriett dashed the back of her hand across her cheek. “If another gentleman would only give him a bit of advice, I’m sure he could be as charming as any other gentleman in London. More so, even.”
“Yes, I think so, too.” Lord Gilbert only wanted a bit of tutelage. She could help him polish some of his rough edges easily enough, but there were some things she couldn’t do. The viscount’s clothing, for instance, and his difficulties with driving, and a membership at White’s.
He needed a gentleman for those things.
What a shame she’d sent Tilly and Kit off to Oxfordshire! Kit would have been a perfect choice to take Gilly in hand.
Ironically enough, so would Lord Fairmont.
He’d be ideally suited to such a task. Oh, he was rude, overbearing, and arrogant, to be sure, but there was no denying he was a gentleman of intelligence, taste, and fashion.
Harriett sniffled. “What’s to be done, Phee?”
“I’m not sure yet, dearest, but your aunt and I will come up with something. If only it were a simple case of matchmaking, we could… oh, my goodness!”
She slapped her hand over her mouth. Why, of course!
It was the perfect solution! Why hadn’t she thought of it sooner? Lord Fairmont had said it himself, when he’d insisted Harriett didn’t need a matchmaker this season.
