Good Lord, this silence between them was torture.
Yet it continued to stretch on as they made the turn onto West Carriage Drive, until at last Harriett turned to face him, the tears he’d been dreading all afternoon sparkling in the corners of her eyes. “It’s not a betrothal yet, no, but soon enough he’ll be calling on me every afternoon, and before I know it you’ll havefoisted me off on a man I can never love, and my life will be ruined!”
Good Lord, more dramatics. How he despised them. “I don’t intend to foist you off on any?—”
“I never imagined my brother could be so cruel. How can you doom me to a life without love, James?”
Her voice rose with every word, and heads began to turn in their direction. Lady Arundel and Lady Silvester were coming toward them, their ponies’ ears pricking at Harriett’s exclamation as they drew near. They’d overheard her outburst, and he clicked his tongue at Nyx and Hemera, hurrying the horses toward a less crowded section of West Gate Drive, where they were safe from the gossips’ prying ears.
“I have no intention of marrying you to a gentleman you don’t love. How can you think I would? I’ve only ever wanted your happiness, Hattie.”
“So you say, but if that’s true, James, then why do you continue to insist upon forcing me into Lord Farthingale’s company? He isn’t the sort of gentleman who can ever make me happy.”
“What’s wrong with Farthingale? He’s a perfectly respectable gentleman.” Not an exciting one, no— one couldn’t accuse Farthingale of being romantic or dashing —but surely that was a good thing? He wasn’t going to marry his precious sister to one of the foolish, preening peacocks that passed for fashionable gentlemen these days.
Farthingale would make Harriett a solid, dependable husband.
“He’sold, James. Close to forty, at least.”
“Forty!” Farthingale was the same age ashewas, damn it. “He’s twenty-eight, Harriet. Hardly in his dotage.”
“Is that all? He seems a great deal older than that. It must be those tight lines around his mouth.” She laid her hand on hisarm, her gaze pleading. “I know I made a dreadful mistake with Lord… a dreadful mistake last season, but does that mean I no longer deserve to be happy?”
“Of course not, Hattie. This has nothing to do with him.”
Harriett never said the name of the man who’d come so close to ruining her, but the scoundrel was right here between them as surely as if he were perched on Harriet’s lap.
Lord Wyle, the man who’d caused such strife between them.
Fortunately, Wyle had taken to his heels as soon as his perfidy was discovered, and run off to the Continent like the coward he was, saving James the effort of burying a ball in his skull.
But it hadn’t ended there. The sordid business with Wyle marked the beginning of the first of a series of disagreements between himself and his sweet younger sister— the sister who’d never spoken a cross word to him in her life until Wyle had appeared and destroyed all her peace.
Despite what she believed, he’d never blamed Harriett for her catastrophic first season. She was young and naïve, and Wyle had taken great pains to hide his true nature from her. No, he put the blame where it belonged. On Wyle, for turning the head of a naive young lady. In his worst moments, he even blamed his Aunt Fosberry, who hadn’t seen Harriett’s danger until it was too late.
But most of all, he blamed himself, for the whole ugly, sordid mess. If he’d only returned from the Continent before the start of Harriett’s season, Wyle never would have wormed his way into her affections, and she’d be safely wed to a proper gentleman by now.
A gentleman like Lord Farthingale, for instance. “I don’t understand why you’re so set against Farthingale, Harriett. If you’d only give him a chance, you’d see for yourself what an, er… steadfast, loyal, and faithful gentleman he is.”
Loyal? Faithful? Good Lord, was that the best he could do? He’d made poor Farthingale sound like a Saint Bernard.
No young lady wanted to marry a Saint Bernard, for God’s sake.
Harriett let out a heavy sigh. “I don’t have anything against Lord Farthingale, James. I simply don’t want tomarryhim.”
“But how can you be so sure? You hardly know the man. You certainly don’t know him well enough yet to have made up your mind not to marry him. I only ask that you give him a chance, Harriett.”
“A lady knows these things, James.”
“How?” How could she possibly know? She’d hardly exchanged a dozen words with Farthingale.
“I can’t explain it to you. I simplyknow,that’s all. Aunt Fosberry doesn’t think Lord Farthingale is a proper match for me. She says he’s too old, and too staid to make me happy.”
Despite his every effort to remain calm, James’s fingers tightened on the reins. His aunt would do well to keep out of this business. After all, she had approved of Wyle, and look how that had turned out. The man had tried to kidnap Harriett, and drag her off to Gretna Green!
“I daresay Phee won’t like the match either,” Harriett went on. “I trust her opinion. You’d do well to listen to her, James. She is London’s most celebrated matchmaker.”
James’s teeth snapped together. If only he had a shilling for every time Harriett had said that woman’s name to him.
