Beside her, Theo remained very still.
Miss Pomeroy gave a tinkering laugh. “Oh, Marchmont – do behave.”
But Marchmont’s gaze did not shift. “Merely an observation. One cannot help but admire a woman who knows precisely how she wishes to be seen.”
“Indeed,” Theo said sharply. “Miss Tolliver has never lacked clarity on that point.”
Hetty looked between the two men. “How fortunate I am to be so thoroughly interpreted. Do let me know when you’ve reached consensus on my character. I shall be most interested to hear the result.”
Miss Pomeroy let out another high laugh. “Well! I believe we’ve exhausted the morning’s entertainment. We mustn’t keep you from your very romantic stroll a moment longer. Come along, girls. Lord Marchmont.”
She turned her horse with a flourish, her cousins fluttering after her. Lord Marchmont lingered a moment longer, holding his reins loosely in one gloved hand. “Miss Tolliver. Yes, I must say: you do wear notoriety remarkably well.”
He held her gaze a moment longer than decorum allowed, enough to be remarked upon but not to invite reproach, then inclined his head in parting. “Langley.”
With that, he turned his mount and followed Miss Pomeroy and her flock at a leisurely pace. Hetty remained very still, her spine held with the sort of impeccable posture only rage, pride or breeding could sustain. A breeze swept across the Row, teasing at the ribbons of her bonnet and sending a wisp of hair against her cheek, but she made no motion to tuck it back.
She heard Theo exhale through his nose. “I take it that our little arrangement has not wholly deterred the competition”
“I was restraining myself from throwing my reticule at him.”
“How noble of you. Though I suspect he would have taken it as encouragement.”
“I daresay he would,” Hetty conceded. “Which is precisely why I refrained. I prefer scandal on my own terms.”
They continued their promenade in silence, the rhythm of their steps matched so perfectly they might well have appeared as lovers, had Society not known better – but then, of course, that was the entire point.
Hetty’s eyes flicked sidelong towards Theo. “I do hope, Lord Langley, that you are prepared to play your part convincingly.”
“And which part is that? The aggrieved betrothed? The reluctant victim of a Tolliver ambush?”
“Do stop being tiresome,” she said sweetly. “Why, the doting, utterly besotted fiancé, of course.”
“As you wish, Miss Tolliver. I shall do my utmost to appear entirely bewitched.”
She glanced out across the Row, where a pair of young ladies were pretending not to observe her, and behind them, a mounted gentleman gave an overt nod in her direction, the sort that made her wish she could throw her slipper at him without consequence.
“I am not like Georgiana,” she said at length. “I do not dream of lace handkerchiefs and lockets with someone else’s hair inside them. I have never longed for a townhouse in Mayfair or the thrill of a diamond tiara presented at court. I do not consider a drawing room of my own the height of personal accomplishment.” Though her arm rested in the crook of Theo’s arm, she kept her eyes fixed firmly upon the path ahead. “I never wished to be married at eight-and-ten simply because it was expected, nor because my Season proved particularly advantageous to my mother’s reputation amongst the matrons.”
“Indeed?” Theo said. “And what is it you wish for, Miss Tolliver, if not matrimony and the security it affords?”
“I have plans, Theo. I had them long before your fist connected with that man’s jaw.”
“Plans?” he echoed.
“I desire,” she said after a long sigh, “to live with some measure of independence – which I am aware, in a woman, is considered at once laughable and dangerous. I should like to read books of my own choosing, without being told which are improper. I should like to wake in the morning with no obligation but curiosity. I should like to travel not under the auspices of a chaperone, nor in pursuit of a husband, but simply for the pleasure of it. I should like to seepaintings in Florence and the ruins in Athens and the sea at Marseille. I want to taste figs in Sicily and drink coffee in Constantinople. I want to ride through the Scottish Highlands and climb the Alps! I should like to learn to sail, though I suspect I would be dreadful at it, and write something under a false name that causes a bishop to faint.”
“That is rather a list.”
“I should like a house of my own one day,” she continued, as though she had not heard him. “Not a great estate, nor anything encumbered with a retinue of idle footmen. Only something modest and quiet, with a proper library, and a fire that does not grow cold upon the death of a man. A house in which I might pass my days and take my meals and step into the garden without commentary on the length of my hem or the volume of my laughter.” She paused, looking out at some distant carriage. “No. I do not desire to belong to anyone. I shall not be bartered for a seat in Parliament, or a favourable connection, or the good opinion of some baronet’s mother who disapproves of freckles. Nor shall I be paraded through drawing rooms like a prize mare, tame and docile and terribly grateful for the stable.”
“Well,” Theo said slowly, as they continued their stroll. “I should think any man who attempted to bridle you would find himself kicked senseless before he’d finished the knot.”
Hetty allowed herself a rueful smile. “One can only hope.”
He gave a short laugh. “I was under the impression you wished me to play the besotted fiancé. Not the condemned one.”
“You may be both,” she said with false sweetness. “If you perform with sufficient charm.”
