How to Treat a Lady (7 page)

He waited, but no more was forthcoming. After a moment, he said, “And?”

She pursed her lips. “You are also very wealthy, but I believe I told you that.”

“Numerous times.”

“Only because it is very important.”

“Indeed. What else?”

Mrs. Ward tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Oh! I know! Lucinda Carleton has said that the captain earned his money from sailing the Indian Seas, which I thought was very interesting because—”

“Lucinda Carleton?” He frowned. “Who is that?”

“A friend.”

“Of the captain's?”

“No, she's never met the captain. No one has. Except,” she added in a rush after sending him a guilty glance, “Harriet, of course, has met him—I mean, you, quite frequently. And all of us here at Garrett Park know him—I mean, you—very well.”

“How is it that this Lucinda Carleton heard that the captain—pardon me, I mean
I
—gained my fortune in such a way if she's never met me?”

Mrs. Ward paused. “I'm not certain. She just seemed to know.”

“I see,” Chase said, though he most definitely did not. “Is there anything else?”

“Well…I heard from Lady Chudrowe that you've a bit of a limp caused by an injury sustained during a pirate fight.” Mrs. Ward's smile lit the room. “Apparently, you are very brave.”

Chase regarded her flatly. “Tell me, Mrs. Ward, how many people know about the captain's existence?”

“Why, the whole town, to be sure! Everyone has been talking about you for weeks.”

Bloody hell.
It would not do to assume the identity of a well-known personae, even a fake one. That could cause undue attention. “I don't know if this will work. Too many people seem to—”

She stood in a rush, the chair scraping the wood floor. “Everything will work just fine, Captain. Trust me. Now we really must get downstairs. I hate leaving Harriet a second longer than necessary.”

Harriet. Alone. Chase could see the very real distress in Mrs. Ward's eyes. He supposed that he could just stay near Garrett Park while he was here. So long as he avoided town, he should be well hidden.

With a sigh, he straightened and, holding the blanket over him to keep from embarrassing Mrs. Ward with a glimpse of her guest attired in her son's nightshirt, he swung his feet over the side of the bed. “We don't want your daughter to suffer from the importunities of—”

“Oh no! It's more the other way around.” Mrs.
Ward bustled to the wardrobe. “Harriet has a bit of a temper. Mr. Gower will be burned to a crisp if we do not rescue him soon.”

Chase almost smiled at that. Yes, the little brown wren had a flash of fire in her. He'd seen it several times already. He pictured her lying across his lap and he was surprised to find that the image stirred him.

Mrs. Ward's voice emerged from the wardrobe, where she was busy stirring through the neatly hung clothes. “Derrick collected what he could find of your clothing from the forest. The thieves apparently tore through your cases, looking for valuables. Two of your shirts were beyond repair, but everything else seems fine.”

“I'll trust that you'll choose something appropriate.”

She looked over her shoulder. “Appropriate?”

“For a limping, wealthy sea captain from the Indian Seas.” Chase flashed her a grin. “I've got an interview with a banker.”

H
arriet rushed downstairs, her heels slapping the worn wooden steps. She was glad to get out of the sickroom. The handsome stranger was certainly sure of himself, the braggart. Harriet hopped off the bottom step and glanced at herself in the mirror.

Good heavens! How had her hair gotten into such a tangle? An instant image of herself sprawled over the lap of their guest flashed into her mind, heating her cheeks. Harriet met her own gaze in the mirror as she tugged out a pin and tried to fix her curls where they stuck out at odd angles.

“Blasted man,” she muttered aloud. It was all his fault. Had he been a gentleman and not treated her as if she was a flirtatious upstairs maid or a loose woman intent on seducing him, then Mother never
would have found them in such a compromising position.

Not that he'd cared. He'd seemed rather amused by it all, the wretch. What was worse was that Harriet had almost been swayed by his wide smile and mischievous blue eyes.

But as much as Harriet resented the stranger, she preferred his company to Mr. Gower's. Harriet didn't like the man one bit. Only slightly more advanced in years than Harriet herself, Mr. Gower acted much, much older. He'd first come to Garrett Park three years ago, when the bank had employed him. He'd been rude, demanding, and thoroughly annoying.

Mrs. Maple, the housekeeper, came out of the sitting room, an empty plate in one hand. “Ye'd best get in there afore he asks fer another scone. I've none left, and there'll be naught fer it but to give him the Sunday loaf if he requests more. He's already eaten all of our apple tarts, too!”

Wonderful. Not only had the unpleasant banker come to disrupt the entire family, but he was nibbling his way through their pantry like some huge, overstuffed mouse. Harriet wondered if perhaps that was why she always felt so uneasy around Mr. Gower—he seemed inordinately greedy. The man was a swine; there were times when he looked at Harriet in such a way that it made her feel as if she was a particularly fat acorn and he a huge pig.

“I'll make certain he leaves soon,” Harriet said firmly, hoping it would be that easy. She smoothed her skirts and patted her collar back into place.

Mrs. Maple's face softened, and she reached out to smooth a bit of Harriet's hair from her forehead. “Ye look fine, Miss Harriet. Shall I announce ye?”

“No. I will announce myself.” She flashed a grin
at the housekeeper. “It will save us at least half a minute of his time.”

The front door opened and a loud clomping sounded. Harriet turned to find her brother Stephen making his way through the front door. His left leg was heavily wrapped, his crutches barely long enough to allow his feet to clear. He came to a halt when he saw Harriet. A distinctly guilty look flashed across his face before he managed to clear it away. “Oh! There you are! How's the patient?”

“He's fine except that he says he doesn't remember who he is.”

“Says?” Stephen's brows shot up. “What do you mean ‘says'?”

“Just that I wonder about him. He seems far too at ease to have forgotten his identity.”

“You always did have a suspicious nature, Harri. The man's head wound seemed rather grievous to me, so 'tis entirely possible he is telling the truth. Besides, what reason could he possibly have for telling such a whopper?”

Mrs. Maple sniffed. “Mayhap the man plans on dallyin' about and eatin' all our food, like Mr. Gower.”

Harriet shook her head. “His clothes are very well made and his horse alone is worth a fortune. He could afford more mutton than our entire flock could provide.”

Stephen brightened. “I just saw the horse. What a prime piece of blood and bones!”

Harriet had to smile at his excitement. Like Sophia, he had father's more golden coloring, and his hair curled over his ears just the slightest bit. He was dressed in rough clothing, and Harriet suspected that he'd been working in the barn.

She glanced at his injured leg. “You aren't supposed to be up on that leg more than a few moments at a time.”

Stephen gave an impatient shrug. “I'm fine. I just fixed the broken door on the grain bin.”

“If something needs done, have Jem do it.”

“He's out with the cows. Sophia and Ophelia rode out in the cart with him.”

Mrs. Maple snorted. “If I know Jem, he's fast asleep under a tree and the girls are doin' all the work. If ye needed help, ye should have asked Master Derrick.”

An impish sparkle entered Stephen's eyes. “Derrick did give me a hand. A very well served one, in fact.”

“Did he? I just saw Derrick but he didn't mention helping you, he just said that Mr. Gower had arrived.”

Stephen's sudden grin had a wolfish tone to it. “It's a pity Mr. Gower couldn't stay, but something of great urgency called him away.”

Harriet frowned. “Stephen, Mr. Gower is in the sitting room.”

Stephen's smile disappeared. “
Our
sitting room?”

“Of course,” Harriet said. “Why would you think he'd left?”

“I wish he
had
left,” Mrs. Maple huffed. “Instead o' eatin' all our scones. Cook made them special fer Mrs. Ward, she did.”

“Stephen?” Harriet asked again. “You and Derrick did something to put Mr. Gower into a rage, didn't you?”

“Us?”

She narrowed her gaze. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing at all? Or nothing you want to tell me about?”

Stephen shrugged. “You'll have to ask Mr. Gower that question. Only be forewarned, his temper might be a little ragged.”

Harriet didn't wonder at that; from what she'd seen of Mr. Gower, his temper was never good. “I asked you two not to play your tricks on him. It was all I could do to soothe his spirits when you poured glue in his hat. He had to have his hair cut just to get it off.”

Stephen grinned. “That was Derrick's idea. Rather clever, wasn't it? But never fear, what happened this time was purely an accident.” His lips twitched. “A humorous accident, but an accident nonetheless.”

Wonderful. Yet more joy to brighten an otherwise frustrating day. “I'll go and see what Mr. Gower wants,” Harriet said with a heavy sigh. “If he's already in an ill mood, he will take exception to being left to cool his heels in the sitting room.”

“You do that,” Stephen said pleasantly. “Meanwhile, I'll go upstairs and see if Mother needs any help with our visitor. Oh, and Harriet?”

“Yes?”

“Enjoy your visit with Mr. Gower.”

There was a definite tremor of humor in Stephen's voice. The wretch.

“That boy,” Mrs. Maple said with a disapproving shake of his head as he made his way upstairs, the crutches scraping the wood steps.

“That boy is exactly like Father.” Harriet managed a reluctant smile. “Father couldn't resist a good joke either.”

“No, he couldn't. He was a good man, was your father.”

“I know. I miss him every day.” Harriet sighed. “I had best see to Mr. Gower before he starts gnawing on the furniture.”

“Very well, miss. And if he dangles fer a dinner invitation, tell him he's already eaten it all and there's none left.”

“I shall.” Harriet flashed a bright smile at the housekeeper and then made her way down the hall and let herself into the sitting room.

As soon as she shut the door, a large man turned from the window to face her. Dressed in a plain coat of brown worsted with a sober waistcoat of yellow kersey, Mr. Gower was a handsome man, if somewhat florid. Or he would have been handsome if his hair hadn't been cut in quite such an extreme fashion.

Harriet had to bite her lip to keep from grinning at the sight as she dipped a curtsy. “Mr. Gower.”

He made a ponderous bow. “Miss Ward.”

Despite Mrs. Maple's charge, Mr. Gower was not as fat as the Christmas pig. He was, however, of a rather beefy appearance.

“Miss Ward, might I say this is a pleasant surprise. I had thought Mrs. Ward—”

“Mother is rather busy today. I told her I'd come and visit.” Harriet pasted what she hoped was a pleasant smile on her face and held out her hand.

Mr. Gower hurried forward to press a rather damp kiss on the back of her fingers. As he did so, a wave of odor rose about him, so thick Harriet would have sworn she could see it had the light been stronger.

She blinked, forcing herself not to react to the rancid smell. What
was
that? Normally Mr. Gower
smelled of tonic and hair treatment. But this odor was more…sheeplike. As if he'd rolled in the barn.

Harriet retrieved her hand and stilled the impulse to wipe it on her skirt. “Mr. Gower, how pleasant to see you. Please take a seat.” She sank into a chair closest to the door, cautiously edging it away from the one nearest to it.

He smiled at her as he took the seat opposite, the odor wafting with him. “I must say that this is an unexpected pleasure, Miss Ward. Usually, you aren't present when I come to call.”

“I've been very busy lately.” She pressed her hand over her nose a moment, her gaze falling on the desolated tea tray and empty scone plate. “I see you've already had tea.”

“Indeed I have. Your cook is exceptional.”

“I will tell her you said so. Mr. Gower, to what do we owe the pleasure of this call?”

“I just came from a meeting.” He looked at her in a meaningful way. “At the bank.”

Where else would he have been at a meeting, she wondered with some irritation. “Indeed. How nice for you.”

He waited, apparently expecting her to ask for more information.

Harriet easily withheld the impulse. “Perhaps you came today to see about Stephen's injured leg. That is quite nice of you, and I—”

Mr. Gower's smile disappeared. “Your brothers are—” He caught himself, coloring heavily. “I don't mean to say anything untoward, but I must tell you that your brothers would be the better for Mr. Ward's presence.”

“We would all be the better for Mr. Ward's pres
ence. Unfortunately, his death makes that an impossibility,” Harriet said dryly.

“I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to offend you. But your brothers need the steady influence of a man, someone who could deflect their high spirits. But you are right in saying that you could benefit from having a man about as well.” He glanced around the room as if assessing each piece of faded furniture. “It's such a pity how everything has gone to ruin.”

Harriet bit the inside of her cheek to keep from saying something very unworthy. The man oozed certainty, and it annoyed her no end. “We all miss my father. He was a wonderful man.”

“So I've heard. I was most impressed to find that he was listed in Debrett's. That is quite an honor.”

Debrett's was a book that listed England's peerage. There was a very dusty copy of it somewhere in the library, though Harriet hadn't seen it in years. “His brother inherited the title, of course, but Father was always pleased to be mentioned.”

“You are mentioned as well, Miss Harriet.” Mr. Gower beamed, as if she'd accomplished something of great merit.

“Yes, though they spelled Harriet with only one ‘r.'”

“That must have stung,” he said earnestly. “To make the pages of that hallowed book, then be robbed of its true glory by an error.”

Harriet could find nothing to say to this, so she settled for nodding in as cool and impersonal a way as her uncertain temper would allow.

Mr. Gower slid closer to the edge of his seat. The horrid odor that clung to him seeped closer to Harriet.

She pulled her skirts closer and scooted away. What
was
that smell?

Mr. Gower smoothed his uneven hair in a nervous gesture. “I can't tell you how delighted I am to have this unexpected pleasure of speaking with you.”

“You've already said that.” Harriet wondered how she could draw their meeting to an end. She supposed she could say she was overcome by fumes.

“Yes, well, there is a reason I'm glad you're here. Especially alone. Miss Ward—Harriet, I was going to speak to your mother today, but perhaps—”

“I don't believe I've given you permission to use my Christian name,” she said quickly, an uneasy feeling arising. Goodness, surely this pompous oaf wasn't on the verge of making an overture? Surely he wasn't—he couldn't possibly think—she met his gaze, and her heart sank in her chest like a ship smashed on a jagged reef.

Good God, she should have been protected from this sort of thing—the entire world thought her engaged to the dashing, though absent Captain Frakenham. Her gaze narrowed on Mr. Gower. But perhaps Mr. Gower hadn't been as gullible as they'd thought?

“Harriet…my dear Harriet,” he said with that odiously superior smile, “I have known your family for far too long to stand upon feeble conventionality.”

Harriet had to breathe through her nose since her teeth had clenched so tightly together that air could no longer pass between them. And breathing through her nose made the odor only worse. Her eyes began to water, and she coughed a little. “I'm sorry. There's a smell—”

Mr. Gower's superior smile disappeared, his face reddening in an instant. “Can you smell—Damn it!
Of course you can. I thought I'd cleaned my shoes, but—” He grimaced. “Yes, well, that is because of your brother.”

“Stephen?”

“The other one. He picked up a bucket of…something just as I dismounted. I'm afraid I didn't recognize him, and I asked him to see to it that my horse was taken care of. And he, apparently offended by my request, poured the contents of the bucket on my shoes.”

Harriet looked down at Mr. Gower's leather shoes. They were dark and stained. Her nose wrinkled. “I'm certain Derrick didn't mean to do such a thing.”

“I'm sure he did, though he claimed it was an accident and the handle slipped.”