The Indomitable Miss Harris (25 page)

“Perhaps,” Gillian agreed with a rueful smile.

“What sort of mood was he in when you left him?”

“Rather grim.”

“Dear me.” Mrs. Periwinkle shook her head. “Well, he can’t eat you, after all. And his bad humors are generally quickly over and done. Seems to be sunny-tempered enough when no one’s trying to vex him.”

Gillian wrinkled her nose at the implication. “All I did,” she said carefully, “was to help a friend in need. And I would do it again at the drop of a hat.”

“No need to snap my nose off, I’m sure,” rebuked Mrs. Periwinkle sharply, although a glint of amusement lit her pale blue eyes seconds later. “Save your temper for his lordship. I daresay he’ll know how to deal with it.”

Gillian stared at her hands, and spoke contritely. “I beg your pardon, ma’am. I shouldn’t have spoken so to you. It is just that I think Landover would like to mount my head over the postern gate for this. At least, he would if Landover House
had
a postern gate.”

“Well, it hasn’t, and that’s sheer poppycock anyway,” retorted her companion. “Things will not look nearly so dim, come morning. That is,” she added acidly, “if we ever get to bed. Where is your Ellen, for mercy’s sake?”

As though she had heard her cue, the door opened, and Ellen entered breathlessly. “Oh, Miss Gillian, we didn’t expect you home so early! Forgive the delay, but I was walking in the back garden, and Bet didn’t find me right away. She says to tell you the chocolate and biscuits are on the way.”

It was evident from Ellen’s flushed cheeks that she had not been alone in the garden, but Gillian forbore to tease her in Mrs. Periwinkle’s presence. Mrs. Periwinkle did not approve of familiarity with one’s servants. Consequently, she only smiled sweetly and asked Ellen to help her prepare for bed. The chocolate arrived moments later, laced potently enough to satisfy the old lady and potently enough to make Gillian think she would be lucky to escape a shattering morning headache.

Nevertheless, the tasty brew did its work. By the time Ellen tucked her into her bed, Gillian felt as though she were floating, Thoughts of Landover and his probable lectures wafted through her mind but had no substance, nothing to make them stick. There was a vague thought that it was only fair, since Princess Charlotte would have to reap the consequences of her actions, that she, Gillian, must do likewise. The thoughts jumbled until she fancied herself a princess marching up to the Prince Regent to tell him quite rudely that he ought to go soak his head. But the Regent most unfortunately had Landover’s face and was brandishing a thick birch rod while he threatened to send her immediately home to Sussex. Then the birch rod disintegrated, to be replaced by a glass of bubbling champagne, and she thought, How magical. He can do anything. Landover lifted his glass in a toasting gesture and winked at her, smiling, before he faded away into a gray fog.

There were other dreams or wisps of dreams, but morning came soon enough in a blaze of sunlight that lit up the room. Gillian opened her eyes carefully, half expecting to feel the effects of the peppermint brandy. But there was nothing. She stretched, much as a lazy cat might stretch, beginning with her toes and working up to arms, hands, and fingertips. Then she wriggled back into her pillows and adjusted the down comforter to wait for her morning chocolate. Bet entered a few moments later, bidding her a cheerful good morning.

“Good morning, indeed. It looks glorious outside.”

“Looks like bein’ a scorcher, miss,” replied the maid. “Summer’s settin’ in like as not. All the nobs’ll be leavin’ town soon, I’m thinkin’.”

“Right after the Vauxhall fete,” Gillian replied. “The Prince Regent intends to leave for Brighton the day after, and I imagine a good many of us will soon follow.”

“Aye, his lordship has a house on the Marine Parade, don’t ’e, so he’ll be goin’, like as not.” Bet set the tray across Gillian’s knees, then helped plump a rebellious pillow into place. “Will that be all, Miss Gillian?”

“Yes, I think so, Bet. Has the early post come yet?”

“Yes, miss, but his lordship said he wanted to look it over. Just took the whole lot into the study afore it was sorted.”

“His lordship is up already?”

“Indeed, miss. Been for a ride in the park ’n’ all. Don’t know how ’e does it neither. Jeremy said ’e didn’t be gettin’ home till after four. Looks well though, I’ll give ’im that. A bit smudgy under the eyes, perhaps, but chipper enough for all that.”

“Thank you, Bet,” Gillian said dismissively. The girl bobbed a curtsy and departed, not the least offended by the tone. Gillian stared at her empty cup for a moment, then lifted the silver pot to pour out. So Landover was chipper, was he? The thought was a confusing one. She had expected him to be in the devil’s own temper, crying for her blood, and determined to hustle her off to Sussex. Her curiosity well aroused, she swallowed her chocolate quickly, then rang for Ellen to help her dress. A short time later, elegantly attired in cherry-sprigged muslin with a cherry satin sash and matching sandals, her long, soft curls tied back with a red ribbon high at the back of her head, she tripped briskly downstairs, subduing trepidation as she approached his sanctum.

The footman Jeremy saw her coming and sprang to open the doors for her. Landover looked up from his desk. He smiled.

“Come in, Miss Harris. Sit down.”

“I thought you might wish to speak with me, sir,” she said, outwardly calm but spinning inside at the thought of what might lie ahead.

“You did, did you?”

“Yes, sir.” She sat in one of the Kent chairs, arranging her skirts with special care. “I … I expect you might have a thing or two to say about last night, my lord. I should prefer to have the matter behind us as quickly as possible.”

“I see.” He watched her carefully for a full minute. She shifted uncomfortably, looking down at her hands, then forced herself to meet his gaze, wondering if he meant for her to say more than she had already said.

“Gillian,” he said softly, “are you afraid of me?”

Her eyes flew wide. “Afraid of you?”

“Yes. Are you?”

“No, my lord,” she replied firmly. “Of course not.” He was silent, and she licked her lips nervously. Was she afraid of him? The answer came quickly, and she looked back at him directly, more sure of herself now. “I am not afraid of you, Landover, but I confess to a certain amount of fear regarding the action you mean to take. I do not wish to be sent home.”

“What makes you think I might send you home?”

His voice was quite gentle. Was he toying with her? Why would he do such a thing? Her eyes narrowed as she gazed searchingly into his. “Last night,” she said slowly, “I thought you were furious with me. I expected your wrath to descend this morning.”

“Why? What did you do that was wrong?”

Gillian sighed, staring at him, wondering if he had gone demented on her or if he was merely playing some stupid game. Her expression seemed to amuse him, which only made matters worse. “Do you expect me to condemn myself out of my own mouth, Landover? ’Tis simple enough, I should think. You forbade me to mix in her highness’s affairs, but I did exactly that, and I am afraid I should not hesitate to do it again under similar circumstances.”

“And for that you expected me to punish you?” She nodded, watching him warily. He shook his head, smiling, then got to his feet and walked toward her. It was clearly a game, a game of cat and mouse. Her tension mounted as he neared her. He reached down and, taking both her arms, gently pulled her to her feet. His touch was electrifying. She trembled. “Gillian, sweet Gillian,” he said quietly, “it is true that you disobeyed me, but I cannot think—all things considered—how you might have done otherwise. What you did was done out of friendship, and you wrong me deeply if you think I would condemn the sort of friendship you have given to her highness. Such a gift is a precious thing, not given lightly. If I was angry last night—and I cannot deny it—it was anger directed at the situation, at the Regent if anger must be directed toward a person. Not at you.”

“But you were seething when you put me in the coach,” she protested, looking up at him, her face flushed at his nearness, too conscious of his hands on her bare arms to be able to think clearly. But he had been angry, and it was difficult to believe that that anger had not been aimed at her.

“I was furious,” Landover admitted, “too furious to trust what I might say to you, which is why I couldn’t discuss the matter then. But I was infuriated by my own helplessness,” he added, and there was a sound of anger mounting again even as he spoke. She cocked her head in puzzlement.

“I thought you managed things rather neatly.”

“To be sure.
After
the damage had been done.”

“Damage! What damage?”

“Your friendship, my dear. That precious, open friendship. It is as good as ended now.”

“No! You cannot!”

Landover drew closer despite her attempts to pull away from him. “Gently, child.” His voice was a caress, and she relaxed, trembling in his grasp. His arms slid around her shoulders. “’Tis none of my doing,” he muttered, “but ’tis a fact nonetheless. Prinny knows that Charlotte fled here first and thence to her mother. He will no doubt draw the logical conclusion, simply because he will prefer to pretend that Charlotte would never have thought to turn to her mother without outside influence—namely yours. I wish it had never happened, Gillian, but it did.”

“You think I should have turned her from the door,” she accused.

“Don’t be daft. Of course I don’t. You could have done nothing other than what you did do. You might have done better to have sent for me instead of accompanying her highness personally to Connaught House,” he added honestly, “but I quite understand why you didn’t feel that you could do that. And that is my fault. I should have made it clear much earlier that you can trust me.”

Suddenly, she could think of nothing to say. She was conscious only of his compassion, of a desire to nestle her head against that broad chest, to insist that of course she trusted him. Without warning, tears welled up into her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. Landover shook his head ruefully and held her away only long enough to dislodge a large linen handkerchief from his waistcoat pocket and hand it to her. Then he pulled her close again.

“Poor Gillian. It has all been rather tempestuous, has it not?” She nodded miserably, and he bent her head against his chest again, holding her, letting her cry. “It isn’t over yet, either,” he added when her sobs diminished. “Prinny will very likely give you the cut direct. I don’t imagine it will hurt your social standing much. Not when folks hear the whole tale. But things could be a mite uncomfortable. No more invitations to Carlton House for you, I’m afraid.”

Gillian blew her nose, then looked up at him, tears still sparkling on her lashes. “What about you, Landover? Will he cut you, too?”

He chuckled. “Not likely, I’m afraid. He may glower a bit and fume. He may even tear a strip or two off me for my insolence, for involving myself. But he does know I sent her back, and sooner or later there will be a treasure he covets desperately. I may be in the shade for a short while, but I shall come about.” He paused, watching her, then smiled. “Would you like to hear what happened after you left? It makes excellent entertainment, I promise you.”

She nodded with a watery sniff. “If you please, sir.”

The smile widened to a grin. “I please. But I think you should sit down. I recommend the settee, however, in case your spirits need further support. Come.” And he led her gently to a settee in the corner away from the desk. Gillian made no protest when he sat beside her, his arm still around her shoulders. It seemed only natural to snuggle against him while she listened.

“You’ve never seen such a commotion,” he began. “Not only did Brougham, the Duke of York, and the Lord Chancellor arrive, but also Mercer Elphinstone—one of Charlotte’s previous ladies, you know—as well as the Bishop of Salisbury and the Duke of Sussex!”

“Did the princess not tell them she had decided to return?”

“Not a bit of it,” Landover chuckled. “I think her highness enjoyed herself hugely. It isn’t often she gets a chance to be the center of attraction, after all. She kicked and bounced as though she meant to dig in her heels and defy them all, and when Brougham informed her that she would be obliged to entertain the lot of them until she capitulated, she only grinned at him and, going on as she had begun, ordered her servants to serve them all dinner.”

“She didn’t!” Gillian sat up straighter and stared at him in disbelief.

“She did indeed, and when dinner was served, she practically commanded them to eat it.”

“And did they?” Her eyes began to twinkle.

He nodded. “To humor her they sat whilst she played hostess. She drank wine with her baldheaded uncles, chattered, cracked jokes, and laughed with all of them. I daresay she’s had few happier moments.” He paused, then added musingly, “She was like a bird set loose from a cage. Brougham said that, and it was as apt a description as anyone could give. Her spirits were absolutely soaring.”

“I daresay she had her wings clipped soon enough, though.”

Landover grimaced. “Very true. It was Sussex—cautious, kindly Sussex—who asked Brougham whether or not they could legally resist if the Regent made an attempt to carry Charlotte off by force. They couldn’t, of course. So Sussex, in that fussy way of his, advised her to return with as much speed and as little noise as possible.”

“Is that when she told them she had already decided to do so?”

“Not then. There was a good deal more fuss and bother, with her mother supporting the others in no uncertain terms. But there was method in Charlotte’s stubbornness. When she agreed at last to go, it was only on the condition that Brougham would draw up a formal declaration of her refusal to marry the Prince of Orange. Then she made him promise to see it published immediately upon the announcement of any such marriage, so that her people might know she had been forced against her will. The declaration was written on the spot and signed with all of us as witnesses.”

“How … how brave of her,” Gillian whispered.