Mary Brendan - Regency High Society Vol 1 - A Hasty Betrothal / A Scandalous Marriage / The Count's Charade / The Rake and the Rebel

Preferring to be in the thick of the action, he was seldom to be found far from the front lines, this enthusiasm earning him rapid promotion, but inevitably he had, during one engagement, received a splinter in the thigh, which had necessitated him being carried off the field and transported to what passed as the hospital area. Here, amidst the sickening carnage and filth, he had witnessed ‘Mrs Major', as she was termed, working alongside the wives of the troopers and artillerymen as though she were a mere camp-follower instead of an officer’s lady. He had seen that she spoke as gently and compassionately to the roughest infantryman as she did to those of rank and title and he had been equally impressed by her firm efficiency as she tended the most appalling wounds. His own injury had not been severe and his conversations with her had been few and he had soon been transferred to his own quarters but, on other fields and in other battles, he had often recalled the sight of ‘Mrs Major’ walking quietly amongst the rows of dead and dying, bending to offer what little comfort she could.

Her daughter certainly seemed to have that same indomitable spirit, he now mused, as he watched Harriet deep in conversation with his mother. He had been quite taken aback at her entrance. True, he had not studied her very closely up until that moment, but the transformation from mud-urchin was astonishing.

The dirty, raggedly cropped hair was now a burning halo of soft curls framing a quite delightful face upon which was centred a neat straight nose, lightly dusted with some very unfashionable freckles. And that was a decidedly stubborn looking chin, he conjectured in growing amusement. The generous rosy lips, unpainted, he would swear, were half open as they exclaimed at some words the countess had uttered, and the eyes—what colour? He could not immediately recall, but was answered as the owner turned her face in his direction. Green as moss and fringed, most unusually, with thick, dark lashes.

The result was breathtaking and, with a gleam in his eye, it suddenly occurred to him that being ‘engaged’ to this curious little creature could prove to be rather more than just an amusing diversion. Confident of his ability to charm her out of her unwarranted antagonism towards him, his spirits rose as he resolved to take her to visit his sister-in-law at the first opportunity.

Harriet had suffered a restless night in her rose bedchamber. Her head ached and parts of her body felt very sore as she tossed and turned in the big bed. She was glad that it was not a four-poster, as she had always hated them, slightly fearful that someone may be prowling around beyond the closed bedcurtains.

Having spent most of her youth in Spain and Portugal, she disliked being shut in, preferring open spaces and wide skies. She had discovered, to her surprise, that she loved the lush greenness of England and, even though she had also found that she was expected to conform to the rigid pattern of behaviour required of an English miss, she had eventually settled into her new life as a gentleman farmer’s daughter quite contentedly.

However, although occasional digressions still occurred, her stubbornness still had to be held firmly in check, especially if she felt that her wishes were being unreasonably overridden, and her father had often had cause to wonder from whence this mulish streak had come. Her mother could only suppose that it must have been inherited from her Scottish forebears, once reminding her husband that her own father’s cussedness had been legend in his lands and who,

Harriet had been subsequently informed, had continued to earn this reputation over the succeeding years.

Harriet wondered if he would respond to Lady Caroline’s missive. She had intended arriving, unannounced, on his doorstep, confident of her ability to win round the dear old gentleman she had supposed him to be but, after her conversation with the countess, she was no longer so sure of herself. In fact, he sounded a rather disagreeable sort of fellow, refusing to have anything to do with Mama just because she had wanted to marry darling Papa. He must be slightly touched in his upper quarters, she decided, pulling the quilt around her. Mama had seldom spoken about him and it was only after Papa’s death that she had told her daughter that she believed him to be still alive, having read of some Highland clearance dispute with which he was involved. Hearing that he had taken a sympathetic view of the Highlanders’ plight had been the main reason that Harriet had elected to seek out her grandfather. She could have succeeded too, she fulminated resentfully, had not that fool coachman knocked her down. Then, that arrogant Sandford! Carting her off like so much baggage! And in the opposite direction, too! And now, she had to pretend to be engaged to him! What a disappointment he had turned out to be! A small tear crept from her eye as she took stock of her situation and, sniffing, she realised forlornly that she would have to make the best of it until a better opportunity presented itself—the words her father had been wont to use if ever he heard her complaining about her lot. She drifted off to sleep, beset by dreams of marching columns, speeding coaches and Viscount Sandford, surrounded by hundreds of tartan sheep!

The following morning at breakfast, Sandford announced his intention of riding over to Westpark to introduce hi ‘betrothed’ to the Hursts. He nodded briskly to Harriet, who glowered at him over the rim of her cup.

‘If you could arrange to be ready in half an hour, I shall have the horses saddled.’

‘Oh, I’m afraid I cannot accompany you,’ she countered. ‘I have no habit, although I dare say could wear my breeches, of course,’ she offered pertly.

Lady Caroline frowned at her and shook her head. ‘Don’t be naughty, my child. You must not tease him. He has not yet got out of the way of giving orders.’ She turned to her son and smiled. ‘I have arranged for Madame Armande to bring her seamstresses to us this morning, my dear. If you could wait until Miss Cordell has some suitable garments I am sure she will be happy to accompany you. You will want her to make a good impression, I know—especially on Lady Butler.’ Her eyes twinkled as she saw her words take effect.

‘As you say, ma’am,’ replied Sandford, rising. ‘Then I shall go up to see how Father does and tend to other business instead. Your servant, ladies.’ He bowed in Harriet’s direction and left the room.

‘He’s very high-handed, isn’t he?’ Harriet said, in some surprise at his sudden departure, and strangely disappointed that he had refused to rise to her bait.

Her ladyship patted her hand. ‘He has been used to making decisions, my dear,’ she said. ‘And, like yourself perhaps, he has been out of Society for so long that he forgets how it goes on. You must not mind him.’

Looking at the clock on the mantel-shelf, she rose to her feet. ‘Come, now we must attend to Madame. She will be waiting in the sewing-room and we have a lot to get through.’

The next few hours were a test of stamina, with Harriet being pushed and pulled and pinned and measured until her head was in a whirl. Madame had brought several garments ready-made, which were to be altered to fit her at once, in addition to the many bolts of various fabrics that she offered for Lady Caroline’s inspection.

At last, the countess took Harriet down for the cold luncheon that had been laid out for them in the dining-room. Sandford was nowhere to be seen. Harriet supposed him to be about his ‘other business'. She, herself, was desperate to get out into the fresh air and was about to ask her ladyship’s permission to take a walk on the terrace when March entered and announced a visitor.