“A pox on gentleman’s agreements! It’s outrageous how easily men can manipulate a woman—even the queen.” Harry looked pointedly at all the males at the table.
“Since you backed Palmerston, what are you getting in return?” the duchess asked shrewdly.
“I shall be going to Vienna for the peace talks to end the war.”
“Well, I’ll be damned!” Harry declared, and they all had a good laugh.
After dinner, Harry took Jane aside and gave her an envelope. “I’ve written Rachel a long letter. Be sure to give her my love, and find out if she’s finished the story about the lady who was given in marriage to settle a gambling debt.”
“What a scandalous thing to do. How could her story have a happy ending if the bride was no more than a pawn?”
Harry smiled knowingly. “Love conquers all.”
Chapter Twenty-four
“I’m keeping my fingers crossed that spring will come early. I know it’s only the middle of March, but the sparrows are already building their nests.” Harry was in her dressing room, deciding which clothes she would take with her to Shugborough. “I’d like you to come with me, Rose. Staffordshire is so lovely.”
“I’d like to come, Lady Harry, but if you stay all summer, my family would sorely miss my visits.”
“We have to come back to London at the beginning of May for my sister Jane’s debutante ball, so we’ll only stay for April. Hopefully Thomas and I can go back later. You don’t have to decide right away.” She handed Rose her jade velvet evening gown, then began to sort through her riding dresses.
“Will one gown be enough, Lady Harry?”
“I think so. We are not formal at Shugborough. I need country clothes and day dresses, sturdy walking shoes and riding boots. There are a few books in the library I’m taking. They can go at the bottom of my trunk. While I’m thinking of it, I’ll get Norton to bring it from the attic.”
Harry went downstairs and heard voices coming from the library. She remembered Thomas had mentioned his attorney was coming. I should say hello to Simon Kendall. Her footsteps slowed. Perhaps I shouldn’t disturb them. As she hesitated, she heard Kendall say, “I have renewed the lease on the Shepherd Market house.”
I didn’t know Thomas had any leased property. A picture of the striking-looking woman she had seen in Shepherd Market flashed into her mind. Then she heard Kendall say, “The lease on the other property comes due May first. Do you wish me to renew it?”
Thomas replied, “I’m not sure. I’m seriously considering giving it up, but it will depend on what Solange decides to do.”
Solange. The name filled Harry with disquiet. She hurried past the library and went in search of Norton. When she found him in the dining room polishing silver, she looked at him blankly. “Ah, now I remember. Would you please find my traveling trunk and take it to my dressing room?”
Clara appeared at the door carrying a tray. “Will you take your afternoon tea in your sitting room, Lady Harry?”
“Tea?” She made an effort to gather her thoughts. “Yes, thank you, Clara.”
As she sipped her tea absently, her thoughts chased one another in circles. I believed Thomas put any money he had into Shugborough. I didn’t know he leased properties in London. What else don’t I know? Harry shook her head. Stop being ridiculous!
But the silent whisper grew louder: Solange. She tried to dismiss her suspicious thoughts. She is his associate. Harry thought of her husband’s affiliation with Whitfield Cox. Solange must be an associate in the art dealership.
She put her cup and saucer back on the tray, and examined her emotions. Could it be jealousy? Is that what I’m feeling? She dismissed the idea as nonsense. She could not possibly be jealous of someone she didn’t know and had never met. I’m simply curious.
That night, and many nights following, Thomas was particularly attentive and tender with her. After making love, they talked about Shugborough. He told her that he had bought two suites of bedroom furnishings from Althorp that had come from Shugborough, and that he’d arranged to have them shipped from Northampton at the end of April.
In the last few days, Harry had successfully pushed away all thoughts of jealousy. She smiled into the darkness. “I can’t wait to see the daffodils in the riverside garden.”
The next morning, Harry went to the library to gather the books she intended to take to Shugborough. As she passed her husband’s desk, she paused to read a notation he’d made on his calendar: Lease renewal.
Her thoughts came flooding back. Thomas and his attorney had spoken of the lease renewals in connection with Solange. I’m not jealous of his associate—I’m simply curious. A picture of the woman she’d seen in Shepherd Market came unbidden. My imagination is playing tricks on me. Because I don’t know what Solange looks like, I picture the woman I saw in Shepherd Market.
By lunchtime, the silent whispers had magnified. Questions to which she had no answers taunted her. In the early afternoon, Harry decided there was only one way to satisfy her curiosity. She put on her hat and coat, and took a hackney to Oxford Street.
She went into Whitfield Cox, the fine-art dealer’s, and looked around the showroom.
A gentleman came forward to greet her. “Good afternoon, madam. May I be of service to you?”
She smiled. “Thank you. I’m here to see one of your associates recommended by a friend. Her name is Solange.”
“I’m sorry, madam,” he said politely, “Whitfield Cox has no associate by that name, but I would be more than happy to show you any of our paintings or artifacts. As well as this showroom, we have a large warehouse of fine-art pieces.”
Harry clutched at straws. “Perhaps Solange is employed at the warehouse.”
“I’m afraid not, madam. Whitfield Cox has no female associates.”
“I see. . . . My friend must have been mistaken.” She turned to leave. “Good afternoon.”
Outside, Harry glanced up at the sign to make sure it said WHITFIELD COX. She had been prepared for Solange to be absent, but the man had obviously never heard of her.
Bugger and balls! That was a complete waste of time.
On the ride home, Harry thought about Simon Kendall. He would be able to tell me who Solange is. She decided that it was impossible to question her husband’s attorney. It would prove that she didn’t trust Thomas.
That night, her husband worked late in the library, catching up on paperwork before their sojourn to Shugborough. Harry did not take him the usual jug of ale to lure him from his desk, and when Thomas finally came up to bed, she pretended to be asleep.
Harry spent a fitful night, and in the morning, though she could not recall her dreams, they left her feeling out of sorts. She brightened when Rose told her she would like to come to Shugborough.
“I’m so glad, Rose. As well as warm things, you must pack some lighter clothes. The weather is already mild, and I’m convinced that Staffordshire will have some lovely sunny days in April.”
The minute Rose left the room, Harry lapsed into thoughts of Solange, and yesterday’s futile attempts to meet her and satisfy her curiosity. Then her memory took her back to Marlborough’s visit. He said Solange was my husband’s associate. Her mouth went dry as her imagination led inexorably to thoughts she had tried to avoid. Marlborough insinuated that Solange was my husband’s mistress.
Her mind conjured the conversation she’d overheard between Simon Kendall and Thomas. “I have renewed the lease on the Shepherd Market house.” A vivid picture of the woman she’d seen in Shepherd Market filled her head. She saw the striking woman step up into a coach. Harry could deny the truth no longer. It was Thomas’s coach I saw in the rain that night.
At lunchtime, the knot in her stomach made it impossible for her to eat. She pushed her plate aside and left the table. Perhaps if I lie down for a while, I will feel better. But as she reclined quietly on the wide four-poster, she found it impossible to relax. She grew tenser by the minute as doubts and questions swirle
d about in her mind. After a half hour, she left the bed and decided that a long, warm bath would soothe and calm her nerves.
By three o’clock, Harry knew she must find out the truth or she would never again enjoy a peaceful moment. She went into her dressing room and carefully chose an outfit she knew was flattering. The amethyst wool dress had a matching cloak. She donned a smart gray hat adorned with violets.
On her way downstairs she encountered Clara, who looked surprised that she was going out. Then she remembered that it was Friday and that she didn’t usually leave for Langham Place until after dinner.
“I’ll be out for the rest of the day, Clara.”
“Very good, Lady Harry. Have a nice meeting.”
At Pall Mall she hailed a hackney. “Shepherd Market, please.” She saw that the traffic was busy. She sat back against the squabs and folded her hands. Harry dreaded what lay ahead. She was in no great hurry to arrive at her destination. From Piccadilly, the driver turned into White Horse Street and stopped at the corner of Shepherd Market.
She stepped out of the carriage and paid the driver. Then with measured but determined steps, she walked past the apothecary shop and stopped before the house farther down the street. She approached the door and hesitated. She still had the hard knot in her belly, but now, in addition, her heart was fluttering like a wild bird trying to escape from its cage.
She straightened her shoulders, took a deep breath, and raised her hand to the knocker. There’s no one home. I should leave. But she forced herself to stand there stoically until the door swung open.
The woman’s eyes widened. “Lady Lichfield!”
You know who I am. She stared at the beautiful female in the elegant gown, whose blond hair was fashioned into a smooth chignon. “Your name is Solange, I believe.”
“Yes, I am Solange.” After a moment she said, “Won’t you come in?”
Harry stepped over the threshold, and followed the woman. The house was narrow, the stairs steep, but the drawing room was furnished in good taste. She ignored the chair she was offered and remained standing. “What is your relationship with my husband?”
“We are associates.”
“What sort of associates?”
“Lord Lichfield and I are partners—business partners.”
“What sort of business?”
Solange stiffened. “I suggest you ask your husband, my lady.”
And I suggest you are my husband’s mistress. Harry pressed her lips together, before she blurted the accusation. “My husband’s attorney, Simon Kendall, renewed the lease on this house. Why would Thomas pay your lease?”
“I assure you that I pay my own lease, Lady Lichfield. Your husband had his attorney handle it as a courtesy.”
Harry saw that the woman was offended at the suggestion that Thomas paid her lease. Either you are telling me the truth or you are a good actress. She remembered that the Duke of Marlborough said he had given Solange a price for the centaurs.
“It is no secret that my husband has been trying to restore Shugborough’s furniture and artifacts for some time. Am I to understand you help him in this by acting as go-between to negotiate a price?” Please, please, let this be the nature of your relationship.
“I do act in that capacity sometimes.” Solange raised her chin. “If you have any more questions regarding your husband’s affairs, I respectfully suggest that you ask him, Lady Lichfield.”
Harry knew she would get no more out of her. Solange was both discreet and loyal.
Harry inclined her head gracefully. “I bid you good afternoon.”
When she got outside, the light was already leaving the sky, and she knew it must be past five o’clock. As she walked toward the apothecary shop, her thoughts were in turmoil. It was Friday night that he picked her up in his carriage. Thomas always goes out on Friday, and gets home very late. The thought that he spent every Friday night with Solange was hard to bear. Will he call for her tonight?
Harry went into the apothecary shop and pretended a great interest in the bottles and jars displayed on the shelves that held herbs, roots, seeds, powders, and electuaries. She kept glancing through the shop window, dreading yet expecting to see a coach.
After dawdling for a half hour, she realized she must buy something and approached the man behind the counter. “Last time I was here, you were kind enough to recommend a cure for morning sickness. I’ve quite forgotten what it was.”
“I remember you, my lady. There’s nothing better for nausea than powdered bistort and mint. It must have done the trick, if you are back for more.”
Harry glanced through the window and drew in a swift breath as she saw Solange walk past the shop. She turned back to the apothecary. “Yes, yes, that’s the stuff.”
She watched as he carefully measured out the bistort; then he crushed some dried mint leaves, mixed them together, and handed her the package.
“The dose is a half teaspoon.”
“Thank you so much.” She paid him and left the shop, determined to follow Solange. The woman was nowhere in sight, and Harry knew she must have turned the corner onto Curzon Street. She reached the corner in time to see her turn onto the next street. Harry walked slowly; she didn’t want Solange to know she was following her.
It was getting dark, and when she reached the next street, she peered quickly along the pavement to make sure she could still see her. Harry glanced up to read the name of the street. Half Moon Street.
She stopped as memories came flooding back to her. The last time I was on this street, I was with Rachel and the Montagu brothers. Suddenly Harry began to suspect where Solange was going. She peered down the street but could no longer see her. As if being drawn against her will, Harry put one foot in front of the other, until she was standing before Hazard House.
She gazed up at the dark facade, indistinguishable from its neighbors. The exact same thought she’d had last time she was here ran through her head: It looks like a respectable home, not a gaming hell.
She stood for a long time as if she was dazed. This cannot be where they meet. Her mind flatly denied that such a thing was possible.
A carriage stopped and two men got out. Harry was completely oblivious until one of them spoke to her.
“It looks closed, but it’s past opening time. Are you coming in, my dear?”
She did not reply, but when they opened the door and walked inside, she slowly followed. The men put something in the porter’s hand, and he welcomed all three of them with a bow.
She hung back until the men went upstairs before she slowly followed. The gaming rooms were brilliantly lit, but due to the early hour, there were few customers about. As if she were in a trance, Harry walked through the rooms. She moved past the one with the roulette wheel and dice table, and entered the cardroom where Montagu had played faro.
She stared at the staircase at the end of the room, and she heard the echo of Will Montagu’s words: I’ve seen his ravishing female partner who runs the place. Her fatal beauty lures men to wager deep. Harry knew it was a perfect description of Solange.
As she moved inexorably toward the staircase, her mind screamed its denial. The owner has a rather black reputation. She recoiled from her dark thoughts. It cannot be. It must not be. It is unthinkable.
She stood there, as fear warred with courage. I refuse to be a coward. She raised her hand, rapped sharply on the door, and waited.
Solange opened the door, and the two females stared at each other. After a long hesitation, Solange moved aside.
Harry stepped over the threshold, and the hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she stared with incredulity at the scene before her. The Duke of Marlborough sat at a gaming table. She saw Thomas jump to his feet when she entered the room, and she watched the card he had taken from the dealing box flutter to the floor.
“Harriet! What the hellfire are you doing here?” He came toward her.
She put up both hands to stay him. “Don’t come any closer!”
> He stopped and stared at her with dark, burning eyes.
She shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t even know you.”
Harry jumped out of the hackney cab in St. James’s Square. “Wait for me,” she instructed the driver. The front door banged closed behind her as Norton hurried to see who had arrived. “I need your help.” She rushed up the stairs and called, “Rose, Rose, where are you?”
By the time Norton and Rose followed her into the bedchamber, Harry was in her dressing room, filling her half-packed trunk with clothes.
“Rose, are you packed and ready to go?”
“Yes, Lady Harry.”
“Good. We are leaving.” She spoke to Norton. “Take this trunk to the carriage outside, and then come back for Rose’s luggage.”
“Are we going to Shugborough tonight?” Rose asked in amazement.
“No, we are going to Hampden House. Get your coat.”
Harry hurried down the stairs to the front door, with Rose following breathlessly.
When Harry got outside, she was livid to see her husband’s coach pull up. Norton moved toward Thomas’s carriage with her trunk.
“Not in there, you idiot! Put it in the hackney.”
Thomas jumped from his carriage. “Harry, stop this!”
She looked through him as if he were invisible. “Rose, get in the cab. Norton, go up and fetch Rose’s luggage.” She spoke to the driver, who was looking most skeptical. “We are going to 61 Green Street.”
Thomas took firm hold of the horse’s bridle. “You are going nowhere. Get back in the house.”
Harry reached up and grabbed the driver’s whip from its holder. She brought her arm down with a wild flourish, and the whipcrack made the horse rear its head in fear.
Thomas had his hands full, calming the horse, as Norton emerged with the luggage.
Harry grabbed the bag from him, thrust the whip into his hand, climbed into the cab, and banged the door shut.
Norton handed the whip back to the driver, who spoke to Thomas. “Kindly stand aside, yer lordship.”