The Chocolate Debutante (The Royal Ambition Series Book 5) Read online

“Except when trapped in posting houses in snowstorms.”

  “Such a thing has not happened before. But it is hardly a desert island or even a blasted heath. It is a well-run posting house. Hardly an adventure.”

  The bloods at the other table had been drinking heavily. One of them suddenly vomited on the floor.

  “This is enough,” said the earl. “Miss Tremayne, we can share the private parlor, and to save your maidenly sensibilities, we will leave the door open. Come, I beg you. Things with that crowd will only get worse.”

  Harriet hesitated. Then she saw one rise and fetch a pot from the sideboard. If she stayed much longer, she might have to witness worse than vomiting.

  “Thank you,” she said, rising hurriedly.

  “Go directly there, and I will instruct the landlord to bring our food upstairs.”

  Harriet fled.

  She hesitated outside her maid’s door—Lucy always had the luxury of her own bedchamber when traveling with her mistress. She should ask the maid to chaperon her, but Lord Dangerfield would surely not allow a maid to sit at the table with them, and Lucy was probably asleep by now. She went on her way to the private parlor.

  He joined her after a few moments. Now that she was alone with him in the little parlor, she was very conscious of his presence, of his masculinity. She reminded herself sternly that she was Miss Tremayne of independent means and not interested in gentlemen at all.

  The waiters and the landlord entered, bearing dishes. “I took the liberty of ordering some wine for us,” said the earl. “As I have taken your parlor away, I think it only fair that I should entertain you.”

  Harriet bowed her head. “You are most kind.” She knew it would be churlish to protest. Even on stagecoach journeys, the male passengers paid for any female passengers’ meals.

  They ate in silence for a while, and then he said, “I wonder how long we will be trapped here?”

  “Not long, I hope.” Harriet stood up and went to the window, drew back the curtain, and peered out. “The snow is worse.”

  “Then it looks as if we are going to get to know each other very well.” Harriet sat down again opposite him. The candle flames flickered and his eyes appeared to glitter. She felt uncomfortable and uneasy.

  “Perhaps not, my lord. I am fortunate enough to have some books with me, so I shall spend the time in my room, reading.”

  “Without eating?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then we shall see each other at meals. Unless you plan to return to the dining room?”

  Harriet repressed a shudder. “Not I. Can you imagine what it must be like to be married to one of those brutes?”

  “Not being a female, that sad thought never crossed my mind. And you, being an independent bluestocking, need not concern yourself with such thoughts either… unless, of course, you constantly look for things to justify your spinsterhood.”

  “That is cruel and untrue. I am happy and content with my life.”

  “With a mouth like that?”

  “My speech offends you?”

  “No, my sweeting. I merely remark that you have a passionate mouth.”

  “My lord, as we have been thrown into each other’s company, may I beg you to refrain from making impolite personal comments.”

  “As you will. Some might regard it as a compliment.”

  “How far are you traveling, my lord?”

  “To Oxford. I am to pay a visit to my old tutor.”

  “Did you attend the university, or is this gentleman a tutor of your youth who went with you on the Grand Tour?”

  “I attended the university.”

  “And did you receive a degree?”

  “Of course.”

  “Why of course?”

  “I went out riding as usual with my tutor at the end of my stay. He asked me two easy questions to which I gave the correct answers and then he told me I had my degree.”

  “Is that customary?”

  “My late father contributed funds to build a handsome library for the college. In such circumstances, yes, it is customary. Besides, the aristocracy cannot appear to fail.”

  “Women should be allowed to go to university.”

  “The next thing you will be saying is that they ought to have a vote.”

  “I do not see why not. We have minds, we have intelligence.”

  “That is not the general opinion.”

  “And what is the general opinion, as if I did not know?”

  He smiled. “Women are the weaker sex, like children, put on this earth to please and support men and to bear them offspring.”

  “And that is what you believe? There are many such ladies who would agree with your description. Each Season abounds with debutantes who have been rigorously trained to think they are lesser creatures. So why haven’t you married one?”

  He gave her a limpid look. “You forget Griselda,” he said sadly.

  “Now, I do not believe that a man such as you has spent years pining away for a dead girl.”

  “You have a very unfeminine, ruthless streak, do you know that? Perhaps I should explain that once you have found true love, then nothing else will do.”

  “Perhaps you read too many romances, my lord.”

  “Not I. I am a gentleman of great sensibility.”

  “You are mocking me!”

  “I am being truthful. Why will you not accept the truth of my statements? Is it because you do not want to?”

  “My lord, if I did not want to believe your statements, it would be because I was romantically interested in you myself, which I most definitely am not.”

  Again he experienced that stab of pique that she could remain so indifferent to him.

  “If you ‘do’ the Season with your young niece, then perhaps you yourself will find a mate.”

  Harriet laughed. “My lord, I will be seated with the other chaperones watching the success or otherwise of our protegées jealously. We will give tea parties and make calls to discuss which gentlemen are eligible, which are to be avoided. Will you be on such a list, or do you have a dreadful reputation that I should know about?”

  “I have a dreadful reputation.”

  “And how can that be? Not with the ladies, surely?”

  “Yes, with the ladies.”

  “You are not very faithful to Griselda’s memory, then.”

  “I am. I am, I assure you. That is what makes me so fickle. No lady can match my Griselda.”

  “Life goes on,” said Harriet sententiously. “You surely want heirs.”

  “My brother has four sons. There is no need for me to do my duty to secure the family line.”

  His eyes were mocking and she felt hot and uncomfortable. She was beginning to find his presence somewhat overwhelming. There was a silence as they both ate their food, and at the end of the meal, when the covers were removed, she rose to her feet with an air of relief. “I will leave you to your wine, my lord.”

  He walked with her to the door and then raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. Her hand trembled for a moment in his before she snatched it away. She dropped him a low curtsy.

  “Until tomorrow, Miss Tremayne,” he said softly.

  Harriet walked to her room with a fast-beating heart. She went straight to the window and looked out. The snow had ceased to fall. She opened the window and leaned out. The air felt warmer and melting snow was already dripping from the eaves.

  With any luck, she would be on her way tomorrow and would never have to meet the disturbing Lord Dangerfield again.

  But the following day, although the snow was melting fast, the roads were considered too bad for traveling. Lord Dangerfield learned to his annoyance that Miss Tremayne was breakfasting in her room.

  He walked around to the stables to talk to his coachman and groom and then returned to the still-silent inn. No one apart from the staff seemed to be awake.

  He felt restless and bored, and then he remembered that Miss Tremayne had said she had brought books
with her. Even some learned tome on the rights of women would do to alleviate the boredom of a snowbound inn, he thought, sending a waiter with a polite request that he might borrow a book.

  The waiter returned with the first volume of Fanny Burney’s Evelina. Surprised that the stern Miss Tremayne should read novels or even travel with them, he nonetheless settled down to read, expecting what he privately damned as the “usual female gothic rubbish.” He was amused and delighted, however, and by the afternoon sent the waiter back with a request for the second volume.

  In between reading, he found he was looking forward to dinner immensely, rehearsing the things he would say to her to see if he could perhaps flirt with her a little and make her aware of him as a man.

  But when he went to the private parlor, it was to find only one cover laid. “Where is Miss Tremayne?” he asked the landlord.

  “We cleaned up another of the private parlors, the one that was to be painted, my lord, and took off the covers. Miss Tremayne and her maid are dining there.”

  He felt at first disappointed and then angry. Who was this Miss Tremayne to shun dining with an earl?

  He ate his meal in gloomy silence, and then, returning to his room, collected the books and sent a waiter to her with them and a curt note of thanks.

  His coachman waylaid him in the corridor to say that the roads were now clear enough for travel and with my lord’s permission they would set off early in the morning.

  He nodded, thinking that he would soon be shot of the place and with any luck he would never set eyes on that odd spinster again.

  Chapter Two

  Harriet’s carriage jolted on its way. Watery winter sunlight gleamed in the puddles of melting snow in the surrounding fields. As she approached her sister’s home, she searched in her bag for her steel mirror to make sure there were no smuts of dirt on her nose.

  Her fingers encountered a stiff piece of paper. She drew it out. It was Lord Dangerfield’s curt note thanking her for the loan of the books. She made to crumple it, planning to throw it away when she arrived, but instead, she put it back in her bag. It was a memento of a very odd meeting. She found herself reluctant to get rid of it.

  Mary Colville lived in a rambling, low fourteenth-century house with many rooms, many stone floors, and not enough warmth. Harriet remembered it being cold even in midsummer and planned to stay only two nights. She wondered what illness Mary had found to “put on,” for her sister dressed herself in various ailments with all the enthusiasm of a fashion-conscious dandy sporting a new waistcoat.

  She was greeted by the butler and housekeeper and shown to her usual room. She was told that Mr. Colville had taken the younger children out skating but that madam was in the drawing room. Reflecting that only her absentminded brother-in-law would think of taking his children skating in the middle of a thaw, Harriet, with the help of her maid, changed out of her traveling clothes into a warm woolen gown and shawl and made her way to the drawing room on the ground floor, where thick carpets did little to stop the chill rising from the stone floor underneath. Harriet had suggested several times to Mr. Colville that he have the flags ripped out and replaced with wooden floors, but he would only smile vaguely and say, “Perhaps next year.”

  Mary Colville was lying on a daybed near the window. A table crowded with bottles of medicine was at her elbow.

  “What is wrong, Mary?” asked Harriet.

  “I fear I have a wasting illness,” whispered Mary. “Come closer and let me look at you, Harriet. My sight fails me.”

  Remarkably sharp, beady eyes fastened on Harriet’s face.

  Knowing from long experience that it was useless to tell her sister she was actually as strong as an ox, Harriet drew a chair up to the daybed and sat down.

  “I received your letter,” said Harriet, “and am come to look at Susan, to get to know her. I have not seen her since she was a child. If I am to bring her out, then I must be sure that we will deal together tolerably well.”

  “You will have no trouble puffing her off,” said Mary, forgetting to whisper. “She looks like an angel, has a fine dowry, and is all that is amiable.”

  “I am amazed, then, that you do not want to see her success yourself.”

  “Alas, I am not well enough. In fact, my dying wish is to see Susan settled.”

  “I do not think you are dying yet, Mary. When do I have the pleasure of meeting Susan?”

  Mary fumbled with one thin white hand among the bottles on the table until she found a brass bell which she rang. When the butler answered, she asked him in a faint voice to fetch Miss Susan.

  Harriet waited uneasily. There was a commotion outside. She went to the window and looked out. Mr. Colville was hurrying to the house, carrying one soaking-wet child, the rest trailing after him, their faces bright with excitement. She turned from the window.

  “I think you will find that one of your children—Harry, I think—has fallen through the ice. Mr. Colville is carrying him into the house.”

  “Oh,” said Mary.

  “Do you wish me to go and see if he is well?”

  “We have nurses and a governess,” said Mary languidly. “That is what they are for.”

  The door opened and a vision walked in.

  Dear heavens, thought Harriet. It’s Griselda.

  Susan Colville had a sweet, heart-shaped face and wide, innocent blue eyes. She had masses of fair curls, fine baby hair, and a perfectly shaped pink mouth. Her figure was dainty and her hands and feet small and delicately shaped. Despite the chill of the house, she was wearing a filmy white muslin gown.

  “Welcome, Aunt Harriet,” she said, dropping a curtsy.

  “Come and kiss your mama,” ordered Mary.

  Susan tripped forward and dropped a butterfly kiss on Mary’s face.

  “Your aunt is to give you a Season,” said Mary.

  “I have not yet come to a decision.” Harriet was alarmed and yet could not think why. Finding a husband for this dazzler would surely be the easiest thing in the world. She was beginning to find the “sickroom” oppressive. There was now an odd smell in it, as if of bad drains.

  “Mama,” said Susan. Her voice had a faint lisp. “’Tis the Harveys’ ball this night, and you said I might leave soon and stay with them.”

  “I had forgotten,” said Mary. “How can your aunt see much of you if you are to go jauntering about?”

  “But the Harveys’ carriage is due to arrive for me any moment, and they will be mortally offended if I do not go. You did give your permission.”

  “Well, well. I suppose you must go.”

  “Thank you, Mama. I am in alt at meeting you, Aunt Harriet.” Susan dropped a curtsy and left the room.

  “Susan is uncommonly beautiful,” said Harriet.

  “And a beautiful nature.” Mary appeared to rouse herself slightly. “You will bring her out, will you not, Harriet?”

  Harriet hesitated. “I had planned to stay only a couple of days, Mary. But if Susan is to be absent, I cannot get to know her very well.”

  “There is nothing to know,” said Mary. “She is as you saw her, sweet, charming, and beautiful. A very placid girl, too. Not one of your great hurly-burly creatures. ’Twould be best if you took her with you as soon as she returns from the Harveys, Harriet, for, as you can see, I am at death’s door.”

  “In that case, perhaps Susan might do better to stay here and witness your last moments.”

  Mary threw her a haughty look. “You are hard and unfeeling as always, Harriet. It would comfort my last hours to know that my beautiful daughter was a success at the Season.” She gave a little sigh and said in a more practical voice. “Susan doesn’t really notice me, or indeed anyone else. I think she lives in another world.”

  Harriet felt trapped. The chill in the room was making her shiver. Two more days of this!

  She excused herself and went in search of the butler and bribed him heavily to make sure a roaring fire was always burning in her bedchamber during her visit
. Thank goodness for the books she had brought with her. She settled down to content herself with reading to pass the time.

  By the time Susan returned, Harriet was more than ever eager to leave. Susan’s little brothers and sisters were very noisy and spoiled and given to playing practical jokes. The night before, Harriet had had to rescue a bewildered hedgehog, fortunately still alive, from the bottom of her bed and carry it outside, where it could resume its hibernation.