Page 68 of A Naughty Proposal for His Winter Countess
Stepping away, Daniel took her slightly trembling hand, and walked with her to the staircase. With a parting word and a smile, Harriet went off to her rooms, while he went to find Ben.
He found both of them back in Carrington's study, but instead of being seated, the Baron was hanging a painting behind his desk.
“There,” Carrington brushed his hands off, “you've been resurrected, Father.”
The man in the painting was sitting pompously on a throne-like chair with his legs crossed, his head propped up by his fist, and a patronizing look on his handsome face. Daniel found himself a fair judge of character, and the look on the man's painted face showed imperialism, disdain and entitlement. He probably was a man who thought the world should bow before him.
“I assume he's passed on?” Daniel asked.
“Yes,” Carrington nodded, “unfortunately, well, depending on how you look at it, he was a bit of a rolling stone.”
Ben's snort was loud, “A bit? Call a spade a spade, Carrington, the man was arake, the likes of which Giacomo Casanova could not hold a candle to.”
Carrington shrugged negligently, “Hisjoie de vervewas high.”
“To the ruination of many women, near and far,” Ben added dryly.
Disinterested in discussing a dead lothario, Daniel gave his respects to the Baron and reiterated his promise to alert Ben when the license was granted, Daniel left the Manor. Harriet, Martha and their aunt came out just as he was boarding his vehicle.
In her flattering dove-gray coat and gloves, Harriet parted the lapels of the outer garment to show him the glimmering stone resting on her breast. Pleased, Daniel went home assured that he had made the right decision to not tell her about the threat.
If this blackguard is going to come for me, all the better. Now that I have something and someone to fight for, I'll certainly come out the victor.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The night had long since fallen by the time Harriet, Martha and Aunt Barbara arrived back at the Manor. The boutiques on Bond Street and Mayfair had a fair share of shoppers. They did find a quaint shop where the seamstress agreed to modify one of Martha's silk dresses for the wedding day.
Stepping in the warm room, Harriet tugged her gloves off and pulled her coat away. “I believe the day went well.”
“I think so, as well,” Martha replied. “Harriet, Aunt Barbara, I would like to discuss something with you. When you've washed up, please come to my drawing room.”
“About what?” she asked.
“Marriage,” Martha said, while reddening, “and erm, what it comes with.”
While suspecting what her sister was angling for, Harriet kept her thoughts to herself while parting from her sister and aunt. In her room, she requested bath water and washed quickly.
Donning a thick nightgown, she went to Martha's room. Her sister was already seated in her night things, with a tea serving on the coffee table before her, and holding a cup in her hands.
“Please, sit,” Martha requested. “I need to discuss—”
“If you're going to repeat passages of that infernal book about how women should be in a marriage, to lay quietly in the marriage bed, without a sound as to not interrupt your husband during congress, is absurd! If that is your warning, I think I'll go to bed.”
Martha was red in the face, “Harriet!”
The thump of Aunt Barbara's cane paused their conversation.
“Have I missed the warnings?” A bundled-up Aunt Barbara asked.
“I was getting there,” Martha said. “But Harriet is ready to spurn true, proven advice in favor of idealistic nonsense.”
“For good reason,” Harriet parried. “I will not be a shrinking wallflower in my marriage. Daniel knows how I am and he appreciates that I'm willing to not bow to convention.”
“Perhaps, now that you're about to be married, it's time to do so,” Aunt Barbara replied. “Harriet, it is time to put such girlish notions behind you. Becoming a wife entails more than being married. At times you will be a nurse, a counselor. We are called a help meet for a reason, Dear. In marriage, you do away with the silly amusements. A sensible woman must preserve the peace in her home, even if it means sacrificing her own nature to submit to his.”
Disbelief that her family was telling her—no, forcing her—to change who she was to fit in with their notions of marriage, had an ember of anger growing in her chest.
“And suppose your husband has an indiscretion, will you answer with scorn and anger? No, Harriet, you bear and forbear,” Aunt Barbara said.
