Page 214 of The Ladies Least Likely
“I wasn’t at breakfast.” Harriette took the butler’s offered hand and began the process of hauling herself and her several layers of skirts out of the vehicle. She’d risen early and went straight to her studio to see if she could achieve the precise blue of Ren’s suit in gouache colors, and when Darci came in to sculpt, they had worked side by side for hours without speaking, as was their custom. Darci was an excellent person to share an artistic studio with.
“How did word get out?”
“I can’t imagine,” Princess said innocently. “Your aunt never would have mentioned it, I’m sure. Nor I.”
Harriette turned to glare at her, ignoring for the moment the small crowd. “Will you stay?”
“My friend awaits me,” Princess said. “Jock and Beater will bring the cabriolet back for you. My friend will see I return home.”
Harriette wondered, not for the first time, about Princess’s recent new friend, who insisted on secrecy but seemed rather libertine in his habits and his wealth. The thought fled from her mind when Ren stepped out the front door onto the scrubbed white stoop. He was splendid and polished in morning dress and leaned on a cane.
“Hullo, W-LadyRhette,” he said playfully. “Princess.” His eyes flickered over Beater, who had stepped down from the groom’s perch to stretch his legs. Then he saw Jock, and his face changed. He started towards them.
“No, don’t—” Harriette caught herself. Ren hated having attention brought to his limp. Plenty of gentlemen carried canes as a fashion accessory, and he had learned to walk as if he had all the time in the world as a mark of his high birth, rather than an indication that he struggled to keep each step smooth and even.
“Oy, now.” Jock crossed his forearms and regarded the earl, but spoke under his breath to Harriette. “Yer gent shambles bad as I do.”
“Don’t make fun,” Harriette hissed.
“Can’t I? ‘E only needs one crutch, an I need two,” Jock said, with only the faintest trace of bitterness. He had learned to deal with his injury, but he still felt the occasional resentment, Harriette knew.
Ren stopped before them, glancing from Harriette to her groom, who sat atop the horse as if he’d been born to the saddle. Still it was impossible not to notice the twisted legs hanging along the horse’s sides.
He addressed Jock directly. “Polio?”
“Horse, yer lordship.” Jock tugged the brim of his hat briefly. “Racing overland on a gentleman’s wager. Camino threw me ata fence, and me mate, riding Arachne, landed straight atop me afore he could pull up. Broke me back and both legs. Never healed proper.”
Ren winced. “W-rotten l-luck.”
“He was the best jockey at Newmarket,” Harriette said, because Jock would never boast of it. “Won the King’s Plate three times.” She added, when Ren turned wondering eyes on her, “My aunt is a great enthusiast for horse racing. She’d keep her own stable if she could. When the accident put Jock out of a job, she offered him one. He’s been with us ever since.”
“Pleasure to meet you.” Quite against custom, and to the great surprise of the onlookers, Ren held out his hand to the smaller man.
Jock shook it solemnly. “Yer Lordship. Call me Jock. Never knew me real name, so gave meself that one.”
Ren offered his arm to Harriette, something warm and appreciative in his eyes. Harriette felt a responsive warmth fill her.
“Amalie would come out to meet you, but she doesn’t like crowds. I expect she’s pressed against a window, staring at you.”
“Staring at the Princess’s hat, rather.” Harriette joined him in scanning the first-floor windows for a glimpse of the elusive Lady Amalie.
Her stomach tightened. She was returning to Renwick House on Ren’s arm, about to meet his sister. Nothing had changed about her on the inside; she was precisely the same Harriette who had woken up a week ago thinking of nothing but of how to garner wealthy patrons and commissions to paint them. She was the same Harriette this butler had turned out of the house a few days prior.
No, that wasn’t true. She was the Harriette who had met Renwick again, all grown up, and discovered that the childhood bond they’d forged as outcasts and riffraff had not only endured,but taken on a deeper, instinctive meeting of hearts and minds as well as a compelling physical attraction. She felt it as she leaned upon his arm, unconsciously seeking his heat and strength. His thigh brushed her skirts and the shiver of fabric ran all down her leg, then back up to that secret place in between.
She was the Harriette whose every action would reflect not just on her aunt and her mother’s station but on an entire duchy she had never known existed until a few days ago. Löwenburg would wear in England whatever reflection she cast upon it.
She matched her gait to his and they stepped from the street to the small porch with stately grace. “Why the cane?”
“I had a devil of a time with my exercises this morning.” Ren kept his voice low as they stepped into the house. “The doctor said I must do them every day, and then a special extra set each week. I chose today, unfortunately. I hope you won’t insist on our excursion to the pleasure gardens.”
“You’ll have to go sometime,” Harriette said with a stern look. “I won’t let you cry off.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Ren said with a sigh. “But you’ll have a harder time convincing Amalie. Come.”
He drew her toward the stairs that circled down to the entrance hall. They both paused at the sight of the Countess of Renwick standing upon them, wearing a bright yellow robe draped with blonde lace and a formidable expression.
“Lady Harriette,” she said with a vinegary curl of the lip.
