gurgle of laughter. ‘Poor Tribbles. My dancing is appalling. But I will strike a bargain with you. You help me with the Tribbles and I will help you find a pretty little wife.’
He felt he ought to be angry, but instead he felt a sort of bubbling amusement growing inside him, mixed with admiration for her shrewdness. He held out his hand. ‘I agree. Let us shake on it. I can hardly wait to see the sort of female you think suitable for me.’
Harriet solemnly took his proffered hand and shook it.
His hand was dry and warm and firm. She looked at his thin, handsome face and felt a little pang of disappointment. What a pity he was not a more worthy character.
Harriet did not like to lie. But she could hardly tell the Tribble sisters that she had allowed Lord Charles to entertain her at Gunter’s with a view to seeing the sisters safely married, and so she said mildly that she had spent some of her winnings on taking a hack to the Strand to look at the shops.
She then applied herself to her various lessons with indefatigable zeal until poor Harris, the butler, claimed he was being danced off his feet, but at least Harriet had become used to dancing easily with a man. She then surprised the Tribbles by suggesting they should take her out on calls where she might meet a few other young ladies. ‘So important to have friends, I think,’ said Harriet, failing to explain she was wife-hunting for Lord Charles. She could only hope he was performing his part of the bargain and seeking out Mr Haddon and Mr Randolph.
Lord Charles ran both the nabobs to earth in Child’s coffee house in St James’s.
He asked permission to join them and then expressed his admiration for the Tribble sisters. ‘Very game, don’t you think,’ said Lord Charles, ‘to up and find a means of earning a living? How are they getting on with Miss Brown, and what is her problem apart of being short of the ready?’
Mr Haddon smiled. ‘Miss Brown, alas, is such a sterling character that she lacks the necessary frivolity and shallowness considered essential in any young female looking for a husband.’
‘Perhaps not all men would wish a silly widgeon,’ said Lord Charles. ‘You gentlemen, for example, would expect more in the character of any female you chose to wed.’
‘Unfortunately, we are both hardened bachelors,’ said Mr Randolph with a complacent smile.
‘Odso!’ drawled Lord Charles. ‘But perhaps that is fortunate.’
‘How so?’ asked Mr Haddon.
‘There are various widowers in London society who have confided to me their admiration of Miss Amy and Miss Effy. Of course, Miss Effy is vastly pretty for her age, but Miss Amy has all the humour and strength of character many a man would admire. Strange as it may seem, it would not surprise me if the ladies had a great success before another year is out and that success will be their own marriages.’
Mr Randolph laughed. ‘Why, my lord, the Tribbles are as dedicated to spinsterhood as we are to bachelordom.’
Lord Charles studied his well-manicured nails. ‘Now, gentlemen,’ he chided, ‘what female of any age is ever dedicated to spinsterhood? Which reminds me. I must call on another of their beaux, although I don’t know which one of ’em he fancies, Miss Amy or Miss Effy.’
‘And who is this gentleman?’ asked Mr Haddon crossly.
‘None other than my uncle, Mr Lawrence,’ said Lord Charles smoothly. ‘You will no doubt be meeting him.’
Lord Charles took his leave and went straight to his uncle’s lodgings. Mr Lawrence, his mother’s brother, had but lately come to Town. He was a well-preserved gentleman of fifty-eight years old, a widower, and addicted to gambling.
He was sitting in his dressing gown, reading the morning papers and drinking coffee when Lord Charles arrived. Although it was three in the afternoon, he had just risen from bed. He was a pleasant-looking man with the smooth, well-kept appearance of the hedonist who lets nothing trouble him.
He felt he ought to be angry, but instead he felt a sort of bubbling amusement growing inside him, mixed with admiration for her shrewdness. He held out his hand. ‘I agree. Let us shake on it. I can hardly wait to see the sort of female you think suitable for me.’
Harriet solemnly took his proffered hand and shook it.
His hand was dry and warm and firm. She looked at his thin, handsome face and felt a little pang of disappointment. What a pity he was not a more worthy character.
Harriet did not like to lie. But she could hardly tell the Tribble sisters that she had allowed Lord Charles to entertain her at Gunter’s with a view to seeing the sisters safely married, and so she said mildly that she had spent some of her winnings on taking a hack to the Strand to look at the shops.
She then applied herself to her various lessons with indefatigable zeal until poor Harris, the butler, claimed he was being danced off his feet, but at least Harriet had become used to dancing easily with a man. She then surprised the Tribbles by suggesting they should take her out on calls where she might meet a few other young ladies. ‘So important to have friends, I think,’ said Harriet, failing to explain she was wife-hunting for Lord Charles. She could only hope he was performing his part of the bargain and seeking out Mr Haddon and Mr Randolph.
Lord Charles ran both the nabobs to earth in Child’s coffee house in St James’s.
He asked permission to join them and then expressed his admiration for the Tribble sisters. ‘Very game, don’t you think,’ said Lord Charles, ‘to up and find a means of earning a living? How are they getting on with Miss Brown, and what is her problem apart of being short of the ready?’
Mr Haddon smiled. ‘Miss Brown, alas, is such a sterling character that she lacks the necessary frivolity and shallowness considered essential in any young female looking for a husband.’
‘Perhaps not all men would wish a silly widgeon,’ said Lord Charles. ‘You gentlemen, for example, would expect more in the character of any female you chose to wed.’
‘Unfortunately, we are both hardened bachelors,’ said Mr Randolph with a complacent smile.
‘Odso!’ drawled Lord Charles. ‘But perhaps that is fortunate.’
‘How so?’ asked Mr Haddon.
‘There are various widowers in London society who have confided to me their admiration of Miss Amy and Miss Effy. Of course, Miss Effy is vastly pretty for her age, but Miss Amy has all the humour and strength of character many a man would admire. Strange as it may seem, it would not surprise me if the ladies had a great success before another year is out and that success will be their own marriages.’
Mr Randolph laughed. ‘Why, my lord, the Tribbles are as dedicated to spinsterhood as we are to bachelordom.’
Lord Charles studied his well-manicured nails. ‘Now, gentlemen,’ he chided, ‘what female of any age is ever dedicated to spinsterhood? Which reminds me. I must call on another of their beaux, although I don’t know which one of ’em he fancies, Miss Amy or Miss Effy.’
‘And who is this gentleman?’ asked Mr Haddon crossly.
‘None other than my uncle, Mr Lawrence,’ said Lord Charles smoothly. ‘You will no doubt be meeting him.’
Lord Charles took his leave and went straight to his uncle’s lodgings. Mr Lawrence, his mother’s brother, had but lately come to Town. He was a well-preserved gentleman of fifty-eight years old, a widower, and addicted to gambling.
He was sitting in his dressing gown, reading the morning papers and drinking coffee when Lord Charles arrived. Although it was three in the afternoon, he had just risen from bed. He was a pleasant-looking man with the smooth, well-kept appearance of the hedonist who lets nothing trouble him.
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