She cleared her throat. “Is that all you wanted?”
His gaze fell to the book she held against her. He exhaled, regaining mastery of his errant thoughts. “Has my aunt got you working for her already?”
She seemed reluctant to answer. Perhaps she had guessed he was only bargaining for time. He had not employed the most devious strategy in coming to her room.
“This is my book,” she said, her fingers curling around the spine. “It’s about a monster made up of dead body parts. He goes on a killing rage because the doctor who created him refuses to make him a wife.”
“Another woman drawn to the dark and macabre,” he mused. “Primrose would probably enjoy such a story. You should read it to her. No. You shouldn’t. It might give her ideas.”
She pushed her hand against the door. “Your aunt appears to be a dear lady devoted to her family. You ought to be ashamed of yourself for making fun of her all the time.”
He sighed, duly caught out. “That’s exactly what she keeps telling me. Just remember-she isn’t at all as sweet as she appears.”
Harriet smiled. “I know who I have to keep my eye on, thank you.”
Chapter Eleven
No one can conceive the variety of feelings which bore me onwards, like a hurricane, in the first enthusiasm of success.
MARY SHELLEY
Frankenstein
Lady Powlis did indeed put Harriet to work early the next morning, in the breakfast room, before the duke had a proper chance to sit down in private and enjoy his meal. It was quiet in the house, she thought. The girls at the academy would be bickering over who had gotten the last scone as they hurried to class. Harriet spent half her day intervening and demanding they apologize to one another.
The peace of this noble household was a true sign that she had moved up in the world. There were no offended feelings to soothe. No tears to mop up. Lady Powlis sat dictating an itinerary of all the functions that had been planned for the next fortnight.
It was so simple, so quiet-until Lady Powlis murmured, “And make a note to have the duke’s tailor come tomorrow afternoon for his fitting.”
Griffin looked up suspiciously from his paper. “Fitting for what?”
Lady Powlis shook her head in fond exasperation. “The wedding, Griff.” He frowned. “What wedding?” Harriet put down her pen.
“The wedding,” Lady Powlis said, in the quavery voice that Harriet would soon realize disguised a will of iron, “that we have been planning for almost a year. The wedding that all of Society is dying to attend. The wedding that will release me of my obligation to Glenmorgan’s future.”
He snorted. “There has to be an engagement first, doesn’t there?”
“The morning papers suggest you have taken that step,” his aunt said, with a meaningful glance at the table.
“Good for the morning papers,” he said.
Harriet rose hastily. “I’ll leave you both alone to sort this out. If you need-”
“Sit down at your desk, Harriet,” Lady Powlis snapped.
Harriet swallowed. “But I-”
“Sit down, girl. You’ll be of no use to anyone if the duke and I cannot speak frankly to each other when you are in the room.”
Griffin’s eyes danced wickedly. “She’s right. You had better stay in case I need a witness to testify that she forced me to marry against my will.”
“Don’t be such an idiot,” his aunt said. “You are going to turn Harriet against me, and I will never forgive you.”
“Why don’t you join my side, Miss Gardner?” he said, grinning shamelessly.
She shook her head. “I have no idea what the pair of you are arguing about, and I’m sure it isn’t any of my business.” Which didn’t mean she wasn’t intently curious about the matter. Nor did it stop her from asking, after a long hesitation, “Has the duke proposed to this lady or not?”
Griffin’s face darkened. “No. Never.”
His aunt sputtered in denial. “His brother’s factors pursued a match between them, and when Griffin inherited the dukedom, he inherited the promises and duties that go with it.”
“I haven’t even met her properly,” Griffin said, folding his paper in half. “It is entirely possible that she will hate me on sight.”
Harriet doubted that with all her heart. The duke might have a nasty reputation and he might make a forbidding first impression. But if any lady bothered to look past his portentous façade, she would find herself in the most pleasant sort of trouble, if not half in love.
She glanced up guiltily as she realized Lady Powlis was talking to her again.
“My nephew is behaving like a spoiled… rogue,” her ladyship said with a deep sigh. “I can’t understand what has come over him. Last night he made the biggest fuss in creation over a waltz-”
“Reel,” Harriet murmured. “A Scotch reel.”
“You made the fuss,” Griffin pointed out, propping his legs up on the chair at the opposite side of the table. “You embarrassed Miss Gardner to no end. You didn’t have to make a case of her in front of everyone just because Edlyn disappeared for a few moments. I could have found her by myself.”
“Did I embarrass you, Miss Gardner?” Lady Powlis asked with pursed lips.
“Nothing embarrasses me, ma’am.”
“Just wait,” Griffin said.
His aunt frowned at him. “Look at the way he’s sitting. That isn’t embarrassing?”
Harriet blew out a quiet sigh and sank back into her chair. This was fun. When would the fireworks begin? Fortunately, the heated interlude gave her a little extra time to finish her itinerary. Handwriting had never come easily to Harriet. She labored twice as long as anyone else in the academy at the task.
“Make up a list of eligible brides while you’re at it,” Lady Powlis instructed her with a grim smile. “If the duke does not think he and the lady chosen for him will suit, then let him choose elsewhere.”
Harriet shook her head. “Madam, I wouldn’t have any notion of where to begin. I am a mere-well, until yesterday, I was an instructress. I haven’t-”
“There must be one or two academy graduates who are still unwed,” Lady Powlis said. “She doesn’t have to be perfect.”
Griffin glanced at Harriet. “But it wouldn’t hurt.”
She swallowed a laugh and reached for a fresh piece of paper. She wrote down the name of the butcher’s daughter, who had a beefy hand when it came to dealing with unwanted customers. Then there was the Yorkshire graduate at the academy. Surely her parents wouldn’t complain if their girl landed a duke instead of an earl. The third-she blinked, appalled to realize she’d started to write the name of her beloved fiend’s inventor, Frankenstein. She crossed it out, immediately applying her pen to the paper to turn the F into a lumpy oval shape. The next thing she knew, the oval had a forked tail and cloven-soled boots.
Her breath froze as Griffin suddenly leapt up from his seat and leaned over her. “Auntie Primrose,” he said with a low laugh, “your new companion is drawing something impolite.”
Harriet gasped. She almost slapped the white-cuffed hand that reached down to confiscate her paper from the desk.
“Stop pestering the poor young woman,” his aunt said sternly. “I can’t remember when I have seen you behaving in such an off-putting fashion.”
“Make her show it to you,” he insisted. “She’s drawn something with ears.”
Harriet narrowed her gaze. “Those are petals, your grace. Forgive my lack of skill, but it was supposed to be a flower.”
“A primrose?” Lady Powlis asked with a flattered smile.
The duke examined the sketch with a critical eye. “Only if primroses are grown with barbed lines through the stems.”
“That would be one of the roots,” Harriet said tightly.