The Pursuit of Lady Harriett (Tanglewood Book 3) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Author's Note

  Books by Rachael Anderson

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  © 2017 Rachael Anderson

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever, whether by graphic, visual, electronic, film, microfilm, tape recording, or any other means, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. The opinions and views expressed herein belong solely to the author and do not necessarily represent the opinions or views of HEA Publishing, LLC. Permission for the use of sources, graphics, and photos is also solely the responsibility of the author.

  Cover image credit: Lee Avison/Trevillion images

  ISBN: 978-1-941363-21-8

  Published by HEA Publishing

  Oh, what a tangled web we weave

  When first we practise to deceive!

  —Sir Walter Scott, Marmion

  “HOW DREADFUL IT WOULD be to live on one's own permanently,” Lady Harriett Cavendish said to no one in particular as she walked through a thick grove of pines in Askern, Yorkshire. Most of the landscape surrounding Tanglewood Manor appeared barren and lifeless, still dormant from a chilly winter, but this particular area of evergreens felt alive with the promise of spring. Despite the light drizzle and overcast skies, a bird chirped from somewhere overhead, and Harriett smiled at the happy sound.

  The current owners of Tanglewood, Lord and Lady Jonathan Ludlow, had departed a week prior on their wedding trip, leaving Harriett in the capable hands of their staff. When she had bid her friends farewell, Harriett had envisioned a grand foray into the glittering world of independence. But now that a week had come and gone with no one but servants to speak with, she found herself developing a severe case of the blue devils.

  Harriett missed participating in lively conversations, or any conversations for that matter. She wanted to discuss, tease, be teased, and laugh heartily. She wanted something to think about beyond her own insipid contemplations.

  The rain had not helped matters in the least. For three days it had poured down on Askern, confining her indoors with the hollow sounds of servants’ footsteps, hushed voices, and silence. How odd that a warm, cozy, and welcoming home could now feel so… oppressive. Out of desperation, Harriett had chosen a random book from the library and had become better acquainted with a process called the Norfolk Four-Course Farming Method. The fact that she had found the information interesting was further proof of how wretched she had become.

  It was with great relief that she had awakened to a warmer, late-February day with nothing more than a light, misty rain. She had wasted no time donning her pelisse and making her escape to the damp outdoors. The muddy ground squished beneath her boots, but Harriett paid it no mind. She strode into the woods with determination, filling her lungs with fresh, invigorating air.

  Yes, this was precisely what she had needed. She could already feel her spirits rise.

  After a time, Harriett came to a road riddled with puddles and muck. She sighed and lifted her gaze, smiling when she spotted a rainbow arching across the sky. It wasn’t the brightest one she’d ever seen, but that did not matter. Even in its muted state, Harriett decided it was a sign of something beautiful coming her way.

  The sound of pounding hooves met her ears, and she squinted down the road to see a horse and rider approaching at a fast clip. As the man neared, Harriett raised her arm in greeting, but the rider showed no signs of slowing. His gaze remained fixed on the road ahead of him as his sleek chestnut galloped through the puddles, both of them taking the bumps and lurches of the uneven ground with ease and grace.

  You ride beautifully, Harriett thought as he galloped towards her without a flicker of a glance her way. The horse’s hooves landed in a puddle nearby, and a spray of muddy water splattered across her lovely, deep-green pelisse. A few errant specks of mud even reached her face.

  Shocked and open-mouthed, Harriett stared down at her clothes before glaring after the rider. Any admiration she’d felt for his skill floated away in the steam seething from her nostrils. How dare he be so unaware of his surroundings! What sort of man did not notice a woman at the side of a road? Or had he seen her and chosen not to acknowledge her?

  The cad.

  Harriett bit her lip in consternation as she wiped the moisture from her cheeks. When it came to men, she had always drawn their notice, whether or not she sought it. During her first London season, she’d never lacked for dance partners, suitors, or even offers of marriage and had lost count of how many times she had been proclaimed a picture of loveliness. Mr. Thomas Chant once rewrote Wordsworth’s “The World is Too Much with Us” in her honor, comparing Harriett’s fair skin to the petals of a flower and calling her deep brown eyes captivating.

  At first, such declarations had been amusing and even flattering, but Harriett quickly tired of superficial compliments that did not extend beyond her appearance. Someday, her looks would fade as everyone’s did, and she felt a great desire to be admired on a deeper level.

  After she’d declined an offer of marriage from the eligible, handsome, and excessively wealthy Lord Castlebury, her mother, the dowager Countess of Drayson, had asked, “What is it you seek, Harriett? Of all your suitors, I would have thought Lord Castlebury a prime candidate.”

  Not entirely sure herself, Harriett had given the matter some thought. “I cannot say for certain, Mother. I only know that I could never love a man who does not see the real me. Lord Castlebury was interested in obtaining an adornment, not a wife, and I could never be content with such a marriage. That, and he does not make me laugh.”

  Her mother responded with a fond smile and a squeeze. “How very wise you have become, my dear. I would not wish anything less than happiness for you, and I’m sure it is only a matter of time before the right sort of man comes along.”

  Harriett had once been comforted by the words, but as the days had passed and the season came to an end, she began to wonder at the possibility—or impossibility—of it. Did a man exist who could find something within her to love, or would she only ever be noticed for her beauty? Or worse, not be noticed at all, as had been the case with the man on the road just now.

  Reminded of her ruined pelisse, Harriett lifted her gaze and frowned at the diminishing rainbow. “Something beautiful was supposed to come my way, not a care-for-nothing rogue on a horse,” she accused. But the rainbow didn’t seem the least bit remorseful. Rather, it appeared to perk up a bit as though laughing at her.

  Feeling suddenly out of sorts with the day, Harriett lifted her skirts, turned her back on the rainbow, and began the long walk back to Tanglewood.

  Harriett's boots were heavy with mud as she emerged through the trees near the western side of the manor house. She debated briefly about whether or not to enter through the servant’s entrance or the fron
t door, but it seemed worse to tromp through the kitchen while food was being prepared, so the great hall it would be. She circled around to the front of the house, only to stop abruptly and hide behind some shrubbery when she spotted a man standing next to a muddied chestnut horse. He was speaking with Charlie, one of the stablehands, and although his back was to her, Harriett recognized him as the reckless rider who had sped past her only thirty minutes prior. He wore the same dark jacket, tan trousers, and black beaver hat. And that was definitely the same horse.

  Why was he here?

  She studied him for a moment before an unhappy realization struck. Oh, no. He couldn’t possibly be Lieutenant Christopher Jamison, could he?

  Harriett closed her eyes in dismay. Who else could he be? The man carried himself with an arrogant air of command, and hadn’t Jonathan warned her that his friend was a gentleman in only the loosest of terms? Of course it was him. No true gentleman would fail to notice a woman at the side of the road or leave her coated in mud.

  But why had he taken so long to arrive? Jonathan had received word from Lieutenant Jamison on his wedding day, saying his friend was already en route. Harriett had assumed he would arrive in a day or two at most—not a week. When the fourth day had come and gone, she had happily concluded he must have changed his plans and she would no longer be required to receive him after all.

  But here he was, several days overdue and catching her by surprise for the second time that morning.

  “I am glad to hear I have come to the right estate at last,” the man said to Charlie. “The innkeeper’s directions were not at all clear, and I found myself visiting a place called Knotting Tree before a kindly butler redirected me here. But you say your master is away at present?”

  “Aye, sir. On ‘is weddin’ trip.”

  The man muttered an oath that further convinced Harriett he was far from being a gentleman—that, and his slight West Country burr denoted a less-than-exacting education. Who was this man and how had he come to know Jonathan—not that Harriett really cared to know. As quietly as she could, she backed around the side of the house, staying out of sight. With any luck, he would come to the conclusion that his journey had been in vain and would return to London directly. Perhaps he would even be good enough to take his leave with Charlie now so that Harriett would not be required to speak with him at all. How fortuitous would that be?

  “Beggin’ your pardon, sir,” Charlie said. “But might you be Lieutenant Jamison?”

  “Yes. I take it Ludlow received my letter before he left?”

  “That ‘e did, sir. Left instructions with the staff that Lady ‘Arriett’s ter receive you.”

  Did you have to reveal that information, Charlie? Harriett thought as she rolled her eyes, wishing the stablehand had kept his tongue in check.

  “Lady… Harriett, you say?” Apparently the lieutenant had never heard of her before, which was not at all surprising. They obviously ran in vastly different circles.

  “She’s a friend of milady’s,” Charlie explained. “Stayin’ ‘ere whilst the honeymooners are away.”

  “Ah,” said the lieutenant, his tone brightening. “Then I shall inquire within immediately and speak to Lady Harriett. In the meantime, would you be so kind as to see to Wicked’s needs?”

  Harriett peeked around the corner to see Charlie grinning at the horse as he took the reins. “Wicked, eh? Beggin’ your pardon, but ‘e don’t look at’ll wicked ter me, sir. A fine specimen ‘e is.”

  “Don’t let him fool you, lad. The animal is the devil himself. He can escape any confine he wishes and will undoubtedly cause a great deal of mischief whenever your back is turned. It’s the reason we get on so well, you see. We’re of like minds.”

  Charlie laughed as though it was a great joke, but Harriett could only gape at the man. What sort of person was this lieutenant, and why had Jonathan thought it appropriate for Harriett to receive him? Surely the butler would have been a better choice—not an innocent young lady.

  The lieutenant started up the steps, only to be halted by Charlie’s voice. “Lady ‘Arriett ain’t inside, sir. Spotted ‘er out walkin’ a bit ago.”

  The man hesitated only a moment before shrugging. “I don’t mind waiting. I’m certain the butler will show me to a room where I can cool my heels.”

  “Aye, sir. Watts’ll look after you good and proper.”

  He planned to wait for her?

  Harriett clenched her jaw, realizing there would be no avoiding a confrontation now. Perhaps if she intercepted him before he reached the door, he wouldn’t find it necessary to remain for tea. Wicked was still saddled, after all. A brief conversation, and he could be well on his way.

  Harriett strode forward, raising her voice to be heard by both Charlie and the lieutenant. “Good morning, Charlie,” she called as she nodded at the horse. “Who is this beautiful creature?”

  Charlie eyed the animal with pride. “This ‘ere’s Wicked, milady. Belongs to Lieutenant Jamison.”

  “Oh, has he finally arrived?” Harriett feigned surprise and glanced up the steps, pretending to notice the lieutenant for the first time. He had stopped and turned around, but did he descend to meet her as a proper gentleman would? Of course not. He remained exactly where he was, perched several steps above so that she had to crane her neck to meet his gaze.

  His very attractive gaze.

  Harriett was loathe to admit it, but striking was the only way to describe the man. Tall and lean, his strong and broad shoulders supported a sturdy neck, and his eyes were the color of stormy gray skies. He parted his dark blonde hair down the middle, letting it rise and fall to each side like waves cresting and crashing in an unruly manner. It was an unusual hairstyle for a man, but it seemed to suit him. His closely-shaved mustache only added to his rugged masculinity. She could easily envision him as an intimidating sea lieutenant—not that she had any intention of allowing him to intimidate her. He had an air of self-importance about his person that she could not like at all.

  The corners of his eyes crinkled in a mild show of amusement. “Lady Harriett, I presume?” Rather than look at her with appreciation as most men did, he appeared amused.

  At her nod, he tucked his hands behind his back, remaining on the stairs. “I am Lieutenant Christopher Jamison, an old friend of Jonathan’s.”

  “I was expecting you days ago,” she answered. “Lord Jonathan charged me with the unhappy task of informing you he and his new bride are currently away on their wedding trip. He is sorry he cannot be here to meet with you and has asked that I relay his apologies.”

  “May I inquire as to how long they will be away?” he asked.

  No, you may not, she wanted to say. Her neck was beginning to ache from looking up at him, but she forced her gaze to remain steady. “They expected to be gone a fortnight, sir.”

  “And they have been gone how long, exactly?”

  She felt an unaccountable hesitancy to tell him. “A week.”

  “Ah.” He sounded disappointed but seemed to take the news in stride, glancing at Charlie as though wondering whether he ought to retrieve his horse or not. Harriett prayed that he would.

  When his gaze strayed back to her, he took the unwelcome, and ungentlemanly, liberty of perusing her figure. When his eyes met hers again, his lips twitched into a slight smile. “Forgive me, my lady, but you appear to have had a run-in with a mud puddle and lost.”

  How kind of him to point that out. Harriett kept her hands at her side rather than attempt to brush the dirt from her face and pelisse yet again. The damage was done, and no amount of brushing or shaking would remove the muck. What she needed was a hot bath and a change of clothes.

  “Actually, sir, I was merely an innocent bystander.”

  “Indeed?”

  She picked up her skirts and ascended the steps, stopping on the stair above him so that she was eye level with him. “Are you always such a reckless rider, sir? Do you not pay heed to your surroundings?”

  “Of
course I do.”

  “If you had, you would have seen me standing at the side of the road and, I would hope, thought to slow your animal down so as to not splash mud all over my pelisse.”

  Her chilly set down did not have the desired effect. He did not appear the least bit repentant. Rather, he looked ready to burst into laughter. “And your face, apparently.” He leaned forward and squinted. “If I’m not mistaken, there is a splash or two of mud on your bonnet as well.”

  Harriett glared at him. “How observant you are, Lieutenant Jamison. One can only wonder why you didn’t put that skill to good use earlier. If you had, perhaps my pelisse, face, and bonnet would still be clean.”

  “I am always observant, my lady,” he said. “But might I suggest that if you would like to be noticed at the side of the road, you should wear a color that does not blend so perfectly with your surroundings. That particular shade of green looks quite lovely on you, but only someone with the eyes of an eagle would have spotted you in front of a landscape of evergreens.”

  Harriett opened her mouth to respond, but no words were forthcoming. The man did not even attempt to behave like a gentleman. How could he be so… so…

  “Have you no apology to offer, sir?” she finally spluttered.

  “Oh, did I not apologize? Forgive me.”

  “For what? Forgetting to apologize or for not doing so in the first place?”

  He tucked his hands behind his back and looked at the ground as though attempting not to laugh. When he spared a glance at her again, his eyes danced merrily. “You seem to be a woman of strong opinions, Lady Harriett. Perhaps you should tell me which you’d prefer. Or would you like me to beg your forgiveness on both counts?”

  Obviously, Lieutenant Jamison could not be prevailed upon to behave properly, and Harriett refused to provide him with further amusement at her expense.

  She took another step up and peered down her nose at him. “I will not detain you any longer, sir. Now that you have been made aware that your friend is away from home, I’m certain you would like to be on your way. London is a far cry from Askern, after all.”