Rivals and Revels (A Regency Romance)

27. Harriet's Tale

This was a terribly difficult conversation to start, particularly because Mabel's only opportunity for it came up right after Harriet paid a visit to Radcliffe. That she sat in the salon alone with Harriet was another reminder of Radcliffe's sickness. Lady Catherine had just excused herself for a thousandth time to go check on her son. The upcoming departure affected her badly, exacerbating old fears that Radcliffe may succumb in her absence. Mabel prayed that the dreadful sentiment would pass as Radcliffe improved, but rationality and love didn't make fast friends. Amelia, ever the sensitive soul, went with her.

"Harriet," Mabel said softly, after exchanging a trivial lie on how much Radcliffe had improved. "I beg you to not be offended... I wanted to ask you for a long time, and yet I had delayed it to the last minute."

"You wouldn't believe how often this happens. Alas, even more often, we never ask."

Mabel looked around to make sure they were not overheard. "It is silly, I know, but our departure for the continent makes me feel like I won't return. Or if I return, I would find everything completely changed."

She managed a smile, probably a pathetic, crooked one. There was no credible reason why she needed the information she was asking for. Her need for Radcliffe to be a good man was selfish. Probably, the tenderness she felt toward him was stillborn, and she would never confess to it. She had suffered enough humiliation when she couldn't conceal her infatuation with Everett from Hazel.

"I assure you, our friendship wouldn't change whatever it is," Harriet said.

Mabel wished she was as certain, for her question was of such a delicate nature. "You had mentioned that Lord Chesterton had been kind to you and that's how your friendship had started."

She stumbled, looking imploringly at Harriet. Her friend had a nose for moods, so she hoped that this hint would be enough.

The older dames she'd cautiously pried for information were delighted to have an audience for their memories. The sundry she had learned was perfectly confounding.

Harriet had an affair with a foreigner, yes, yes, a gentleman despite her unnatural inclinations toward the company of the ladies. She all but eloped with the dratted boy, but something went awry. It was her grandfather who stepped in; no, no, his father. Wait a minute! They did elope, and were secretly married... Someone even repeated Hazel's speculation about an affair between Harriet and her third cousin, Radcliffe Chesterton, and his cold rejection. To think of it, this was what broke off Harrriet's engagement to the foreign boy. And what happened to the boy? Oh, he died, like so many boys had died in those terrible wars on the continent.

Harriet afforded a far-away glance to the snow-wite lace of the curtains in the salon. Mabel was so used to life in Chesterton's Manor now revolving around Radcliffe's sickroom that this room with its calm greens and happy shepherds on every decorative piece didn't feel like home. The silence stretched for so long, that Mabel thought she'd run out of time for a private chat.

"Forgive my reluctance to speak. I only needed to collect myself, for your question stirred old memories," Harriet said after a long pause.

Painful ones, Mabel guessed. She now regretted asking, and was about to say so when Harriet continued.

"During my third season in London, as my grandparents despaired for a match for me, I met a son of Austrian diplomat. He was two years younger than me, and rumored to be rash and eccentric. His private life didn't bear being brought up in a civil conversation, particularly with a maiden."

"Is anyone's private life a suitable subject for discussion?"

"Only between friends and face to face."