“Our solicitor is attempting to find the couple. We may yet be able to have the marriage annulled and save my daughter’s reputation. Meanwhile, Lord Bellamy, tired of awaiting an answer to his proposal, has withdrawn it and engaged himself to another.”
“Oh!” Hattie absorbed the dramatic changes that had occurred in the days since she’d last spoken with Miss Pruett. “Your husband’s anger may be alleviated somewhat by knowing Bellamy is not such a catch after all. As for the elopement…” How could she admit she’d had an investigator look into Randall James and already knew the sort of man he was?
Mrs. Pruett sat straight and looked at her sharply. “Do you know something? Has my daughter confided in you during your little tête-à-têtes at the millinery?”
“I believed she harbored feelings for someone, but it was only a guess,” Hattie lied. “I am very sorry for your troubles. If there’s anything I can do to help—”
“You’ve involved yourself quite enough already,” Mrs. Pruett interrupted. “Influencing me to convince my husband a sanitarium visit would be a mistake. Jennifer might be safely in treatment right now if not for your intervention.”
Well, at least she’d done that much. Hattie could see Mrs. Pruett needed someone to blame for the explosion which had destroyed her world. Nothing Hattie might say would soothe her. “I will go. I pray your daughter will return to you.”
She left Mrs. Pruett sobbing into her handkerchief once more, and closed the door gently behind her. She hurried downstairs, taking no time to exchange pleasantries with the staff—who were apparently ignorant of Miss Pruett’s elopement or they would have been gossiping.
As she returned home, she considered Mrs. Pruett’s words: No doubt you had a part in influencing our daughter toward rebellion. Perhaps it was true. Hattie could have told Miss Pruett that her beloved was a shady character when she had the opportunity. The elopement was at least partially her responsibility.
With the aid of Guy’s investigator, she might yet locate Jennifer and convince her to return to her family. Rebelling and running away were not always the best route, Hattie had grown to understand in the years since she had done that very thing.
*
Guy lounged in bed past noon the day after their country ride. He ate his breakfast, read the paper, then lay back, watching sunlight shift across the ceiling while daydreaming about Hattie. Correction, Hortense—what an awful name—Gladwell. What were the details of the scandal that convinced her to shed that identity and become respectable Mrs. Hattie Glover?
Not too respectable, though. She kissed like she knew what she was doing, and she hadn’t shied away when his hands drifted down to cup her rear. How he would have loved to become even better acquainted with the body underneath that primly buttoned blouse and sedate skirt. He closed his eyes and fantasized how the picnic might have ended if he hadn’t blurted what he knew about Lord Bellamy. Her lips, so generous and warm, her body, so lush and pliable under his touch, and her eyes, gazing at him from under sleepy lids, as she encouraged him to go further…
Guy’s fantasy was coming to fruition, his hand guiding the way underneath the covers, when a knock at the door stopped him cold. “What is it?” he called.
“A visitor, Mr. Hardy. Mrs. Harriet Glover. She seems quite determined to talk with you and awaits you in the parlor.”
Shock at having the object of his fantasies appear in his home brought Guy bolt upright. “Thank you, Simmons. I’ll be down presently. Serve her tea or something.”
“Very good, sir.”
Simmons had become accustomed to addressing Guy through a closed bedroom door for sometimes ladies spent the night. If he judged his master’s peccadillos, there was never any inflection in his monotone.
Guy flew out of bed, splashed his face, and combed his hair into some semblance of order, although it remained rather flattened on one side. He took no time to shave, but donned his clothes and bounded down the stairs. He trotted toward the parlor, as if Hattie might leave if he didn’t get there quickly, then drew up short of the door and molded his expression into calmness.
Impossible. For the moment, he entered the room and beheld her sitting primly on the edge of a chair, he grinned like a fool. “Fancy seeing you here. Good morning!”
“Past noon,” she said. “I’ve been to warn the Pruetts about Bellamy’s reputation, but apparently the man withdrew his proposal, and Miss Pruett has eloped with Randall James. Her parents are beside themselves, and I am quite worried as well.”
“I slept well, thank you. How about yourself?” Guy responded.
“I apologize for my rudeness.” Hattie rose and approached him. “I am rather beside myself as Mrs. Pruett blames me for her daughter’s rebellion and has threatened to turn business away from my shop. Good morning. I am glad to see you.”
Guy took her gloved hand and kissed it. “Please, sit. I’ve told Simmons to serve tea. Jam biscuits should make things seem less bleak.” He led her to the sofa where he could sit beside her. “I do not mean to make light of your news. My first response to any trouble is to joke. But I comprehend the seriousness of the situation, both for the Pruett girl and for your business.”
“Will you ask Rumsfield to try to find the couple? I would like to speak to the young lady before her parents’ solicitor finds her, presuming they are able to.”
“I’ll telephone him,” Guy promised, feeling again like a knight called to duty for his lady. “As to your shop’s reputation, I can’t imagine Mrs. Pruett would try to sway her friends. Likely it is an empty threat spoken in anger.”
“I hope so. But it takes only a whisper of whatever she might choose to say about me and gossip surges like a flood.”
“Don’t forget one thing. You have the
