De Beauharnais resumed his place beside Harmonia, right beside her, in fact. “Are you in fear for your safety, my lady?”
Was she? Harmonia hadn’t wanted to face that question. “I don’t trust Stapleton. My husband and I lived independent lives, but I knew Champlain would always take up for me if his father grew difficult. Now…” Now life had grown complicated, and Stapleton, as always, was at the root of the complication.
If only he could leave well enough alone and content himself with his parliamentary schemes.
“Now?” De Beauharnais prompted.
“Now I worry all the time,” Harmonia said, getting up to pace. “I have done things I’m not proud of, de Beauharnais, foolish things, angry things. Stapleton can hold the lot of it against me, and I have virtually no way to return fire.” No way she was willing to return fire.
De Beauharnais rose as well, as any gentleman would. “Stapleton’s hands are hardly clean, my lady. He’s what’s politely termed old school, meaning a pattern card of old corruption. From his enclosure acts, to his battle against reforms in the mines, to his tendency to buy up an unsuspecting MP’s vowels, Stapleton plays dirty and mean.”
Harmonia drew the draperies closed, lest even the gardeners report on her to Stapleton. “You relieve my mind in a way. I know Papa-in-Law is arrogant, that he regards himself as above the law and above society’s strictures, and you tell me this is common knowledge, not my fanciful imaginings. You also give me more cause to worry.”
“Stapleton is dangerous, but you have allies, my lady.”
“I do?”
He took her hands in his. “I am an ally, however humble. I have a few connections, and they are not uniformly humble. Stapleton needs to be reminded that you have a place in society independent of your late husband’s standing. You are an earl’s daughter. You were Lady Harmonia before you were Lady Champlain. You are the mother of the next marquess. Stapleton is without exception disliked and distrusted, while you are…”
I am tired. I am overwhelmed. I am stuck in my father-in-law’s household if I want to see my son grow up.
“I am…?”
He kissed her forehead and drew her close. “You are charm, lightness, benevolence, feminine grace, and good things. You take on Stapleton not for yourself, but for the boy, and I admire that.”
Harmonia allowed herself to be held in a pair of strong masculine arms, allowed herself to be comforted. De Beauharnais was doubtless safeguarding his blasted commission, but his handsome speech wasn’t all for show, and he made sense too.
“You are saying I should resume socializing.”
“Your period of mourning is long past, even second mourning is behind you. You have been missed.”
That was a bit of a stretch—wasn’t it? “I would like to go to the Portmans’ ball on Wednesday. Will you escort me?”
De Beauharnais was apparently the sort of man who could hold a woman, stroke her back, and converse with her, all without pushing his hips at her as if her highest aspiration should be to entertain him sexually.
“Escorting you would be my honor, my lady. If you’d like to attend the Veaters’ musicale, I am also available on Friday afternoon.”
Old habits stirred. At one time, Harmonia had carried a calendar in her head, right alongside a copy of Debrett’s and a map of weekday at-homes. She’d kept Champlain’s itinerary in another mental cupboard, and Stapleton’s appointments in yet another. Now, her life revolved around the nursery and enduring Stapleton’s bile.
“You are a good friend,” she said, stepping back. “Do you suppose I ought to remarry?”
De Beauharnais brushed the side of his thumb along her temple. “Do you want to remarry, or is this another ploy to spike Stapleton’s guns? If you married into another titled family, Stapleton would have to tread carefully.”
That thought had occurred to her, and yet…“I miss the sense I had with Champlain of being allies, de Beauharnais. My husband was a hound, a daredevil, a complete gudgeon in many respects, but he was my gudgeon and I was his wife. I tell myself that in another five years, we might have settled down into a different sort of relationship.”
De Beauharnais took her hand and kissed her knuckles. “He did not deserve you.”
A pause followed, while Harmonia let de Beauharnais hold her hand, though she knew this whole conversation needed to be brought back to more sensible ground.
How tired she was of limiting herself to sensible ground.
“Champlain tried to take me to bed once,” de Beauharnais said, watching Harmonia carefully. “I declined his offer.”
“You were one of the few, then. His flirtations drove Stapleton halfway to Bedlam, which is why I never protested them too loudly.”
“You aren’t appalled?”
“By Champlain’s behavior? I was devastated to think I could not be enough for him, that his appetites were so voracious and worldly, and all I had to offer was boring old wifely devotion. I got past that phase, to the one where I pretended amusement and near indifference, as he kindly directed both at my peccadillos.” This recitation made Harmonia sad, for herself mostly. “I should have boxed Champlain’s ears. He was appalling.”
“I declined his offer. I’ve accepted those of other women—and men.”
De Beauharnais was asking a question, about whether this would be his last call upon her, about whether she’d withdraw her commission. Being de Beauharnais, he put the questions to her through innuendo, leaving it to her to give an answer or make light of the whole exchange.
She looked him up and down, and liked what she saw very much. An adult male, not an adolescent in a protracted frenzy of self-gratification. A man willing to develop a talent into a profession, one who took her situation to heart.
She kissed his cheek. “I am long past judging others for where they turn for pleasure and company. Let’s pay a visit to the nursery, shall we? Time with Nicky always improves my mood. We can kidnap my son to the garden and have a look at your sketches there.”
She needed to see Nicky, to hug him and let him restore her sense of balance. De Beauharnais had surprised her with his honesty and his loyalty. If she were similarly forthcoming with him, he might be the one appalled.
“Do you mind jaunting up to the nursery with me?” she asked.
He smiled, a purely friendly and startlingly attractive smile. “I love children. They are the most enjoyable commissions by far. To the nursery, my lady, but I will also look forward to escorting you to the Portmans’ ball on Wednesday.”
“I will look forward to that too.” Harmonia paused before opening the parlor door. “De Beauharnais, are you acquainted with Lord Stephen Wentworth?”
“I am. As it happens, I consider him a friend. Why do you ask?”
“No particular reason. I overheard Stapleton mention him. Lord Stephen and I are acquainted, though our paths haven’t crossed for some time.”
And that, quite frankly, was an enormous relief.
Stephen handed Abigail down from the coach, torn between insisting that she take his advances seriously—they were lovers, for God’s sake—and a hesitance to dispel her lighter mood.