In Praise of Younger Men (8 page)

They strolled quietly together, Robbie tugging before them, each lost to their own thoughts as the breeze whistled around them, stirring leaves on the narrow garden pathway. Harriet glanced once at Tristan, studying his profile in the daylight shadows, and couldn’t help but think back on the elderly couple she had seen earlier that morning. No matter what she did, it seemed, wherever she went, he always seemed near. If she wasn’t destined to love him, to spend her life with him, why then did Fate persist in throwing them together? Was it to torment her, remind her each day that she couldn’t be his ...

... or was it perhaps to test her instead?

By the time they reached Charlotte Square, the skies above the city were dark with scudding clouds. The temperature, Harriet suddenly realized, had dropped dramatically since she had left the house earlier that morning. The wind had risen and now whipped across the secluded square, cutting through the thin fabric of her new spring spencer jacket.

She shivered as they approached the door to the Dry-nan town house,

“You are cold,” Tristan said. “The weather is changing.”

Harriet turned to stare at him. She blinked against the wind. “It seems a common occurrence whenever we are together.”

He frowned at her. “Harriet, I refuse to believe that a storm is brewing simply because we’ve spent a little time in each other’s company. Do you really think that our walking together can change the pattern of the weather? That is the most ridicu—”

Just then, a single tiny bit of white floated past his nose. He looked at her. “Was that , . . ?”

“Yes, Tristan. It was a snowflake.”

As they stood a few moments more, several others drifted by. Soon the snow was falling in windy swirls of white.

“It has been known to snow in February before,” Tristan muttered.

Harriet shook her head in despair. “This is hopeless, Tristan. Don’t you see? Someone is trying to tell us we shouldn’t be together. If we were to ignore these warnings and marry against the wishes of those powers we cannot see, it would end up ... it would create a natural disaster. I’ve been thinking about this ever since the assembly last night, Tristan. Even before that. I’m sorry, but for your sake and for mine, I cannot see you anymore.”

She turned for the steps to leave, but stopped when she felt Tristan take her arm. “Harriet, don’t—”

Harriet shook her head, closing her eyes tightly against the tears threatening to spill. She didn’t look at him. “Tristan, please, I must go. I have an early supper engagement this evening and need to get ready.”

“Sir Duncan Harrington, I presume?” His voice had grown clipped.

She turned to look at him. His expression was hard, angry. She didn’t want to hurt him any more than she already had. “Yes. Lady Lucinda has invited my family to dine. We have accepted.”

“Bloody hell you are . . .”

Tristan took the steps between them easily, closing in on Harriet and forcing her back against the stair railing until she could retreat no farther. She was so startled by his sudden advance, the closeness of his body to hers, she could but stare. His face was inches away, his breath hot against her cheek, his legs pinning hers beneath her skirts. He took her chin, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were filled with a dark unreadable emotion, his look so intense, Harriet knew then he was going to kiss her.

And he did, a moment later, seizing her mouth with his.

Harriet’s senses swirled like the snowflakes on the wind that suddenly howled around them. She moaned and dropped her head back, dropping her arms to her sides, too overwhelmed by the feel of him, the taste of him, the power of him. Snowflakes fell freely against them as his tongue stroked hers, overtaking her, body and soul, with a kiss that made her his forever . . .

... a kiss that would be their last for all time.

They both knew it, and when Tristan pulled away a moment later, Harriet dropped her head forward and rested her temple against his chest. She didn’t immediately open her eyes, but just stood there, feeling the beating of his heart, matching her every breath to his, reluctant to let go of that magic, clashing, crazy moment, because she knew when she did, it would be the last time Tristan would ever hold her like that again.

His eyes captured hers when she looked up at him, scorching her with gleaming blue fire.

“Will you think of me, Harriet,” he said roughly, “of that kiss, when it is Sir Duncan who is holding you?”

Harriet swallowed hard. She couldn’t answer. Tristan answered for her.

“Just remember, Harriet, a lifetime without passion in it will seem like two lifetimes.” He released her suddenly as if he couldn’t bear to be near her. “You needn’t worry about any natural disasters any longer. I’ll trouble you no more.”

His words were so harsh, and so very
final
. Harriet knew something vital had just changed between them, and she couldn’t help feeling as if she’d lost a most precious thing. Unable to say a word, she stood and watched helplessly as Tristan turned from her and walked away, snow dusting her eyelashes and melting against the warmth of her falling tears.

Supper at the Harringtons’ began pleasantly enough, with Lord and Lady Harrington, Sir Duncan, Harriet, Devorgilla, and Sir Hugh all in attendance. The meal was excellent, salmon steamed with fresh herbs, roast mutton with vegetables, and bannocks fresh off the griddle. There was even a delicious lemon syllabub for dessert. Afterward, they withdrew to the parlor for cards and conversation.

Lord Harrington and Sir Hugh were comfortably established with a bottle of port by the hearth, discussing the politics of the day, leaving Harriet partnered by Devorgilla, and Lady Harrington partnered by Sir Duncan, to play at whist. Everything started off smoothly. Harriet and Devorgilla had taken the first round, and were well on their way to taking the second when the viscountess unwittingly changed the course of the evening by asking one simple question:

“Harriet dear, I’ve been wondering ever since the assembly, how is it you are acquainted with a man as notable as Lord Ravenshall?”

Harriet looked up suddenly from her cards. For the briefest of moments, she wondered if Lady Harrington had perhaps seen her with Tristan at the door of the town house earlier that day. She studied the viscountess’s face in the lamplight, searching for a sign, any indication, and finally decided she was letting her imagination get the better of her. She answered calmly, “We are actually neighbors in Galloway, my lady. He and my brother were childhood friends and then served together on the Peninsula. I have known Lord Ravenshall all my life.”

“I see . . .”

After that, conversation was about little else
but
Tristan, his military heroics, his sterling reputation, his potential as a prospective husband. Even when Tristan wasn’t there, Harriet thought to herself, he still was.

“I declare,” said the viscountess, “when word got out the other night that Lord Ravenshall had returned to Edinburgh, I think every mother in town immediately set out to get their unmarried daughters in front of him. Can you imagine? He is quite the prize. Even when he was at university and living here in town, the viscount could turn any woman’s eye from the age of six to sixty. If Wilhelmina and Rosalind weren’t already wed, you can wager I’d be finding a way to get that man on his knee before one of them as quickly as possible.” The viscountess quirked a brow over her cards, “Although from what I understand, he’s already shown a marked interest in one lady in particular ...”

Harriet blanched. Oh, God, Lady Harrington
had
seen Tristan kiss her . . .

“He has?”

“Oh, yes. And I must say Flavia Blum would make the viscount an ideal wife. She comes from a very good family, impeccable background. Why, she has . . .”

Flavia Blum? Was that the name of the young blond woman Tristan had danced with at the assembly?

“But he’s only just met her,” Harriet said more to herself than to anyone else.

“Well, I saw them dancing together at the assembly and the viscount couldn’t take his eyes off her. I even commented on what a striking couple they made. Everyone agreed. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Lord Ravenshall proposes to dear Flavia before society quits town for the summer. They say he’s come back to Scotland to settle down, assume his responsibilities, even set up a nursery . . .”

An image of a child with Tristan’s blue eyes flashed to Harriet’s thoughts. The idea of his creating that child with another made Harriet feel sick inside.

“Time will certainly tell, of course,” Lady Harrington went on. “My guess is, if it does happen, it will be sooner than later. In fact, I understand from Flavia’s mother, whom I chatted with just this afternoon, that Ravenshall is to take her on an outing to Arthur’s Seat on Wednesday. He asked her just today.”

Harriet nearly dropped her cards. Tristan was courting Miss Blum? She thought back on his words, the look in his eye when he’d left her standing on the doorstep that morning.

I’ll trouble you no more.

Had he left and gone straight from her to see Miss Blum?

“Is something the matter with the cards, dear?” Lady Harrington broke Harriet from her troubling thoughts. “You look positively bewildered.”

Harriet shook her head. “No, no. I was just wondering...” She looked at the viscountess. “What is this Arthur’s Seat?”

“Oh, it is really nothing more than a large hill that rises behind Holyrood at the far end of the High Street. They say it was formed from an extinct volcano and gives a stunning view of the town. Some have said it resembles a crouching lion.” She smiled. “In my youth, it was the place where young lovers would go to spend time alone together.”

“Indeed?” Harriet had only half heard that last bit, her attention still taken up with thoughts of Tristan taking the blond Miss Blum on such an intimate social outing. “I should like to see this Arthur’s Seat.”

“You would?” Lady Harrington smiled. “I’m sure Duncan would love to take you.”

Sir Duncan’s cheeks grew suddenly flushed. “You wish me ... to take Miss Drynan to Arthur’s Seat?”

“I would be most interested in seeing these volcanic formations,” Harriet agreed.

“But—”

There came a thump from under the table that brought Duncan to staring at his aunt. “Of course, Miss Drynan, I should be happy to take you there. Tomorrow?”

Harriet thought for a moment. “I’m afraid I have an appointment with the modiste tomorrow that is sure to take some time. Then I had planned to catch up on some letter writing, and an afternoon at the lending library before we leave for Galloway at week’s end. So that would rule out the next few days at least ...”

“Can you go on Wednesday?” Sir Duncan asked.

Harriet smiled. “Why, yes. Yes, I think I can.”

Devorgilla shot Harriet a look from across the table. Only she seemed to have caught on to the fact that Harriet had just deftly arranged their outing for the same day Tristan was taking Miss Blum. “Oh, but Harriet, have you forgotten? Wednesday is your birthday.”

“Your birthday? How marvelous!” said the viscountess. “It is the perfect day for an outing then.”

“Oh, but I’m afraid I cannot chaperone you that day,” Devorgilla went on, doing everything she could to foil Harriet’s plans. She knew the more time Harriet spent with Tristan, the more dangerous things could become. “I’ve already committed to tea with an acquaintance of mine.”

“Oh, well, I can chaperone,” Lady Harrington piped in. “Thankfully that odd bit of snow from this morning didn’t stick, and the weather is already showing promise of a warm turn. By Wednesday, it is sure to feel more like spring. I’ll have our cook prepare us a picnic basket to take along. We’ll make a day of it.”

Harriet looked at the viscountess and smiled. “I’m looking forward to it.”

Why not seize the pleasure at once?

How often is happiness destroyed by

preparation, foolish preparation?

—Emma,
Jane Austen

By midweek, the weather had turned positively springlike. The sun shone brightly, the birds trilled in trees that had begun to sprout early leaves virtually overnight.

Lady Harrington, however, awoke on Wednesday morning the victim of a fierce head cold.

“Oh, my dears,” she said after a flurry of sneezes and sniffles. “I just do not think it would be wise for me to go.”

She was tucked upon a chaise in the Harrington parlor, the very picture of misery, a blanket wrapped around her legs, and a handkerchief laced with camphor pressed against her red and stuffy nose. Miss Tibby, her cat muff, lay curled and snoozing on the pillow beside her.

“No, of course you will not go,” Harriet agreed. “We wouldn’t dream of allowing it, would we, Sir Duncan?” The viscountess sneezed again. “Do try some elderberry tea for that, my lady. It is quite restorative.”

Lady Harrington smiled her thanks before sneezing again.

Duncan said to Harriet, “I’m afraid we’ll have to postpone our outing till another day.”

“Nonsense, Duncan!” Lady Harrington trumpeted from behind her handkerchief. “Dear Harriet is leaving Edinburgh only a few short days from now. Who knows when she’ll ever return? You . . .
she
might never get this opportunity again. I shall simply send our maid Mildred along with you in my stead.
Millll-dred
!”

Within a quarter hour, they were rolling down Princes Street, picnic basket—and Mildred—at hand.

Visible for miles around the city, the misshapen peak of Arthur’s Seat grew from a verdant carpet of turf strewn with grazing woolly sheep to a lofty series of crags at its towering summit. Hidden among the primitive formations were picturesque lochs and even an ancient ruin, where only the distant sounds of the city echoed on the wind.

“Shall we take our picnic now, Miss Drynan?”

They had been walking about for nearly an hour without any sign of either Tristan or Miss Blum. Perhaps they’d missed them, Harriet thought. Perhaps they had come earlier that morning, or better still, perhaps Miss Blum had caught Lady Harrington’s same head cold and had to cry off.