Chapter 2

Despite Harriet's very best intentions to refuse to allow the strange Scotsman to impact any part of her day, she could not get him out of her mind.

There was a scent that drifted from him - something like pinewood and fresh earth. It clung to her nostrils as much as the sound of his laughter kept reverberating in her ears. The man was beyond frustrating, she thought irritably as she lowered her head and made her way forward.

"Harriet!"

The upbeat voice stopped her in her tracks and for the first time since they'd arrived at the ball, a true smile appeared on her face.

"Caroline!"

With no sense of decorum, the two women rushed forward - wrapping their arms around one another in a hug. Harriet beamed as she looked at her friend, her eyes shining.

"You look fantastic," she declared with a grin. "Where is that husband of yours? I hear around the ton that the two of you have become quite the social couple."

Caroline laughed at this and shook her head. "It is nice to get out a bit," she said with a laugh. "Benedict is with some of the men, talking business of course. You know him. But..."

She reached out and took hold of Harriet's arm, a frown appearing between her brows. "But what is wrong? Forgive me for asking, but... you are pale as a specter. What on earth happened?"

At this, Harriet let out a frustrated huff and she shook her head. "William, of course," she announced with a frown. "If he had his way, he would parade me around the ton by hand and plead with every unwed man to marry me."

Caroline looked at her friend sympathetically. "Is it that bad?"

Harriet nodded at once, her face a mask of misery. "I do not know what it is," she exclaimed with a frustrated sigh, "but he is desperate to marry me off. And to make matters even worse, I had an awful run-in with a boorish giant of a man."

Caroline laughed softly at this. "A boorish giant of a man?"

Harriet nodded. "I don't know who he is," she said irritably. "But he was filling the entire doorway like a stack of stones and I walked right into him - and of course he was impossibly rude."

Caroline frowned curiously at this. "Really? What did he look like?"

Harriet shrugged. "I didn't really pay attention to his appearance," she said, though her face reddened a little at the lie. "Like I said, he filled the entire doorway with his stature. Dark hair I suppose, blue eyes and a very distinctive accent."

Caroline laughed, instantly recognizing the description. "That sounds like the Duke of Frighton," she said with a laugh.

Harriet frowned. "Who?"

It was rather unlike Caroline to engage in frivolous gossip, but she took Harriet by the arm and glanced around furtively in an attempt to ensure that no one was listening to them.

"He is rather strange," she admitted with a low voice, "but I know Benedict has nothing but respect for him. He always speaks of him rather highly."

Though she had made it rather clear that she was not at all impressed by the man, Harriet could not hide her curiosity. "I have never seen him," she said simply and Caroline laughed softly.

"He lives in the countryside," she explained. "And he rarely comes up to London for the Season. In fact, when he comes to the city it is usually for business and never for long. Him being here is going to be the talk of the ton."

At this, Harriet merely huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Well," she let out with a frown, "I do not understand why people make such a fuss over him. I find him rather obnoxious - and very rude."

"Rude?" This description seemed to surprise Caroline as she lifted a brow. "I must admit, I know him to be quite reserved... but I have never found him rude."

"Oh!" Harriet exclaimed, her face turning red. "He is rude indeed - greatly so. And... tall."

This seemed to amuse Caroline even more as she let out an amused laugh. "Tall?"

"Yes," Harriet insisted, though the blush on her cheeks was proof thereof that she was quite embarrassed herself by this utterance.

"He is... a presence that one cannot escape," she attempted to explain and Caroline flashed a knowing smile at this.

"I know what you mean," she claimed with a grin. "He is... one of a kind."

"Exactly," Harriet agreed - though by the look on her face, it was rather clear that she was not nearly as impressed with the man as her friend seemed to be.

"He is infuriating," she said firmly, though a smile appeared on her face. "But enough about that man. The real problem is my brother."

Caroline sighed and looked at Harriet sympathetically. "Is William as eager as ever to have you married off?"

Harriet nodded. "More so than ever, I'm afraid. I do have an idea though," she continued, her voice now a mere whisper.

Caroline's face was a mask of concern as she looked at Harriet. "You do?"

The hesitance in the young duchess's voice was palpable, but if Harriet noticed it, she did not seem to pay it much mind.

"I will be the perfect lady," she insisted, though the grin told a different tale indeed. Caroline narrowed her eyes as she looked at her friend.

"Why do I have the feeling that you are planning something?" she asked, a hint of amusement evident in her tone. Harriet laughed at this and looped her arm through Caroline's.

"What on earth gives you that idea?" she teased. "My ridiculous brother wants me to attract the attention of the men in the ton... and that is what I will do."

A charming, albeit false, giggle left her lips and she swirled in the most charming manner - her dress swinging around her as she did so.

As though she had cast a spell with the combination of the coquettish laugh and the movement, a stocky gentleman with a thin mustache approached at once, his eyes gleaming with delight. He nodded formally at Caroline before turning his attention to Harriet.

"My Lady... I am George Harrington, Baron of Elsbury. And I would love for you to do me the honor of dancing with me."

Harriet pressed a hand to her heart in an exaggerated motion.

She glanced at Caroline furtively before batting her lashes at the young baron, another giggle escaping her lips.

"I'd be delighted to, my lord," she said falsely before taking his hand and allowing him to lead her onto the dance floor.

Harriet shot Caroline a smile as she allowed the young baron to place a hand on her waist and lead her into the dance.

"I must admit," the man spoke as they moved around the dance floor, "This has turned out to be quite a delightful evening indeed.

Now, Harriet knew, was the time and she let out an airy laugh. "Oh indeed," she said in a high-pitched tone. "And the night is still young. Though I do hope the cows are being properly tended to back at your estate."

The baron's brow furrowed in confusion. "The... I beg your pardon?"

"The cows, sir!" Harriet exclaimed, as though it was a perfectly normal statement. "Surely you have stables full of the blessed beasts?"

The baron's frown deepened. "Why yes, I do keep cattle at my country manor, but I fail to see what that has to do with..."

"Excellent," Harriet crooned, cutting him off. "My deepest admiration to your cowhands then. I have always found it fascinating, how they sway those milking stools and of course how they tend the beasts."

Lord Elsbury's mouth opened and closed like a fish pulled from water as he struggled to find a proper response. Harriet merely beamed at him, her eyes adopting a slightly unhinged look.

Clearing his throat, the baron soon attempted to steer the conversation back to more conventional matters. "Your gown is lovely, if I may say so, my lady," he spoke and Harriet lifted a surprised brow.

"Why thank you, sir," she said quickly, firmly sticking to her plan. "Though I must admit, I feel far more comfortable in something less formal, something like... the rags of chimney sweeps. There is something so comfortable and chic about it."

The baron could only gape at her in utter bafflement, whilst Harriet made sure to step on his toes at least twice in the dance. By the time the music ended, Lord Elsbury looked decidedly rattled -his carefully crafted coiffure askew from repeatedly running his fingers through it in bewilderment.

"I... thank you for the dance, my lady," he muttered as they stepped away from each other, and he scurried off at once.

Giggling to herself, Harriet scanned the crowd smugly - her gaze landing on her brother where he stood surrounded by esteemed gentlemen and ladies, his booming laughter filling the hall.

A slight sense of disappointment filled her. He had not noticed how the young baron had been chased off, and thus she knew she had no choice but to continue the charade. Her eyes glinted with mischief as she scanned the dance floor in search of her next quarry. A grin appeared on her face as her gaze landed on the lanky figure of the Earl of Derbyshire, who was lingering awkwardly by the punch bowl.

Perfect.

Squaring her shoulders, Harriet painted on her most winsome smile and began weaving through the crowd in his direction. The poor earl's eyes widened almost comically as she approached, clearly not accustomed to being sought out by eligible young ladies.

"Lord Derbyshire, is it not?" Harriet purred as she came to a halt next to him. "It is an absolute honor to make your acquaintance."

The earl flushed scarlet, his long fingers fiddling nervously with his cravat. "L-Lady Harriet," he stammered with an uneasy bow. "I confess I'm surprised you'd wish to speak with me."

"Surprised?" Harriet's brow arched in exaggerated astonishment. "Why, I've been absolutely dying to engage you in conversation!"

The hapless earl's flush deepened until his pallid skin bore an uncanny resemblance to a ripe tomato. "You...you have?"

Harriet responded with a tinkling laugh, fluttering her lashes demurely as she sidled closer. "But of course! I simply must hear your thoughts on the merits of mustard plasters versus leeches for treating the congestive humors."

Lord Derbyshire's expression morphed into one of utter bewilderment. "I... beg your pardon?"

Undaunted, Harriet pressed on eagerly. "You see, I myself am a fervent supporter of the leeches. There's just something so delightfully visceral about the little nippers, don't you agree? Although, one does have to be cautious about letting them get too overindulgent with their bloodletting. Drained the under-gardener just last week and the poor dear hasn't been able to lift a trowel since!"

The confused earl could only gape at her, his mouth working soundlessly as he visibly struggled to process her nonsensical stream of words. Harriet watched his internal war with rapidly dimming patience before abruptly switching conversational tracks with no preamble.

"But enough about leeches! I'm simply dying to hear your opinion on the best hay for properly muddying the nostril cavities before consumption."

That proved to be the final straw for Lord Derbyshire's tenuous grip on sanity. With a strangled squeak, he hastily excused himself and nearly flew across the room, his pallid face a mask of visceral horror. Harriet watched him go with a self-satisfied smirk, entirely unperturbed by her companion's abrupt retreat.

Her gaze slid sideways as she registered the tall, imposing presence of the Duke of Frighton hovering nearby, his expression utterly inscrutable. Their eyes locked for an endless moment, a subtle challenge flaring to life in the electric silence that stretched between them.

Then, just as abruptly as he'd appeared in her periphery, the duke inclined his head in a shallow nod and turned away, leaving Harriet more than a little curious.