Marrying Harriet by MC Beaton Read Free Book Online Page A

condition, for he rallied tremendously and presented a good front. It was only when Harriet was seated beside him that he realized once more that he was infernally drunk, and that the press of traffic seemed to be immense because he was seeing two of everything.
    Somehow he managed to reach the Park. As soon as they were through the gates, Harriet said sharply, ‘Halt the carriage, my lord.’
    He obeyed her and then looked at her dreamily. Her face seemed to be a long way away. It was like looking at her down the wrong end of a telescope.
    Harriet climbed down and commanded him to move over.
    Too fuddled to protest, he did as he was bid. Harriet climbed into his vacated place and picked up the reins.
    ‘Are you sure you can drive, Miss Brown?’ he asked, quite pleased that he had managed to enunciate a whole sentence clearly.
    ‘I think so, my lord. Please be quiet and take deep breaths.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘You are disgustingly drunk.’
    ‘Yes, ma’am,’ agreed Lord Charles meekly.
    Harriet clicked her tongue at the horses and then said, ‘Walk on,’ and to her relief, they did. She had no intention of telling this boozy lord that she had never driven anything other than her father’s donkey cart before. Harriet was determined not to abandon Lord Charles until he was made to see the folly of his ways. She had to help the Tribbles, and a sober Lord Charles would be a better assistant than a drunk one. Glad it was not the fashionable hour and the Park was therefore thin of company, Harriet drove sedately round and round. The cat fell asleep, its head on Lord Charles’s knee, and Lord Charles fell asleep as well. Harriet drove back to the gates, stopped the carriage, opened her reticule, which was full of useful items, and took out a lead pencil and a notebook. She wrote: ‘Dear Misses Tribble, Do not be concerned for me. I am spending more time in the Park with Lord Charles than is fashionably correct, but we have much to talk about. H. Brown.’ Harriet did not have any pin money. She searched in Lord Charles’s pockets until she found a shilling and then called to a passing urchin and handed the boy the shilling and the note and told him to deliver the note to Holles Street. Then, in case the Tribbles should come looking for her before she had had a chance to sober Lord Charles, she bravely drove out of the Park to look for a less fashionable spot. She decided on Kensington Gardens. She knew they lay to the west of Hyde. Once more she had to stop, this time at Hyde Park toll, and search Lord Charles for money under the amused gaze of the tollkeeper. Then off again along the leafy Brompton Road. A thin flat disk of a sun was bleaching London into pale-golds and light-browns. The wind was chill and she was glad she had had the foresight to put on two petticoats. Her carriage dress, designed for her by Yvette, was of blue kerseymere, edged with fur, and worn under one of Effy’s cloaks.
    She turned into Kensington Gardens, hoping always that nothing would happen to frighten the horses, for she knew she could not handle them if they grew in the least frisky. Kensington Gardens had become a middle-class venue. Few people were out on this cold day. She turned the carriage off the walk and drove along under the trees and came to a stop under a huge sycamore. It had a few jutting-out lower branches and she jumped down and tied the horses’ reins to one of them. Then she returned to the carriage, wrapped a bearskin rug about the sleeping lord’s knees and put a fold of it over the cat, took out a small book of essays and began to read.
    After an hour, Lord Charles awoke with a start, the sounds of battle still in his ears, for he had been dreaming of the war. He looked about him in a dazed way and then at his companion, who was turning the pages of her book.
    ‘What are we doing here, ma’am?’ he asked plaintively.
    Harriet put down her book. ‘So you are awake, my lord. It was necessary to take you somewhere