The Science of Seduction
Harriet Mason glared at her groom. Of all the ridiculous, outrageous, preposterous things to happen to a girl, it’s happened to me.
I’ve been forced to marry him.
No amount of crying, shouting, reasoning or bargaining had persuaded her mother otherwise and now Harriet stood there in a beautiful dress handed down from her great-grandmother that he’d barely looked at.
The Duke of Chester, Jasper Buford, appeared more interested in a murder of crows flapping in his lavish marble fountain than the exquisite French lace on her cuffs.
“And now,” the tall, bearded clergy said, blinking in the harsh sunlight, “you may kiss your bride.”
Jasper tore his attention from the big, black birds and finally looked at Harriet again. “Oh, yes, of course.” He cleared his throat.
He reaches for her, pulled her against his long, lean body and then ducked his head.
Harriet panicked. She stiffened. She turned her cheek and that was where his warm lips landed.
The couple didn’t have a big congregation—he didn’t want a fuss—so the round of applause was barely audible over the splashing of water.
Why he’d insisted on an outdoor wedding when he had his own chapel in the grounds of Hinton Manor, Harriet didn’t know.
He quickly released her. It was as though Harriet were suddenly a sharp stinging nettle that he needed to get away from.
Mother will berate me for turning my cheek, I’m sure, but I don’t care. The last thing I want to do is kiss a man I don’t want to be married to.
But how to undo it? How to escape?
“I hope you enjoy the wedding feast, Harriet.” The duke gestured curtly at the sumptuous spread set on tables beneath an old oak tree. “I will find you later.”
“Are you not eating?”
“Er…no… I have something…” He tapped the side of his head. “Something to do in my workshop.”
“Can’t it wait? This is our wedding day.”
“Not really… These things, they are quite the itch, I find.”
“What things?”
“Ideas.” He nodded fervently. “Yes, it’s an idea. A big one. Itchy.”
And then he spun and strode back toward the manor house, his giant paces eating the ground. The sun caught in his black hair. It was long, too long to be fashionable and Harriet wondered why he hadn’t gotten it neatened before his wedding.
“Harriet, darling.”
Her mother was at her side.
“How does it feel?” She grinned, her eyes full of pride. “To be a duchess?” She fluffed the blonde curls that rested on her daughter’s shoulders.
Harriet hated it when she did that.
“I don’t feel any different.” Harriet scowled and tore her attention from her groom. “Why would I when he’s left our wedding breakfast without a morsel to eat?”
Her mother worried her bottom lip. “Where has he gone?”
“How would I know? He said he had an itch.”
“‘An itch’?”
“Yes, and if it’s the type of itch that spreads to me, Mother, you have only yourself to blame.”
“Harriet.” She slapped her hand on her mouth and looked around. “Don’t say such things.”
Harriet huffed and gestured to the half dozen guests. “Not exactly many people to overhear.”
“You know he wanted a small wedding. No fuss, no pomp and ceremony.”
“And why is that, do you think?”
Her mother was quiet.
“I’ll tell you, it’s because he wanted to marry me about as much as I wanted to marry him, which is not at all.”
“Well, it’s done now, darling, and it’s for the best. I worked hard to find you the best match I could. It was sheer luck that I heard of his single status and he approved of your appearance. So now you must lie in the bed that’s been made.”
Harriet shuddered and turned to the tables of food and drink. Surely, there was some sherry or port there with which she could fog her brain with before she had to lie in his bed.
She gathered her dress and found a drink, sending it down her throat in one go.
“Congratulations, dear.” A woman with gray hair dotted with tiny, white flowers smiled at Harriet. “I hope you will be happy at Hinton Manor.”
“Thank you.” Harriet forced a smile, even though she knew she’d be thoroughly miserable in her new home.
“I’m Mrs. Talbot, the duke’s cook.”
“Nice to meet you.” Harriet nodded at the food. “And you did this?”
“Yes, Your Grace, all of it.”
Harriet paused. It would take some getting used to—‘Your Grace.’ “It’s wonderful, thank you.”
The cook looked in the direction of the house. “Don’t mind His Grace. He’s always been like this.”
“He has?” Harriet frowned.
“Yes, even before his parents passed.” She leaned a little closer. “Such a wee mite he was back then. So sad.”
“Yes, I heard. Shipping accident, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, dreadful affair. No bodies ever found, just the remains of the hull smashed to pieces on Welsh rocks.”
Despite the warm day, a cold shudder went through Harriet. What a frightful way to go.
“But to be honest with you…” The cook reached for a stuffed tomato. “His ways… His curious mind… It has been his savior. It meant he could fill his head with clever ideas instead of sorrow.”
“‘Clever ideas’?”
“Oh, yes.” The cook’s eyes widened. “He always has an invention or contraption in production. Yes, very clever, indeed. Understands the ways of the world so much more than I ever could. Or most people ever could.”
Harriet smiled politely, though she wasn’t interested in Jasper’s stupid inventions and contraptions.
What Harriet was interested in was avoiding him that night when the sun went down. Yes, that was what she’d concentrate on. She might have been his bride, but Harriet had no intention of being his lover until she had absolutely no other option.
“You’ll be glowing soon,” Mrs. Talbot said, nodding at Harriet’s belly. “I’d wager he’ll have you carrying his heir within months. And that will make him very happy. A duke has to have an heir, and finally, he came to his senses on that matter.”
Harriet covered her belly with her hands. Pregnant with his heir… That was not a thought she was ready for in this moment. “Which is why, of course, he married me.”
“Well, dear, he wasn’t going to meet anyone when he never attends any of the society invites he receives.” The cook’s eyebrows pulled together. “Think yourself lucky; he is quite the catch. A girl like you could have done a lot worse.”
“Of course. Yes, I am very grateful.” Harriet smiled sweetly and hoped she’d undone any suspicion she’d created with her comment.
It didn’t seem wise to annoy the person who was going to be feeding her for the foreseeable future.
And she was right. Harriet’s mother and her barely had a feather to fly with.
Marrying a duke was an unusually good match for Harriet.
But Mrs. Talbot seemed to be more than a cook. She was apparently one of the guests. She turned from Harriet and filled up a plate with savory pie, roast beef, buttered bread, and two hard-boiled eggs, and then started chatting with Harriet’s mother.
How odd.
But then, Jasper Buford had no family, so perhaps his staff were his family.
What a sad state to be in.
Which made Harriet wonder all the more why he hadn’t stayed at the feast. It was fair to say, herself and her widowed mother didn’t make for a huge amount of new relatives, but still… In life, you had to be grateful for what you got.
“Congratulations, Your Grace.” Reverend Smythe smiled at Harriet and shoved a crumbling pastry into his mouth. “You have a most comfortable future ahead.”
“Thank you.” She reached for another sherry.
“And I’m sure you’ll make the most of the ladder you have climbed, in society that is, with this most excellent marriage.
“I will do my best, though from what I hear, my husband doesn’t give much time to such things.”
“Ah.” He wagged his finger. “But he is a married man now, and he has a wife to entertain in all manner of ways. I’d wager by the festive season, you’ll have him out at dinners and dances the way most men of his standing are.”
“I would suggest you are conservative in that particular wager. I’d hate for you to lose substantially.”
He chuckled and moved to talk to a man who, judging by his worn, muddy boots and roll of twine partially shoved into his dusty jacket pocket, was Hinton Manor’s gardener.
Harriet headed into the house. The sun was becoming oppressive. The heat wave that had blasted England for over a week showed no signs of letting up.
She stepped over a long tube that lay on the floor traveling fifty feet or more from the pond before rising up onto a ladder.
Water flowed from its end at speed onto a patch of raspberry bushes, but not in a single stream.
It jetted out at all angles, soaking the shrubs and their surrounding soil as if it were raining on them.
For a moment, Harriet paused. What a clever way to stop them dying in this heat. The harvest should still be excellent.
“Ridiculous fangled idea,” she then muttered bad-temperedly. “That pond will soon empty.”
She carried on into the house. Huge, white-painted doors led into a ballroom that was still and quiet and empty.
The walls were magnificently decorated with golden cornice and heavy mirrors.
Sumptuous velvet drapery hung at the windows and a chandelier nearly the size of a small pony glittered from the ceiling.
A fireplace that could have housed a carriage sat unlit and barely soot marked.
Had it ever been used? Certainly not for a very long time.
Harriet left the room and walked silently into the hallway. This room was also huge, but the dark, wooden panels made it cool and shadowed and somewhat oppressive.
Lifting her dress an inch, Harriet made her way up the stairs. Perhaps her groom would give her a tour of her new home later, but perhaps not, which was why she decided to see for herself where she was to be living.
Elaborately framed portraits filled the walls and an occasional table, walnut, held several vases decorated with dainty Asian-style artwork.
Harriet came to an open door and peeked in.
“Oh, my goodness.” Her eyes widened. If this was the duke’s room, then there was no space for Harriet. Not a single inch.
Which was actually a good thing.