Page 28 of Lady Like

Havoc greets them at the door to Collin’s house, his usual enthusiasm amplified twofold when he discovers that Harry has not only returned to him, but returned soaked in pie.

He and Emily follow her abovestairs, Havoc licking the back of her dress, and wait in the hall until Harry tosses out the soiled garment for Emily to soak belowstairs.

Once she’s scrubbed and changed and unwigged, Harry finds Emily in the kitchen, sleeves rolled, up to her elbows in soapy water and Harry’s dress, while Havoc sits on her feet, prepared to catch any stray pastry that might fall.

The smell of vinegar in the air stings Harry’s eyes, though Emily appears to have moved on to attacking the skirt with a cube of soap from the stand beside the basin.

“We can mark the time of death and feed it to the fire,” Harry says. Her wet hair drips into the collar of her banyan.

“Then the enemy wins!” Emily loses her grip on the soap, and it sails into the air.

Havoc makes a dive for it before realizing it isn’t pie.

“Did you know that man?” Emily asks as she retrieves the bar.

They had spoken very little on the walk to Collin’s, and Harry is not prepared for the flush the question raises in her cheeks, nor the realization that she doesn’t want to tell Emily this story.

She picks a piece of crust from her hair, considers eating it, then throws it to Havoc instead. “No, but I know his employer.”

“The Duke of Edgewood,” Emily says.

“Indeed. He and I fought a duel.”

The space between Emily’s brows creases. “You were in a fight?”

“A duel—surprisingly different.” Harry runs her fingers through the hair at the nape of her neck, trying to break up the tacky strands and wondering how so much syrup managed to get through her wig.

Dress ruined, wig ruined—what a horrible, expensive day.

“And it hardly qualified as even that—we fought with tipped foils, for God’s sake!

The same ones we use on stage. I’ve been accidentally stabbed a dozen times and never lost an eye. ”

“Dueling is illegal,” Emily says. “What could you possibly have quarreled over that came to blows?”

“We were playing cards at White’s and he didn’t like that I accused him of cheating.”

“Was he?”

“Cheating? Absolutely. Half a deck fell out of his sleeve when he stood to overturn the table. But he denied it, threw a glove at me, and stormed out.”

“Gracious.” Emily hefts the dress from the basin and rings it out. Pink water spurts from the material. “What I wouldn’t give for just a smidge of your confidence.”

“Confidence?” Harry laughs. “Collin calls it insolence. My mother had crueler names.”

“Whatever it is,” Emily says, “I’d give anything for it.”

Harry pulls back the bench at the kitchen table and sinks down upon it. Havoc comes to her side and begins licking her hand. “Don’t make that devil’s bargain just yet. Confidence is hard won.”

“How do you mean?”

Harry thinks of the girls at school who called her names and drew pictures of her mowing their headmistress, all of which found their way into her schoolbag.

Of the boys at the stables, who pissed in her boots and grabbed her ass whenever she picked her horses’ shoes.

Of the first morning in their new townhouse, when the windows were pelted with eggs, and Harry had cried until her mother slapped her.

“I was mocked for so much when I was young,” she says.

“My mother, my height, my affinity for trousers and horses and theatrics. I fought back for a long time—got my eyes blacked so many times Collin was concerned it would affect my vision—before I discovered that if I didn’t care, or acted as though I didn’t care what anyone thought, everyone would leave me alone. ”

Emily frowns. “Why?”

“What fun is poking a dog that doesn’t snap? People want to know they hurt you.”

“But did you still care what people thought of you?”

“At first. Now I’m so sincerely apathetic that I truly do not give a fig for anyone’s opinion. Is this the haircut of a woman who cares what others think of her? If you pretend for long enough, you fool even yourself.”

Emily shakes her head, still staring down at the dress. “I can’t imagine.”

“Imagine what?”

“Being so secure in myself. I’m far too concerned with people liking me.”

“But there are so many better things to be than liked!”

“Such as?”

“Despised. Loathed. Abhorred!” Emily laughs, and Harry finishes, more gently, “Ardently and passionately desired.”

Emily stops scrubbing and turns to Harry with a soft intensity to her gaze, and Harry finds that in the light of someone listening to her—really listening—for the first time in so long, she wants to keep talking. She wants Emily to know everything about her.

Which would be a very poor idea, because she plans to wed the man Emily has set her sights upon.

Best not to accidentally give up any information that Emily might someday use against Harry, no matter how good it feels to speak freely or how intoxicating it was when Emily had held on to her at the dress shop, their bodies pressed together.

Harry flings the towel from her neck at Emily, who flinches with a laugh. “Don’t look at me like I’m a tragedy.”

“It sounds lonely.” Emily dries her hands on her skirt. “To have no one but yourself upon whom to rely.”

“ Lonely. ” Harry waves a hand like she might swat away the word. “I don’t need anyone to love me in order to love myself.”

“But someone should.”

“Should what?”

“Love you. Someone should love you.” Emily ducks her chin, turning from Harry as she holds up the dress, tilting it to the light. She has only managed to turn the crimson stain pink. “I may have overestimated the strength of vinegar and soap.”

“Your efforts are appreciated regardless.” Harry rolls her shoulder in its socket, feeling the ache of a bruise forming there. “I know that I promised you a trip to Ranelagh tonight, but I don’t think I have the strength after all this. Can we schedule for another day?”

“Of course. Are you sure you’re all right here tonight? Do you want me to send for a doctor?”

“No, I just need a bath and a drink and then bed.”

“Will Collin be home soon? I hate to think of you here alone.”

God, has she ever wanted to be alone less than she does now? Harry thinks suddenly of the manor house in the countryside the prince has set aside for her, its countless empty rooms. What a vast space she’ll have to fill with no one but herself and her hard-won confidence.

And Alexander, she reminds herself.

And if she is to have Alexander, she shouldn’t be spending time with Emily.

If Alexander knew the real Miss Sergeant, not the prim facade she seems to think she needs adopt, Harry fears he might fall in love with her in earnest. Emily could be the perfect bride for him.

Far from dull, as Alexander pronounced her, she is smart and funny and interesting and thoughtful.

Who wouldn’t want to marry her? Harry should be doing nothing to aid Emily in pursuing Alexander.

Rather, she should cut Emily loose now, tell her she cannot be the one to help her woo Alexander.

Take this day as a sign any further companionship is doomed.

At the very least, Harry should be passing this time with Alexander, proving to him she can be demure and responsible when the need arises.

She could go see him now. He’ll be back from his morning ride.

She could put the pie-stained dress back on and arrive on his doorstep in distress, seeking a manly shoulder upon which to cry.

She could even let him walk in on her while she’s in the bath, and then a shoulder to cry upon might become a shoulder to sleep with.

She’d let him think he had consoled her, sheltered her, protected her, all those things men want to do for women. And she wouldn’t be alone.

Yet Harry finds herself saying, “Perhaps we might go out tomorrow. Not to the Gardens. A different scandalous outing.”

Emily nods. “Your brother mentioned Speakers’ Corner. Might we meet there?”

“Noon?” Harry says, and Emily smiles.

“I’ll see you then.”