Stages of Desire Read Online Free Page B

I’m afraid.”
    â€œI’m so sorry.” Marianne tilted her head to one side and gave him a sympathetic look.
    â€œNot at all. I’m sure she’ll recover soon and you’ll be able to meet. She’s eager to do so.”
    â€œPerhaps I can lend you Miss Farley as a cure. She did wonders for my health, and I’m sure she might cure your sister as well.”
    She curled her fingers into tight fists. “I will not be lent out like a puppet.”
    Marianne glanced over her shoulder at her. “I was being silly, Harriet, don’t make a fuss. Come along, now. I know Mr. Hopplehill is eager to have another dance with you.” Marianne arched one brow. “Harriet has a suitor, you see. A Mr. Hopplehill of Barings Bank. It’s sure to be a fine match. Is that what you were discussing up here, in secret? Matches?”
    â€œWe spoke of Shakespeare,” Lord Abingdon said.
    â€œAnd curses,” Harriet added. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, my lord.”
    She gave a quick curtsy and dashed out of the room.
    * * * *
    The next morning Harriet, accompanied by one of the housemaids, ventured out early, armed with a list of items to buy to refurbish Marianne’s ball gown. She would throw herself into the construction of the new garment to keep from mulling over the previous night’s events.
    She’d been made to look a fool. Lord Abingdon had pretended to be interested in a subject dear to her heart, then derided her. After the debacle in the study, the rest of the evening had been even more unbearable. Whether due to the heat or Mr. Hopplehill’s overwhelming attentiveness, she’d felt suffocated and angry. To top it off, Marianne had nattered on and on with delight at being the focal point of the Lord Abingdon’s attention the entire carriage ride home. As far as Harriet was concerned, Marianne and the snobbish earl could marry and have twenty children and be done with it. It meant nothing to her.
    Yet the image of Lord Abingdon and Marianne dancing a cotillion, their hands lightly touching and Marianne glowing as if she were lit from within, kept popping into Harriet’s head. Even the duchess had become rather misty-eyed at the sight. Lord Abingdon and Marianne were well suited to each other physically: she, the embodiment of delicacy and femininity, and he the dashing, broad-shouldered suitor with intelligent chestnut eyes.
    Had he ever confided in Marianne about his father’s disdain? For some reason, Harriet liked to think he hadn’t.
    Not that any of it mattered.
    This morning, in the light of day, Harriet was ashamed by her silliness. Character, not beauty, was the most important trait of a good man, and Mr. Hopplehill, she was sure, would prove to have a fine character. Perhaps not now, but eventually. Perhaps.
    Harriet and the maid stepped inside the draper’s. No other customers were present and the shop was peaceful inside, with shelf after shelf of fabric, lace, and ribbons. The possibilities were endless. Mrs. MacDonald, the shopkeeper, emerged from the back and gave Harriet a wide smile.
    â€œMy dear Miss Farley, how sweet of you to come by.” She was a stout and animated woman with kind gray eyes. “What can I do for you today?”
    â€œI’d like to see some of your Brussels lace. I need to improve upon a gown of mine and could use your advice.” Harriet didn’t mention the true reason for her visit, as she knew the duchess would prefer the family’s financial condition not become fodder for gossip.
    Over the next fifteen minutes, she and Mrs. MacDonald pored over the finest silk ribbons and the most delicate webs of lace, and, with Mrs. MacDonald’s help, Harriet understood the best way to accomplish her task.
    The older woman began wrapping the purchases in brown paper. “Did you and Lady Marianne attend Lord Abingdon’s ball last night?”
    At the mention of his name,