Free To Dream of Love by M. C. Beaton

wonderful to be married and have a proper home. Perhaps some gentleman might be attracted to her during the Season, some man who would take all the cares and burdens of looking after herself and Aunt Rebecca from her shoulders.
    Aunt Rebecca came shuffling in as Harriet was climbing into bed.
    “What did Cordelia have to say?” she asked anxiously. “Oh, provided I keep in the background and make sure Lord Arden does not even look at me, we may stay for a little. She suggested I follow her example and entrap some old man.”
    Aunt Rebecca sat down on the edge of the bed. “There is young Mr. Hudson, Harriet.”
    “I fear Lord Arden would have something to say about his young cousin proposing to a penniless girl.” Harriet smiled. “And think how exhausting it would be to be wed to such as Bertram Hudson. One would have to endure Gothic tragedies even at the breakfast table.”
    “It is a pity about Arden,” said Aunt Rebecca cautiously. “I was sure he was not indifferent to you.”
    “He has eyes only for such as Cordelia,” said Harriet, primming her lips. “I fear he regards all women as sluts. He—he kissed me, Aunt Rebecca.”
    “Gracious! Where?”
    “On the lips.”
    “I mean, where did this happen?”
    “On the roof, after he had rescued me and the duchess from the fire.”
    “Well, the peril of the moment must have made him forget himself, for I am determined that Lord Arden is a fine gentleman in both rank and manner. Still, his behavior is very shocking, and had it happened in different circumstances, then he would be obliged to marry you. Perhaps it is my duty to call him to account for his behavior.”
    “Oh, no, please, Aunt. We must have nothing to do wih him, or Cordelia will send us packing. Do you think we are behaving like weaklings, enduring her humiliating behavior just for a few balls and parties?”
    “No, we have no choice.” Harriet looked very small and childish as she lay against the pillows. “But you may trust me to see to your future,” said Aunt Rebecca.
    “
I
will take care of you to make up for all the times you have taken care of me and my poor nerves.”
    “Dear aunt.” Harriet smiled. “Thank you.”
    But after Aunt Rebecca left, Harriet shook her head sadly.
    What on earth could poor old Aunt Rebecca do?

Chapter Four
    During the six days before the Marquess of Arden’s ball, Harriet attended a few routs, one opera, and one musicale. Anxious for Aunt Rebecca’s welfare and dreading the
crise de nerfs
that would undoubtedly be precipitated if they were given their marching orders, Harriet dutifully kept in the background.
    She suspected the clothes that Cordelia had lent her were the most unbecoming her sister could find and that Cordelia had instructed her lady’s maid, Martha, to take off all the becoming flounces, laces, and ornaments.
    Little better dressed than Agnes, meek, and demure, Harriet played her part so well that by the day before the ball, society had largely forgotten about her and even Mr. Hudson no longer sought her company.
    The Marquess of Arden was nowhere in sight, and his absence was making Cordelia dangerously petulant. Her scheme of punishing Agnes by leaving her at home had gone awry, as Cordelia discovered on returning from an afternoon call with Harriet. She was told by Findlater that Mrs. Hurlingham had gone out walking in the park with Mr. Prenderbury.
    Cordelia had thrown a famous tantrum, calling Agnes a slut and forbidding Mr. Prenderbury the house. Harriet heard Agnes weeping during the night and had gone to comfort her, but Agnes had screamed at her to go away, saying she was only making matters worse.
    And that was when Harriet decided that life at Pringle House with all its attendant discomforts was infinitely preferable to life with Cordelia.
    She went back to her room and lit all the candles, opened the wardrobe, and looked at the gown she was meant to wear at the marquess’s ball.
    It was a skimpy affair of white muslin