Page 7 of To Follow her Heart

Harriet smiled though she didn’t look entirely reassured, but at that moment Kitty came thundering down the stairs.

“Harriet!” she exclaimed, throwing her arms about the young woman’s neck.

Matilda hid a grin; Harriet was clearly overawed by Kitty’s boisterous nature. It was a little like living with a puppy, she reflected, having spent the past two weeks and more in her company. Kitty bored easily and was constantly looking for diversion. Once occupied, she was tranquil, happy, and easily pleased, but heaven help you if she took it into her head to entertain herself.

“Come along, come along,” Henry said, now all the baggage had been safely stowed. “Let’s be having you.”

Obediently, they all hurried outside, where a smart coach awaited them.

“I’m afraid we’ll be a little snug,” Harriet said, pitching her voice low. “Aunt Nell insisted we must be chaperoned on the journey.”

“Well, that’s your own fault,” Henry said tartly. “You would tell her I couldn’t chaperone a sponge cake, so… hoist by your own petard, Miss.”

Harriet laughed at her brother’s indignation and they were soon settled inside.

They made a merry party. Henry was always a cheerful soul and he and Harriet, or Harry as he called her, seemed on very good terms. Kitty was in good spirits, too, and looking very fetching in a new bonnet crowned with cherries. Her dark hair framed her face with glossy ringlets and her eyes sparkled. Matilda prayed she’d be able to find her some news about her childhood sweetheart soon, though, for she knew Kitty was optimistic of hearing results and knew too how quickly optimism could fade when no news was forthcoming.

She worried that it was a hopeless case though. If Mr Baxter had wanted to write to Kitty, had wanted her to know of his whereabouts, he could have written a hundred times and more over the past years.

They made a brief mid-morning stop to change horses, and arrived at Holbrooke House in the early afternoon. It was an impressive sight.

“Good heavens,” Matilda exclaimed.

Despite having been warned of its scale and opulence, the Elizabethan prodigy house was more than a little intimidating.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” Harriet said, looking at the building with a smile. “It was influenced by the Classical style of building popular in France and Flanders during the sixteenth century. Especially by Hans Vredeman de Vries.” She pointed out the window, warming to her theme. “It was damaged in the Civil War when Cromwell’s forces bombarded it, so the 6th earl inserted those arched windows to enclose the gallery. The 10th earl employed Capability Brown to modernise the gardens and parkland. He also built the stables, which are rather magnificent, and an orangery, as well as a Gothic summerhouse.”

“Our house is about five miles in that direction,” Henry said, gesturing into the distance. “We used to spend all our time here, though. We played in that grand Gothic summerhouse as children,” he added with a wistful smile.

Harriet, who had become quite animated whilst speaking of the building, fell quiet.

“What fun we had,” her brother chuckled, apparently oblivious to her change in demeanour.

They were greeted by the Dowager Countess St Clair and the earl himself, as well as his younger brother Jerome Cadogan. She’d met Jerome at the fireworks and had liked him at once. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes she appreciated, though she knew he was the bane of his older brother’s existence. He was a handsome fellow, like his brother, though a broken nose gave him a rakish, disreputable air.

The young man had a reputation for falling violently in love with quite unsuitable women and making something of a spectacle of himself. As the St Clair family’s wealth was staggering, the earl lived in daily terror of finding his young sibling married to a fortune hunter. Rumour had it he’d already had to buy off a courtesan and placate a married lady threatening to tell all to the scandal sheets.

“How lovely to see you here, Miss Hunt,” the Countess St Clair said, greeting her warmly. “I was so pleased to hear you were coming, and Miss Connolly, you are most welcome.”

The countess was a glamourous woman, and it was clear where her sons had inherited their looks from. Dressed in a pale green gown trimmed with delicate lace, she looked far too young to be St Clair’s mama. Her golden hair had faded a little, but it did nothing to diminish her beauty. Her vivid blue eyes were bright and full of intelligence. Jerome had the same intense blue colouring, Matilda noticed, whereas St Clair’s were an unusual shade, almost aquamarine.

“I always forget how handsome the earl is,” Kitty whispered to Matilda as they followed their hosts into a breathtaking entrance hall.

The sheer scale of the building was meant to impress upon its guests the wealth and power of the family who owned it. Matilda thought it was doing a wonderful job.

“He is a beautiful man,” Matilda said with a smile, as Harriet rolled her eyes.

“Do you not agree, Harry?” she asked, too curious not to ask.

Harriet looked from Kitty to Matilda and put up her chin, a stubborn glint to her eyes. “He has arms and legs in all the correct places, all his own teeth and a head of hair. Add that to his title, and I should think any young lady would think him the epitome of male beauty.”

Kitty frowned at her. “But I have no interest in marrying him and gaining his title, or all this,” she added, gesturing around her as they followed the family up one side of an impressive double staircase. “So that has no bearing on my decision. But for you, Harry dear—objectively, as if regarding an artwork—do you not think him a thing of beauty?”

Harriet paused and Matilda bit her lip, aware St Clair and the others had gotten some distance ahead.

“If I regard him as an artwork, a Grecian urn, for example,” Harriet said, an impatient tone to her voice, “then yes, I should say he is as lovely an example of the art as ever existed. Close to perfection, if I must be truthful. Unfortunately, he is not a Grecian urn, though his mind bears a close resemblance to the contents.”

With this rather unvarnished assessment, Harriet turned and hurried up the stairs.