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  Hetty and Lady Emily often rode together to the Goodmans’, and Hetty noticed how Mrs. Goodman leaned on Lady Emily and depended upon her advice since Betsey’s departure for Lancashire. Hetty felt that she herself should be offering more support to Mrs. Goodman, but, immersed in her misery and indecision over her betrothal with Tom, Hetty felt singularly unfit to advise others.

  A fortnight more brought November, and Hetty still had not resolved her dilemma. She avoided both Lord Wakeford and Mr. Goodman whenever she could, spending most of her time with her mother and Lady Emily. Tom seemed not to mind Hetty’s absence, and the times Hetty did spend time with her betrothed he did not push to set a date for their wedding. Hetty, although relieved that she was not pressed to set a date, at the same time wondered at Tom’s lack of ardor, for she knew the young farmer had more free time now that the harvest was in.

  Along with November the day of the annual Hunt Ball drew nigh. The ball was to be Lady Emily’s last entertainment, for she and her brother planned to return to London soon afterward.

  The morning of the ball, Hetty and Lady Emily rode together in the morning, as was their custom when the weather allowed. Lady Emily seemed quite preoccupied to Hetty, and did not answer several questions her young friend put to her. The two reached the top of a hill and drew rein, looking out over the countryside. The colorful leaves had fallen, leaving bare skeletons stark against the gray sky, and Hetty knew it would not be long before winter arrived.

  Abruptly, Lady Emily turned to Hetty.

  “Miss Biddle, would you forgive the presumption of a close friend in asking a personal question?”

  “Please feel free to ask me anything you wish, Lady Emily,” Hetty responded politely, surprised at her friend’s request.

  “Do you love Mr. Goodman?” Lady Emily asked, a delicate flush suffusing her face as she put the question.

  “Of course I do,” Hetty replied, surprised and somewhat embarrassed by the question.

  “I mean truly love him,” Lady Emily pressed, regarding Hetty with a strangely intent look. “As you love my brother,” she finished quietly.

  Hetty felt her cheeks redden, and she looked away in confusion. “I do not know what you mean.”

  “I think you do,” Lady Emily contradicted her friend quietly.

  “Lady Emily, I must love Tom,” Hetty said, turning back to face her friend. “He is always so good and kind, not like the fine gentlemen I met in London. I cannot repay that by jilting him.”

  Lady Emily was silent a moment, reaching forward to stroke her mount thoughtfully. She straightened and spoke again.

  “I understand your scruples, Miss Biddle, and they do you credit. But is it fair to Mr. Goodman, feeling as you do for my brother?”

  Hetty was silent, making no attempt to deny her affection for Lord Wakeford.

  “Do you not think, Miss Biddle,” Lady Emily persisted, “that Mr. Goodman deserves the kind of love from his wife that you have for my brother Jules?”

  “Of course he does, but— ” Hetty faltered, unable to continue.

  “Has it occurred to you that Mr. Goodman might also have observed your affection for Jules and wish to be released?” Lady Emily pursued relentlessly.

  “Tom did ask me once if I wished to be released,” Hetty said slowly, “but I thought it was because of the presence of the London gentlemen who came to Derbyshire this autumn, and because he feared I might wish to be free for an offer from one of them. I told him I did not wish to be released.”

  Lady Emily looked into the distance, tapping her boot with her crop. She turned resolutely to Hetty. “Miss Biddle, would it make it an easier decision for you if I told you that I love Mr. Goodman?”

  Hetty looked at her friend in astonishment. She knew that Lady Emily enjoyed the Goodmans’ company, she had noticed how the Goodman daughters flocked around Emily and how Mrs. Goodman turned to her for counsel, but Lady Emily in love with Tom? She would never have dreamed it!

  “You?” Hetty burst out. “But you are a marquess’s daughter.”

  Lady Emily looked at her wryly. “My rank does not prevent my caring for one of lesser rank.”

  “Does Tom return your feeling?” Hetty asked bluntly. “And if he does, why has he not asked me to be released?”

  “Mr. Goodman is much too honorable to ask to be released from the betrothal,” Lady Emily replied. “It must be the woman who does that. As for your other question, Mr. Goodman has never told me he returns my affections. Again, he is much too honorable. Yet I know that he does. Words are not necessary—I am sure you understand …” she trailed off.

  Hetty did understand. How often had a look, a gesture, conveyed so much more than words could between her and Lord Wakeford. Another possible obstacle occurred to her.

  “Your family would not approve if they knew you had conceived a tendre for a farmer.”

  “My family will not be overly pleased,” Lady Emily admitted. “But they had begun to give up hope I would ever marry after Captain Wendover was killed, and I think they could be persuaded. If they are not, it will make no difference.”

  “Thank you for confiding in me, Lady Emily,” Hetty said, understanding the difficulty Lady Emily had had in sharing such personal feelings. “I shall think upon what you have said.”

  “That is all I ask,” Lady Emily replied. She smiled briefly and a little sadly at Hetty, and, turning her mount, rode back toward the Biddles’.

  Hetty followed slowly, thinking that all that had happened was much too confusing and complicated. Halfway back home she came to an abrupt decision and turned her mare in the direction of the Goodmans’ farm. She soon spied one of Tom’s sisters, who directed Hetty to the stables. Tom heard her riding up and emerged from the stable, a look of surprise on his face.

  “Is my mother not in the house?” he asked, assuming Hetty had come to call on Mrs. Goodman.

  “It is you I wish to speak with,” Hetty explained. “May I have a moment of your time, Mr. Goodman?”

  “Of course, Miss Biddle,” Tom replied, and helped her dismount as a groom came forward to take the reins.

  The two walked some distance from the farmhouse, to the shores of a small lake, where they sat down. Hetty looked at Tom soberly. It was difficult to gather the courage to speak, but she knew she must.

  “Mr. Goodman, I have come to see that the affection I have for you is not the kind of affection a woman should have for the man she marries. Although I have the greatest respect and love for you, I know now we should not suit.”

  “I wondered if you would come to see that,” Tom agreed.

  “You knew?” Hetty exclaimed, surprised and a little miffed that he seemed not to be at all disappointed. Mentally she chastised herself.

  “Why did you not ask to be released?” she asked aloud.

  “I did ask if you wished to be released,” Tom reminded her. “When you did not take the opportunity I offered I realized you had not yet come to understand that despite our mutual affection we would not suit, and I simply waited and hoped that in time you would come to see the truth for yourself.”

  Hetty smiled at him ruefully, and then laughed at her lack of perception. “I have been a slowtop, haven’t I?” she asked. Tom grinned at Hetty and put an arm around her shoulders, squeezing them with brotherly affection.

  The two sat in companionable silence, Hetty thinking of Lady Emily’s revelations that morning. Wishing her friend to be happy, Hetty determined to try to help Lady Emily. Tom might not dare aspire as high as a marquess’s daughter if she did not.

  “I might not have come to see my true feelings had it not been for a hint from a friend,” she essayed.

  Tom’s face suddenly suffused with red. “I think I know the ‘friend,’ ” he replied, looking conscious.

  Hetty hesitated to be more explicit. “My friend’s happiness means a great deal to me,” she said instead. “I hope it means as much to the one with the power to ensure it.”

  “It does,” To
m responded briefly, but the look on his face told Hetty he understood all she had left unspoken. She rose, Tom following suit, and they strolled back to the farm in total harmony.

  Despite her relief at having handled a difficult situation well, Hetty returned home feeling very alone. No matter how happy one was to be released from an engagement one had come to see was not the best choice, it was still rather lowering to have one’s betrothed exhibit relief at being released! Not wanting to talk to Lady Emily until she had composed herself, Hetty retreated to her bedchamber and rested until it was time to summon Daisy to help her dress for the Hunt Ball.

  Hetty had saved one of the gowns she brought from London particularly for the Hunt Ball: a closed robe of dull red silk with brocaded flowers of gold, yellow, red, and green. The autumn colors flattered Hetty’s complexion, and she was pleased with her image in the glass after Daisy helped her into the gown. Hetty added a lace collar to the dress, and Daisy arranged ribbons and plumes in her mistress’s dark curls, both adding to the effect of the toilette. Hetty’s spirits began to lift, and she went to join the others with a smile on her lips.

  Mr. and Mrs. Biddle were already dressed and waiting in the parlor. Mrs. Biddle was looking her most handsome in a gown of aubergine taffeta, and Mr. Biddle wore his usual suit of drab wool broadcloth, his brocaded waistcoat adding a touch of color.

  Lady Emily came down soon after Hetty, looking radiant in a white muslin gown embroidered with green and gold garlands and bows. A gold fringe decorated the hem, and a silk fichu was attached to the green sash about her waist with a jeweled fichu buckle. Her thick chestnut hair was arranged in a cascade of curls, and a plume arched over her forehead. Hetty thought she had never seen her friend look as beautiful as she did that night.

  The party set out for the ball happy in the knowledge that they all looked their best, and Hetty’s depression of spirits vanished.

  When they arrived at the ball, Hetty’s hand was claimed by Tom for the first dance, and she appreciated the thoughtfulness of the gesture. Hetty knew the other guests would have been curious if he did not dance with her first, and although eventually everyone in the district would know their betrothal had ended, Hetty did not wish the curious stares and whispers to begin this night. Tom smiled at her affectionately, and Hetty knew that although she had lost a lover she still had her friend.

  When he returned Hetty to her mother’s side, Tom next asked Lady Emily to partner him. Hetty, observing her friends closely, saw the flare of emotion in both countenances as Lady Emily took Tom’s hand and allowed him to escort her onto the floor. The difference in their ranks seemed to melt away in the warmth of their mutual affection, and Hetty felt a pang of envy, her eyes blurring with unshed tears.

  “May I have the honor of this dance, Miss Biddle?”

  Hetty blinked away her tears at the familiar voice and a medley of conflicting emotions gripped her as she looked up at Lord Wakeford, taking in every detail of his appearance from his ruffled linen shirt to his white silk stockings, and black buckled shoes.

  Unable to speak, Hetty curtsied in acceptance, and Lord Wakeford led her onto the floor. Aware of her newly free status, Hetty began to respond to her partner’s bold looks, and flirted daringly, giving the marquess saucy glances and pert answers when the figures of the dance allowed them to converse.

  When the set ended, Lord Wakeford did not relinquish Hetty, but drew her out of the ballroom and through the hall to a small parlor. He closed the door behind them and stood before it, folding his arms over his chest and looking at Hetty sternly.

  “This is quite enough of your nonsense, Miss Biddle. If you shall not call off your betrothal, I will.”

  Now was the moment for Hetty to tell Lord Wakeford that her engagement was at an end, but yet she hesitated. She knew she loved him, but she still did not know if he loved her. And what of her provincial manners and modest background?

  “I do not make empty threats,” Lord Wakeford proclaimed as Hetty made no response. “If you will not, I believe I shall go speak with Mr. Goodman this very moment.” He turned and placed his hand on the doorknob.

  “There is no need for you to speak to Mr. Goodman, Lord Wakeford,” Hetty finally spoke. I have already ended our betrothal.”

  “You did? When?” Lord Wakeford exclaimed, turning to look at Hetty searchingly.

  “This morning. Your sister persuaded me. It was quite a lowering experience,” she continued. “I had the feeling Tom was rather relieved than overset to be released.”

  “Then he deserves to lose you,” Lord Wakeford proclaimed, reaching for Hetty’s hands. “Why did you not tell me earlier?”

  Hetty stared fixedly down at the gilt claw feet of a chair next to her. “It only happened this morning, Lord Wakeford,” she began, “and— ” she broke off.

  Lord Wakeford cupped Hetty’s chin in his hand and tipped her face to his. “Tell me,” he commanded.

  “I cannot,” Hetty said, turning away.

  “I shall force you to tell me, Miss Biddle, so you may as well give in. I am not going to lose you again. I have fought two duels because of you, followed you to Derbyshire, and been rivals with a bounder, a lecher, and a farmer for your hand. What more need I do to prove my love?”

  At Lord Wakeford’s last word Hetty’s head jerked back and her eyes opened wide. “You love me?” she asked wonderingly. “You love me?”

  “Of course I love you, you dear goosecap,” Lord Wakeford said softly. Drawing her into his arms, he kissed her tenderly.

  When she could speak, Hetty voiced her last fears. “But what of when we return to London? Will I become ‘Half-baked Hetty’ to you again?”

  Lord Wakeford looked steadily into Hetty’s eyes as he softly caressed her face. “You will always be my ‘Half-baked Hetty.’ I would have you no other way,” he said, willing her to understand that he loved her as she was. “It is your freshness and lack of London polish that have made me love you.”

  “My provincial manners will not mortify you?” Hetty persisted.

  “Your manners will never mortify me, Miss Biddle. In point of fact, I find I have become quite fond of all things country and plan to rusticate often. I even think to purchase an estate in Derbyshire, a plan I will confide in the squire when I ask him for your hand.”

  “A splendid idea!” Hetty beamed, believing in Lord Wakeford’s love at last. “And I predict your sister will be a frequent visitor until her farmer gets courage enough to come up to scratch.”

  “That is the way of it? I had suspected something of the sort,” Lord Wakeford admitted. “But enough of other lovers,” he said, drawing Hetty into his arms again. Hetty leaned into his chest trustingly, knowing she belonged there forever.

  Copyright © 1992 by Lucile Moore

  Originally published by Harlequin Regency [0821738100]

  Electronically published in 2013 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228

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  This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.