How should she proceed? Did she tell Frances of her feelings? It seemed silly to say anything now that she realized how little of an impression she’d made on Viscount Garland from their first introduction to now.
Martin stepped into the conversation void, explaining that he knew Garland from university although they’d been a few years apart. They also belonged to the same club and crossed paths there occasionally.
Harriet glanced at Frances, willing her to join the discussion. This was her chance to get to know Garland and to allow him to come to know her.
Yet Frances looked like a doe caught in a field by an angry farmer, all wide eyes and stiff body. While she no longer stared at the ground, she was now blinking an alarming amount.
Martin frowned at his sister as if wondering what was wrong.
Before her brother could potentially embarrass her, Harriet smiled. “How nice that the two of you are acquainted with one another.” She managed to nudge Frances, hoping her friend took the hint.
“Harriet and I belong to the same club as well, but it’s a book club.” Frances’ words came out in a rush. “The Mayfair Literary League.”
Garland frowned. “That sounds familiar.”
Harriet nearly groaned. Of all things for Frances to say, that wasn’t a good choice. The two gossipy sisters, Lady Lucinda and Lady Jane, had done their best to spread the news of the league’sFor Better or Worseagenda.
If Garland had heard of it, he wouldn’t want anything to do with either of them for fear they intended to trap him into marriage. The sisters had cast it in a poor light.
“Since you’re acquainted with Captain Shaw and the Earl of Bolton, they may have mentioned it as their brides are members as well,” Harriet said, hoping that might be the reason he remembered it.
Garland nodded. “That must be why it’s familiar.” He smiled at them both. “What kind of books do you enjoy reading?”
Harriet held back, hoping Frances would answer but was ready to help her if necessary.
“Pride and Prejudiceis one of our favorites,” Frances said only to frown as if wishing she could take back her answer. “But we read a variety.” She glanced at Harriet with a hint of panic in her brown eyes.
“A wide variety,” Harriet agreed. “The Seven Curses of London, for example. Have you by chance read it? The author shares what he considers to be the seven worst problems that plague London.”
“Someone else mentioned it to me, but I haven’t yet taken the time to read it,” Garland said.
“But you do like to read?” Harriet asked, unable to help herself. She almost wished he’d say no. That would give her a reason not to admire him as much as she did.
Then again, as she stared into his hazel eyes with their long, dark lashes, she wondered if that were true. What was it about him that caused this breathless feeling, or the way her heart sped when he was near?
She’d met several other gentlemen this evening. Mr. Sinclair and Mr. Connolly had both been very kind at dinner, and she’d enjoyed their conversation. But she hadn’t experienced any of the physical symptoms she did with Viscount Garland.
“Very much,” the viscount said. “Charles Dickens is one of my favorite authors.”
Harriet’s heart melted a little bit more. “He’s one of mine, too,” she murmured only to wish she hadn’t said anything when Frances frowned at her.
“I like him as well,” Frances said. “Oliver TwistandA Christmas Carolare wonderful stories.”
“They are indeed.” Viscount Garland nodded in approval.
“I wish I read more,” Martin added, looking rather bored by this turn in the conversation. “The news sheet doesn’t count, I suppose. Anything else tends to put me to sleep.”
“I’ve heard that means you simply haven’t found the right book to interest you,” Garland said. “I’m certain these two ladies would be able to recommend a few for you to try.”
“Perhaps.” Martin shook his head, seeming unconvinced. “But not until after the house party. There will be little time for reading during the days ahead.”
Harriet had to bite her lip to refrain from disagreeing. She found time to read every day, even if it was only for a few minutes. But she knew from experience that her liking to do so wasn’t anything to share with others. Bookish ladies were unappealing to many.
Martin looked at Frances. “I mentioned to Garland that Mother wants to play charades tomorrow afternoon.”
“I do hope you’ll join us,” Frances said with a warm smile.
Harriet couldn’t have been prouder even as her heart ached. All Frances needed to do was relax and be herself. Any gentleman worth his salt would enjoy being with her.