the first time a man had unsuccessfully tried to woo her and it would not be the last. The poor soul had to be new to Bath’s society, for he would not have approached her otherwise.
Worse still, she almost liked him.
“Sir, I must ask – ”
“Forgive me, Miss Groves.” He bowed, a little on the stiff side. “I am Major Edward Roberts. Your aunt, a friend of my mother’s, was concerned for your welfare and sent me to enquire about your well-being.”
“Oh.” Harriet curtseyed slowly in return, finding disappointment swell within her. Yet again her aunt pulled the strings, playing matchmaker. A shame, she thought, he had almost seemed interesting. Now, he was merely another fool to be brushed aside. “You can tell her I am quite well, thank you,” replied Harriet, a little coldly. “It was nice to meet you, Major Roberts, now if you don’t mind – ”
“Humour me,” he said. “If we are both seen to converse for a short while longer, we’ll be free from any further commitments this night.”
She studied him, looking for a trick or catch in his words and only finding truth; he was as uneager to enter into mindless matches as she was. “Fine.”
“You have a good view from here.”
“I do,” she agreed. “It’s a nice distraction.”
The latest fashions, the handsome couples, the overheard snippets of conversation offering glimpses into other lives. She had already committed to memory all the beautiful gowns she knew her sister would like and who wore them.
“I have not seen you here before, Major Roberts,” she added, for politeness’ sake, vowing to have a few stern words with her aunt later. “Have king and country been keeping you from us?”
If only they’d kept you longer…
“Amongst other things.”
It was Harriet’s turn to talk and she groped around her skull for a subject. A minute or two more and they could part ways again. “It must be strange, having experienced war and battle and soldiering, to be here amongst all this?”
“I find it oddly normal,” the officer said. “It’s as though the rest happened to someone else, as though I read about it in a book.”
“Do you miss it – the soldiering?”
A wild, feral look claimed his features – a glimpse of the man who strode, sword in hand, fearless, into the worst that Hell and all its monsters could conjure. “I am good at it.”
His response only caught her off guard for a second and she recovered well. “I do not doubt that for a moment, Major Roberts.” There was a challenge in her next words. “Dancing or fighting, what are you best at?”
“If you would care to dance, I could let you be the judge.”
“Is that an invitation?”
“It is.”
“But without seeing you fight, sir, I would not be able to comment on the matter.” She smiled, receiving a barking laugh in return. “Although, I suppose one dance would keep our watchers happy, more so than a duel. Then they’d free us, surely, from any further commitments this evening?”
A stone’s throw away, across the ballroom, was Aunt Georgia and a willowy woman Harriet assumed to be Major Roberts’s mother.
“And we could go our separate ways,” he agreed, holding out a hand. “A worthy plan.”
She studied him for a short while longer, weighing up her options – and she would have gone along with their ruse, had not a thin man with a bureaucratic air interrupted them.
“Pardon the intrusion,” said the sallow pen-pusher, adjusting his ill-fitting wig and paying no mind to Harriet. “Sir Fielding wishes to make the announcement and requests your presence at once, Major Roberts.”
“Of course.” The soldier nodded and turned back to Harriet. “You’re free.”
“For now,” she said. “Though I doubt it will be for long, if I know my aunt.”
“Then I shall endeavour to liberate you later, perhaps?”
“I shall wait with bated breath,” she replied drily, though he took the reply in the good humour it was intended.
Major Roberts grinned, a flash of teeth and an amused, throaty noise, before he followed the other gentleman. If her eyes lingered too long on his fading form, there was no one else to know.
To her own annoyance, she liked him – and she’d made a promise to herself never to like anyone purposely selected by her relatives. It was true; Aunt Georgia was getting better at matching her up with possible suitors, though she did so hate to admit it. And she wasn’t inclined to entertain this one for long either, even if he was…different.
There was a gathering around the room’s main hall, curiosity palpable in the air. The music had ceased and Harriet found her way easily towards her aunt in the small crowd.
“I had hoped you would like our Major Roberts,” the older woman said softly, attempting to tease a response from Harriet.
“He is passable, I suppose.” Harriet caught sight of Aunt Georgia’s frown and found she enjoyed it far too much. Truthfully, the man was more than passable, which made a pleasant change from the usual boring fops that were thrust her way. That didn’t mean he’d last though.
“Don’t play games; this is serious,” chided Aunt Georgia. “You must marry soon and well, if you’re ever to be happy.”
“Your version of happiness and mine are grossly different.” Harriet knew better than to argue, pursing her lips, but her protest came out regardless. “Any friends I had when younger have been married off to clerks or clergymen, locked away in stuffy houses with boorish men to live out their days. It’s not for me.”
“We all must do what we can to survive, Harriet,” said the older woman, enforcing her words with a stern, yet concerned voice. “You have good prospects. Do not throw them away over fantasies borne from all the silly books you read as a child – ”
The room hushed. The magistrate’s voice rang out. Aunt Georgia was soon forced into silence and Harriet was saved for the time being. It was a familiar argument and yet, if Harriet could delay any union for as long as possible, she knew her position and home would be restored. The right investments, prompted by wise bankers, would see her through.
A little more time, that’s all she needed – along with a few more adventures out in the green mask – then she’d have enough capital to move forwards.
She only prayed that her luck was better than her brother’s.
“My apologies for interrupting what has been a splendid evening, especially as it concerns a rather grim subject,” began Sir Fielding. He was a stocky man in his later years, defined by a mane of wispy white hair and whiskers that gave him all the appearance of an aging lion – one that still had bite. “The Green Highwayman.”
Harriet’s
