“Oh, you’ve heard of it.” For a moment, Amelia looked a bit put out before recovering herself. “That’s all in the past, of course. Your husband shows little interest in her now.”
“Doesn’t he?” Kate looked after the confident woman as she sailed through the room, like a graceful ship riding on smooth seas. A weight settled over her heart. Robert had been desperately in love with her. Was he still?
“He didn’t look back at her,” Amelia said. “You can always tell by that.”
“Can you?”
“Indeed.” Amelia nodded sagely. “If a man is interested, he can’t resist another peek. She’s a bit too tall if you ask me, and that dress is in bad taste.”
Kate smiled at her loyal friend. “I’m afraid she’s beautiful, Amelia.”
“Yes, well. She must be stupid. Fancy choosing that common little man over St. Malin, even if he wasn’t a marquess at the time, he was always going to inherit.” She patted Kate’s arm. “Besides, Robert is obsessed with you.”
Kate forced herself to smile. “How kind you are.”
“Here comes your handsome husband now. I wouldn’t mention that you know of this, my dear.”
Kate rose as Robert came to claim her for a dance. She endured his formal manner as they executed the steps of a minuet, but when he escorted her from the floor and left her to go to the gaming tables, she watched to see if he glanced back at her. She was a little comforted when, pausing at the door of the adjoining reception room, he did.
But then the thought crossed her mind that he might have been checking to see she wasn’t claimed by any men for the next dance. He was still very proprietorial, and she supposed he would remain so until he had his heir. Although, who knew when that would be. It was fortunate at one and twenty she still had a few good years left.
During the following weeks, invitations flowed in. More gowns were ordered, more hats and shoes, reticules, cloaks, and gloves than one body could wish for. A rainbow of colors and textures, silks and satins and nets filled her clothes presses. It should have been a delight. Yet it wasn’t.
When alone together, the air crackled with unexpressed resentment. He had not visited her chamber again. At night, she lay awake tossing and turning and yearning for his touch. She’d surreptitiously studied his handsome face over the dining table, wanting to rush and kiss him, to climb on his lap and put her head against his chest, to feel the pounding of his heart, and know that he loved and desired her.
Robert did not, and now her angry words could never be withdrawn. He barely looked at her. He was flawlessly polite and courteous and gave a wife little reason to complain, even returning at a reasonable hour the nights he spent with his friends. Of that she was sure, for she waited and listened for his tread outside the door.
One evening, as she lay with her candle alight, he paused at her door, and she held her breath, biting her lip to stop from calling out to him. A moment later, she heard his footsteps continue down the corridor to his bedchamber.
He remained aloof, and she feared if she made a plea for something more he would turn away, and things would grow even worse.
Kate had no redress; she couldn’t defend her actions. She had no one to turn to for advice. She considered seeking out his mother again, but didn’t dare, and that left her with the uncomfortably guilty knowledge that she failed in her promise to visit her.
Her distress and loneliness became as unbearable as when her parents died.
At Almack’s assembly on Wednesday evening, she heard herself being described as a charming young matron, and her marriage held up as a shining example to some poor young woman in her first Season. If they only knew!
The musicians in the minstrel’s gallery began to tune their instruments, and Robert, dressed in black knee-breeches, white cravat, and chapeau bras, the required evening clothes for Almack’s, claimed her for a Scottish reel. He accompanied her to the assembly rooms in Pall Mall under sufferance, expressing a dislike for the place; the way one was forced to dress, the terrible food, and the absence of liquor. “Thin bread and butter? Plain cake and tea? No wonder most go to the Pantheon!” He looked so unhappy as he offered her his arm, she sighed.
The evening became memorable when the Duchess of Devonshire came to sit with her. The lovely, vivacious, and intelligent woman was delightful company, with an impressive knowledge of literature. They chatted about books and plays for over an hour, and she expressed the desire to have Kate attend one of her literary soirees.
On the way home in the carriage, Robert broke into Kate’s thoughts. “I’ve arranged for your portrait to be painted.”
“Oh?” Kate was glad he’d condescended to speak to her. But she had little interest in having herself painted. “Who is the artist?”
“Sir Thomas Gainsborough.”
“My goodness.” Heat flooded up her neck to her face. “He painted the Duchess of Devonshire’s portrait. Would he wish to paint me?”
“And why not?”
“Oh, because…”
He sighed heavily. “You are a marchioness, Kate. Have you forgotten?”
“No, Robert, I have had no opportunity to forget.”
His eyes glowered at her. “What does that mean?”
She’d sounded terribly ungrateful and smiled apologetically. “Nothing, I’m sorry.”
He paused, studying her. “We are to visit his studio tomorrow.”
“So soon?” She raised her eyebrows. “What will I wear?”
“I expect Sir Thomas will decide that.” Robert ran a hand over his jaw. “But, wear the pale green.”
“Pale green? Oh, the apple-green evening gown? That’s of a very simple design.”
“Yes, that one. And the black hat with the wide brim. I’ll remove the emeralds from the bank if he requires them.”
Kate began to feel more like an ornament than ever. “If you wish.”
*
Sir Thomas Gainsborough lived in Pall Mall in Schomberg House, a red brick and stone building.
“Next door is a house of ill-repute,” Robert commented almost to himself as he and Kate crossed the footpath to the front door.
Kate’s eyes widened, and she turned to stare at the building. “Is it?”
Unsure whether to tell her more, he began to wish he hadn’t spoken. “It attracts some unsavory people,” he finally said.
“Oh. I imagine it would.”
He held the door open for her to enter the foyer, unaccountably annoyed that she wasn’t impressed or shocked by the revelation. “They are said to charge barren couples quite a lot of money to assist them in their quest for a child. With the use of special beds.”
“How interesting.” Kate put her head down and continued walking.
Bemused, Robert wondered how an innocent comment could stir up a veritable nest of unspoken feelings. “It mainly serves as a brothel offering no end of delights,” he added, striding to catch up with her. His somewhat callous remark was an endeavor to guide their conversation in a safer direction. But it only served to make him recall the one night of passion they’d shared. A glance in Kate’s direction confirmed she was thinking of something similar, for her footsteps had faltered, and she flicked her bottom lip with her tongue. He suffered a strong urge to draw her into that dark corner and kiss her. He found himself seriously considering it, and far more. Raising her skirts and…
He took her arm. “Kate?”
“Yes?”
A door opened at the end of the corridor and a servant poked his head out. “Would you please come in, my lord and lady.”
Robert took off his hat and held it somewhere near his groin.
“Shall we go in, my dear?”
Kate nodded, her eyes a little vague.
Robert introduced Kate to the famous artist, a dark-eyed gentleman well into middle-age. He studied her with a critical painter’s eye, which obviously made her uncomfortable.
“Come and sit in the light.” Sir Thomas led her over to a chair.
He frowned and folded his arms. Would she never accept her new position in life?
The artist took Kate’s chin in his hand and turned her head this way and that. “You’ll make a splendid subject,” he said smiling. “But not in this gown.”
Kate’s eyes widened. “What would you have me wear?”
“I’d like to see you in topaz, which will pick out those warm lights in your eyes and hair. Do you have something suitable?”
“No. I’ve never worn that color.”
His sandy brows rose. “Well, you should.”
“I believe you have a Norwich shawl in something similar, don’t you, my love?” Robert interjected.
“The one with the border of acorns? Yes, I’d forgotten it.” She turned to the artist. “Would that do?”
“Splendidly.” He glanced around the room at the books piled high on tables and urns of flowers. “I have an idea for the portrait. We’ll talk tomorrow. Wear a white gown and bring the shawl. And that hat, I particularly like the feathers.” He massaged his gnarled fingers as if in preparation. “We’ll begin straight after luncheon.”
Kate curtsied. “Thank you, Sir Thomas.”
He turned to Robert. “No need for you to come, my lord. Having one’s portrait painted is a long tedious business, as you are aware.”
Robert was surprised to find he was disappointed. Perhaps his interest in art was increasing with age.
As they returned to the carriage, he nodded his head toward the wing of the building where the brothel was situated. “Just be careful who you speak to here.”
She raised her brows. “Do you think they might kidnap me or invite me to join them?”
He stared at her, tamping down the rush of passion that found its way to his groin. “I don’t think that’s funny.”
She picked up her skirts. “That’s not surprising. You have little sense of humor.”
“I believe I have an excellent sense of humor,” he said hotly.
“You’ve lost it somewhere, Robert.”
They stood in the street glaring at each other.
Kate shook her head. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Robert. Let’s go home.” She crossed to the carriage and held out her hand for his assistance.
Robert eyed her derriere as he helped her into the landau. His fingers curled into his palm as he suffered an overwhelming desire to smack it. Her derriere, like a perfect peach, was hidden by so many folds of material he doubted she’d feel it. Better that he do it when she was naked and stretched over his lap. He swallowed and almost cursed out loud. “I believe I remember the very morning I lost it,” he said, settling on the seat beside her.
Her eyes widened. “Lost what?”
“My sense of humor.”
“Oh.” Kate didn’t bother to ask. She turned to stare out of the window.
Chapter Thirteen
Kate climbed out of the carriage at her front door, her legs leaden. She’d had to hold a pose for hours, while she stood with a hand resting on a table, the shawl draped over her arms with only a break for a cup of tea. Sir Thomas had not wished her to wear jewels, just a black ribbon tied around her throat. He’d barely stopped to rest. She wondered how a man of his advanced years came to have such energy. He seemed pleased with how the painting was developing, although he wouldn’t allow her to see it until it was finished.
The butler stood waiting at the door. “Good afternoon, Hove,” she said wearily.
“My lady.” He took her redingote and bonnet. “There’s a young lady waiting to see you. I put her in the salon.”
“Oh? Who is it?”
“A Miss Hargrove. Says she’s one of the Charlesworths, my lady.”
“Really? I’ve not met her.”
“No, my lady.” Hove’s face took on an uncertain expression. “I didn’t like to turn her away, being a relative of his lordship’s.”
“You acted quite rightly, Hove.”
Curious as to what this person would want with her, Kate drew in a tired breath and climbed the stairs to the salon. When she walked through the door, Kate found a young woman barely out of the schoolroom.
With a fetching smile, she bounced up off the sofa and fell into a graceful curtsey. “I’m Merry Hargrove, Lady St. Malin. I’ve heard such wonderful things about you from my cousins.”
“Please do sit Miss Hargrove.” Kate doubted this young lady had heard any such thing. “Do I know your cousins? Who are they?”
“Why that’s Clare and her brother, Frederick. Lord Charlesworth is my uncle. He is married to Robert’s mother.”
“Now I understand. Please call me Kate, and I shall call you Merry. Such a pretty name! I’m sorely in need of a cup of tea. Will you join me?”
Merry sat close to Kate on the sofa. “I traveled all the way from Bath on the stage,” she announced dramatically, her gleam of triumph tempered by a quivering lip. “It was horrid. I sat next to a man who smelled of cabbage.”
“You came all the way unescorted?”
“Indeed!”
“But why?”
Merry clasped her hands together. “To ask for your help.”
Kate eyes widened. “Whatever is the matter? And how can I help?”
“You and Robert can advise me.”
A headache began to thrum at Kate’s temples. “How, Merry?”
Tears flooded Merry’s pansy-brown eyes spilling onto her smooth cheeks. “My father plans to marry me off, as soon as I turn eighteen.”
“Really? And when is that?”
“November next.”
“You dislike this man?”
“He is not a bad man,” Merry said, hesitantly. She shrugged as if unable to explain further.
It was difficult to discern quite what troubled Merry. To Kate’s relief, a servant entered with the tray. “A cup will make you feel much more the thing, and then you can tell me all about it.” It was not her place to advise Merry, but Kate did sympathize with the young woman. Arranged marriages could be cruel.
The young woman gave a watery smile and sniffed. “I knew I would like you.”
Merry would not have learned much about her, beyond Kate’s brief visit to Robert’s mother. She was a sweet-faced, pretty girl in her simple cream linen round gown, her brown hair fashionably arranged, with curls on her forehead. And so young and distressed that Kate’s compassionate heart went out to her. With an encouraging smile, she poured the tea. “Cream or lemon?”
“Cream, and lots, please. And I might try one of those sandwiches. I am most dreadfully hungry.”
“Try a raspberry tart. They’re a favorite of mine.” Kate handed her a plate and a napkin.
Merry bit into the tart and sipped her tea. Color flooded back into her face. “I can’t wait to see Robert, again.”
“When was the last time you met?”
“Oh, years ago.” She wrinkled her nose. “I was quite young.” She took another bite. “So I doubt he’ll recognize me. I’ve changed a bit, you see. Is he still terribly good looking? I must confess I was a little enamored of him back then.”
“But that’s not why you’re here?” Kate asked, stifling a smile.
“Oh no.” Merry laughed. “I’m in love with someone else now.”
“Oh?” So that was what this was all about.
“Yes.” The girl ate another sandwich. The food seemed to settle her, and she drooped against the sofa cushions.
“Tell me about him,” Kate prompted.
A dreamy expression filled Merry’s eyes. “Armand is wonderful.”
“Armand?”
“He’s my dancing master. Well, he was.” She frowned. “Father dismissed him without a reference
. Armand De Ville. Isn’t that a heavenly name? He’s French.”
Kate sighed inwardly. “I see.”
Merry’s eyes widened and she sat up. “Am I foolish to love someone like Armand?”
“I don’t know, Merry. You must be guided by your parents’ wisdom in these matters.”
Merry scowled. “But they want me to marry Mr. Foster.”
“I haven’t met Mr. Foster. What is he like?”
Merry pouted. “I hate him.”
“As you said. But can you tell me why?”
“He accused me of being spoiled and childish.” She swallowed the wrong way and coughed. “He said I would have to grow up or he wouldn’t marry me.”
“But you don’t want to marry him, do you? You wish to marry Armand, isn’t that right?” Kate struggled to keep up as her head throbbed.
“Yes. I do.” Merry put her hands on her cheeks. “Oh, I wish I knew. I had to get away… to think.”
“And what does Monsieur De Ville have to say on this?”
“He cares for me, he told me so, in the most beautifully passionate way.” She closed her eyes and smiled.
Kate frowned. “Did he kiss you, Merry, or anything else.”
Merry’s eyes widened. “I hoped he would, but no, he didn’t. He says he respects me.” She shrugged. “I’m not sure I like to be respected. I’d rather be terribly daring and interesting.”
“Respect is a high honor, Merry, which one must earn.”
Merry looked mulish. “Perhaps now he might ask me to run away with him.”
Kate patted the girl’s hand. “You were right to give yourself time to consider it, and you’re most welcome to stay with us while you make your decision.” She would remove Merry from under this Frenchman’s nose for a while. She rose to pull the bell. “I shall enjoy your company.” She was sure she would. She’d been very lonely of late. “But we must write to your father and mother who must be terribly worried about you. They will be relieved to know you are safe.”
Merry shook her head. “Father will come and take me home.”
“Perhaps not. I shall assure him that you are closely chaperoned and ask if you might stay for a sennight. Because Robert is your cousin, I am sure he will agree.”
The Marquess Meets His Match Page 13