by Anita Mills
“Oh?”
“Said he did not want to send it through the post under the circumstances—said he didn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands.”
“I don’t know why,” she muttered. “He has no rep to save, does he? And neither do I.”
His hazel eyes rested on her for a moment. “As much as I have been known to wish him at Jericho myself, Lady Volsky, I daresay he’s not as bad as most think him.”
“No, he could not be.”
“He warned me you might be angry with him,” Leighton murmured.
“Why should I be? Though I do not suppose you have heard the whole tale, I expect it will come out that he rescued me from Russia. Indeed, I owe him a great deal.”
“He has asked me to support you in this unfortunate situation.”
“I do not think there is anything anyone can do, my lord, but I thank you for the offer. You are quite kind, sir.”
“Yes.” He smiled again, this time ruefully. “I have it on the best authority that I am the sort of man a female should marry.”
“Whoever said that?”
“It doesn’t matter. But it is a lowering assessment, don’t you think?”
“Well, I don’t know you very well, of course,” she admitted. “But I have always heard you have no enemies.”
“A man with no enemies must be a rather dull fellow—or at least I think so. Take Bell, for instance—or Harry. Now they lead far more dangerous lives.”
“But not always admirable ones.”
“I don’t know about that. But,” he added, sighing, “if I have not lived rakishly, I expect it can be attributed to my rather Scottish upbringing. The Presbyterians, I have found, are a rather dour lot.”
“Is that why you live in Cornwall?”
“I live in Cornwall for the weather, my dear. My ancestral estate sits on rather dreary rocks above the North Sea. A deuced cold place, actually.”
“I should expect.”
“In Cornwall, I still have the sea, but I am not expected to freeze my knees in winter.” He put his fingers together and contemplated her for a moment. “If you will tell me what I can do to support you, Lady Volsky, I will do it.”
“There is nothing anyone can do, I’m afraid.”
“Bell wishes me to hire Patrick Hamilton for you.”
“What?” Her voice rose incredulously. “It is my understanding he represents murderers and criminals!”
“Lady Volsky, he is the best to be had, and I think I can obtain his services. We were at Eton together.”
“I am not a criminal, sir—but I thank you for the offer.”
“Bell said I was to beg you to take Hamilton,” he told her. “He will pay him for you.”
“No, I shall just have to tell the truth and hope I am believed.”
Leighton hesitated, then shook his head. “I am sure your brother would agree that you should have Hamilton. Sometimes, my dear, truth is not enough—and the man is a genius.”
“But he comes rather dear, doesn’t he? I have heard his fee is quite literally everything a man has got.”
He started to admit it, then caught himself. “Por murder perhaps, but for something like this, I should doubt it.”
“How much?”
“Townsend—”
“I could not accept Bell’s money, sir. If I should engage Mr. Hamilton, I would have to pay him myself.”
“I can but speculate, of course, but I should expect no more than a hundred pounds,” he answered, hoping he’d given her a figure she could afford, knowing it was going to cost Bell at least ten times that.
She really didn’t wish to hire a solicitor at all, but if she could perhaps get the best for one hundred pounds, then she might have to reconsider. “Are you quite certain of that?” she asked.
“I can ask him.”
“Then I expect I ought to speak to him,” she decided, sighing. “It would possibly relieve Harry’s mind a great deal.” She met Leighton’s gaze for a moment. “He does not seem to think I can win this, you know.”
“You are rather calm about it.”
“Hysterics would serve nothing, sir.”
“You know you rather remind me of Lady Kingsley—Lady Longford now.”
“Lady Kingsley? I shouldn’t think so in the least. You flatter me, for she is perhaps the loveliest woman in England.”
“You both have incredible pluck.”
“Only you and Townsend have seemed to think so,” she admitted ruefully. “And even he thought I should run.”
“Well, I expect I should go.” He drew out his watch and flicked open the cover. “I am due to meet Hamilton within the hour. No—no need to see me out, I assure you.”
She sat there for a time after he left, wondering why Bell had written to her through Leighton. Looking down at the unopened envelope, she wanted to consign it to the fire, but there wasn’t one. She did not need any more pain, not now—not ever. And yet as she studied the bold, dark script, she wavered. Finally, she broke the wax seal and unfolded the single sheet of paper.
Dearest Kate,
By now you may well be wishing yourself in Italy, I expect, but you must not lose your spirit. You are the most remarkable woman of my acquaintance, you know. I think of you often, whether you choose to believe that or not, and my conscience pains me that I did not go back with you. I find myself salving it continually by reassuring myself that I could only have made things worse for you.
I trust this finds you well, and that everything is as it ought to be. If not, I pray you will tell me, and I shall come home on the instant. I meant what I said about that—and about the other also.
In my absence, I am commending George to you. Unlike the rest of us, he is possessed of solid rock beneath that handsome face. In all my years of his acquaintance, I have never known him to fail anyone. And he is not without influence where it can be counted most, so I have asked that he engage Hamilton to represent you. I know you will dislike the notion, but one ought to always get the best in hopes of some advantage. God keep you, Kate.
As ever,
Bell
At the bottom, he’d carefully printed an address in Florence.
It was, in her opinion, a decidedly unloverly letter. She read it, telling herself she ought not to have expected anything more of him, then she carried it upstairs to her room. Sitting at her cramped desk, she unstoppered her ink bottle, found a piece of paper, and chose a pen. She wrote quickly.
Dear Lord Townsend,
Thank you for your inquiry as to my health. It is quite good and need not concern you. As for Leighton, he has kindly called on me, offering to engage Mr. Hamilton, as you have asked him. I think the act of doing so must surely make me appear to be guilty, but I expect Harry will require it. However, I intend to pay every penny of his fee myself.
At the end of it, she added, Katherine, Countess Volsky, as much as she hated the name. Folding it, she scrawled the address on it and sealed it with a blob of wax. In the morning, she would ask Harry to send it for her.
Then she flung herself onto her bed and indulged herself with a good bout of tears. She no longer wished to be beautiful, nor did she wish for wealth and fancy gowns. All she wanted in this world was for Bell Townsend to come home to her, she told herself tearfully. But she knew it wasn’t true—what she wanted most was for him to love her.
The post came, but she paid no attention to it. She was in the kitchen, tasting a sauce for Harry’s favorite fish, when she heard him come home. Then she heard him run up the stairs, apparently taking them two or more at a time. Almost immediately, he came back down the servant’s stairs, only this time he was shouting.
“Kate, where the devil are you?”
“In the kitchen!” she called out. “Seeing to your dinner!”
“What the deuce are you doing in here?” He stopped, then sniffed. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Only if you are smiling. Otherwise, I shall throw it out.”
“What
a saucy baggage you are become, Kate,” he complained, lifting pot lids.
“You are the only one who seems to think so, and I pray you will not repeat it. I do not wish to be mistaken for someone like Lena.”
“No, of course not. Didn’t mean anything like that, and you know it. Why the fancy dish? Are we having company?”
“You jest, of course. I was trying to show the cook how it is made at Monk’s End.”
“Mmmmm. Excellent. Peas to go with it?”
“Yes. And an apricot tart also, but I had to pay dearly for it at Gunther’s.”
“You went out?”
“I sent Jem.” She untied her apron. “By the by, Lord Leighton called, saying that Bell wishes me to get Hamilton for my defense.”
He whistled low. “Hamilton? Deuced good notion, if you can get him. But—”
“Leighton says for this, he could obtain his services for a hundred pounds, Harry.”
“I don’t—” He knew that much for a hum, but Bell was right. There was none better. “Yes, well, I think we ought to do it—don’t you?”
“I suppose. If you don’t think I shall appear even more guilty by doing so.”
“No. I think you need every advantage. It’s going to be decided by a bunch of old men, Kate—and men tend to believe men.” He looked down at the mail in his hand. “Almost forgot why I was looking for you—you’ve got something from Moscow—or at least something from Russia. That is Russian, isn’t it?” he asked, holding it out to her.
“Moskva—Moscow. Yes.”
“Want me to open it for you? I mean, in the case that it might prove unpleasant?”
“No.” She wiped her hands on a cloth and addressed the cook. “You must not boil it, or it will curdle. And when it has thickened, skim it as it cools.”
“Yes, my lady.”
As she turned back to him, she made a face. “At least if nothing else can be said for this mess, I shall most likely not be a titled lady much longer. Do you think they will let me be Katherine Winstead when it is done?”
“I expect you will be Katherine Volsky.”
She sighed. “I fear you are right.”
“Your letter, Kate,” he reminded her.
“All right. But I think I shall take it into your book room to read it.”
“Are you quite certain you do not wish me to look at it first?”
“Well, it cannot contain much gunpowder,” she retorted. “It is too flat.”
“I didn’t expect it to explode, Kate. You know, you are in a queer mood, aren’t you? It is as though you are determined to be cheerful.”
“And you are complaining? Dearest Harry, if you wish, I could weep buckets over you.”
He followed her in and watched as she sat down to open the stiff paper. Another, smaller piece fell to the floor. He was afraid for her, afraid that some newer threat had come, but her face was oddly still as she read.
“Is it from Volsky?” he asked finally. “No.” She handed it to him. “You may read it for yourself.” She bent down to pick up the other one.
The script was tight and narrow, the sort that was difficult to follow, but he repeated the words aloud, scarce understanding the import of them as he read aloud.
Dear Ekaterina,
I am sorry it has taken me so very long to write you, but long have I worried of your health. Galena is still furious with me for helping you escape, and she says that before she is done, you will be ruined, if she has to make every serf at Domnya swear he has lain with you.
As for Alexei, he has cut off my allowance, but Paul provides me with what I need. Paul is not like the rest of them, as I am sure you must know by now. And he agrees with me that what they did to you was inexcusable. If we have any regrets, it is that you had to discover Alexei and Galena together for yourself. It was not something those of us who knew could tell you, for you seemed to love my brother so very much, and then there was the child.
Enclosed is Tati’s letter of apology to you. I wish you and the child the best.
Your brother for life, Viktor Petrovich Volsky.
He looked up. “Do you know what this means, Kate?” “Yes. I shall be free of him,” she said simply. “What does the other one say?” he wanted to know.
She held it up, and the paper shook as she read from it.
Ekaterina,
Paul says I must apologize for my terrible surprise, but I felt you were so much the English fool. I wanted you to surprise them, to see Lexy and Lena together in the bed. It sickened me to see that you believed they loved you.
Tatiana Volsky
“Who is that?” Harry asked. “Alexei’s youngest sister.”
“What a pleasant, charming family they must be,” he murmured. But as he said it, he couldn’t quite suppress an ever-widening grin. “Damn, Kate—I knew I had the luck!” Dragging her from her chair, he swung her in his arms. “I knew you could not be what they called you!”
She held onto him, smiling through tears. “You were the only one, Harry—the only one.”
He stopped and set her down. “Hedged my bet though.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I went to St. Margaret’s and prayed.”
“You?”
“Don’t look at me like that—I didn’t even put it into the books, I swear it.” “Oh, Harry!”
He sobered suddenly. “But it’s not over yet, you know. No matter how the bishop rules, there will have to be a trial to adjudge Volsky the guilty party—and it will have to go to Parliament. It’s still a deuced nasty business. You’ll still need Hamilton, if we can get him.”
“And I still shall not be received, but I don’t care about that. I’m free of Alexei, and that is all that matters.”
“You’ll get damages, you know.” “I don’t want any money from him.” “Hamilton could cost more than any hundred pounds,” he warned her.
“All right. I’ll ask that Lexy pay him.”
His mind was already racing ahead. “I’ll try to get Shackleford to introduce the bill. It ought to come up in the autumn, I expect. Then we can set you up in a tidy place of your own.”
She knew she’d forced a drastic change in his life-style, that in the ordinary way of things, he’d be spending most of his time in gaming hells and in Cyprians’ beds. She felt an overwhelming gratitude for him. Standing on tiptoe, she pulled his head down to where she could kiss his cheek.
“I love you, Harry.” Then as she let him go, she added, “But I don’t want Shackleford to do it. I want Leighton. He’s so terribly kind, I think.”
“George?”
“Yes.”
“Tell you what, Kate—you put on your best gown right now, he said impulsively.”
“What?”
“And I’ll send ‘round to the Pulteney for a table. Katherine Winstead, we are going to celebrate!”
“Harry, you are insane! The fish—”
“Let Dawes eat it. I’m buying you champagne—and we are going to eat beneath everyone’s noses, I tell you. We shall show ’em you’ve got spine, Kate.”
But as she sat before her mirror, seeing the same face she’d seen for twenty-three years, she felt an intense sadness. Her gaze fell on Bell Townsend’s letter, then on hers back to him. She patted her hair into place, then went to tear hers up.
Once everything was over, once Parliament had ruled her a divorced woman, there was nothing left in England for her. Harry certainly didn’t need to be saddled with a scandalous sister. She was going to Italy, Florence to be precise, and take Bell’s offer off the table. And then she was going to make him love her.
Florence, Italy: June 10, 1815
He sat looking out his villa window onto the hills below, seeing the beauty of the city, the Cathedral Square, the six bridges across the Arno River, wishing that Kate were there. She was never far from his thoughts, despite the fact that she’d never answered his letter. When he’d written it, he’d hoped she’d not conceived, but now he almost wished she had.<
br />
At least that way, she’d be with him now. Instead, she was all but alone in London. Oh, she had Harry, and he knew that, but Leighton had written that the censure of the ton was total and utterly unmerciful.
At least she’d taken Patrick Hamilton. That had cost him nearly a thousand pounds already, but there was no help for it. To salvage his own conscience, he had to give her every advantage he could. And even that had not worked for him. Regret haunted him every day, and longing shared his bed every night.
“Signor?”
The dark-haired maid peered inside the door, but he shook his head. Time was when he’d have taken her to bed with scarce a thought. But no more. It was rich, it was—with the passing of his thirtieth birthday, he had a sense he was finally growing up, that he was finally paying the price for all his earlier follies.
He wanted Kate Volsky more than anything now. She was no longer Harry Winstead’s plain little sister, but rather the woman he’d shared not only hell but a grand adventure with. He could close his eyes and see her, her dark hair tangled against his shoulder, her dark eyes lit with desire. God, if Volsky had only known what he had.
In his memory, there was no plainness in her face, but rather a loveliness born of inner dignity. Volsky had betrayed her, she had lost her child, and he’d run to the relative safety of Italy rather than stand with her. Or so it seemed. He knew he couldn’t have gone back, that he could only have made everything worse for her. But that no longer eased his conscience. Nor did the fact that he’d written Harry, promising he’d stay away until everything was over. He hadn’t acted out of any nobility, but rather to save what was left of his miserable reputation.
If only he knew she was all right. Harry had answered, saying she was bearing up, and Leighton had praised her resolve, but she’d said nothing. She probably hated him now. She probably thought she had been nothing more than another brief affair in his life.
There was a knock at his door, and he rose reluctantly to answer it.