‘I fancy that Mrs White may have suffered a change of heart,’ he said softly and glanced directly down into her eyes.
Kathryn suddenly felt acutely conscious of the touch of one of his hands upon her waist and the other encompassing the fingers of her right hand. ‘I can only hope that you’re right, my lord.’
His head gestured subtly in the direction of a couple some distance away.
‘Mrs White and Lord Cadmount! How very clever. But you only defer the inevitable, my lord. That lady won’t be quieted for long.’ For someone so perilously close to doom she felt rather light-hearted.
He was still looking at her in that strange way. ‘Are you quite recovered?’
A warmth swept into her cheeks and her voice became a little gruff. ‘Yes, thank you. I’m concerned only that …’ She paused, and glanced towards Amanda White.
‘That Mrs White will seek to destroy your reputation?’
‘Yes.’
His hand gently squeezed her fingers. ‘You have nothing to worry about.’
‘I think, my lord, that you underestimate just how much I’ve heated Mrs White’s ire; it will be a long time in the cooling.’
‘I underestimate nothing,’ he said softly. ‘As I said, you need not worry. I shall see that Mrs White holds her tongue.’
Kathryn’s heart kicked to a gallop. ‘And how do you propose to do that, my lord?’
He smiled a devastatingly wicked smile.
Kathryn did not remain unaffected; the pulse leapt to a fury in her neck, she missed a step, and almost trod on Lord Ravensmede’s toes.
His smile deepened.
Kathryn grew even more flustered. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s a long time since I’ve danced.’ Her cheeks grew warm and pink. ‘I didn’t mean to embarrass you by my mistake.’ And then she realised just how her words could equally well apply to her earlier misdemeanour in the moonlit room, and her blush intensified.
There was a twinkle in his eye. ‘I assure you that I’m not in the least embarrassed.’
She looked away. The music filled the small silence between them.
‘Do you enjoy waltzing, Miss Marchant?’
Her eyes flitted back to find his gaze upon her. At least the conversation had turned to safer ground, or so she thought. ‘Yes, very much so, my lord.’
‘Good. Then we’ll waltz the next time we meet.’
Their eyes met, and held. ‘I did not mean …’ Kathryn’s words trailed off unfinished. ‘There’s really no need. My aunt would not approve.’ Her teeth nipped at her bottom lip.
Lord Ravensmede gave a short dry laugh. ‘And you, of course, would never do anything of which your relative would not approve?’
The colour staining her cheeks deepened. She knew exactly to what he was referring.
‘Then it’s settled.’
The regulatory inches between them seemed to shrink. ‘I don’t think that …’ She swallowed hard.
Lord Ravensmede’s focus did not waver for a moment.
Kathryn’s words of refusal remained unspoken. The final bars of ‘Ach! Du lieber Augustine’ sounded and she noticed the stares and whispers behind fans. Hardly surprising given that the heir to the Earl of Maybury had just danced with a woman little better than a servant, and it was the waltz of all dances. Despite the attention, and her shabby clothes, and worst of all the prospect of what awaited her back at the seats, Kathryn felt neither shame nor embarrassment, nor even apprehension. She smiled at his lordship, thanked him and allowed him to lead her back to her grim-faced relatives.
Mrs White seemed to have disappeared. So too had Lord Cadmount. And it wasn’t long before Ravensmede followed suit. Only Aunt Anna and Lottie remained to scowl their disbelief at Kathryn.
‘Whatever have you done to make Lord Ravensmede dance with you?’ Lottie was incredulous. ‘It’s quite unheard of, a man of his calibre dancing with someone like you.’ Her lower lip pouted to a petted curl. ‘It should have been me that he asked.’ She ground her slipper against the floor. ‘Say it’s so, Mama, say it.’
‘Of course, my dearest.’ Aunt Anna shot a foul look at her niece. ‘It was probably the result of some wager or joke at Kathryn’s expense.’
Kathryn said nothing. At least their preoccupation with Lottie told her one thing: that Mrs White had not made her revelation…yet. She supposed she ought to smooth things over or life in the Marchant household would be miserable for the rest of the week…as if it were ever anything other. A smile tickled the edges of her mouth. ‘Lottie, I’m sure that his lordship approached us with the intention of asking you to dance. As you were already on the floor with Mr Richardson, he asked me, but only out of courtesy.’
Lottie’s eyes flashed a hard, bright blue. ‘I wasn’t dancing when he returned you to us. Why did he not ask me then?’
‘He had an urgent appointment, or so he told me upon the dance floor.’ Beneath Kathryn’s demurely folded hands her fingers were firmly crossed. ‘Otherwise I’m sure he would have sought you as partner for this quadrille.’
Lottie appeared temporarily placated, but had seemingly developed the most frightful headache.
For this reason, or so it was said, the Marchant ladies bid a hasty departure from Lady Finlay’s ball.
From where she stood, Kathryn could see almost the whole of the drawing room in the house in Green Street, as well as herself, reflected in the large gilt overmantel mirror. She was a drab grey figure against the yellow painted walls. The room seemed loud and gaudy, even beneath the subdued lighting of the candles flickering in the drop-crystal chandelier and ormolu cherubim wall sconces. A large group portrait of Mr and Mrs Marchant with Lottie seated demurely between them hung proudly between the two large Palladian windows opposite the fireplace. It had been painted two months previously by Mr Jackson. Kathryn’s gaze alighted briefly on the cosy Marchant family captured on canvas before moving on to the lavish sets of curtains. Fringed and tasselled gold-and- yellow damask curtains festooned either side of each window. Not one of them was closed. A thin blind of cream material had been pulled down to create the illusion of privacy. Kathryn could feel the press of the sofa at the back of her knees. Its cream covering decorated with mulberry-coloured roses seemed too cheerful for a house that was so lacking in that sentiment. She shifted her feet uneasily, and was thankful for the cushion of the gold-and-burgundy patterned Oriental rug through her thin worn slippers.
‘It has been one of the worst evenings of my entire life,’ sobbed Lottie and flung herself into the nearest chair. ‘And the blame rests entirely with Kathryn!’
‘Now, now, Lottie,’ cajoled her mother. ‘I have told you already. Lord Ravensmede cannot possibly be interested in your cousin. I dare say it’s all part of some jest the gentlemen were playing.’
‘It d-didn’t look like a jest.’ Lottie’s eyes were red and swollen from the sobbing and the feigned headache was fast becoming a reality. ‘No one would have realised that it w-was.’
‘Of course they did, my angel.’ Mrs Marchant touched a gentle hand to Lottie’s wet cheek. ‘If you don’t cease this weeping, your looks will be quite spoiled for tomorrow and then what will Mr Dalton say when he calls to collect you for your carriage ride?’
A suitably mollified Lottie turned to Kathryn and sniffed. ‘Mama is right. You’re such a spiteful cat that it serves you right that you are long on the shelf. When did a gentleman ever call for you to take you driving in the park? Never! And they never will because you look positively ghastly, and everyone hates you!’
Kathryn should have let the comments go; they were not worthy of a reply. But she did not. Although she had long since reconciled herself to a life with neither husband nor children, it still hurt to have the fact rubbed in her face. So for the third time that night Kathryn succumbed to impulse. ‘And you, Lottie, are behaving little better than a spoiled and pampered brat,’ she said wearily.
Lottie set up a wail. ‘Mama, but hear what she’s saying to me! Will you let her g
et away with such insolence?’
‘Kathryn Marchant!’ exclaimed Mrs Marchant. ‘Close your mouth this instant! Do not dare to presume that you can insult Lottie before my very eyes! Haven’t you caused enough damage for one night?’
‘Aunt Anna—’
‘Be quiet!’ said Mrs Marchant. ‘It’s my job to instruct you in the ways of polite society as your papa would have wanted, Kathryn. It would be remiss of me not to do so.’ The pink feathers in her bandeau quivered as she shook her head with mock sorrow. ‘It’s for your own good.’ The feathers positively swayed in delight. ‘As a punishment, all social outings shall be forbidden.’ She looked for a response on Kathryn’s face.
Kathryn gave none.
‘In addition you’ll have no dinner for a fortnight.’
Still no hint of emotion registered on Kathryn’s face.
‘And…you shall assist cook in the kitchen for the same duration. Mrs Moultrie will, of course, be under strict instructions that dinner is prohibited to you.’ She smiled at the ingenuity of her little plan.
‘As you wish, Aunt.’ Still her gaze held steady.
‘When not required by Mrs Moultrie you shall help with the laundry. That, at least, might teach you to know your place. You are here to help Lottie, not attempt to spoil her evening in a fit of jealous spite. Such malice cannot be allowed to go unchecked.’
Kathryn’s eyes flickered to some point in the distance, knowing full well the game that her aunt played. What matter if Aunt Anna punished her a thousand times, as long as Lord Ravensmede and Mrs White held their tongues? It was not a hope in which she trusted.
‘And you will apologise to Lottie for the foulness of your tongue.’
‘She was unkind in her words to me,’ said Kathryn.
‘She is upset. And little wonder! This season is about making a match for Charlotte, not about you making an exhibition of yourself by dancing with the most libidinous nobleman you can find!’
Lottie looked smugly on.
‘I did not—’
‘And the waltz of all dances! For heaven’s sake, girl, if you have not a care for your own reputation then at least have some consideration for your cousin. Through the goodness of his heart Mr Marchant has taken you into his home, fed and clothed you. And what thanks do you give him? None save to plague his own daughter with spite.’
‘No, that isn’t true. I merely—’
‘You merely tried to steal a better match for yourself. Did you think to catch yourself a viscount, miss?’
Kathryn frowned her indignation. ‘Of course not!’
‘I have tried my best to see that you dress demurely and behave in a modest and sober manner, but bad blood will out.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, my dear, that your mother was the exactly the same: wanton.’
The word seemed to echo between them. The blood drained from Kathryn’s face. ‘You go too far, Aunt. My mother was not wanton. How can you cast such an unfair slur upon her name?’
‘Why else did she run off with Robert Marchant? She was little better than a bitch in heat. It was hardly surprising that her family disowned her!’
‘Take that back! You know nothing of my mother. She was a good and kind woman. She eloped with my father because they were in love.’
‘Of course that’s what she would have told you,’ Anna Marchant sneered.
‘My mother spoke the truth, unlike you. I won’t believe your lies!’
The older woman’s eyes narrowed with malevolent intent. ‘You are a foul little trollop just as she was.’ She advanced quickly and captured Kathryn’s upper arms in a cruel grip. ‘But if you think that I will allow you to ruin things for Lottie, then you’re sadly mistaken.’ Her fingers tightened, biting into Kathryn’s flesh. ‘I tolerate you here as Lottie’s companion, nothing more.’ The vice-like grip began to shake Kathryn. ‘Start behaving with a modicum of decorum and modesty if you don’t want to find yourself out on the street. How long do you think you’d last out there?’ screeched her aunt. ‘You’d be in a bordello or have your throat slit before a single day was out.’ The rough shaking intensified.
‘Take your hands off me!’
With no warning whatsoever Kathryn found herself thrust down against the sofa. ‘Oh, I haven’t even started with you, miss,’ said Anna Marchant in a voice that chilled Kathryn to the bone.
A week later the Viscount of Ravensmede still had not forgotten Kathryn Marchant. Indeed, she was the topic of his conversation with Cadmount, and not for the first time.
‘The girl’s avoiding me. Why else have we seen Mrs Marchant and Miss Lottie Marchant, but no sign of Kathryn? I have endured three balls, an evening at Almack’s and two routs! Imagine what this is doing to my reputation.’ Ravensmede’s long legs stretched out before him as he lounged back in the wing chair.
‘And mine.’ Cadmount loosened his neckcloth and, in a flippant gesture, dropped it over the side of his chair. ‘Sir,’ he slurred, ‘you obviously haven’t looked in the betting book in Brooks’s of late.’
One dark eyebrow quirked. ‘Enlighten me, Cadmount.’ Despite the languor of his manner, there was a darkening of his eye and a quickening of his heart. Surely Amanda White had not reneged on their agreement so soon? Two thousand guineas should have silenced her for good. Money well spent…if she stayed silent. And she shouldn’t even still be in London. He carefully refilled each glass and sat back, waiting.
‘A fine drop of brandy, I do declare.’ Cadmount’s lips smacked with pleasure. ‘I’d dance all night with the Winsome Widow for a case of this. Are you sure it was just the one bottle you promised me?’
A green gimlet eye stared back at him. ‘The betting book?’
Cadmount took another gulp of brandy. ‘Yes, the betting book.’ He stopped and rubbed his fingers over the golden stubble upon his chin. ‘Should shave more often. Wingham says the ladies prefer a smoother approach.’ He guffawed at his own joke.
‘Hell’s teeth, man, spit it out! What does the damnable book say about Kathryn Marchant?’ For once, Ravensmede’s usual aplomb had deserted him.
Cadmount blinked in confusion. ‘’Bout the chit…why, nothing.’ He took another a drink and then looked knowledgeable all at once. Tapping the side of his nose, he leaned forward to his friend and said, ‘Say no more, old man, understand it perfectly. Li’l Kathryn is your ladybird.’ One wavering forefinger pressed to his lips. ‘Sshh! Won’t say a word.’
The amber liquid swirled around Ravensmede’s balloon glass. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, but there’s no such understanding between Miss Marchant and myself.’
‘Absolutely not.’ An enormous grin erupted on Cadmount’s face.
Ravensmede smiled in return. ‘You are the most infuriating man when you’re in your cups.
Cadmount’s grin deepened, and he hiccuped.
‘Brooks’s betting book—what does it say with regard to me?’ There was no hint in Lord Ravensmede’s voice that he had drunk the same quantity of brandy as his friend.
A smile. ‘That you’ll be wed before the summer is out.’
Ravensmede laughed as a wave of relief swept through him. ‘They think I’m on the hunt for a bride because of my attendance at Almack’s? Seeking some precious chit just out of the schoolroom? I think not. You know me better than that, Caddie.’
‘Indeed I do, sir,’ avowed Lord Cadmount. ‘Thirty-two years old, heir to an earldom, no wife, no nursery, old man breathing down your neck. Thank God I’m only a younger son. No such pressure.’
‘Are you always this philosophical when you’re foxed?’ Ravensmede demanded somewhat sourly.
‘Always.’ Another gulp of brandy. ‘If Kathryn Marchant’s not your girl, then why have we been trailing round one blasted place after the other in search of the little lady, and all the while missing out on the finer things in life? Beats me why you’re behaving like a green lad over her. She’s not your type at all!’ Even the worse for several glasses of bra
ndy, Archibald Cadmount knew exactly how to nettle Ravensmede.
In return, Ravensmede slowly and deliberately set his glass aside. ‘You’re quite right in thinking that I would like to make Miss Marchant my mistress.’ He recollected vividly those soft supple lips beneath his, the gentle swell of her hips, and the sound of her wicked chuckle of laughter when he plucked her from beneath Amanda White’s nose. ‘However, she’s an innocent and,’ he added drolly, ‘I haven’t stooped quite so low as to start deflowering virgins.’
‘You could always make an exception in her case.’
Silence followed the scandalous suggestion.
Cadmount waited to see if things were bad enough for Ravensmede to take the bait.
‘Perhaps …’ Ravensmede’s eyes flicked shut. A vision of Kathryn Marchant’s pale face arose. His mind meandered to imaginings of just how soft and white her skin would be beneath that hideous grey dress. Temptation loomed large. He quelled it with impatience. ‘But then again, maybe not. She’s made her feelings quite clear: a no-show at any of her cousin’s outings this week. I’ve never forced a woman, and I don’t intend to start now.’
‘Glad to hear it, old man. Had you made an arrangement with her?’
Ravensmede thought of his promise to dance with Miss Marchant, and of her conspicuous absence from her cousin’s side. ‘Of sorts.’
Cadmount looked impressed. ‘By Jove, this must be a first. A lady that turns you down. She won’t have you. Hah! Well, it’s about bloody time!’ A snort of merriment resounded throughout the library. His eyes closed, but not before they had alighted on Lord Ravensmede’s wry smile.
The clock ticked upon the mantel. Logs crackled within the grate.
A flicker of Cadmount’s heavy-lidded eyes. ‘Are you for Lady Campbell’s gathering tonight?’
‘I think not. I’ve other fish to fry.’
This time Cadmount’s eyes remained shut and within a few minutes the soft sound of a snore was upon his lips. Ravensmede rose without a noise and left the library.
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