The journey to Brighthelmstone was pleasantly uneventful. Although the road appeared to be dreadfully busy with carriages and carts, Ravensmede assured both Kathryn and his grandmother that the level of traffic was quite normal. The journey, having been designed not to tire Lady Maybury, was conducted at a leisurely pace. Ravensmede’s large closed carriage was well sprung and he had ensured not only a mountain of travelling rugs for his grandmother’s warmth but also a basket of provisions including the most refreshing lemonade Kathryn had ever tasted. Lady Maybury alternated between watching the passing countryside, chatting and napping, the latter activity occupying the greater part of her time, thus leaving her companion to fill her own time as best she could. As far as Kathryn was concerned, it was fortuitous indeed that Lord Ravensmede had chosen to ride alongside the carriage rather than travel within its small interior.
Following what had flared between them in the library, being alone in the Viscount’s presence was not something with which Kathryn trusted herself. And she had only herself to blame. It was true that he had kissed her, but she was well aware that her own actions had precipitated such a response. Touching her fingers to his face…whatever would he think of her? Kathryn gritted her teeth at the all-too-obvious answer to that question. How could she repay the dowager’s kindness by encouraging her grandson, for there was no doubt that that was what her behaviour amounted to? It was behaviour in keeping with Aunt Anna and Cousin Lottie’s taunts. Tired fingers kneaded against her forehead, and she sighed. The passing hedges and fields became nothing more than a distant green blur.
‘Kathryn? What’s wrong? Are you sickening for something?’ Lady Maybury’s voice interrupted her reverie.
She glanced up in surprise, thinking the dowager to have still been sleeping. ‘No, my lady. I have the slightest of headaches, nothing more.’
‘Then we must make a stop at the next inn and allow you to wander and stretch your legs. Perhaps it’s being cooped up in here that has brought it on.’
‘Oh, no, please do not.’ The thought of having to face Lord Ravensmede again so soon was not something with which she felt comfortable.
The faded green eyes narrowed in their focus and lingered upon Kathryn’s anxiety-ridden countenance.
Blood scalded her cheeks under the scrutiny. ‘I mean…please don’t stop for me. I would rather press on with our journey.’ She plucked at the material of her skirts. ‘I’m so looking forward to arriving in Brighthelmstone,’ she said with false brightness.
Lady Maybury remained singularly unconvinced. ‘Indeed,’ she said drily. ‘We’ve first to spend the night at Horley Common.’ Not once had that relentless green gaze faltered.
‘Yes.’ Kathryn did not know what else to say. The old lady was looking at her as if she could see her innermost thoughts. If that were indeed true, Miss Kathryn Marchant would find herself turned off without so much as a reference, and then what would she do? Half of London’s bachelors would not be dangling after her then!
Neither woman spoke and the dowager had not shifted her attention.
‘Has Nick done something to upset you?’ The question fired out of the silence.
Kathryn’s heart missed a beat. She forced herself to stay calm. ‘No. Lord Ravensmede has been nothing but polite at all times.’ She chewed at her lip. ‘What makes you think so?’
‘An idle thought, nothing more.’ The dowager tucked the blanket higher, so that it almost reached her chin. ‘Still, if you say there’s nothing in it…’ One white brow raised in enquiry.
‘Nothing at all, my lady,’ Kathryn speedily replied. ‘I…I’m very happy as your companion, Lady Maybury. Indeed, I’ve never been happier, and hope that nothing will jeopardise my position.’
The snow white curls nodded once. ‘And I’m very happy to have you as my friend.’ Lady Maybury relaxed back against the seat and snuggled beneath her blankets. Within a matter of minutes her eyelids had shuttered and the gentle wheeze of her snoring filled the carriage.
That night in the King’s Arms coaching inn and for the entirety of the journey Ravensmede behaved with the utmost propriety. Nothing in his speech or manner betrayed in the slightest that he felt anything other than the appropriate civil concern for his grandmother’s companion. Neither did he suggest at any time that he should share the carriage, even when he was subjected to a rather heavy rain shower. So by the time the small party arrived in Brighthelmstone to take up residence within their rented accommodation, Kathryn had managed to rein her wayward emotions under sensible control once more.
The episode in Lady Maybury’s library was banished far from her thoughts, and she was able to relax, firm in the belief that she would not tempt fate by allowing herself to spend any time alone in the company of Lord Ravensmede. The trip to the seaside resort was the chance of a lifetime and she did not mean to spoil the opportunity with silly worrying. She would not shatter Lady Maybury’s trust in her. And as for her own trust in herself, she knew that now, where Nicholas was concerned, that was something on which she could not completely depend. If she did not want to ruin her new life as the dowager’s companion, then Kathryn had better have a care…especially here in Brighthelmstone.
‘I trust you find the house to your liking?’ Ravensmede sipped at his coffee the next morning and watched the ladies across the breakfast table.
Lady Maybury’s ferocity of attack on a pile of carved ham mellowed slightly. ‘I’m never anything but completely uncomfortable when anywhere but Landon Park, but…’ she sniffed ‘…I suppose I will suffer to endure it.’
‘Kathryn?’ the Viscount asked politely.
‘It’s beautiful both inside and out, and our every comfort has been thought of. You spoke truthfully when you promised splendid views of the sea. I haven’t seen the like for many a year.’ She paused and looked at Lady Maybury. ‘It was very kind of you to arrange that my bedchamber was seaward facing. It’s a dream come true to wake up each morning and look out at the shoreline.’
‘If you would be so good as to pass me that dish of eggs, Nick.’ The dowager pointed to the silver heated dish on the serving table and waited expectantly. ‘Had nothing to do with me, dear gel. It was Nicholas that took care of all the arrangements. Gave us the scenic chambers, took the one at the back for himself.’ She helped herself to four large poached eggs and several slices of toast.
‘Grandmama…’ Ravensmede laughed ‘…I swear your appetite is expanding for a lady of such sylph-like proportions.’ He did not want to discuss the sleeping arrangements, or the fact that there was a scant four feet of landing separating his chamber from Kathryn Marchant’s. Such thoughts were dangerous and that was a direction in which he could not afford to wander if he did not want to disgrace them all. And anyway, hadn’t his grandmother determined that Kathryn would be spoken for before the Season was out?
The old lady laughed. ‘You’ll not get round me with such flattery. Quite how these young females survive on fresh air and lemonade I shall never know. It’s not natural. In my day we ate all we could and our stays did the rest. Wretchedly uncomfortable to wear, but a dashed necessity. Didn’t pick at our food like sparrows then, I can tell you.’
‘I fear you’re embarrassing Kathryn.’
‘Stuff and nonsense,’ replied his grandparent. ‘Kathryn’s not some milk-and-water miss just out of the school room. Likes a good serving of food herself. No silly nonsense with this gel, is there, Kathryn?’
‘I hope not, my lady.’ Kathryn smiled at the dowager.
Ravensmede remembered Kathryn Marchant’s collarbone outlined starkly against her bruised skin, and her gaunt cheeks when they had first brought her back to Ravensmede House. She had no need to starve herself; Anna Marchant had only been too willing to undertake that task, and her cruel treatment had had nothing to do with slender figures, of that he was quite sure. He brushed such disconcerting thoughts aside and forced his mind to more pleasant avenues. ‘I’ve already paid my respects to the Master of Ceremonies
and we are therefore welcome to attend all balls at both sets of assembly rooms. Those in the Castle Inn are on Mondays, and on Wednesdays the balls are in the Old Ship. Card parties are on Wednesdays and Fridays, and on Sundays there is a promenade and a public tea. There’s also the theatre in North Street, and of course Brighthelmstone races. If you let me know which you prefer, I will make the necessary arrangements.’
His grandmother nodded. ‘Yes, indeed. I think a shopping trip is first in order so that we may familiarise ourselves with the town. A walk along the pier, and a closer inspection of that monstrosity that the Prince Regent calls his Marine Pavilion would also be of benefit. I’ve a notion to view the new stables and riding house built in the Indian style. Thereafter, we’ll see which cards arrive.’
‘And the theatre?’ her grandson prompted.
‘I shall think about it,’ the old lady pronounced.
And so their holiday by the sea began very well.
The Castle Inn suite of rooms were superbly adorned in the classical decorative style of Robert Adam. It seemed that the fine weather had brought out all of the town’s polite society, for the rooms were filled despite the departure of many local families to London for the Season. It was a cosier affair than the grand London balls with less of those who called the tune that the rest of the ton were happy to dance to, nevertheless Kathryn hovered close to Lady Maybury. Despite arriving as a stranger, Lady Maybury soon discovered some old friends, through which numerous introductions were made. Thus, as had become usual, Kathryn’s dance card was soon filled.
Nicholas chatted politely to the rather awestruck young men who flocked to meet the notorious Viscount of Ravensmede. He danced with the flustered giggling débutantes and made great efforts to ensure that his grandmother’s friends’ granddaughters were not ignored. And through it all he watched every move that Kathryn made, knew every man with whom she danced. It was a self-inflicted torture to which he readily ascribed. Indeed, he had taken great pains to ensure that they were not too much in each other’s company that evening. He had brought her here to enjoy herself, to let her paint the sea scenes so dear to her heart. Damn it, but the girl deserved some little joy in her life. The last thing he intended doing was allowing some uncontrollable instinct spoil the whole set-up they had worked so hard to achieve. He’d damn well not risk both her and his grandmother’s happiness, not to satisfy some selfish whim of his own. But he had to admit that his growing obsession with his grandparent’s companion had never felt less like a whim.
‘Your servant, Miss Linton.’ Ravensmede delivered the simpering girl back to her mother, bowed and beat a hasty retreat. The chit’s mama’s eyes were positively ogling with speculation. ‘Grandmama, you seem to be in high spirits.’ Lady Maybury was fanning herself with an exuberance he’d rarely seen.
‘Of course I am,’ she crowed loudly. ‘I haven’t seen Jane Ballantyne for an age. All her granddaughters are married and she has twelve great-grandchildren to boot. I have only a paltry four to compete. What is that compared to twelve? And you show no signs of obliging me.’
‘You begin to sound like my father, ma’am,’ the Viscount replied. ‘It is a favourite topic of his and has been for the last few years.’
The volume of her voice dropped somewhat. ‘You cannot blame him, Nick, he does not wish all that he has worked for over the years to pass to the dreadful Herbert.’
Ravensmede thought of the selfish connivance of his cousin Herbert and was forced to agree. ‘Neither do I. But I’ll marry when I’m good and ready, and not because m’father wills it.’
The dowager raised one cynical white eyebrow. Any reply she might have made was forgotten when Lady Farrow, who was seated some six feet away, gestured at Lady Maybury and shouted, ‘Is not the next dance the waltz?’
‘I do believe you’re correct, Hetty,’ came the reply.
Just the mention of the dance was enough to have Ravensmede glancing around for Kathryn. He soon spotted her across the room partnering some fair-faced youth for a country dance. The final bars sounded and soon the couple were making their way back towards Lady Maybury. No sooner had Kathryn been deposited beside the dowager than a most insistent Mr Silverton appeared to spirit her away.
Her eyes turned to Ravensmede in question. The action was not lost on Lady Maybury, who seemed to positively encourage the young gentleman’s interest in her companion. ‘Off you go, Kathryn,’ she said before turning to her grandson. ‘He seems a delightful young man.’
Ravensmede could do nothing while the woman who had come to haunt his dreams was led out on to the floor and allowed herself to be held quite properly and at the allotted distance by Mr Silverton. She had never danced the waltz with anyone other than himself. now she was in Silverton’s arms. It was for the best, her best, or so he told himself.
‘Nicholas,’ Lady Maybury said, ‘I have a need to seek the retiring room. Be so kind as to watch over Kathryn until I return. Do not let the gel come after me, and make sure that she dances with the next gentleman whose name is upon her card.’ Lady Maybury drew him a fierce look and then disappeared across the room, leaving only the lingering scent of her lavender perfume.
Ravensmede was forced to watch Kathryn and Mr Silverton dance the whole of the waltz, before that young man returned her to him.
She smiled and a spasm of desire shot through him. ‘Is all well with Lady Maybury? She is not here.’
‘A visit to the retiring room. She’ll rejoin us shortly.’
‘Then I should assist her.’ Without waiting for an answer she made to move towards the door.
His hand caught her arm. ‘No, Kathryn. She has asked that you stay here. You know how she hates a fuss.’ With a gentle tug he pulled her back towards him.
‘Yes, you’re right. I should wait for her to return.’
Sliding his fingers down to meet her hand, Ravensmede delivered a gentle squeeze. ‘Did you enjoy your waltz?’ The cream silk of her glove was smooth beneath his fingers. His hand encompassed hers possessively.
She glanced up at him, the hint of a blush just beginning on her cheeks, then peered around to check that no one was close enough to see what was happening between them.
‘Nicholas,’ she whispered, ‘I—’
Whatever she intended to say was cut short by the return of Mr Silverton, followed closely by the dowager.
‘Sir…’ Lady Maybury tapped her fan in fake reproof against the young man’s sleeve. ‘I do believe you’ve already stood up with my companion not so very long ago.’
Mr Silverton smiled a charming smile. ‘That is indeed the case, but with a lady as beautiful as Miss Marchant all others pale to insignificance. I would be honoured if she would stand up with me again.’
Lady Maybury smiled in her most agreeable manner. ‘Well, as it’s you,’ she said indulgently.
‘You have my undying gratitude, my lady,’ replied Mr Silverton and moved to face Kathryn. ‘I do believe you’ve granted me the honour of agreeing to partner me for the quadrille.’
‘I…I…’ Mr Silverton’s name was indeed written upon her card against the quadrille. Kathryn shot a glance at Ravensmede. The expression on his face was unreadable.
‘Don’t dally, Kathryn,’ urged the dowager.
She had little option but to place her hand in Mr Silverton’s and allow him to lead her out on to the dance floor…again. ‘Thank you, sir.’ Kathryn’s impression of Harry Silverton from their waltz was confirmed during the quadrille. He seemed a pleasant enough young man, even if he was prone to a rather overly dramatic turn of speech. It was all Kathryn could do to keep a straight face when he waxed lyrical on the extent of her beauty. She was sure that he lavished the gush of compliments upon every woman with whom he danced. She endured a eulogy on her fine eyes, but when he started to compare her hair to a cascade of rich autumn leaves she laughed and begged him to tell her something of the town of Brighthelmstone instead. When at last the dance was over Mr Silverton returned her, breathless
and smiling, to Lady Maybury.
Mr Silverton bowed low to both the dowager and Kathryn. ‘May I have your permission to call upon your companion, my lady?’
‘I have no objection to your calling, sir,’ said Lady Maybury, ‘but you have yet to ask Miss Marchant her opinion on the matter.’
Three faces turned to Kathryn, who was looking both surprised and a little awkward.
‘I…I think perhaps…’
‘Thank you, my dear Miss Marchant, I shall count the minutes until we meet again,’ said Mr Silverton.
It was then that Kathryn noticed the dangerous darkening of Lord Ravensmede’s eyes and the glacial stare that he drew Mr Silverton. Harry Silverton saw it too. With a speedily executed bow the young gentleman was gone, leaving Kathryn to face Lord Ravensmede.
Chapter Eleven
The journey home was rather stilted. Lady Maybury seemed drained of energy, and lay back against the seat with her eyes closed. Lord Ravensmede’s ill humour did not recede. His manner was distant and he seemed loath to converse. Only Kathryn, balanced precariously next to the dowager, was desperate for a chance to clear the air. She looked hopefully at Lady Maybury, but the old lady’s eyes remained shut. And the Viscount had not yet glanced in her direction. Silence reined supreme. She cleared her throat in an attempt to draw his attention.
The dark profile did not turn from the window.
‘Nicholas,’ she said softly.
He looked at her then, but she could scarcely see his face through the darkness.
Where to begin? ‘I…’ It was clear that Mr Silverton’s presumption had annoyed him. She was being paid as Lady Maybury’s companion, not to court a suitor while the dowager sat alone and fatigued. She tried again. ‘I did not encourage Mr Silverton’s attentions.’
‘Didn’t you?’ He sounded quite unlike his usual self. There was a distance in his voice, so different from anything that she had heard previously. And exactly what did he seem to be implying?
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