‘I think that we do,’ he said.
She gave a little shake of her head, and a curl escaped down to drizzle against her cheek. ‘Things need not change.’
‘They already have.’
‘We could be friends just as we were before,’ she said, grasping at straws.
He sat upright and leaned forward, oblivious to the shake and heave of the carriage. ‘We both know that there is much more than friendship between us, Kathryn.’
The breaths came small and fast and shallow in her chest. Her gaze dropped to the floor. ‘There should not be.’
‘Should does not enter into it. There is, and it’s clear that you cannot remain as my grandmother’s companion for much longer.’
She raised startled eyes to his. ‘I would not hurt Lady Maybury.’
‘Neither would I.’
‘Then why…’
‘You know why,’ he said and, reaching across, laid his hand over hers.
His touch was light yet possessive. He was right. Kathryn knew very well the answer to her question. He could not take his grandmother’s companion as his mistress.
The noise of hooves and wheels and rain and snores filled the minutes.
‘There is something that I want to ask you.’
Her heart lurched. She withdrew her hand from his, her fingers stumbling to the skirt of her travelling dress and gripping for dear life at the material. She knew what he was going to ask, had known it for quite some time. Now that the moment had come she feared that her courage had deserted her. It was one thing to be drawn into it while in the throes of passion; it was quite another to agree to it in the cold light of day. An arrangement. To suit them both. He desired her. She loved him. And for the sake of that love she would bear the shame that being his mistress would bring. But this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. For all that had passed between them, for all that she had tried to convince herself, she knew that if he asked her here, sitting in his travelling coach, with his grandmother asleep by her side, she would refuse him.
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘Do not say it.’
A curious expression flitted across his face. ‘But you don’t yet know yet what I mean to ask.’
She swallowed hard. ‘Even so, I would not have you ask it here, in front of Lady Maybury. That…that would not be right.’
A dark eyebrow arched in the familiar gesture that she had come to know and love, and he subjected her to a long knowing scrutiny. When at last he spoke there was a gentleness to his words. ‘I’ll warrant my question is not the one you expect it to be, Kathryn. But…’ he captured her hand again in his and stroked his thumb against her skin ‘…if you would prefer I took a more conventional route with my proposal then so be it. I will wait until we reach London.’
She blushed and stared down at where their hands joined. ‘Thank you.’
The coach rumbled on. The rain continued to pour. The dowager’s snoring grew louder. Nicholas watched Kathryn. Kathryn watched the passing countryside…until they reached London.
The next morning was fine and warm, with no sign of the unseasonable weather of the previous day. Kathryn sat alone in the carriage, content with what she had found during her visit to young Maggie. The visit had distracted her thoughts from Nicholas and had been most enjoyable. The little girl’s pleasure at the doll made the selling of the last of Kathryn’s papa’s books worthwhile, and the tasty biscuits and cakes from the dowager had doubled both the child and her brothers’ pleasure. Beneath the warm golden sunlight Kathryn recalled the small hands pressed to hers and the laughter in those large pansy eyes. Maggie was a joyful delight for all her squeals and clambering.
A slender hand pressed to her cheek as she remembered how the child’s mother had thanked her for the food parcels that had seemingly arrived with conscientious punctuality every week since Maggie’s return home, and for the job in which her husband was now employed. Nicholas. There could be no one else responsible, after all. The knowledge made her smile. Beneath that devil-may-care attitude was a man who cared about a poor child’s welfare, a man who doted upon his elderly grandmother…and a man who was going to ask her to become his mistress…just as he had before. Only this time she would give him a very different answer.
A barouche passed close by, travelling only marginally faster than that belonging to Lady Maybury. Miss Dawson’s face looked out.
Kathryn raised her hand in salutation through the open window and smiled.
Miss Dawson’s cheeks reddened and she turned her head away with a startling abruptness.
She must not have seen me, thought Kathryn, and returned to her musings without the slightest hint of rancour.
It was only later that same day that she had cause to remember the incident and place quite a different interpretation upon it.
It was late that evening when Ravensmede made himself comfortable in the wing chair within the library of his own house in Berkeley Square and accepted the brandy glass from his friend.
Cadmount’s white fingers drummed upon the chair arm. ‘How is the delightful dowager?’
‘In fine mettle.’
‘And li’l Miss Marchant?’ asked Cadmount a trifle too innocently.
‘She’s well. I’m meeting them both at the King’s later this evening, if you want to come.’
Cadmount coughed discreetly. ‘You encountered no problems in Brighthelmstone?’
‘No. Should I have?’
The fair-haired man cleared his throat and avoided Ravensmede’s eye. ‘You did bed her.’
Ravensmede carefully set the brandy glass down upon the table. ‘Question or statement? Before you start down that line, Caddie, there’s something you should know: I mean to marry Kathryn.’
Cadmount sighed, reached for the decanter and refilled Ravensmede’s glass. ‘In that case, best drink it down, old man,’ he instructed. ‘There have been some developments while you were away, and you ain’t going to like them, not one little bit.’
The atmosphere within the King’s Theatre was stuffy and oppressive, too many bodies crammed into too small a space, and all for Mr Kelly’s benefit night. Those in the gallery were in jovial form and were already shouting and laughing even before the play had begun. When the curtain finally rose on the comedy Road to Ruin their crude comments grew louder, thus creating a raucous atmosphere in which the actors struggled in vain to portray their parts with some level of decorum. The dowager’s face showed all too well exactly what she thought of such a coarse display.
‘No sign of Nicholas yet?’ Lady Maybury fanned herself with vigour.
‘No, my lady.’
‘Not like him to be late, but then he does have other things on his mind at the minute,’ she said, resting her faded green gaze knowingly upon her companion.
Kathryn glanced uneasily at her employer. Surely the dowager did not know what her grandson was planning? ‘Does he?’ she asked, trying not to sound guilty.
‘Most certainly,’ said Lady Maybury with a twinkle in her eye.
A smile, then Kathryn decided to steer the conversation to safer ground. ‘Are you enjoying the performance, my lady?’
‘Blasted nonsense with those louts crowing in the background. Damnable waste of time,’ she pronounced with venom. ‘And it’s so uncomfortably hot in this wretched place.’
‘Would you like me to fetch you a lemonade before the curtain goes up again?’
‘Would you, dear gel?’
‘Of course.’ And so saying Kathryn exited the box, brushing against the scarlet curtains as she did so. She had barely walked more than a few paces when she became aware of the libidinous stares of several gentlemen who were loitering close by the marble pillars. With an averted gaze and a determined thrust of the chin she headed to the stairwell, only to be intercepted by Lord Stanfield.
‘Miss Marchant,’ he said. ‘Enchanted to see you again. I hope that you enjoyed your stay in Brighthelmstone.’
‘Indeed, sir. It was most enjoyable.’ Somethin
g in the man’s manner made her uncomfortable, not that his words could be faulted. He was politeness itself, but beneath the polished veneer…It hardly seemed possible that this was the same man she had danced with so many times in the weeks preceding Brighthelmstone. There was a subtle change, something that she could not quite define.
He lingered a trifle too long over her hand, pressed his lips that bit too ardently to her fingers.
She retrieved her hand and saw his focus drop to her bosom where it remained in undisguised and leisurely pleasure. ‘Please excuse me, Lord Stanfield,’ she said coldly and moved swiftly past. The thump in her chest and heat in her cheeks persuaded her she had not misinterpreted his behaviour. Thrusting the thought from her mind, she made her way down the stairs and started to traverse the crowded hallway to the queue at the refreshments table. A hush descended, marred only by whisperings and snide laughter. On either side men and women slowly, deliberately, turned their backs to her. There could be no mistaking that clear signal, a cut to her face.
With a hammering heart and trembling legs Kathryn held her head up and walked with quiet dignity towards the table. The crowd parted before her, contempt upon the faces of the fine ladies before they turned them away, and something worse upon the gentlemen’s. And then straight ahead, barely a few feet away, she saw Mr and Mrs Marchant. Her eyes met those of her aunt, and for a moment she thought that the woman meant to help her, to rescue her from the nightmare in which she suddenly found herself. Anna Marchant smiled, and her eyes were cold, hard chips of ice. There was nothing of kindness and everything of malice contained in her look. Vulnerability had long fled, as had any vestige of all other pretence. With slow deliberation Mrs Marchant turned to present her back. Uncle Henry followed suit. Voices buzzed in the background. Kathryn swallowed down the aridity her throat and refused to be beaten. She walked on through the cleared route hedged by a line of smartly presented backs. With her eyes fixed ahead she purchased two lemonades and turned to retrace her steps, running the gauntlet once more. Quite how she did so with such cool reserve she would never know, not when the very ground seemed to loom up towards her.
Halfway up the stairwell she encountered Mr Roodley on his way down. Although he did not address her, his knowing brown eyes swept brazenly over her body as he passed.
The safety of the box was in sight when she felt the firm touch of a hand upon her bottom. Lecherous sniggers sounded from a small group of gentlemen lounging against a wall. Kathryn stopped, and drawing herself up to her full height, turned with icy fury. She would never know the image she presented at that moment, with her ashen skin and stormy grey eyes, her small nose flared and full lips parted in readiness for battle, the steady rise and fall of her breasts and the rigid stance of her body. Indignation personified. Deathly silence. The pulse thrummed in her throat, as one by one she fixed her chill gaze upon them, until their leers and smiles vanished and they looked away. Then she turned and walked to the box, white knuckles gripping the glasses for dear life.
‘Oh there you are, my dear. Thank you.’ Lady Maybury gratefully sipped at the lemonade. ‘So refreshing.’ The faded green eyes raked her companion’s countenance. ‘Kathryn?’
She could not speak, sat frozen in a state of shock, the lemonade untouched before her.
The dowager’s hand gripped to hers. ‘What is it? What has happened? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost…and you’re shaking.’
‘I’m feeling a little unwell. I’m sure it will shortly pass,’ she whispered. ‘Please do not concern yourself, my lady.’
Lady Maybury frowned, ‘But I am concerned, gel, and do not give me that old flannel of feeling unwell. You left here fine enough ten minutes ago and return looking like death warmed up. Am I not entitled to some explanation?’
Her hand pressed to her brow. Where to begin? What to say? Blasted, pulverised, unable to think straight. Kathryn squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard at the memory of what had just occurred. But what had just happened? And why? Her fingers trembled as they pulled at the silk of her skirt. Why? The question sounded again and again in her mind. The reason did not matter, not once Lady Maybury witnessed the sorry state of affairs upon their exit. It was perhaps fortuitous that they had arrived at the theatre early to beat the crowds, thus stalling the inevitability of what was to come.
‘Kathryn—’ the elderly voice sounded close to her ear ‘—come, we’d better get you home, my dear.’
‘But Lord Ravensmede—’
‘Will know where to find us,’ finished Lady Maybury. ‘There’s nothing to worry about.’
At the sound of such genuine concern Kathryn could bear her shame no longer. ‘I’m sorry, my lady, so very sorry. You’ve been so kind, like my own grandmother instead of an employer. I would do anything to save you from…Please forgive me.’ Her voice ruptured into hoarseness and she spoke no more, just touched the frail old hand to her cheek in a gesture of affection.
‘Come on,’ came the imperious command.
‘The play is not yet finished.’
‘A bigger load of tripe I’ve yet to see. I’ll not waste any more of my time on it. Hurry along now.’ Lady Maybury rose from her seat.
‘My lady, there’s something you should know before you…before you leave this box.’ Kathryn’s fingers plucked nervously at one another.
A white eyebrow raised in a gesture similar to that so favoured by the lady’s grandson.
The smoky grey gaze dropped to the floor. ‘It seems that I have…incurred the condemnation of…that is to say, I have invoked the displeasure of…’
‘You may explain it to me in detail once we’re home. I’ve no mind to stay here any longer.’ Lady Maybury swept from the box with regal elegance, seemingly oblivious to the whisperings and raising of viewing glasses all around.
They passed few people of any significance on their way from the theatre to the carriage, but the manner of those in their path soon enlightened Lady Maybury as to the cause of her companion’s distress.
‘Of all the most idiotic, petty and malicious behaviours!’ The dowager was working herself into a lofty dudgeon. ‘How dare they cut m’companion!’
‘Their treatment of me is inconsequential, but I’m dismayed to see that Lady Collins was so frosty to you, my lady. I’m sorry that you should be so affected. I will, of course, leave at once to save you further embarrassment.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ the lady snapped fiercely. ‘You were quite the toast of the town when we left only a few weeks ago. And while in Brighthelmstone you barely strayed from the view of my beady eye.’
Kathryn thought of the hungry kisses from Nicholas’s mouth. She remembered the warmth of his body lying on top of hers and the press of his bed against her back. The memories brought a guilty heat to her cheeks. Mercifully the carriage interior was dim.
‘This abominable treatment is without the slightest merit.’
Kathryn said nothing.
The remainder of the journey continued in silence with the dowager brooding and Kathryn in a state of numb disbelief.
The ladies did not have to wait long before Ravensmede arrived at Upper Grosvenor Street.
‘Grandmama, Kathryn.’ The green gaze saw in an instant the tension etched upon the girl’s face. ‘I went to the theatre first. My apologies for being late.’
‘Well, you’re here now, thank goodness. Kathryn and I have encountered something of a problem.’ The dowager threw off her cashmere shawl in a flurry, ordered that the brandy decanter be brought to the library and ushered both her companion and her grandson into that small cosy room.
‘If I may be so bold as to comment, ma’am, you appear a trifle put out,’ said Ravensmede, trying to gauge just how far the gossip had spread. ‘Was the play not to your satisfaction?’
She waved the butler away, shut the door with a decisive thud and poured three glasses of brandy. Kathryn was then pushed unceremoniously down into a chair and a glass pressed firmly in her hand. ‘Drink!�
�� commanded the dowager.
It seemed the gossip-mongers had been busy. Ravensmede could see the tremor in the girl’s fingers.
A minute’s pause and the glass raised to those lips that were so unnaturally pale. She sipped on the spirit, made a face at the strength of its taste, and swallowed it down.
His grandmother wasted no time in emptying the contents of her glass and soon had it refilled.
‘Grandmama.’ Ravensmede made to take his grandparent’s arm. ‘Perhaps you should sit down and tell me what has happened.’
‘Polite society,’ said Lady Maybury acidly, ‘has decided that m’companion is no longer acceptable. Kathryn has received the cut direct.’
‘I see,’ replied Ravensmede without the least surprise.
‘And we have no notion as to the cause of this sudden outlandish behaviour,’ said the old lady.
His eyes skimmed to Kathryn once more, but she had not moved one inch, just sat with the brandy glass gripped within her fingers, the amber liquid almost untouched. ‘Ah,’ he said softly, ‘I think I may be able to help you with that.’
Two pairs of eyes swivelled to his.
There was no easy way to say what must be said. A dagger twisted in his gut at the very thought, but he rose nevertheless, without a shadow of the anger and pain that troubled him. He leaned back against the small wooden desk and stretched out his legs before him.
Time slowed within the library. No one spoke. No one moved. They sat as statues and waited.
He could defer no longer. ‘It seems that there’s a malicious rumour circulating regarding Kathryn’s relationship with a certain gentleman. The couple are believed to have behaved without propriety.’
The fire crackled in the grate. The soft wheeze of Lady Maybury’s breathing.
He looked up at Kathryn’s white face, her eyes huge and dark, overwhelmed by the blackness of her pupils.
‘With whom am I purported to have established such a…relationship?’ The words forced from her bloodless lips.
Ravensmede calmed the leap of his pulse. The merest twitch of the muscle in his jaw.
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