by Sandra Heath
Maybe there wasn’t much Sir Ashley could do to stop Louisa saying what she wanted, but at least he could deny her the opportunity of spreading monstrous tales of little Emma’s banishment to school. His daughter would remain at Lawrence Park, where she belonged, and there wasn’t anything Anne could do about it. Informing his furious wife of his decision, he retreated to the safety and privacy of his rooms, where he reflected that life had been very fraught ever since his second marriage. Standing by the window, gazing out at the rainswept park, he dwelt wistfully upon the calmer, more pleasant days of his widowerhood.
Anne was in a rage about everything. Nothing had gone as she wished, nothing at all! First there’d been Geoffrey, and now this. Not only was Emma to stay, after all, but Ashley had had the temerity to stand up to the wife he’d never denied anything before. And last, but certainly not least, the governess hadn’t been reduced to penury, after all; she’d instead somehow emerged with the prospect of one of the most enviable matches imaginable! Louisa Cherington had presumptuously reached out of her station toward Geoffrey, but she hadn’t been punished for her impudence; instead, she’d been rewarded with the infinitely more glittering prize of Lord Highclare. Anne’s jealous frustration was boundless, as was her capacity for malevolent spite, and just as she’d sworn to play a waiting game if necessary in order to have her revenge on Geoffrey, so she now promised the same for Louisa.
Up in her bedroom, Emma wept hot tears in her pillow. She was immeasurably relieved that she’d wasn’t to be sent away to Kensington, after all, but she was heartbroken that her beloved Cherry had gone away forever and hadn’t even been permitted to say good-bye properly. There’d never been another governess as loving, sweet, kind, and thoughtful as Cherry, never!
Geoffrey returned to the house to find the astonishing news waiting for him. At first he was dumbfounded. Louisa Cherington was soon to become Lady Highclare? It simply wasn’t possible. But he’d soon had to accept that it was true, and with that acceptance had come an initial savagery that his prey had eluded him. Then the savagery had gone, to be replaced by his former burning anticipation, for he could pursue the governess when her new husband took her to the Isle of Wight. A new life wouldn’t be the only thing she’d find there; her old life would be swift on her heels. He smiled to himself. He’d possess her yet; she wasn’t going to escape that easily.
Kit’s carriage bowled along the London road, passing through Brentford and then approaching Kensington. Louisa’s thoughts returned fleetingly to Lawrence Park. She wouldn’t miss anything about it, except Emma. She wished she’d been allowed to see the child before she’d left, but permission had been very firmly refused. Lady Lawrence had suffered too many setbacks to be in any mood to change her mind about that as well.
Staring out at the passing countryside, Louisa determinedly pushed all thoughts of Tom to the back of her mind. She didn’t dare think about him, for, if she did, then she would give in to the tears that she’d been keeping barely in check. She’d never been one to show her emotions in front of strangers, it was alien to her; this man was a stranger. She couldn’t succumb to her awful grief just yet. Not just yet.
Forcing memories of her brother to the recesses of her mind, she glanced at Kit. What was he really like? She knew nothing of his character or temper, but outwardly he was breathtakingly handsome, at once rugged and manly, and yet refined and elegant. There was something very nordic about his sunburnt complexion, blond hair, and vivid blue eyes, but he was an English aristocrat to his fingertips. There was immense strength in his firm chin and finely chiseled mouth, and as he lounged on the seat opposite, she was very aware of his athletic grace. He was dressed impeccably in clothes that were the very best London could provide, and he wore them with dashing style. But what was he really like behind all that perfection?
She looked away. He was a brilliant catch, and society was going to be very shocked indeed when it learned that he was going to take such a very unlikely bride. Not only that, it would be much intrigued that the wedding was to take place so very quickly. There was bound to be considerable speculation as to whether the bridal pair had anticipated their vows. She was going to be notorious, and every time they looked at her, they wouldn’t see Lady Highclare, they’d see a governess. She felt suddenly very alone and vulnerable, for this marriage was going to be based solely on duty. What if Kit should suddenly wish he hadn’t observed that duty? What if he wished to resume his affair with his former love? And what if that lady would suddenly become free?
Unknown to her, Kit was secretly observing her as well. His first impression still lingered, for she was a book with a most enchanting cover, but if he turned the pages, what would he really find? Was she as absolutely innocent as she seemed? Geoffrey Lawrence was a handsome man, with a reputation as a lover, and if he cast his amorous eyes in her direction, would she really have completely resisted such an accomplished admirer? Wouldn’t she, as a penniless governess, have been flattered by his attentions? Faced now with a direct question about Lawrence, could she with complete honesty say she’d never welcomed his advances? The question hung on his lips for a long moment, but as he looked at her demure profile, so sweet and pure, his doubts died away again. It was impossible to think ill of her.
The carriage drove on, passing through the outskirts of London, where Hyde Park was bathed in sunshine as the clouds sped by, leaving blue skies in their wake. The elegance of Mayfair surrounded them as at last they entered Grosvenor Square, drawing to a standstill before Kit’s fine town house in the corner.
Louisa waited nervously as he alighted and then held out his hand to her. Hesitantly she accepted, her skirt whispering as she stepped down to the sunny pavement. She glanced around. In the center of the square there was an oval railed garden covering at least six acres, and in its middle there was a gilded equestrian statue of George the First as a Roman emperor. There were trees, shrubs, and flower beds, and a spaciousness that was most appropriate for this most-sought-after part of Mayfair.
She turned to look at the house then, taking in the handsome red brick facade and pedimented doorway. It was very beautiful, but very intimidating. She’d known a life of comfort at Cherington Court, but that life seemed very far away now, and the thought of being mistress of a London property of such exclusivity was very daunting. She froze for a moment. The sounds of Mayfair drifted over her, from the clatter of hooves and rattle of fine carriages, to the calls of a pretty flower girl on the corner of Duke Street. A laughing group of ladies and gentlemen emerged from a house opposite, paying little attention to the carriage outside Lord Highclare’s residence as they entered a waiting landau and drove smartly away.
Kit sensed her trepidation. ‘Whenever you’re ready …’
‘I’m ready now.’
He still held her hand, drawing it gently over his sleeve. They proceeded toward the door, which opened as if by magic as the watchful butler anticipated their steps precisely. He was very like the butler at Lawrence Park, boasting the same full-skirted, light-brown coat and beige silk breeches. His thin face was dominated by a large nose, and his hair, whatever color it may have been, was hidden beneath a white powdered wig. He was so well disciplined that if he was surprised to see an unknown lady entering with his master, he gave no sign of it whatsoever. ‘Good morning, my lord. Madam.’
Kit led her into the hall, removing his top hat and gloves and handing them to the man. ‘Good morning, Miller. I trust all’s well?’
‘It is, sir. The Marquess of Hertford called, and so did the Earl of Eldon. There is also a note from Devonshire House inviting you to be a guest there next month.’
‘Very well, I’ll attend to it all in due course.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Miller, perhaps it’s best to inform you straightaway that my situation, and therefore the situation of this house, is about to change considerably. This is Miss Cherington, and she is very shortly to become my wife.’
The butler’s great exper
ience hadn’t prepared him for such a bold announcement. His jaw dropped and he gaped at Louisa for a moment, before recovering his customary serenity. ‘May I offer you my congratulations, sir. Madam.’
Kit nodded. ‘She is to reside here until the wedding, which will take place very shortly, and I therefore wish the main guest room to be made ready immediately. And would you have, er, Pattie, come here straight away?’
‘Yes, sir.’ The shaken butler bowed and withdrew.
Louisa had been glancing around the entrance hall. It had very pale ice-green walls, with little white niches containing statuettes of Greek gods and goddesses, and the doors opening off it had surrounds of particularly decorative gilded plasterwork. The floor was black-and-gray-tiled, and the staircase rising from the far end was of black marble, with a graceful, gleaming handrail. Glittering chandeliers were suspended from the high ceiling, and shining, gilt-framed mirrors adorned the walls above the white marble fireplace and the solid console tables. She glanced at her reflection in one of the mirrors. She looked so pale and drawn. It was like looking at herself in a dream.
Light footsteps approached from the kitchens, which lay beyond the staircase. A neat maid came quickly toward them. She was dressed in a gray seersucker dress, with a white apron and muslin mobcap, and she had fair hair and a round-cheeked face with bright, hazel eyes. The butler had evidently broken the news about the sudden advent of a future Lady Highclare, for as she bobbed a respectful curtsy, the maid’s glance moved curiously toward Louisa. ‘My lord. Madam.’
Kit looked at her. ‘Pattie, I seem to recall that you were once a lady’s maid.’
‘I attended Mrs Hancock of Oxford when her maid was indisposed, sir, but I wasn’t exactly a lady’s maid.’
‘But you know how to go on?’
‘Oh, yes, sir.’
He glanced at Louisa. ‘Will she suit to be your maid?’
‘Yes, of course.’
The maid’s eyes lit up at such unexpected promotion. ‘Oh, thank you, madam.’
Kit surveyed her a little sternly. ‘Being a lady’s maid requires discretion at all times, Pattie. See that you remember it.’
‘I will, sir.’
Kit returned his attention to Louisa. ‘Forgive me if what I’m about to say sounds a little blunt, but I take it the rest of your wardrobe is like the clothes you’re wearing now?’
She flushed self-consciously. ‘Yes, sir. A governess can hardly expect to keep up with Mayfair.’
Pattie stared. A governess?
Kit smiled a little. ‘I realize that a governess is hardly a person of means, but Lady Highclare most certainly is, and will accordingly be expected to dress in the very latest modes. I’ll send for Madame Coty immediately, instructing her to bring with her any items that may recently have been left on her hands. Unpaid bills frequently mean undelivered goods. The dressmaker will also be useful when it comes to putting word around about our match. She can be told exactly what we wish her to be told and thus determine what story goes the rounds.’
Louisa was silent. Madame Coty was the most sought-after couturière in England, and not even when at Cherington Court had she ever dreamed of possessing a wardrobe by her; only the cream of society aspired to Madame Coty, and the Cheringtons, respectable and well-off as they’d been, had never been the cream of society.
Her unexpected silence concerned him a little. ‘If Madame Coty isn’t acceptable …’
‘She’s very acceptable indeed, sir.’
‘Good. I’ll mention in the note that the funeral is the day after tomorrow and that if she has anything that might do, she’s to be sure to bring it.’
The funeral. It sounded so very final. She looked quickly away, biting her lip.
He found her determined composure a little disconcerting. She was obviously devastated by grief, and yet apart from the first moments, she’d controlled her tears. He couldn’t help but compare her with Thea, whose tears would by now have been a veritable flood and whose lack of composure would have been audible all through the house. Thea had always indulged to the full in theatricals, picturing herself as a dramatic heroine; Louisa Cherington was evidently cast in a much more subtle mold. He touched her arm. ‘If you’ll go with Pattie now, she’ll show you to the main guest room. Luncheon will be served in’ – he glanced at his fob watch – ‘about half an hour in the dining room. You may join me if you wish, or you can have something served to you in your room if you’d prefer.’
‘I’ll join you.’
She followed the maid up the staircase. The main guest room was at the front of the house, on the second floor overlooking the square. It was a fine room, exquisitely decorated and furnished. Its walls were paneled alternately with pink floral Chinese silk and tall mirrors, and its ceiling was coffered in pink and gold. The magnificent French four-poster bed was draped with golden silk, tasseled and fringed, and on the floor there was a specially woven Wilton carpet that matched the ceiling design exactly. There were elegant chairs and a sofa, and a dressing table laden with little porcelain dishes and pots. The wardrobes were cunningly concealed in the walls; their doors formed by the Chinese silk and mirrored panels, and so the room seemed very spacious and uncluttered. The fireplace had beautiful ormolu decorations, and on the mantelpiece there was an ornate gilded clock supported by plump cherubs, and some graceful silver-gilt candlesticks.
Some maids were still busy inside as Louisa followed Pattie in. The windows had been hastily thrown open, and the bed was being made up with lavender-scented sheets. Finishing their tasks, the maids lowered the windows again before respectfully retiring, closing the door behind them.
Almost immediately it opened again, and a footman carried in Louisa’s solitary valise; then he too retired, leaving her alone with Pattie. The maid relieved her new mistress of her gypsy hat and plain mantle, and then efficiently attended to the unpacking of the valise. Louisa stood by the window, gazing down at the garden in the center of the square. How different a view it was from that at
Lawrence Park. There was no parterre, no croquet lawn, and no river, just the elegance and grandeur of one of London’s foremost squares.
Pattie finished her tasks and came shyly toward her. ‘Begging your pardon, madam, but is there anything you wish me to do for you?’
Louisa turned, giving her a quick smile. ‘No. Thank you.’
The maid hesitated. ‘I – I’ll try to serve you well, madam.’
‘I know you will, and I’ll try to be a good mistress.’
‘Miss Cherington… ?’
‘Yes?’
‘Was Mr Tom Cherington your relative?’
‘My brother.’
Pattie’s eyes were compassionate. ‘We were all very sorry to hear what happened, madam. He was a very fine and kind gentleman, always ready with a smile.’
‘Thank you, Pattie.’
The maid bobbed another of her neat little curtsies and then went out.
Louisa returned her attention to the scene outside in the square. Tears shimmered in her eyes, but she blinked them back; she wasn’t ready for tears.
14
Louisa took luncheon with Kit, but what conversation there was, was stilted, and by the end of the meal she knew very little more about him than she had at the beginning. The fault lay mostly with her, and she knew it. She felt ill at ease and a little overwhelmed by the amazing changes in her life in this single day.
In the afternoon Madame Honorine Coty’s well-known light-blue carriage drew up at the door, bringing the dressmaker, several assistants, and a surprisingly large selection of beautiful garments. Madame Coty was not usually available at a moment’s notice, not even to ladies of such rank as the Duchess of York, who only the week before had been most put out when the dressmaker had declined to attend her at home, but such was the careful wording of Kit’s brief note that she sallied forth to Grosvenor Square immediately.
Louisa was resting in her room when the dressmaker’s carriage drew up, and Kit rec
eived the caller in the library, the French windows of which looked out over a narrow walled garden at the rear of the house.
Madame Coty was a diminutive, bustling Parisienne, always perfectly turned out in charcoal taffeta gowns with blond lace fichus. She had straight brunette hair, which she wore pushed up beneath a large day bonnet, and she spoke perfect English, although with a very heavy French accent. With an imperious gesture to her attendants to wait in the entrance hall, she followed the butler to the library.
Kit rose to his feet the moment she entered. ‘Ah, Madame Coty, how very good of you to come.’
She gave him a gracious smile, always prepared to be obliging to a gentleman as handsome and charming as this one. ‘Milord, how could I possibly resist such a mysterious note? Provide a wardrobe for the lady who is disgracefully soon to become Lady Highclare, and be rewarded by being the first in town to know all about what is bound to be the most-talked-of match for months to come? Sir, you have the measure of me, I think.’
Yes, he did. The dressmaker’s capacity for gossip was legendary; indeed, she was frequently used as a means of spreading tales, and so he knew that receiving such a note as his would be bound to prove too great a temptation to ignore.
He went to her, drawing her hand dashingly to his lips. ‘Madame, I know that you are the personification of generosity and that you’ll help me if you possibly can, and in return I think I can promise you the sort of interesting information that will give you an immense advantage in conversation for weeks to come.’
She smiled, tapping his arm a little reprovingly. ‘Milord, you are wicked to tempt me so. I’m ashamed to say that I’m most definitely at your disposal. I’ve brought all the clothes I have in stock, but since your note gave no indication of the lady’s, er, proportions, it is not easy for me to say if the garments will do or not. Is she slender? A little embonpoint?’