by Jo Beverley
“True ladies and gentlemen aren’t.”
“I hear the queen is.”
Ruth laughed. “I didn’t mention royalty. Only think—you’ll probably meet her and the Regent. You’ll have velvet and ermine robes.”
“I believe my post is in the country, and I’ll be glad of that.”
“If the king dies, there’ll be a coronation. I think you’ll be expected to attend that. In robes and coronet.”
“Then I wish him a long life!”
“He’s nearly eighty, Kitty, but he might outlive the queen. She’s clearly unwell, which isn’t surprising, given all she’s had to bear. Being royal isn’t proof against suffering.”
“Stop it,” Kitty protested. “You’ll cast us both into the dismals. You, at least, are perfectly situated.”
“Perhaps too perfectly,” Ruth said, looking at the pretty parsonage.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, nothing,” Ruth said, and continued inside. But Kitty wondered. How could anything be too perfect?
She’d thought Ruth perfectly suited to being the wife of a country clergyman, but in the past few days she’d noticed something amiss. She’d caught Ruth in pensive moments and interrupted one serious discussion between Ruth and her husband.
Please let there be no problems there. If she was going to make this marriage, she needed Ruth to be her strong, reliable support.
* * *
By Saturday Kitty was desperate, and she decided to question Ruth more closely about Dauntry. She searched the house and finally found her friend in the scullery, surrounded by berried stems and a smell of vinegar. “What are you doing now?”
“Pickling barberries.”
“Why?”
“They’re a tasty addition to many dishes.”
Kitty couldn’t imagine the labor worth the result, but she said, “What can I do to help?”
“You could help pick the berries from the stems.”
Kitty put on an apron and set to work. “I wish I knew why Dauntry is rushing into marriage. He’s had months to consider his situation and decide he needs a wife. Months to find one.”
Ruth paused in her work. “No, he hasn’t. He learned he was the viscount only a few weeks ago. I must have said.”
“Didn’t the previous viscount die in August?”
“But no one knew who the heir was, least of all Dauntry. He came here as soon as the inheritance was confirmed, but he describes it as learning a new trade.”
Kitty remembered his talking about being a plaything of the gods. “But all the same, why the rush? And why me? He could easily marry a grand lady.”
“He made it clear he wanted to marry quickly and without fuss.”
“And I was waiting to be plucked. Like a goose.” Kitty removed some berries too forcefully, breaking a stem.
Ruth shook her head. “Isn’t it more a case of your finding a goose that lays golden eggs?”
“Geese can be very unpleasant. We had some at Cateril Manor that would chase away intruders and didn’t always distinguish between us and thieves.”
“Are you seeing Dauntry as an angry goose?”
Kitty chuckled. “Neck stretched out and hissing? Oh, what would you do in my situation, Ruth?”
Ruth had finished her basket of stems and she began to measure out vinegar into a pan. “I was a good governess in a kind family, but I was delighted to leave to marry.”
“To marry a man you love.”
“Yes.” Ruth turned to her. “Oh, Kitty, I never thought! You’ll be giving up all chance to love again.”
“I’ll be content with a tranquil marriage.” It wasn’t quite true, but it was more true than any other reaction.
“Perhaps Dauntry was wise to go away. To give you this time to think.”
“I didn’t want time to think. I wanted time to get to know him. He wanted to marry immediately, and when I refused, he ran away.”
“Oh, dear. You’re going to kick against the shafts, aren’t you?”
“I’m not a horse, but if anyone tries to put me in harness, I’ll most certainly kick.”
“I don’t know how you survived your marriage.”
“Are you in harness?”
“Andrew and I are in harness together.”
“A perfectly matched team.” Kitty watched Ruth’s reaction to that and didn’t see any doubt, thank heavens. Perhaps there was a problem in the parish. “I don’t imagine that will ever be the case with me and Lord Dauntry. We have very different paces. Oh, I’m out of sorts!”
“Why don’t you take Sillikin for a long walk? I’m nearly finished here, and fresh air will do you good.”
“I don’t know what good means anymore,” Kitty said, but she washed her hands in the bowl of water. “When I think back, I can’t remember a time when I’ve not been in harness. My parents, school, and then I was swept into marriage to Marcus. Now here I am, approaching thirty years of age and still without free choice.”
“Employment is a choice,” Ruth pointed out. “You want comfortable choices.”
Kitty was in danger of making a snappish retort, so she went to dress for the outdoors, called Sillikin, and headed out. She walked away from the village along worn pathways, keeping a close eye on the dog. Perhaps Sillikin had learned her lesson, for she didn’t go far in her excited explorations.
Kitty paused on a rise to look around the countryside. It was a gently rolling and orderly patchwork of farmland, but no material for bucolic poetry in its gray, wintry shades.
She’d never enjoyed winter in the countryside. Life was so much better in Town then, with gas-lit streets, shops, theaters, and amusements in all directions. The coal fires could cloak everything in a pall of smog, but that hadn’t killed the pleasure.
“Oh, Hades. Spring will come.”
The dismal scene would burst from half mourning into vivid life. Daffodils, green leaves, frolicking lambs. She’d feel more in harmony with the area then. As for the present, she’d learn no more about Dauntry until he returned. Sunday should give her a glimpse, at least, of the Braydon family at church, and she might learn something from that. She looked forward to that, but on the day, the large box pew at the front stayed empty.
As she and Ruth walked back to the parsonage with the children and servants, Kitty asked, “Does the Braydon family often stay away on Sunday?”
“They never attend. Dauntry has, but no one else from the family.”
“Are they Catholic?” Kitty asked in surprise.
“Heavens, no, but they have the chapel and a chaplain to offer services. A doddery old fellow.”
“Isn’t that unusual?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I’ll attend service here and I’ll try to make sure my husband does, too. The dowager may worship in her chapel, but Miss Isabella can be compelled.” She saw Ruth’s expression. “No?”
“I know only what Dauntry has said, but ‘stubbornly willful’ seems to fit, with the dowager encouraging her.”
“Why does the dowager still live there? Isn’t there a dower house?”
“Used by the estate steward for at least thirty years.”
Kitty frowned at an inoffensive gravestone ahead. “Do you think the dowager drove off the previous viscount’s wife on purpose?”
“Kitty! Don’t let your imagination run away with you. Why would she do that?”
“Mothers and sons. Is Andrew’s mother protective of him?”
“Not particularly, but she has three other sons.”
“Lady Cateril has one other son and two daughters, but that didn’t help. I’d never thought before to be grateful that Marcus insisted on us living so far away. Life at Cateril Manor would have been unbearable.”
On Monday Kitty was startled to receive two letters from C
ateril Manor. Both were franked, so Andrew had nothing to pay.
When Kitty hesitated, fearing what Lady Cateril had to say, Ruth said, “Open them!”
“Both at the same time? Why are Lord and Lady Cateril writing to me separately? Heavens. Could my news have killed her?”
“Then she’d hardly be writing to you, would she?”
“No, but . . .”
“Why the hesitation? You’re not going to let her disapproval prevent you from marrying, are you?”
“No, but . . .” Kitty broke the seal on Lady Cateril’s letter. It was short, so she grasped the contents immediately. “She’s sending me my possessions without objection.” She stared up at Ruth. “She even says Marcus would have wanted me to live a full life. I can hardly believe it.”
“Why doubt?” Ruth snatched the letter and read it. “It seems plain enough. You have her blessing, Kitty. All is well!”
Kitty opened the other letter. “Perhaps it’s to tell me she’s run mad. No. It’s to thank me.”
“For marrying?”
“Lord Cateril says my news has helped Lady Cateril return to life. She’s put off her blacks and is taking her full part in life again.”
Ruth was beaming. “A blessing all around!”
“But at the end, he wishes me well and hopes Lord Dauntry is worthy of me. That’s odd.”
“Good wishes?”
“That he say that. As if he has doubts. Do you think he knows Dauntry?”
Ruth took that letter. “He means worthy of Marcus’s widow. Rejoice! You can marry without a cloud on the horizon. Andrew!” she called. “All’s well! Lady Cateril makes no objection, and Lord Cateril thanks Kitty for bringing about a change in her.”
“No celebration?” Andrew asked.
“Bridal nerves, perhaps.”
“Everyone has them—grooms, too.”
If Dauntry was quivering, she was the Man in the Moon.
“The best thing is to be busy,” Ruth said. “We’ve still to retrim your bridal bonnet. Yes, you can go away again, Andrew. This is women’s work.”
Kitty surrendered to Ruth’s excitement, but the removal of every obstacle along with Lord Cateril’s possible doubts had made her newly aware that she’d spent less than a half hour in Lord Dauntry’s company.
They’d never even touched.
However, it was too late to back out now. She could only pray she wasn’t making another mistake, because this one could last a lifetime. She was unlikely to be granted an early release a second time.
Chapter 10
Kitty was rescued from bonnet trimming, at which she had little skill, by Sillikin’s wanting a walk. She made it a long one, and they were both ready for a rest by the time she approached the front door of the parsonage. When she heard horses’ hooves, she turned, alarmed that it would be Dauntry, catching her windblown and dusty again. Instead she saw a woman on a black horse, a mounted groom riding a yard or so behind. The woman was dressed entirely in black, and Kitty wondered if it might be the dowager Lady Dauntry, but then she saw that she was young. Isabella? She looked older than sixteen—erect, poised, and eying Kitty with haughty disdain.
The battle had come to her.
Kitty felt a flutter of panic, but despite the gloss, this was a girl and she was a woman of nearly twice her age and vastly more experience. She went forward, attempting bland amiability. “May I help you?”
“Are you Mrs. Cateril?”
“I am.”
The young woman gestured, and the groom dismounted and hurried to lift her down. Once down, she arranged her skirts and walked forward. “I am Isabella Godyson-Braydon.”
Kitty just managed not to express surprise at the extended surname. Why had no one told her about that? And how, exactly, did an Honorable widow greet an aristocratic girl?
She dipped a very slight curtsy. “Good morning.”
Miss Godyson-Braydon merely inclined her head. Such petty battles didn’t bother Kitty, but she was supposed to manage this girl?
Sillikin was staring, which wasn’t at all surprising. If Dauntry was a marble box, his ward was a jet one. She was polished and perfect in every way, and Kitty was aware of being very much the opposite. However, she remembered that jet was a relatively soft stone.
“You’ve come to visit Mrs. Lulworth?” she asked.
“I’ve come to speak to you.”
“Then shall we go into the house, Miss Godyson-Braydon?”
“No. We have heard an odd rumor, Mrs. Cateril. That you are to marry Lord Dauntry.”
Kitty supposed word would have escaped. There was no way to deny it, despite an irrational wish to do so.
“I am, yes. On Wednesday.”
“Impossible. He is betrothed to me.”
Kitty couldn’t help a laugh. “I doubt Lord Dauntry would have forgotten such a fact.”
The girl flushed but said, “You wear no ring. I do.” She pulled the black leather glove off her left hand to reveal a ring with a blue stone, presumably a sapphire.
Kitty was at a loss, stuck in this impossible situation, her heart fluttering with fledgling doubt. Could Dauntry be insane? But with deep certainty she knew that whatever else he was, he wasn’t mad. Therefore, the girl must be lying.
“That is a lovely ring. But I have no reason to believe Lord Dauntry gave it to you. You’re a child,” Kitty said calmly. “Why would he marry you?”
The girl didn’t so much as blink. “For my dowry. It’s very large, and if I take it out of the family, the viscountcy’s fortunes will be sadly depleted.”
Kitty had to consider that. If the girl spoke the truth, Dauntry might be sensible to marry her. They weren’t closely connected by blood. After the disastrous meeting in the lane, she’d been sure Dauntry would back out of the arrangement. Had he committed himself to her and then come to his senses? Then fled? That would be unbalanced, at the least, but then he was an ex-soldier. Who knew what chaos lay beneath?
“I fear,” the chit said, a glint of triumph in her eyes, “he may have played a game on you.”
Sillikin growled. It was so unusual, it snapped Kitty out of her paralysis. She quickly picked up her dog. “You speak nonsense.”
“Do I? Ask instead why he would marry you, ma’am. You have no beauty or style, nor any fortune. I also gather that you are barren.”
Kitty wished they were close enough for Sillikin to bite, because every word was horribly true. There was no reason for this marriage beyond some chilly convenience, and she’d been probing the puzzle for a week. The encounter in the lane had shown her to be not at all the bride he’d been promised. So he’d . . . what? Devised a cruel punishment? To build her hopes and then leave her at the altar, exposed to the sniggers of people surprised she’d ever thought to marry so unbelievably high? Had he assumed that she’d go around the village, boasting about it? Had he then returned to the Abbey and proposed marriage to Isabella?
She’s his ward.
Is that even legal?
Her churning mind couldn’t make sense of anything, but her finger was bare, and that sapphire ring glinted as brightly as the girl’s sharp blue eyes.
“I came to warn you,” Isabella said. “If you go to the church on Wednesday, you’ll be left standing at the altar.”
Ah! So that is the plan. They think they can make me flee? Kitty almost smiled at the thought, but kept a sober face. “You have given me much to think about, Miss Godyson-Braydon. I bid you good day.”
She turned and walked into the house, feeling the glare directed at her back. She walked faster, hoping it looked like panicked flight, then watched from the parlor window as the girl was helped by the groom to remount and rode away.
“What a paltry creature they must think me,” she said to Sillikin. “They have much to learn.” Brave words, but would anyone, even a sixteen-y
ear-old girl, flaunt a false engagement ring? Logic was on Isabella’s side, especially if she’d told the truth about having inherited most of the viscountcy’s wealth.
What did Kitty have to offer? Nothing but convenience.
Dauntry had offered marriage, but then he’d run away.
With dismay, Kitty remembered Captain Jameston. He’d come home on furlough, visited a fellow officer’s home in Kent, and met the man’s sister. He’d made her promises but then hurriedly departed for the north. Later they’d heard he’d married a childhood friend there. It had almost led to a duel, but when the furor had been discussed in Moor Street, the other officers had seemed to understand. Plunged from battles and hardship into the sweet bosom of home, men’s emotions weren’t always stable or reliable. Men brave in war could be cowards in domestic complexities.
Kitty found it hard to see Dauntry as unstable or in a cowardly panic, but she didn’t know him at all. Even Ruth and Andrew didn’t know him intimately, and Captain Jameston had seemed a rational man. She remembered Lord Cateril’s implied warning. Did he know something about Dauntry that gave him doubts?
What on earth was she to do on Wednesday?
Chapter 11
Kitty went through Tuesday like a sleepwalker, which could be because she’d had little sleep. Ruth put it down to bridal nerves and left her alone. Kitty longed for Dauntry to turn up and make all clear, one way or another.
Would he make no contact until the wedding? They hadn’t even set a time for it. Was she just to go to church and hope he’d be there?
Definitely not. She wouldn’t even put on her wedding bonnet until she was sure.
But even if he was ready to marry her, should she go through with it?
She’d once brushed aside the idea of marrying a madman as a minor thing, but on the eve of her wedding, it wasn’t minor at all. She prayed he’d visit her before the wedding so she’d have another opportunity to assess him. After so many days, she distrusted what flimsy impressions she remembered.
Cold, distant, calculating . . .
The arrival of her possessions from Cateril Manor provided distraction. It might turn out to be pointless to have them, but unpacking and hanging out clothing to air gave her something to do. She had her books as well, and the various ornaments and mementoes of her life.