by Jo Beverley
She sat to reread Marcus’s letters from when he’d courted her. They were faded now, but his vitality and adoration shone from the pages. They’d been different people then, still with hope. Then there were the gifts he’d given her over the years. He’d mostly given her small pieces of jewelry for her birthdays, but here was the china vase with a puppy on it that was very like Sillikin. Captain Edison had given her the puppy, and Marcus had been put out, but mostly because he hadn’t thought of it. He must have asked a friend to seek out such a vase.
She smiled at the small model of the Parthenon made out of cork. There’d been a popular exhibition of much larger models of that sort, and Marcus had taken her to that. The promise of a working replica of a volcano had inspired him to a special effort. He’d hired a sedan chair for the journey, because it was a smoother ride than a coach over cobbles, and then a bath chair to go around the room. He’d claimed he was no more uncomfortable than sitting around at home, but even though the volcano had lived up to expectations, they’d rarely repeated the experiment. London was a treasure box of curiosities and amusements, but she’d experienced so very few of them.
She rewrapped the model and all the other bits and pieces. Whatever happened tomorrow, there was no point in putting them on display here.
She brought in the first load of freshened clothing and hung out some more. She had bright and becoming clothing again. None were up to the mark, but they raised her spirits, until she remembered that she’d not get to wear them as a governess or companion.
She’d start to wear them now, then. With the sun set and the candles lit, she changed into one of her favorites, a cherry red kerseymere gown with long sleeves and a high neck. It was quite plain except for a tapestry belt that had gold inset beads, but it hung beautifully. Marcus had said that with her hair, it made her look like a pagan warrior queen. That was how she wanted to feel.
Sukey was fastening the back when someone knocked at the front door. It could be a parishioner with a question or even an urgent summons, but it was just possible it was Lord Dauntry. Kitty sent Sukey away, checked herself in the mirror, and hurried to the top of the stairs to listen.
It was Dauntry!
Come to confirm their arrangement or cancel it in order to marry Isabella and her money?
Which did she want?
Ruth was saying, “Kitty received Lady Cateril’s blessing, so all’s well!”
“If you have the license,” Andrew said, emerging from his study.
Kitty waited, breath held, and then Dauntry passed over a piece of paper. Relief made her clutch the stair rail for support. He intended to go through with the marriage, and he seemed sane enough. And she had no other reasonable option.
Andrew read it. “I was unaware of your given names.”
“I assume it’s essential that they be read in full at the service.”
“Afraid so.”
“What are they?” Ruth asked, trying to look. Andrew folded it.
Kitty realized she had to move. She descended the stairs. “Am I allowed to know?”
He looked up at her—and stared. Kitty couldn’t help but smile. She’d not planned the effect, but it would seem he saw her much as Marcus had, and it would do no harm for him to know he was marrying a warrior. But did she see dismay at the prospect? Something had disturbed the cool sleekness.
As she reached the bottom of the stairs, he seemed to pull himself together. “I gather all is well?”
“Yes.”
Ruth said, “Into the parlor!”
Her brightness was a little forced, so Kitty wasn’t imagining the strain. Clearly Dauntry had come here intending to go through with the marriage, but he was troubled by something. Had he come to confess that he’d foolishly engaged himself to Isabella as well?
“We’ll drink a glass of wine to your happiness,” Ruth said, “and hear the latest London news.”
They were soon all settled with a glass of blackberry wine, but Sillikin had taken up a staring stance.
“To the happy couple and a happy future!” Andrew said, raising his glass.
Dauntry drank. So did Kitty, but she had to ask, “Is something amiss, sir?”
He grimaced slightly. “Word has reached the Abbey that we’re to wed, and the dowager is already on the attack. She can do you no harm, but she’ll stir storms if she can.”
Such as a false betrothal to Isabella? Or was he preparing a denial of a true one? “I can weather storms,” she said.
“So I gather.”
She stared at that. “So you gather?”
“In London I encountered some people who knew you there.” Heaven help her, what had he learned to create this guarded expression? “They praised your care for your husband when his injuries distressed him.”
“Ah. That’s kind of them, but it’s not hard to be patient when one loves.” So why do you disapprove?
Ruth broke in again. “Town news! How are poor Prince Leopold and the Regent?”
“Both deeply distressed, as one can understand. It’s expected that Prince Leopold will return to Germany soon.”
“Far from everything that must remind him of Charlotte.” Ruth sighed. “It’s still hard to believe.”
“But there are other problems, I gather,” Andrew said.
Dauntry looked at Kitty as if expecting her to object to this discussion on their wedding eve, but what else were they to speak of? She was studying him for any hint of mental instability. At least Sillikin had relaxed and was lying by her feet.
“A general political and administrative disarray,” Dauntry said. “It’s as if London has gone into the grave with the princess. One good aspect is that mourning has tamped down unrest, and those most opposed to the monarchy keep their feelings to themselves. A ballad singer trilling against the Regent was pelted with rotten fruit, when a month ago she would have been applauded. Her song even had a legitimate complaint.”
“What?” Andrew asked.
“Neglect of his duties. A ruler can’t hide away, not even in grief. There are many matters hanging in abeyance. The only firm decision made so far is to put off the recall of Parliament until next year. That’s largely for fear of someone raising the subject of the succession.”
“Oh, dear,” Ruth said, but then, relentlessly optimistic, she added, “I see one benefit—you won’t have to go to London to take your seat in Parliament until then, Dauntry.” She stood. “Come, dear. We must leave the betrothed couple alone for a little while.”
In moments Kitty was enclosed with her husband-to-be, curtains drawn against the dark, with firelight and candlelight lending a deep intimacy. Now he seemed as cool and composed as before, and she became newly aware of how handsome he was and how elegant, not only in his clothing but in the way he sat, fingers lax on the stem of his glass.
Beau Braydon.
Beautiful . . .
“Lady Cateril approved without reservation?” he asked.
Kitty snapped out of distracting thoughts. Inappropriate thoughts, except that this beautiful, disturbing man was to share her bed tomorrow.
“She did,” she said, surprised to be able to speak normally.
“Your letter must have been eloquent.”
“I didn’t think so.” She needed to have things absolutely clear. “You do still want to marry me?”
A reaction at last. Surprise. “I thought I’d made that clear.”
“Time changes things.”
“You’ve changed your mind?” he asked.
“No. But you seem uneasy, my lord.”
“You’re an observant woman.” She didn’t think he approved. “Returning to Beauchamp Abbey always puts me out of temper, but this time I became aware that I’ll be bringing you into a difficult situation.”
With a jilted bride in residence? “I always knew that,” Kitty said.
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“In theory only. To give an example, I found the furniture in your dressing room still full of your predecessor’s clothing.”
That startled her. “The errant viscountess?”
“Yes. I’d ordered the rooms prepared, but only thought to check at the last moment.”
“Someone should be held at fault for that.”
“I made my displeasure clear to the housekeeper, but Mrs. Quiller’s allegiance is to the dowager, so you can expect such petty annoyances.”
Kitty welcomed a practical subject. “Is there a reason I can’t dismiss her?”
“None, apart from the business of replacing her and her husband, who is butler. You must wonder why I haven’t done so.” He sipped at his wine and then put it aside. Doubtless blackberry wine wasn’t to his taste. “Firstly, this is the first blatant misdemeanor. Secondly, the Quillers are only one part of a web of annoyances. I have been waiting for a wife to see the way.”
“I see. I know my duties, my lord, but if I dismiss all the servants, life could be uncomfortable for a while.”
“No worse than other situations I’ve known. Do as you please.”
“Do you truly mean that?”
“I always mean what I say. Finding replacements won’t be difficult. Many seek employment these days. I had a particular reason for this visit. You must be in as strong a position as possible. Thus we need a story to account for the speed of our union.”
“Your need of a helpmate won’t do?”
“I suggest a little more than that. Would you object to us having met in the past?”
“A lie?” Instinctively, she did object, but perhaps it was necessary. “A white one, I suppose. But when? I went from school into marriage at seventeen, and from marriage into seclusion at Cateril Manor.”
“I gather you kept open house for military officers.”
“My husband and I did,” she said, not liking his tone.
“My apologies. Of course that was what I meant. I had the impression that some of the men who visited your home see themselves as friends.”
Kitty sat up straighter. “The impression from where? Have you been bandying my name around Town, sir?”
He raised a hand. “I mentioned your name in a military club, but in no way disrespectfully, I assure you. I learned of your husband’s hospitality, and it provides a way in which we could have met.”
Kitty still didn’t like his behavior. “You’re not suggesting a liaison, are you? That would dishonor Marcus and me.”
“Of course not. Only that we could have met and liked one another. Your hospitality is fondly remembered.”
She still detected criticism. “Marcus enjoyed the company. All I did was provide what refreshments we could.”
“And an ear for those troubled and advice for the lovelorn.”
“Who said that?” she demanded. “I merely smiled and nodded.”
“Sometimes that’s a generous gift. Will anyone question it if we say I visited your rooms a time or two and admired you?”
Another chess move. That’s all it was. Kitty tamped down annoyance and gave his question careful thought. “I can’t see how. The guests changed all the time.”
“Then when I learned that you were a friend of Ruth Lulworth’s, I arranged for you to visit here, and matters took their natural course.”
“I can’t ask Ruth and Andrew to lie.”
“As long as they don’t insist on the absolute truth, it should do. We won’t volunteer our story, and if we have to use it, we’ll keep it as vague as possible. The main point is that we are consistent.”
“You seem practiced at deception, my lord.”
“My work in the army wasn’t always direct.”
What was it, then? She didn’t voice her question, for she might not like the answer. Had he been a spy? Most soldiers thought that dishonorable work, even though they benefitted from anything learned.
“Will you object to my calling you Kitty in private?”
The rather blunt change of subject confirmed that he’d been up to something shady, but it shouldn’t affect their future. “Not at all,” she said, “but what am I to call you? What are your Christian names?”
“Not to be used,” he said, but then shook his head. “They’ll be read out tomorrow. My father believed that names could shape destinies. Plato Aristides.”
Kitty couldn’t help a smile. “Poor lad!”
“No wonder you touched young men’s hearts. Fortunately, at school, boys are addressed by their surnames.”
“And now?”
“I’m known as Dauntry.”
“That seems somewhat formal for our private moments.” Her words suddenly had extra layers of meaning. Marriage. Privacy. Intimacy. She bent down to scoop up Sillikin. “Thank you for not wanting to use Kathryn.”
“You dislike it?”
“It was never used as I grew up.” She was struggling to pull her mind away from an increasing awareness of him—of the body that would join with her in the marriage bed. Of those fine hands on her skin, on her breasts.
He was waiting for her to say more.
“Marcus’s family are the only ones who’ve ever called me Kathryn,” she said as briskly as she could. “Perhaps Lady Cateril was like your father and hoped that a more sober name would make me a more sober person. Don’t think too badly of her. When she first met me, I was a silly seventeen-year-old.”
“That’s generous of you.” Simple words, but something in his eyes and in his tone made her wonder if he shared her sensual thoughts and lurking doubts. He couldn’t be unaware of tomorrow night.
“Were you silly at seventeen?” she asked. “It’s hard to imagine.”
“I expect I was. Are you wondering how old I am? Twenty-nine.”
She’d thought him older because of his cool reserve. He couldn’t maintain that in bed. Could he? “Perhaps you do have something of philosopher about you,” she said, “but who was Aristides?”
“A statesman and general, sometimes called the Just.”
“Not bad attributes to seek to give a child.”
“No, but if we have a son, I’d favor a simpler name. So, we marry as planned tomorrow?”
This was the moment. The point of no return. But hot or cool, there was no reasonable alternative. “We do,” she said.
“Good. The sooner the dowager realizes she can’t prevent your arrival, the better.”
“Especially as she still hopes you’ll marry her granddaughter.” She was pleased to surprise him. “Isabella came here to warn me of your cruel deception, armed with a sapphire betrothal ring.”
Even better, he was speechless.
“I was encouraged to run from the shame of it,” she added, “like the more foolish sort of heroine in a novel.”
“They do both read those kinds of books.”
“So do I, but I don’t take them as a pattern card for behavior. I prefer the heroines who fight brigands with swords.”
Perhaps he smiled. “I’m beginning to understand that you do. Tell me exactly what happened.”
When she finished, he did smile. It was cool, but the first clear smile she’d seen on him. “Isabella is going to be very annoyed by your betrothal ring,” he said.
“I don’t have one.”
“That’s another reason for this visit. Rather last-minute, I know, but I thought you should have one before we wed.” He came to her and took something out of his pocket.
After a moment, Kitty found words. “That’s a rather large diamond.”
“I confess to strategy. No one seeing it will think this a paltry affair.”
“In particular the dowager? As you say, it knocks Isabella’s little sapphire to flinders.”
She realized he was waiting to put it on her finger, and that she was still wearing her
wedding ring. She rose, trying to remove it, but she hadn’t ever removed it. She had to lick her finger and even then she only just managed to wriggle it off.
He touched the groove as if it were a wound, but then slid on the diamond ring.
“A perfect fit,” she said.
“I’m a good judge of such things.”
She glanced up. “I suspect you’re good at many things.”
She meant it innocently, but awareness flared. They’d touched at last, and now they stood close together, looking into each other’s eyes. He raised her left hand and kissed her knuckle near the ring. It brought him even closer, and she caught his scent. A male scent, but a different one.
Suddenly she wanted to kiss him. And more. She’d thought such fires well banked, but new fuel had been put on the embers. She was hungry for intimacy and ached to do more, much more, here, now, in the parsonage parlor.
He released her hand and moved away. Because he’d sensed her improper desires?
“Have you provided yourself with a lady’s maid?” he asked.
“What?” It took Kitty a moment to make sense of his question and find coherence. “Should I have? I suppose I should. I’ve never had one.”
“Not during your marriage?”
“I used the housemaid when I needed help. I’m sorry.”
“No matter, for I thought of it. I asked my grandmother to send a suitable woman to Gloucester. I collected Miss Oldswick from there, and she’s ready to move with you to the Abbey tomorrow. For now, she’s resting in the Abbot’s Arms.”
“That sounds rather . . .”
His lips twitched. “We can hope she’s enjoying it. You don’t approve of my hiring her? You’d rather arrive at the Abbey without?”
“I’m sure it’s ungracious of me, but I’m not accustomed to having my life so managed.”
“And you resented your shackles at Cateril Manor. Miss Oldswick is my aunt’s lady’s maid, and so she’s only on loan, but I can send her back to Lancashire if you wish. However, you could need allies in the Abbey, and she will be firmly on your side.”