“I’m pretty sure he didn’t actually propose.” Celia wrinkled her brow but it was clear that she disliked being cross-questioned. Too bad! She wasn’t the one who had to face Leo Kincade with his lazy half smile and a penetrating gaze that seemed to see straight through her. “My lady wouldn’t be drawn upon the matter.”
“But it’s generally understood that she rejected him,” Katrina insisted. “Presumably he wouldn’t allow that rumour to abound if it wasn’t true.”
“Presumably not.”
“Oh, Lord, how am I supposed to treat him if I don’t know the particulars?” She thumped her thigh in frustration. “I knew this wretched deception wouldn’t work. I shall be found out before I’ve spent another night under Lady Marshall’s roof.”
“There’s no occasion to sound so defeated.”
“No occasion! Have you lost your mind? Julia deceived me. She might not have known that Lord Kincade would be here, but she certainly knew about the other ladies. Ladies she told me she hadn’t seen for an age. How could she have done that to me?”
“She knew they wouldn’t suspect you but thought you wouldn’t agree to come if you knew the truth.”
“She was right about that but wrong about them not suspecting me. I’m sure Lady Ainsworth knows something isn’t right.”
“You’re just imagining things.”
Katrina stamped her foot in frustration. “Celia, I am not imagining it!”
“You don’t have to worry about her. And as for Lord Kincade, there are a lot of people here and there will be no opportunity for you to be alone with him. Not if you keep your wits about you. Ensure you wear your veiled bonnets and keep to the shadows as much as possible.” Celia remained implacably calm. “And in the evenings, attach yourself to one of the ladies and make sure you’re never separated.”
“That won’t stop him.”
“It will stop him talking to you about anything personal.”
“Perhaps, but I would be a lot easier in my mind if I knew what he thinks of me.” Katrina swirled to face Celia, her frown briefly replaced by a smile. “I know. Why didn’t I think of it sooner? Celia, can you get a message to your mistress and ask for her guidance? I’m sure you know how to contact her.”
“No, I’m sorry, ma’am.” There was finality in Celia’s tone as she helped Katrina out of her gown. “Milady cannot be contacted.”
“That can’t be right.” Katrina shook her head, panicking. “Surely you made arrangements to reach her in the event of an emergency? And if this doesn’t constitute an emergency then I don’t know what does. It’s her head on the block here just as much as it is mine.”
“Courage, ma’am. Try to think rationally. Lord Kincade won’t mention your former relationship because he’s a gentleman. Besides, he assumes you’re well acquainted with the facts.”
“Easy for you to say. You didn’t see the way he was taunting me earlier, and that was in front of other people. He was asking the most intrusive questions.”
Convinced Celia could reach Julia if she really wanted to, Katrina plonked herself down in front of the mirror and frowned at her reflection. She wished now that she’d insisted upon having a way of contacting Julia, and she wondered who was in charge here, even though she already knew. She might be the one wearing all the finery, showing off her creations and playing the part of the grand lady, but Celia was most definitely orchestrating matters.
“Perhaps he was embarrassed as well, ma’am,” Celia suggested as she dressed Katrina’s hair.
“Humph, I doubt whether the man knows the meaning of the word.”
“Treat him with friendly flirtatiousness. My mistress is never serious in company. Not many ladies are. It’s quite frowned upon, you know.”
“Yes, I’ve already discovered as much for myself. But if I rejected Lord Kincade’s suit then surely I wouldn’t feel inclined to flirt with him.”
“Oh no, that’s the way of society. Besides, if Lord Kincade feels slighted by your former behaviour he won’t seek you out, and the problem will resolve itself.”
“Perhaps.” But Katrina wasn’t convinced.
“He probably only addressed you just now because he knows the two of you being under the same roof would excite gossip if he didn’t.” Celia brushed Katrina’s hair with vigour. “Now that he’s stopped wagging tongues, I doubt that he’ll have much else to say to you.”
“Wretched man! Why did he have to appear now of all times?”
“Now then, milady, which gown shall you wear for dinner this evening?”
“Perhaps the green velvet, Celia.”
Celia poured water into an ewer and Katrina washed her hands and face. “Have any of the other ladies remarked upon your wardrobe?”
“Oh yes.” Katrina grinned, glad that one thing was going her way. “At least some good has come out of this farrago. I live in expectation of Madame Sinclair receiving several new customers. My military-style walking dress caused quite a stir yesterday.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. It’s different enough to catch the eye.”
Why did Katrina feel as though Celia was patronising her?
“Now then, shall you wear the black velvet cap with the gown?”
“Oh yes, it’s nothing without it. I’m hoping to single-handedly generate a revival of interest in the Tudor style.”
“And so you shall. Sit still, milady. A little pale rose salve for your lips, I think, and a dusting of colour on your cheeks too. You look far too pale.”
Celia brandished something that looked suspiciously like a poor animal’s foot and attacked Katrina’s cheeks with it, ignoring her protests that she never painted her face.
“There.” Celia stood back and admired her handiwork. “You look lovely, though I do say so myself.”
Katrina thought, with clinical detachment, that she hadn’t looked better in the three days since her arrival. With a degree of self-assurance that only an especially well-cut gown can inspire, she went downstairs at the correct hour to engage with the other guests before dinner.
She’d convinced herself that Celia was right about Lord Kincade. He would no longer have reason to single her out. Which was why she was dismayed to discover him pacing the entrance vestibule, almost as though he was waiting for her to appear. She glanced about her, desperately searching for someone—anyone—else to latch on to. Although voices could be heard emanating from the drawing room, she and Lord Kincade had the hall completely to themselves. There was nothing for it. She would have to brazen it out.
She tilted her chin and offered him what she hoped would pass for a dazzlingly flirtatious smile. “Why, Lord Kincade,” she said, affecting surprise. “If I didn’t know better I’d almost think you were lying in wait for me.”
He didn’t respond immediately. Instead his eyes travelled from the top of her cap and slowly drifted down the length of her body, coming to rest on the velvet roses sewn into the flounces on her gown. They then reversed direction at an equally leisurely pace. He appraised her with a look of such deep appreciation that his fleeting expression of pure avarice made her feel as though she’d been stripped naked with his eyes. Even so, she was convinced that he could see beyond her disguise to the impostor lurking beneath.
“Lady Dupont.”
Whatever she thought she’d seen in his expression was gone in a flash. He was formally correct once again as he kissed her gloved hand. His lips felt hot, even through the thin lace of her glove, searing her skin where they made contact. Her reaction reverberated throughout her entire body, down to the tips of her toes and then back again, pooling in places she no longer allowed herself to think about. It was ridiculous and she snatched her hand away with a little laugh.
“Shall we join the others?”
“You have acquired a new modiste since we last met.” He made no comment about her extreme reaction to having her hand kissed, which she was sure hadn’t escaped his notice. Nor did he move towards the drawing room. “The ladies have be
en talking of little else this past half hour. As always, Julia, you’re the centre of attention.”
“Thanks entirely to my friend Katrina Sinclair.”
“Then your friend has a rare talent and a good eye.”
“Thank you. I shall pass on your compliments to Mrs. Sinclair. And since you admire her efforts so much, perhaps you could recommend her to the ladies of your acquaintance. That ought to keep her in enough clients to last a millennia.”
“Certainly. Where is she to be found, this paragon of the fashion stakes?”
“In Basing Lane, Cheapside.”
Kincade quirked a brow. “Then she must be very able indeed for you to patronise her establishment.”
Katrina gestured to the green velvet gown. “If even you have noticed the result of her labours then there can be no question that she is. Besides, she won’t be there for long. She confidently expects to move to a more fashionable address as soon as she’s made her mark. With me as her patroness, that’s bound to happen very soon.”
“I don’t doubt it in the slightest.”
“I shall make it my mission to ensure that she displaces the haughty Mrs. Montague, who thinks so highly of her dreadful designs. And Celestine too, whilst I’m at it.” Katrina flapped a hand. “Mrs. Montague wouldn’t know a fichu from a facing, but Lady Harling adopted her and now society’s elite have followed like sheep just because Lady Harling’s star happens to be in the ascendancy.” As she warmed to her theme, Katrina forget to keep her face averted and turned to Lord Kincade, a saucy smile hovering about her lips. His eyes lingered on her features, a slight frown creasing his brow and she quickly averted her gaze again. “I aim to evict them both from their elevated positions and put Mrs. Sinclair in their place.”
“A laudable ambition. However, I wasn’t waiting here in the expectation of discussing fashion with you, Julia, riveting though the subject might be.”
“Oh, then what—”
“I should have thought that would have been self-evident.”
“I don’t have the pleasure of understanding you.” She snapped open her fan and regarded him from behind its flimsy defence. How would Julia handle this situation? In the same manner she handled any situation involving a man below the age of sixty, Katrina supposed. She would flirt. “Our past relationship is history now and I’m happily united with Dupont.” She lifted her shoulders and flashed what she hoped would pass for a smile of marital bliss. “I trust we can put matters behind us and remain friends. Some things are better not spoken about, even between ourselves.”
His expression of bald surprise told her that she’d got it completely wrong.
“I rejoice in your ability to approach the subject in such a calm fashion,” he said. “But that doesn’t alter the fact that we are bound to be subjected to intrusive questions and ought to decide how to answer them.”
“What would you suggest?”
“Have I not already played my part in protecting your reputation?” His nonchalant attitude gave way to a savage tone. A mask of distaste twisted his handsome features, causing Katrina to wonder more keenly than ever precisely what had passed between him and Julia. Whatever it was, she suspected that Lord Kincade was not the one at fault. “It is now for you to decide how best I can be of further service to you.”
Damn, he wasn’t giving her any help here. “I really don’t see what business it is of anyone’s except ours.”
“Even so there will be speculation about the two of us being here. Without your husband in attendance,” he added mildly. “I wasn’t expected and people will naturally conclude that that was a deliberate ploy.”
“I don’t see why they should.”
He frowned. “Had my name been on the guest list, would Dupont have allowed you to come unattended?”
He eyed her significantly and she heartily wished he wouldn’t. At close quarters it was impossible to deny his attractiveness. Dark hair spilled in disorderly waves across his collar and over his brow. Vertical lines creased that brow as he stared at her through intense, disconcertingly intelligent eyes. His strong jaw was set in a stubborn line, and she knew he wouldn’t let her escape until she gave him a proper answer. Her heart beat painfully as the silence lengthened, drawing her inexorably under his thrall in spite of her determination to remain detached from his charm.
Damn it, this wouldn’t do! Katrina took a stab in the dark and went with her instincts.
“Oh, I see. Yes, put like that, I suppose tongues will wag. But since you have no occasion to think well of me, I suggest we say as little to one another as politeness dictates. That way, there will be nothing for them to talk about and they’ll soon lose interest.”
“But that’s precisely my point. No one else is aware of my true opinion of you, and they’re bound to be suspicious.”
Katrina gasped. He had just confirmed her suspicions, and it pained her to know that he held her in contempt. Or rather, he thought of Julia that way. “Well, I—”
“Ah, there you are, Lady Dupont.” Charles Chester materialised. He bestowed a suspicious glare upon Lord Kincade and took up a protective position beside Katrina. “I’ve been waiting in the expectation of fetching you something to drink. Champagne, perhaps?”
“No, thank you.” Katrina had never been more pleased for an interruption in her entire life. “I don’t much care for champagne.”
Lord Kincade glanced curiously at her, causing her to wonder if Julia had a liking for that particular drink. Too late she realised she ought to have asked Celia. But it didn’t really matter since Katrina couldn’t afford to indulge. If she allowed herself to become intoxicated, even to the smallest degree, she would never be able to continue with this farce. “Perhaps some peach ratafia.”
“By all means.” Mr. Chester proffered his arm. “May I escort you?”
Katrina almost tripped over her feet in order to oblige him. “Pray excuse me,” she said to Lord Kincade, aware of his eyes burning into her back and the thoughtful expression on his face as she walked away.
All the guests had now arrived and they were over twenty at dinner. She had no further opportunity to converse with Leo Kincade, who was swamped by young ladies wherever he moved. Fortuitously he was seated at the opposite end of the table to her. She in her turn was in great demand, but, wrong-footed by the episode with Kincade, found it difficult to keep up the pretence of the carefree society flirt.
She felt Lord Kincade’s eyes frequently drifting in her direction and studiously avoided meeting them. Truthfully pleading a headache, she escaped before the after-dinner music was performed, grateful for the reprieve.
Only four more days to endure, she told herself as she retired for the night.
* * *
On the morrow the gentlemen were taken up for much of the day with a fishing expedition and Katrina saw nothing of Leo Kincade. The ladies went into Tunbridge Wells to drink the water and purchase souvenirs. She made good on her earlier resolve and purchased a pretty trinket box for Julia and one each for her apprentices.
Things weren’t really so bad, or so she tried to convince herself as she dressed for dinner in a daring one-shouldered gown of cream Persian silk, too fine to allow for a corset. It was a variation on a toga theme and required her hair to cascade over the shoulder that was left bare, held back by a diamond clip. She looked and felt truly decadent but simply didn’t care. Julia would have worn this gown, she told herself repeatedly as she entered the drawing room to a stunned silence. Not only would she have enjoyed wearing it, but she would have carried it off with the flair her loving creation deserved.
Swamped by gentlemen keen to compliment her, it took her a moment to realise that a carriage had arrived at the front door. She turned along with everyone else to see who had arrived. A strident voice and heavy footsteps were the only early warning signals she received. But the voice wasn’t familiar to her so she was unable to account for why it made her knees quake.
Until the owner of the voice entered
the drawing room and she found herself staring directly into the face of Julia’s husband, the Marquess of Lanarkshire.
* * *
Amos was ready to commit murder. It had taken him two days, and the last of his dwindling resources, to track down the carriage that had carried Katrina out of London. Enquiries at every posting inn along the route had failed to throw up any information about the owner of the carriage or its destination. Grooms, usually the most loquacious creatures on God’s earth, either didn’t know or weren’t prepared to say, no matter how rich the inducement. No lone female answering Katrina’s description had, if they were to be believed, been seen by them.
Amos thumped his fist against the stable wall. Damn Katrina to hell and back! He slumped in the taproom at the last inn he’d tried, out of temper and funds. What to do now? Return to London, he supposed, and wait for her to reappear at her shop. But how long would he have to wait? He had no money, and London folk were mean-spirited when it came to offering tick to strangers. His whore at the Dog and Duck would be all over him like a rash, and the thought of her, to say nothing of the magical properties of her tongue, occasioned a brief resurgence of his good temper. Until he recalled his impecunious state. When she discovered that he was unable to pay her she wouldn’t want to know him.
A party of swells drifted through the room, knocking into his table, spilling some of his precious ale and not bothering to apologise. Amos growled at their retreating backs. As always with their sort, it was as though he didn’t exist. He listened morosely to their conversation as they hustled the landlord, anxious for immediate service. Only as he understood the nature of their discourse did he take proper interest. Apparently a Lady Marshall of Tunbridge Wells was having the house party of the season and two of these bucks were on their way to attend it. The others expressed envy when they learned who was to be in attendance.
“The Marchioness of Lanarkshire is the guest of honour,” said one, winking at his fellows. “And her husband’s engaged with the prince in Brighton. She’s bound to be feeling neglected so that alone makes the trip worthwhile.”
The Perfect Impostor Page 6