She considered summoning Celia and insisting that they leave immediately. Better to invent some reason for cutting her visit short than wait for the axe to fall. But something held her back. Celia appeared so intent upon her remaining here, that Katrina doubted whether the woman would obey her orders. Disturbing aspects of Celia’s character had emerged over the past few days, and she was almost afraid of her. Or would be if living for two years under a dictatorship that went by the name of marriage hadn’t toughened her up. She had hidden depths Celia knew nothing about, even if they hadn’t prevented her from landing up in this damnable mess.
Katrina slowly exhaled, unable to reach any conclusion other than one. She had made her bed, in more senses than one, and would just have to see this thing through.
* * *
Leo’s attempts to gain a good night’s sleep were doomed to failure. He tossed and turned, kept awake by burning questions about the identity of his lovely partner in that fountain. He tried telling himself that he would be better advised to keep her at arm’s length and concentrate upon his reasons for being here. But his mind was having none of it and kept drifting back to the depth of emotion she invested in her rather naïve responses to his caresses.
Yea gods, if he carried on like this he’d finish up running mad.
Leo sighed and adjured himself to think about something else. Once Boscombe returned, he would decide what to do about her without allowing emotional involvement to supersede his duty. She could do no real harm in the meantime and it would be better to keep her where he could remain aware of her activities. Besides, if her intention lay in the direction of thievery then unless she was a very hardened or very desperate criminal indeed, being aware that he knew she was an impostor would surely make her think twice. Reassured on that point, he thumped his pillows into a comfortable nest and closed his eyes.
Leo had only just broken his fast late the following morning when Boscombe returned.
“Good heavens!” Leo quirked a brow. “Did you travel all night?”
“No, my lord.” Boscombe looked as immaculate as ever, even though he’d travelled to London and back in less than a day. “When His Grace understood the reason for your enquiry he thought I ought to start back last night. I spent the night at the Bell and took to the road again this morning at first light.”
Leo felt a frisson of anxiety. What was so terrible about the impostor that getting intelligence of her activities to him was so vital? He took two letters from Boscombe and broke the wafer on the first. It was from Richard in response to some suggestions he’d made. He laughed aloud at a particular reference to the duchess and her tiara. The second letter was penned in his sister-in-law’s neat script.
My dear Leo,
What intriguing questions you do pose. Richard tells me that the answer is of some import in respect of whatever the two of you are up to this time and so I shall tell you everything I know about Julia Coulton, as she was before she so unwisely (in my opinion) married Arthur Dupont. Not that I have much to tell, mind.
As you are aware, Julia is Lord Coulton’s eldest child and only daughter. Three brothers came after her but Julia was always Coulton’s favourite and he felt she needed another girl to bear her company. His steward had a daughter a few months older than Julia. Katrina, her name is. I can’t remember the steward’s name. Is it important, Leo dear? Anyway, the two girls shared a schoolroom. By all accounts, they became inseparable, impersonating one another and giving their poor governess regular fits of the vapours.
Leo thumped the table. That was it! That was what had been niggling at the back of his mind all this time. He remembered now, calling at the estate himself about ten years ago and briefly seeing two young girls, so much alike that they might be twins, frolicking in the garden.
The lady whom he had almost seduced in the fountain last night was Katrina something or other, steward’s daughter and childhood friend of Lady Julia Coulton. Now things were starting to make a little more sense.
He eagerly read on.
I seem to recall that Katrina’s father disliked her having a fancy education and getting ideas above her station but could hardly take issue with his employer in that respect. I gather that when Julia removed to London to prepare for her season, the steward took control of his daughter by insisting that she keep house for him and her brothers. She was subsequently married off to a local innkeeper.
I know nothing about the marriage, other than a little over a year ago the husband died in mysterious circumstances. His brother tried to insist that Katrina had murdered her husband.
“Good God!”
“My lord?” Boscombe looked up from tidying the room with a questioning expression.
“A murderess? Surely not?”
He returned his attention to his letter.
It was much talked about at the time but since you were abroad, Leo, I don’t suppose word of it would have reached your ears. The brother said he had proof that she tripped her husband up and caused him to tumble down the cellar steps. But when asked to produce that proof he was unable to do so. Katrina was exonerated and Coulton wouldn’t let the brother take over the tenancy of the inn. He disappeared, swearing revenge.
I’m not sure what became of Katrina after that. Her father wouldn’t take her back, vowing that no murderess would live beneath his roof. I know she harboured a strong desire to design fashions. I recall seeing some of her earlier efforts when she was still in the schoolroom and they were surprisingly good. Suffice it to say that if you really are of the opinion that someone other than Julia is at Upton Manor pretending to be the marchioness, then it can only be Katrina. It was just the sort of game they used to play as children, although why they would continue to do so now is a question I am, alas, unable to answer.
I do hope this information is of some help
Yours affectionately…
Leo reread the letter and then folded it carefully, tapping it against the edge of the table as he thought matters through. He now knew the identity of the impostor. There didn’t appear to be any doubt about that.
All that was left for him to establish now was the reason for it.
Chapter Sixteen
Celia rattled the door from the outside, rousing Katrina from a restless sleep. She had no desire to get up but knew Celia wouldn’t go away. Drowsily she pushed the covers aside and crossed the room on bare feet to unlock the door. Celia’s expression cleared when she saw that Katrina was actually there.
“I thought you’d run away.”
Katrina levelled her eyes on her. “Don’t imagine that I didn’t consider it.”
“Why the locked door?”
“Lord Gower. I knew he was going to be difficult. He came by here twice last night and I really did think that he would break the door down at one point.”
“You should have rung for me.”
“I told him that I had. It was the only thing that made him go away.”
“Well, never mind that now,” Celia said, less than sympathetic. “Lady Marshall is planning another excursion into town for the ladies. Lord Marshall is gathering the gentlemen up for some sort of sporting activity. I think they want everyone out of the way whilst preparations are made for the ball. I’ve made your excuses. Said you had a megrim.”
Katrina frowned.
“You don’t look particularly well, and we need an excuse for some privacy so we can practise the dance.”
“You take a lot on yourself.”
“We’re both only here to do my mistress’s bidding.” Celia pursed her lips. “Best not lose sight of that.”
“As if I could.”
Katrina plunged her hands into the water Celia had poured into the ewer. No sooner had she ingested a slice of lightly buttered toast and drunk her hot chocolate than Celia all but dragged her into the adjoining room.
“The duchess will be arriving this afternoon and they’re putting her in this room next to you. It’s already been prepared and they won’t light the
fire until after luncheon so we can use it to practise our steps.”
They did so for what felt like an eternity, Katrina almost collapsing with fatigue at the end of it all. Her only consolation was that she had improved a little. Just so long as the gentleman who partnered her had some idea how to lead, there was a vague possibility that she might actually get away with it.
Very vague.
“You ought to go down to luncheon,” Celia said.
“No, what I ought to do is sleep for a fortnight.”
“It’ll look odd if you don’t appear.”
“I don’t care.”
Celia sniffed and drew the curtains to shade the room. “Lord Gower will think you’re avoiding him.”
“For pity’s sake, that’s precisely what I’m doing!” Katrina lay down and then sat up again. “Why did Julia agree to meet him here if she had no intention of attending?”
“She did mean to attend but her plans changed.”
“And she didn’t think to tell me about Gower.”
“It must have slipped her mind.”
“How convenient.”
Celia knew a great deal more than she was saying but would never admit it.
“What’s this?”
Katrina glanced up. “What?”
“This mug thing with flowers in it right beside the bed. Who’s been in here?”
“No one. I thought you’d put it there.”
“I’d pick wildflowers and put them in a tarnished tankard by your bed? I’ll thank you to remember that I have standards.”
But Katrina wasn’t listening. She’d barely spared a glance for the flowers before. Now she was staring at the tankard, fear trickling down her spine more poisonously than a virulent disease. She’d know it anywhere. The battered vessel belonged to her late husband. It was very distinctive. A prized possession that she’d filled more times than she could remember.
And the flowers? Jeb always picked flowers on the morning following a particularly debauched assault upon her. It was his way of making matters right. The only sign of remorse he ever displayed. She clasped a hand over her mouth, afraid that she might be physically sick. She thought she’d finally managed to bury those memories but once again they flooded her mind and she doubted whether she’d ever be free of them. The room spun but somehow she hung on to consciousness, willing herself to think coherently as the truth slowly dawned. Jeb was in his grave. She’d seen him placed there herself. She didn’t believe in ghosts. That left only one other option.
Amos.
Jeb’s vengeful brother had somehow tracked her down. And he was here. Inside Lady Marshall’s palatial home, letting her know that he could get to her whenever he felt like it. Even when she barricaded herself behind locked doors.
“Are you all right?” Celia shook her shoulder, finally rousing her from her nightmare. “You look half-scared to death.”
Only half? “I’m…I’m just tired.”
“It’s that tankard, isn’t it?”
Katrina didn’t trust Celia and, even in her traumatised state, had no intention of confiding in her. The doors had been locked all night against Lord Gower. Celia had the only spare key. For someone to gain access to this chamber she would have to lend it to them. Or put the tankard there on their behalf. Amos Fisher could be a charming rogue when it suited his purpose, easily able to persuade a maid into doing his bidding by pretending he was playing a joke on her mistress. Some joke! It was Celia who had drawn Katrina’s attention to the tankard, proof positive of her complicity. She’d probably been asked to report back on Katrina’s reaction.
She sat a little straighter as determination nudged aside at least some of her fear. Damn it, she wouldn’t give Amos the satisfaction. She’d been frightened of him since the first day she met him, sensing a dark facet to his personality that left his brother’s cruelty in the shade. She’d rejected him, he held her responsible for Jeb’s death, and he was out for revenge. But she simply wouldn’t permit her trepidation to show. Not to him and certainly not to Celia. The timid mouse had spent almost a week pretending to be something she wasn’t, and so far she’d got away with it. She’d survive this latest blow too.
“Shall I take them away?” Celia indicated the flowers. And the hateful tankard.
“No, leave them there. It’s a shame to throw flowers away when they’re still in full bloom.”
“As you wish.”
“Leave me, Celia. Wake me in two hours with some tea and something light to eat.” She doubted she’d be able to get anything past the lump currently constricting her throat but would have to try. “Lock the door behind you,” she said, waving her maid away.
Katrina lay down and turned her back on the hateful tankard. How the devil had Amos found her? And why hadn’t he denounced her? The answer to her second question was self-evident. Amos was out for number one. He probably thought he could extract money from her, and from Julia, in exchange for his silence. Julia—she would be affected by this too. Katrina had endured so much this week rather than expose the deception, only for Amos to tear her efforts to shreds. That couldn’t be allowed to happen. Her friend’s entire future was at stake.
Except Katrina was no longer quite so sure that Julia was her friend. She was fairly sure Julia had known her husband would appear at Lady Marshall’s but hadn’t let that stop her from gallivanting off in pursuit of her own pleasures. Worse, she’d actually written to Lord Gower and told him she’d be here. Alone. Katrina frowned. It was as though Julia was inviting discovery.
Why? None of it made sense.
* * *
Against all the odds, she must have dozed. A gentle tap at the door roused her. Her senses immediately on full alert, she sat bolt upright but didn’t respond. The knocking became more persistent. Whoever it was didn’t seem inclined to leave her in peace. A moment’s reflection convinced her that Amos wouldn’t accost her in broad daylight in such a fashion. He could never pass for gentry and no male servant would expect admittance to a lady’s boudoir when she was known to be resting. But Lord Gower was another matter. Would he have the nerve? Very likely, since he thought she’d invited him.
“Tethys, are you all right?”
Relief swept through her. It was Lord Kincade.
“I’m sleeping.” She paused. “Or at least, I was.”
“Let me in. I need to talk to you.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“No. Come on, quickly, before someone sees me.”
With a resigned sigh, Katrina pushed back the covers, tied a robe tightly over the chemise she’d been resting in and cautiously opened the door.
“What do you want?”
He slipped past her and closed the door. Suddenly the large room seemed to shrink with his powerful presence. Which was ridiculous.
“I was worried about you. No one has seen you all day.” He gripped her shoulders and peered at her face. “And it seems I was right to be concerned. You’re very pale. Are you sickening for something?”
The desire to say yes was compelling. That way she’d be able to leave this place without disgracing herself on the dance floor. But it wouldn’t serve. Amos knew where she was and wouldn’t let her out of his sights now. Even if she did manage to evade him, he could get to her through Julia.
She looked up into Leo’s concerned eyes, the need to unburden herself never more acute. She could trust him. Something told her at least that much. But caution was inbuilt and she held back. “No, I’m perfectly well. Just saving myself for the rigours of the evening to come.”
She should have known that he would see straight through such a paltry half-truth. He moved away but only to lean against the mantelpiece and observe her from a distance.
“Has anyone told you you’re not cut out for deception? Your face is too honest and gives you away.”
“And yet you know me to be dishonest.”
“But not why.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “It’s no great mystery.”
“You would be disappointed in a dull account of two women coming to one another’s aid.” She forced herself to smile. It felt as though her face would crack with the effort and she doubted whether it would deflect him for long anyway. “Far better that you invent your own reasons. They will be a vast deal more entertaining.”
“You are the only entertainment I crave.”
His voice had lowered in pitch, his eyes darkening as they trapped her face. Katrina panicked. There was no threat in his words. Or his expression. Merely desire. And, she suspected, the wish to help her. She chewed her lip, her mind whirling. Wondering if she dared.
“Well, my lord, it seems you must exercise patience,” she said lightly. “The entertainments don’t commence until this evening.”
“I will respect your confidence, Tethys. On that you have my solemn promise. Had I wished to make trouble for you, I could have done so long before now.”
“How long have you known?”
“That you’re not Julia? I suspected about five minutes after I arrived here.”
Katrina gasped. “How?”
He flashed an enigmatic smile. “Julia and I have a history. You knew nothing about it. You said you’d seen my brother at the theatre and he never goes.” He shrugged. “Lots of little things.”
“And yet you didn’t give me away.” She frowned. “Why?”
He paused before responding. “At first I was curious to know why you were here. And then…” He kicked a log farther into the fire before it could slide into the grate. Sparks shot up the chimney and she followed their direction with her eyes. Anything was better than meeting Leo’s intrusive gaze. “I was intrigued by you. You aren’t actually doing any harm and it was amusing to see you pulling off the deception in front of all these refined people.”
The Perfect Impostor Page 18