by Carla Kelly
She leaned back in the chair. If I remained here, I would put him to work. I hope Malcolm does. Her eyes closed then, and she dozed a few minutes.
When she woke, dawn had reached the windows. The shaft of moonlight was gone, and the marquess was in shadow. She listened to his steady breathing, then reached out her hand to touch his forehead. She smiled to herself. He was cool now.
Quietly she glided on stockinged feet back to her pallet and pulled on her dress and shoes. She combed her long hair as she sat in the window seat, looking out at the town. Farmers were already bringing their produce to market. Soon the day would begin. Nightfall would find her far to the south, her future safely in her hands and no longer at the whim of an employer or the strange company she had fallen into.
She retrieved the canvas bag from under the bed and tied her bonnet firmly under her chin. There was no question about moving her trunk. That would only call attention to herself. When she was settled in her own place in Kent, she would send Malcolm some money to forward it to her.
She opened the door slowly, pausing at each squeak and looking back at the bed, and then hurried into the hallway, which was still dim with night. She took a deep breath and held it, hoping that the runner was still not guarding the foot of the stairs. She let out her breath. The chair was empty.
Kate hurried down the stairs and out into the inn yard. She would walk toward the marketplace, and ask where else in town the mail coach stopped.
“The King’s Rest on Crossett Row,” said a woman with a basket of eggs over her arm. “Four streets south but one.”
Kate nodded her thanks and hurried on. As she walked, the canvas bag on her arm seemed to grow heavier with each step. “Bladesworth’s Banner Street Theatre,” seemed to rumble through her mind until she kept time with the cadence. “Bladesworth’s Banner Street Theatre.”
She stopped. “This will never do,” she said out loud and then looked around to make sure that no one had heard her. She looked up. It was Crossett Row. Wasn’t that where the owner of the Banner Street Theatre lived? She shook herself mentally. You are being absurd, Katherine Billings, she told herself.
She passed a row of houses, and there it was beside the door in discreet letters: WILLIAM DAWKINS. She stopped again. That was the name of the theatre owner. Kate rested her hand on the gate, then looked down the street at the sound of a coachman blowing his yard of tin. She hurried toward the inn, breaking into a run, and not looking back at the Dawkins’s residence, where lights had come on and the day was beginning.
Chapter 9
When the room was bright with morning sun, Hal opened his eyes to the sound of his stomach growling. Despite the noise of his stomach gnawing on his backbone, he felt content. His head did not hurt beyond an occasional twinge, and he was perfectly at charity with the world in general and his mattress in particular. He settled himself into it more appreciatively and then gave a guilty start. Poor Kate, he thought, suffering on those bare boards. Well, I did offer to trade with her, and that was damned nice of me.
He looked over at Kate’s pallet by the window and frowned. She was gone. The blankets had been folded neatly, and the pillow placed on top. He looked around. Her trunk was still there, but her bonnet was no longer on the bureau. As he squinted closer at the bureau top, he saw his signet ring, which she must have removed from the canvas bag.
“Damn,” he said out loud with plenty of feeling. Miss Billings had left him, after all, and he had no idea how to locate her. He sat up in the bed that was suddenly no longer satisfactory, threw back the covers, and got to his feet. He waited a moment, testing his balance, then walked carefully to the window seat. He seated himself and looked down on the inn yard, his heart heavy, despite the sound of birds singing and lilacs in bloom just outside the window.
I need a runner of my own, he thought, someone who can locate a stubborn woman who probably does not wish to be found. He arranged the folds of Malcolm Bladesworth’s nightshirt about him, trying to remember what little he knew about Kate Billings. She had mentioned a little place in Kent and a garden and a cow. Good Lord, he thought, that could be almost any little small holding in Kent, and it was a large shire. His family seat was there, but he had vowed several years ago to remain in London, principally to avoid his scavenging relatives who also resided close by. “Odd’s fish,” he said, “if I promised any of that greedy crew a bit of land, a cow, and garden implements, they would scream such ill usage!”
He smiled as he gazed down on the lilac bushes, then pushed the window open so he could smell them. “Kate, you are stubborn and independent! Why couldn’t I have fallen in love with a brainless beauty who would require no exertion?”
It was the question of the decade, and he had no answer for it. Why do the seasons change, he wondered to himself. I don’t understand that, either.
Someone knocked on the door. Hal looked up expectantly, his heart pounding more rapidly. Dear God, let it be Kate, he thought.
“Come,” he said, acutely aware that his nightshirt was sizes too big, his face in need of a shave, and his feet bare.
Ivy Bladesworth pushed open the door. She looked around the room quickly, her face falling when she saw that Kate was not there. She came in and shut the door quickly behind her.
“That dratted runner is still in the hall,” she said, her exasperation evident. “Kate is gone?”
He nodded, but did not move from the window seat.
Ivy came closer and put the clothing over her arm onto the bed. “When she did not come down for breakfast, we feared it must be so, because she is not the sort of woman to remain in a room with a single gentleman.”
“Well, you are right,” he agreed. “I have no idea when she left, or where she has gone, and it pains me.”
Ivy cocked her head to one side and regarded him with sympathy. “Lord Grayson, you aren’t falling in love so quickly, are you?”
He nodded, wondering how easy it was to share his feelings with someone his relatives would probably cross the street to avoid, and yet relieved to speak of it to a person who obviously cared.
“Oh, dear,” she said, perching on the arm of the chair. “This has certainly been an uncomfortable forty-eight hours for you.”
“That it has, Mrs. Bladesworth,” Hal replied. He was silent a moment, intrigued by the thought that her state was far worse than his, and she did not seem to be repining about it. “But what of you, madam? What are your plans?”
Ivy shrugged. “At the moment we do not have any plans.”
She waved her hand in an airy gesture. “Perhaps we will tell our butler to remove the knocker from the door and retreat to our country estate for the summer!” She sobered immediately and folded her hands in her lap. “If you have any suggestions, we are perfectly at leisure to entertain them.”
She sat in silence then, looking down at her hands, until he cleared his throat. Ivy glanced up then, apology written on her face. “And here you are, sitting in Gargantua’s nightshirt, wishing I would leave!”
He was thinking nothing of the sort, but was remembering his own airy communication to his butler just last week. So many people are worse off than I, he thought, but how much more gallant they are. Looking at Ivy Bladesworth, one would never know that her world has crashed down on her.
He smiled at her. “No, madam, I was merely thinking how kind you have been to me. And is that my shirt, washed and pressed?”
Ivy looked where he pointed. “And mended, I might add, my lord. We did the best we could with your riding leathers, and Davy has shined your boots to a fare-thee-well and left them outside the door.”
The marquis nodded his approval. “I suppose I would not cut much of a dash in London with this wardrobe. But then, I never was a man milliner. Dash it all, Mrs. Bladesworth, why did she have to leave?”
His words sounded like whining to his own ears, like a child disappointed over a promised outing or toy. He had envisioned a leisurely summer with the Bladesworths and Kate Billings
. He would patiently let love unfold until it was a full-blown flower. There would be no relatives and no cares. Somehow he would find a way to get his wardrobe from Pinky D’Urst, and when the time was ripe, he would declare the emergency over and his life no longer in danger. By then Kate would have been his for the plucking.
But Ivy was speaking. “I have discovered, my lord, that plans only exist to be changed.” She stood up and squared her shoulders. “Ah, well, come to luncheon, Lord Grayson. Perhaps things will appear more sanguine over barley soup.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed. “At any rate, surely we can drink to the disappearance of Mr. Muggeridge, Bow Street’s Finest.”
Ivy paused at the door, her hand on the knob. “He is still with us, my lord, rather like a putrid sore throat or … or a creditor.”
“What can he possibly want?” Hal asked.
“Who knows? Malcolm thinks we should invite him to take his meals with us!”
Hal snorted. “By all means! Perhaps he will fall wondrously in love with … with Maria and leave Bow Street for a life on the wicked stage.”
After Ivy left, Hal thoughtfully pulled on his clothes. The way things stood now, it would be an easy matter to drop enough of his blunt with the landlord to pay everyone’s shot and then hire a post chaise to take him in comfort to D’Urst Hall. He could be there by dinnertime. Perhaps in the softer light of evening, Pinky’s sister would not seem so formidable. “And this will make my relatives so happy,” he said out loud, loathing himself.
His words sent him back to the window, where he finished buttoning his shirt. He ran a finger around the neck and smiled in spite of his petulance. It seemed looser, somehow. He patted his stomach. Soon I will be weak from hunger and thin as a pikestaff, a victim of the heartless Kate Billings, who abandons husbands like some people discard nail filings.
He leaned out to close the window against the relentless good cheer of summer, and there was Kate Billings now, walking slowly back to the Scylla, looking as dejected as the Bladesworths only last night. As he watched, she wiped her hand across her eyes. He looked closer. The canvas bag containing her money was gone.
“Blast and damn,” he said softly, but not without a little satisfaction. “Kate, did someone take your money? Poor honey. Are you stuck with us?” The thought made him wish to caper about, except that he feared the effect of too sudden motion on his tender skull. She disappeared into the inn, and he hurriedly tucked him shirttails into his pants and opened the door.
The runner had resumed his place at the foot of the stairs.
He stood up when Kate, her eyes on the stairs, swept past him.
“One moment, Mrs. Hampton,” he began, his voice heavy with sarcasm, “I would like a word with you.”
Damn you, Hal thought. Why must men pick on defenseless ladies?
As the marquess watched, wondering if he should come to her rescue, the runner took Kate by the arm. Without a word she slapped him with the back of her hand, and he collapsed in the chair, his eyes wide and his hand to his flaming cheek.
His eyes wide, too, Hal chuckled as his hand went involuntarily to the back of his neck. “Muggeridge, I could have told you what happens to coves who trouble Kate Billings. What a brick you are, my darling girl,” he said under his breath as she started slowly up the stairs.
To his utter amazement, when she saw him, she burst into tears, gathered up her skirts, and ran the rest of the way. To his complete gratification she threw herself into his arms and nearly bowled him over backward through the open door. “Oh, Hal!” she wailed out loud, her voice carrying far enough to suit even Malcolm Bladesworth. “You won’t believe what I have done!”
Doors opened all down the hall. Hal recovered quickly. He grabbed Kate up in his arms, closed the door with his foot, and carried her into the room, while she sobbed into his shirt.
It was useless to ask for an explanation when she was in such a state. Hal sat with her in the window seat, cuddling her close while she cried, and breathing in the intoxicating combination of lavender and sunshine in her hair. Her body was warm and softer than he ever could have dreamed. He wanted to kiss her, but she was sobbing and hiccupping, and his shirt-front was soaked. He was content to rest his hand on her hair and murmur nonsensical things.
In a few moments she stopped crying, but did not raise herself from his chest. On the contrary she settled in more comfortably, until he wondered if she slept. He was about to speak when she gave a squeak and sat up.
“Oh, I am sorry!” she declared, her hands to her face. “You must think me dreadfully forward.”
He thought her a darling, but he could not say so, not then. She dug around in her reticule for her handkerchief and blew her nose heartily. “I am taking dreadful advantage of you, sir,” she managed to say at last.
Hal owned to a twinge of conscience and took his hand from around her waist, where it seemed to fit so well. “Oh, well, damsels in distress, and all that,” he stammered. “Tell me, Kate, if you can. What happened?”
To his ineffable pleasure, she leaned against him again. It was almost as though she could not bear to speak and look him in the face. Her words were muffled in his damp shirt. “I cannot believe what I did. I must have been crazy.”
There was a long silence. Finally Kate seemed to gain possession of herself. She sat up and got off his lap, settling herself in the window seat with him, her eyes on his face, this time with an expression that he could not fathom.
“I was going to leave,” she began, never taking her eyes from his face. She raised her hands, as if to protest her words, and then settled them in her lap. “I mean, I had bought the ticket and was only waiting for the others in front of me to board the mail coach. Then it was my turn.” Her voice faltered, but she did not drop her gaze. “Suddenly it seemed the basest kind of cowardice to leave the Bladesworths, especially when I had the means to help them.” She touched his arm, but he did not move, fearful of shattering the intimacy that seemed to have settled around them like a nimbus. “I could think only how Malcolm had rejected the offer of reward for news of your whereabouts.”
“I own I have been thinking about that, too,” he murmured.
She clasped her hands together again until the knuckles were white, and then relaxed and gazed out the window, breaking the spell. “I went to William Dawkins’s house and convinced him to sell me the Banner Street Theatre,” she said in a rush of words.
Whatever he had been expecting to hear, Kate’s quiet words confounded him. Impulsively he took her chin in his hands and turned her face toward him. “You did what?” he asked, carefully enunciating each word.
Tears started in her eyes again. “You heard me,” she whispered. “I just spent my future on the Banner Street Theatre.”
He dropped his hand, then leaned forward and touched her forehead with his. “Kate, you are an incredible woman.”
She looked out the window again. “Thank you, sir, for not calling me a fool.”
“Never that,” he said, his voice as quiet as hers, “although I must admit this takes my breath away.”
“Mine, too,” she agreed. “Lord Grayson, I have spent my life in obedient compliance with the whims of a somewhat eccentric parent.” She looked at him, as if to gauge his reaction. “I do not wish to appear in any way disrespectful of the dead, because I am not.”
“I understand, Kate.” He took hold of her hands. “I hope I am not being forward myself when I say that I am not put here to judge you.”
She smiled. “We judge ourselves harshly enough, do we not, my lord? Thank you for your forbearance. I told myself that I would never be a child of chance again. When Mr. Cratch handed me all that money yesterday, I had my entire course plotted out, right down to the shingles on the roof of my little small holding in Kent.”
“Then why did you change your mind?” he asked. He released her hands and leaned back. Please tell me it is because you find me irresistible, and you cannot draw another breath without me close by. H
e grinned at the absurdity of his thought.
“Must you grin in that perfectly odious way?” she asked, but there was a touch of humor in her voice. “Well, really, why should you not? This whole episode is quite, quite absurd. I did it because it seemed like a good idea at the time.” She drew her knees up and rested her chin on them. “Of course, each step I took back here convinced me otherwise, but it was too late.” She reached out her hand to him impulsively. “Oh, please say that you will help me!”
“This sounds like work,” he teased, taking her hand.
“It will be,” she assured him. “Mr. Dawkins insisted on walking me through the theatre, which suffers from serious neglect. I defy even the most haunted of houses to boast more cobwebs! But Hal, it is a fine old building, with sound floors and walls.” She squeezed his fingers, in her enthusiasm. “Of course, the curtain wants repair, and it all reeks of bat soil.”
She sprang up then and went to her trunk, rummaging around until she found some paper and a pencil. “I believe I will put you on a tall ladder, and you can make short work of the bats and—”
“Wait!” Hal exclaimed, holding up both hands. “What makes you think I know anything about bat removal?” He shuddered. “Good God, woman, you are presuming a great deal.”
Kate hurried back to the window seat. “Perhaps we can smoke them out,” she said, frowning over the paper. “And we will need to wash down everything and paint it all.” She looked up from her notes. “And I will make you manager, Hal.”
Lord Grayson shook his head and took the pencil from her fingers. “No, you will not, my dear. You are in charge. I will happily serve as your assistant, but this is your venture.”
She looked at him for a long moment, and he watched doubt and uncertainty chase themselves across her expressive features. She began to chew on her lower lip. How full your lips are, he thought. I wonder if they feel as good as they look.