Summer House Party

by Regina Scott

  Could it be his feelings for Kitty were deeper than he’d thought when he proposed their engagement of convenience?

  Chapter Seven

  The hermit was easily sorted. Promises of treats from the kitchen convinced the elderly fellow to sit and pose for their guests rather than seek their conversation. But when Kitty returned to the house, she discovered that the hermit was not the only celebrity at the party.

  She was the most sought after lady present.

  Quentin had suggested their engagement of convenience might have just this sort of effect, but she failed to find a reason. It could not be the result of curling her hair or borrowing Lucy’s dress. The other young ladies were similarly coiffed and gowned. Nor did she behave any differently. She still settled squabbles and kept things humming along, seeing to the needs of the household and its guests.

  Now that she was engaged to be married, however, everyone seemed to see her differently. Instead of observing conversations, she was made part of them. Miss Gaffney asked her opinion on the new style of poke bonnet. Mr. Danvers inquired as to whether she had enjoyed the past Season. Miss Eglantine and her sister followed her about as if intent on observing her least action. It was as if she had been elevated from gentry to royalty.

  It was the same way when she and Quentin joined the other couples on a trip to see the village church the next day. The two had agreed that Quentin should join the festivities whenever possible. Yesterday, it had been touring the estate and playing whist, the latter of which he and Kitty had won handily, while Uncle even nodded approval. Today, it was taking in the delights of the village that catered to the various estates in the area. The church there was a fine example of Norman architecture, all square lines and firm stones as if unwavering in its convictions. Everyone seemed most impressed with it.

  All the guests had at last arrived, making for a set of five unmarried ladies and six gentlemen. With uneven numbers, a gentleman was forever pursuing a partner. Fortunately, with Mr. and Mrs. Eglantine serving as chaperones for the group, Kitty was spared much of her usual duties to Lucy.

  Now Quentin’s black boots flashed in the sunlight as he strolled with Kitty through the churchyard, where gravestones marched in an orderly fashion across the grass.

  “You will find me a sad trial,” Kitty told him. “Here your ruse is succeeding, and all I can wonder is why they suddenly care about my opinions. I am the same person I was last week. I have grown no cleverer, done nothing particularly fascinating.”

  “Except betroth yourself to the black sheep of the county,” he reminded her with a smile.

  “Former black sheep,” she countered. “And it isn’t as if you’ve done anything particularly interesting since returning either.”

  Indeed, as if to disprove their expectations of him, he’d gone out of his way to be congenial. Nothing in word or manner had been the least bit scandalous. She wasn’t sure why that fact annoyed her more than her sudden popularity.

  “What would you have me do, madam?” he asked with a polite nod to Mr. Danvers, who was once again partnering Miss Gaffney. “Stand on my head on the lawn? Challenge another gentleman to a duel for looking at you with approbation?”

  She couldn’t help a laugh at the suggestion. “Now that would be interesting. I can just picture it. ‘You spoke to my betrothed about banal subjects. I demand satisfaction, sir.’”

  He chuckled, earning him a frown from Mr. Cadberry, who seemed to think a churchyard the place for serious contemplation, despite the fact that Miss Alice Eglantine on his arm giggled at every comment he made.

  “I’m sure duels have been fought for less reason,” Quentin said. “But if their conversation fails to amuse, avoid it.”

  She sighed. “I could before. Now, I find I must join in. It would be impolite and impolitic to do otherwise. After all, I am supposed to be currying their favor.” Especially his. She felt her face heating at the thought and glanced to where the ever-earnest Mr. Fredericks was escorting Lucy along the lane verging on the churchyard. Her cousin’s skirts were as purple-blue as the forget-me-nots they passed.

  “Once you jilt me, they will all congratulate you on your good fortune to escape leg-shackling yourself to a scapegrace like me.” His tone was joking, but she heard the edge to his words.

  “More likely they will lament that I let such a matrimonial prize slip through my fingers,” she told him. “Spinsters generally do not attract such devoted followers.”

  “You should.” When she glanced at him in surprise, he drove the point home. “You were an attractive young miss connected to a respectable family, Kitty. You have only grown surer of yourself. Why must you end up on the shelf?”

  She could feel her face heating. “That is kind of you to say, Quentin, but . . .”

  “Stop,” he said. “I am not kind to speak truth, though I begin to think others have been cruel to speak lies. If you wish to marry, Kitty, I’m sure you could find a fellow to accommodate and think himself the most fortunate of men in the bargain.”

  She was saved a response by the appearance of Lucy, now accompanied by Mr. Willingham. Her cousin had latched onto the lanky Londoner and seemed to have switched her allegiance from the lackluster Mr. Bitterstock, if her besotted smile was any indication.

  “I would very much like to know what you are saying to your betrothed to put her in such fine looks, sir,” he said to Quentin.

  For once, Kitty could think of no answer. At least no answer that would not get her or Quentin in trouble.

  Quentin took her hand and brought it to his lips, sending a tremor through her. “And how could a groom fail to compliment such a lovely bride?”

  “Oh, well said,” Lucy put in, eyes shining.

  “Perhaps we should switch partners,” Kitty couldn’t help teasing. “You gentlemen could walk together, and Mr. Willingham could profit from your vast experience.”

  “Perhaps he should learn by example.” Quentin released Kitty to offer his arm to her cousin. “If you would favor me, Miss Lucy. After all, we are soon to be family.”

  “Indeed we are.” Lucy removed her arm from Mr. Willingham’s. With a wink to Kitty, Quentin strolled off with her cousin.

  Mr. Willingham stared after them, face darkening.

  “You needn’t accompany me,” Kitty told him. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with your moment of pique. A brooding gentleman is all the rage in some circles, I’m told.”

  He seemed to recall himself and swept her a bow. “Your servant, Miss Chapworth. It would be my pleasure to take a turn with you.”

  He offered her his arm, and Kitty could not convince herself to refuse it. They set off through the gravestones again. Mr. Danvers had relinquished Miss Gaffney to Mr. Townshend, who was as likely to trip over his feet as to stammer as he toured her about the area. Mr. Cadberry now had the elder Miss Eglantine, who was nodding with all seriousness to his discourse about a general buried here. Mr. Fredericks stood with the younger daughter and her parents by the church steps, but Kitty thought he was only looking for a moment of weakness from Quentin before pouncing in to offer himself as Lucy’s partner again.

  “I take it you and Mr. Adair have known each other for ages,” Mr. Willingham ventured, his gaze on the couple ahead of them. Lucy was leaning closer to Quentin as if drinking in every word. Kitty could not muster jealousy. Lucy might be lovely, but Quentin seemed to prefer his lady to have wit and intelligence. Did that mean she might have a chance?

  “Yes,” she told Mr. Willingham, knowing she must make some kind of conversation with the fellow. “Mr. Adair and I have known each other since the Wars of the Roses in the fifteenth century. Sadly, he was for York and I was for Lancaster.”

  He did not pursue her jest. “How happy you were brought back together again. Quite a boon for you, what with Lucy soon to find a groom.”

  Now Lucy was turning a delicate shade of pink the color of a seashell’s heart. Kitty could feel Mr. Willingham’s arm tightening under her hand.


  “Yes, of course, everyone will expect me to be thankful for his attentions,” Kitty said.

  Mr. Willingham bent closer. “Mr. Adair seems very good about showing a lady his attentions. I would be more than delighted to show you my attentions as well, dear Kitty. Would you like that?”

  Kitty leaned closer to him with a smile. “Not in the slightest. Speak to me in that odious tone again, and I will do you an injury that will be felt by generations of Willinghams, assuming you find a woman willing to marry a fellow so lacking in character. Good day, sir.” She pulled her hand off his arm and stalked to the side of the church, where the shadows would hide her face.

  Hot tears burned her eyes, and she dashed them away with her fingers. She wasn’t even sure why she was crying. It wasn’t as if she’d truly believed that someone might be moved to offer for her. But to go from hope to insult in a matter of moments was not to be borne.

  She forced herself to take deep breaths of the warm summer air, to focus her gaze out across the village green to the shops and cottages beyond. A horse cantered by, and she recognized the rider as her uncle’s steward. Where would he be going in such a hurry?

  Quentin rounded the corner of the church to find Kitty staring stonily across the green, fists bunched in her skirts. What had her in such a taking? He’d spent the last few minutes attempting to get more than platitudes and proverbs from her cousin, hoping for some glimpse into Sir Thomas’s plans. He’d tried everything else short of spying on the fellow in the last day and a half. Alas, the fair Lucy was as vapid as she was sweet. She could tell him nothing about her father’s business dealings. Instead, she had spoken in glowing terms of her fondness for Kitty.

  “I thought perhaps I might invite her to live with me,” she had confided to Quentin. “But I’m not sure my husband would appreciate my devotion to her. I’m so glad she’ll have a home now with you. I do hope you’ll live here in England so I may see her.”

  “I have yet to decide,” Quentin had told her. Her plan was well meaning, but she was correct that a husband would likely find three a crowd. And apparently her father had not told her he intended to exile Kitty to Dartmoor once Lucy was wed. He had handed Lucy off to the eager Mr. Fredericks and gone in search of Kitty.

  Now Quentin put a hand on Kitty’s arm. “Easy,” he murmured, bending his head to hers. “I don’t know what has upset you, but how would it look to your guests if they saw you take yourself off in high dudgeon?”

  Those dark eyes boiled like clouds before a storm. “Frankly, sir, I find I cannot care.”

  “Frankly, madam, you care too much. If you didn’t, you would never have agreed to my proposal.” Grip tightening on her arm, he attempted to steer her deeper into the shadows, away from prying eyes.

  “An agreement I regret more with each passing moment,” she assured him, digging in her heels. “Unhand me or I shall scream.”

  He straightened with a shake of his head. “Scream.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, opened her mouth, and screamed.

  Quentin was so surprised he released his grip on her.

  Immediately, they were surrounded—by concerned guests, by worried footmen. Even the coachman who had driven her here abandoned his horses to dash to her aid.

  She fluttered her hands before her face. “I thought I saw a mouse. There. On the steps of the church. It might have run across my foot. Why, if dear Quentin hadn’t had his hand so firmly fixed to my arm, I could have fallen to my death.”

  They all assured her of her safety, her bravery under adversity. Two of the footmen began a hunt for the creature. Quentin pitied any animal they might come across. When Lucy suggested Kitty should return to the grange and lie down with a moist handkerchief on her brow, Kitty tearfully agreed. And the minx had the audacity to wink at him as she was led away.

  “Tricky thing, that,” Mr. Danvers commiserated with a pat to Quentin’s shoulder. “Who would have guessed that even the redoubtable Miss Chapworth would be put off her stride by a mouse?”

  “Who, indeed?” Quentin replied. He could not help but admire the way she’d turned the tables on him.

  But how would Kitty react if Quentin asked her to help him turn the tables on her uncle? She believed herself beholden to the fellow, after all. Did he dare enlist her aid to stop the man before Sir Thomas ruined his family?

  Chapter Eight

  Kitty had never liked dampened handkerchiefs. The things were clammy and cold, and some stank to high heaven. But a few moments reclining on a divan with linen soaked in lemon verbena on her brow was a small price to pay for the startled look on Quentin’s face when she’d followed through on her threat and screamed. She smiled just thinking of it and the laugh they’d share when next she saw him.

  “Thank you, Lucy,” she said, removing the cloth and laying it aside as she sat up. “I feel quite restored.”

  “You are so brave,” Lucy said. “I don’t know what I would do if a mouse attempted to run over my slippers.” She shuddered.

  Kitty rose from the divan next to the fire in Lucy’s large room. “I’m certain it was the most harrowing experience of my life. Now, then, what do we have planned for your guests this afternoon? I believe it was bowling on the west lawn and then a musicale this evening. What will you be singing?”

  Lucy rose as well from the chair a footman had positioned next to the divan. “I thought perhaps I’d accompany you on the pianoforte instead.”

  “Me?” Kitty caught herself clutching her chest and abandoned the theatrical gesture. “I haven’t been asked to perform in nearly ten years. I doubt anyone expects it of me now.”

  “Surely Mr. Adair is looking forward to it,” Lucy protested.

  “If Mr. Adair values music so much, let him take a turn behind the piano.” Much as she wanted to return to Quentin, she knew she must speak to Lucy while she had her cousin alone. “Now, dearest, please tell me your heart isn’t set on Mr. Willingham.”

  As if she expected Kitty to argue against him, Lucy lowered her gaze. Kitty could see her lips trembling. “He is very attentive.”

  “And far too full of himself,” Kitty cautioned. “You could do better.”

  Her cousin raised her gaze, anguish written on every delicate feature. “But who, then, Kitty? Mr. Danvers seems to be taken with Patricia Gaffney, and I cannot but be happy for them both. Mr. Cadberry is too cold. Mr. Townshend is kind, but I cannot convince myself he cares overly much for me. Oh, I don’t think I shall ever be as happy as you and Mr. Adair.”

  Guilt nipped at her. “I would not call us happy, dearest. More contented with what the other is offering. For you, nothing less than a love match will do. We must keep looking until we find the perfect fellow.”

  Lucy nodded, but still the tension remained on her pretty face. “I do appreciate all your help. But how can we go on as we have once you’ve wed? You will have your wifely duties. And Mr. Adair may even want you to return to Jamaica with him.”

  A vision swam up—bright beaches, dusky green trees, blue skies, and warm breezes. Exotic music drumming from the hills, and Quentin leading her into an assembly with pride.

  Was it possible? She felt as if the dream was just out of reach, and she didn’t know how to grasp hold of it.

  “Our plans are not set yet,” she told her cousin. “Suffice it to say I will most likely continue playing your chaperone until you have no further need of me.”

  “Oh, good.” Lucy managed a smile at last, face brightening. “I’m so glad, Kitty. You understand me better than anyone. Father always seems so annoyed when I ask questions.”

  “Annoyance is your father’s natural habitat,” Kitty replied, turning for the door. “He wouldn’t thrive anywhere else.”

  “Perhaps not,” Lucy agreed, following her. “But the last few days he seems to be even angrier than usual. He was talking to Mr. Summers the steward about some business venture. I gather it’s a race of some sort.”

  Kitty frowned as her cousin passed her
out the door. It wasn’t like her uncle to indulge in horse or yacht racing. In fact, he’d decried the sports as the pastimes of wastrels and profligates.

  “What sort of race?” she asked, remembering the steward’s uncommon hurry earlier.

  “I don’t know,” Lucy said as they headed for the stairs. “He simply said that he must win at all costs.”

  Kitty felt as if someone had tossed a rock into her stomach. What sort of venture was this? Had Uncle wagered his estate? It was not held in trust—worse luck. Would she and Lucy soon find themselves with no means of support? Surely the man was smart enough not to take such risks!

  Still, she couldn’t help keeping an eye out for her uncle as she and Lucy rejoined the festivities. But neither Sir Thomas nor Quentin was anywhere to be seen, and when she asked Ramsey about them, the butler pointed her to the library.

  “Mr. Adair has been closeted with Sir Thomas this past hour,” he murmured. “And never have I seen the master more earnest. I cannot like it, Miss Katherine.”

  “Nor can I,” Kitty assured him. “Let me know the moment he leaves my uncle’s side.”

  “Certainly, miss.”

  As it turned out, all the other guests had finished their activities for the afternoon and retired to change for dinner before Ramsey sought her.

  “Mr. Adair has returned home to change,” he reported.

  “And Uncle?” she asked.

  “Has gone for a walk.”

  A walk? Why would her uncle leave the grange this time of the evening, knowing he must shortly preside over dinner? Did his actions have something to do with this race Lucy had mentioned?

  Normally, Kitty did her best to avoid meddling in her uncle’s affairs. But if Lucy’s future was at risk, Kitty could not sit idly by. She needed to know whether her uncle’s plan might harm her cousin and how Kitty might mitigate the effects. So, after thanking Ramsey for his trouble and sending him about his duties, she slipped out of the house and stood on the terrace, which had a commanding view across the estate. It was easy enough to spot her uncle, striding toward the folly. Was he another Chapworth who used the little temple for clandestine meetings?