Stirring Passions

by Maggi Andersen

  "Can you be sure it wasn't burned in the fire?"

  "The place was searched before they put a match to it. A confounded nuisance the whole house didn't go up. Damned English climate-always raining. Who can be sure? It is a chance we cannot take."

  One voice was English, one French. Kate, holding her breath, her heart thumping, longed to look but dared not, for they would surely see her. Thankfully, they remained at the far end of the long room.

  "Damned fool, young Peter Broughton. He got greedy and asked for too much money. No one's worth that much, even in this game. Perhaps, Pierre, Lord Jason should join him in an unfortunate accident?"

  "Non! T'would prove a big mistake, Sir Harold! Two accidental deaths? That might bring more trouble down on our heads. If it looks like he's found it, we'll strike. Until then we should continue to watch him closely."

  "That is difficult, Pierre-a small village. A stranger would be noticed."

  "Mon dieu! You shall manage it, Sir Harold. That is what your spies are for, are they not?"

  Their voices trailed away as they left the room and Kate let her breath out with a gasp. Popping her feet into her sandals, she darted into the hall, but the men had disappeared into the over-crowded rooms. She daren't follow straight away in case they see her and realize she had overheard them. Fortunately, two ladies came strolling down the hallway and Kate was able to slip back into the crowd. She saw her aunt and hurried over to her.

  "There you are, Katherine. I've been looking for you everywhere."

  "I needed some air."

  Her aunt unfurled her fan and began to wave it in front of Kate's face. “Are you faint? Do you need smelling salts? Some burnt feathers perhaps? It will not do to collapse here-you know how rumours start, before you know it you'll be labelled as sickly."

  No one could feel less languid at this moment. Kate's cheeks were hot and she trembled with anger. If only she'd seen their faces.

  "Aunt, who is Sir Harold?"

  "Sir Harold? Which one, dear? There are two. Sir Harold Mortimer and Sir Harold Austerely. Both are here tonight."

  "Can you point them out to me?"

  "Whatever for? You can't have a romantic notion about either of them, surely?"

  "Perhaps I am mistaken, Aunt, but please indulge me."

  "Let me see.” Aunt Abbey looked around the room. “Such a crowd! I can only see Sir Harold Mortimer. He's the aged gentlemen with the stick, over by the fireplace."

  The man whose voice Kate heard would have been many years younger.

  "Sir Harold Austerely is not in this room?"

  "I can't see him, Katherine. I wish you'd tell me why you want to find him. He's fifty if he is a day! Why, you could have accepted Mr. Bainscort's offer!"

  "Are there any Frenchmen here? Have you met anyone called Pierre tonight?"

  Aunt Abbey fumbled with her pince-nez and peered at her shortsightedly. “A Frenchman named Pierre? What has got into you child? You must be exhausted. We shall go home immediately. Go and fetch my shawl!"

  Kate pushed through the crowd, fruitlessly searching the faces. Should she enlist Laurie's help? No, he would be sure to go off half-cocked and get into trouble. She had to get word to Lord Broughton. That would mean conceiving some excuse to leave London. Her health would have to be the cause. Poor Aunt Abbey, she was so much happier since she'd returned to society, and now Kate would prove a bitter disappointment to her. But the suggestion of delicate health and homesickness would hasten her departure, and it was partly true. She suddenly felt very homesick.

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  Chapter Five

  Kate had plenty of time on the way home to Roseheath in her aunt's carriage to think of what she'd overheard at the ball. She remembered how intent Lord Jason had been on keeping her from roaming about his property. How angry he was when she walked through his woods, and how the dog had reacted. Could there have been someone hiding there? She shivered. She knew her mother wouldn't let her travel about quite as freely now she'd come out. She would cause a scandal if she was seen going to Broughton Hall on her own. She must write a note and take the gig to deliver it. Sarah would have to come with her. That would take Sarah away from her work and make Mamma angry and suspicious, but this could not wait for another social event to throw them together. She wondered if she should tell her mother and father about it, but decided against it, fearing it might place them in danger. She had to let Lord Broughton deal with this himself.

  Kate's mother, although delighted to see her, was disappointed, too. “I did hope you'd meet someone you could love, Kate-someone who would take good care of you. Aunt Abbey said there were many opportunities, but she felt you weren't at all interested. Is it because of Laurie?"

  "No, Mamma. I just didn't meet anyone nice enough."

  "Oh, Kate. I wanted the world for you.” Her mother sighed. “Now the best you can hope for is to be the wife of a country squire."

  Kate knew how much her father and mother loved each other. “Is that so very bad?"

  "It suits me to be a country doctor's wife, but you are different. You've always had such an adventurous nature."

  Kate wasted no time in scribbling a note to Lord Broughton. She kept it simple, merely asking him to meet her at the tree where he'd found her and Laurie that day. The big old dead oak by the river. Could he come at three o'clock that afternoon?

  Offering to pick up some provisions from the store, Kate and Sarah took the gig into town. On the way home, Kate drove the horse up the drive of Broughton Hall and delivered the note into the hands of Lord Broughton's butler. She felt very pleased with herself, knowing her mother planned to take tea with a neighbor and would not be focusing on her that afternoon. But, just past two, her mother came and asked her to accompany her on her visit.

  "I feel a little unwell, Mamma,” Kate replied, hating to lie.

  Her mother began removing her bonnet. “So that is it. You're coming down with something you've picked up in that big, dirty city. I'd better stay home with you."

  "I'm just a little tired, Mamma. Please go. I'll feel worse knowing you've had to stay home because of me."

  Her mother put a hand on her forehead and gazed into her eyes. “You don't have a fever. You look extremely well, I must say, although your eyes are a little too bright."

  "I'll read a little and take a nap. By the time you're back, I'll be better. I just know it."

  "No, Kate. I'll stay home and have cook brew a tisane. I'm sure Mrs. Fife shall survive without my company."

  "Oh, Mamma, I'm really not that ill! Not a horrid tisane, please,” protested Kate in alarm. “I just need some time to myself."

  As her mother hesitated, Kate realized she would have to leave very soon, or Lord Broughton would have come and gone again.

  "It's not like you to want to spend time alone.” Kate held her breath as her mother deliberated. “Very well,” she said at last. “I'll have another good look at you when I return. Rest now."

  Sure that she was now too late, Kate grabbed her bonnet and was off as soon as the gig bearing her mother with a basket of scones rounded the bend in the road. She arrived at the tree puffed and breathless to find no one around. Fresh horse droppings told her Lord Broughton had answered her note. She stamped her foot in frustration. What next? She couldn't risk going all the way to Broughton Hall on foot. She'd never get back in time. There was nothing for it, she'd have to go home again and hope that curiosity would cause him to seek her out.

  She was trudging through a meadow when he rode up to her.

  "Why, Miss Kilgarth, what has prompted such a rash action?"

  "I'm sorry, Lord Broughton, this was the only way I could see you. I hoped I'd have plenty of time to tell you all, but I have to go home or Mamma will know I told a lie,” she replied breathlessly.

  "A lie, Miss Kilgarth? On my account?” Lord Broughton looked amused.

  "There's nothing funny about this, Lord Broughton,” said Kate crossly. “I have a good m
ind to withhold this information, although I suspect it means life or death to you."

  "What is this, Miss Kilgarth?” Looking puzzled, he dismounted.

  Kate began to gasp out her story, but in her haste, it sounded somewhat muddled. He held up his hand, interrupting her. “Just a moment.” The meadow was thick with buttercups and cowslips. Spreading his coat on the ground, he took her arm. “Sit down. Please. Take a deep breath and tell me again. Slowly, from the beginning."

  Kate sat and fidgeted nervously as he found a suitable spot that would no doubt prevent his immaculate breeches suffering pollen stains. As his horse snuffled around in the grass beside them, he said, “Now. Please continue."

  Kate began again. She described the conversation she had overheard at the ball and the names of the men involved. Lord Broughton listened intently, his frown deepening. When she came to the end, he spoke. “I've heard you called Kate, may I also?"

  She nodded.

  "I see I owe you an explanation, Kate. I have a rather sad story to tell you. I know you will not go spreading it about."

  "I am not a goose. I know when to keep a secret close."

  He nodded. “And you won't go wandering about my lands anymore, will you, Kate."

  She shook her head. “You should take great care, too, Lord Broughton,” she said fiercely. “They said they will kill you, should you find that document."

  "Jason, please,” he amended gently. “I have to go back ten years to when my brother, Peter was just a foolish boy. He began gambling and got himself into debt with a moneylender in London. He confided in me but made me swear not to tell Father. I tried to help him, gave him any money I had, but his gambling continued and he began to steal valuables from Broughton Hall to pay the dangerous rogue he was indebted to. Father was ill. I knew Peter to be his favourite son, so I allowed him to think I was responsible. I made sure that Peter had repaid the entire amount before I left, seeking my fortune elsewhere. It had become ... too difficult to remain here, so I made my way to Paris. I was very young and troubled, I suppose, but that's no excuse for getting into bad company, gambling for my living and ... well, we won't go into the rest. When word came that Father had died, I wrote to Peter. He came to Paris and stayed a while, telling me that Father never recovered from my leaving and had tried to find me. I sunk even lower. Then something happened that pulled me back from the brink."

  Kate was sure he spoke of the duel, but she kept silent.

  "I didn't hear anything from England for some time,” Jason went on, “until a letter came from the family solicitor advising me of Peter's death and the fire in the west wing. He believed Peter had been murdered-that he'd been spying for the French during the war and had hidden secret documents away somewhere at the Hall."

  She continued to sit quietly as Jason's incredible story unfolded.

  "I felt too sad to come home and had little money to do so. I was determined not to come back with my tail between my legs. Peter had gone through almost all the Broughton family fortune except for this property and the town house. He couldn't sell those as long as I lived. I settled down, used the small legacy sent over to me by the solicitor. I made some sound business dealings and my fortunes improved. But I knew I couldn't let my home molder into the ground forever. The desire to return became too strong."

  "I believe it's quite possible the document that Peter hid in Broughton Hall is still there, Kate. I want to find it, to put it in the hands of the authorities. To help my country, I guess. And to make amends for my brother's actions, too.” His eyes were sad as he gazed down at her. “And as you've just told me, other people wish to find this document for their own nefarious reasons. Sir Harold Austerely? I know the man. It seems that this list contains the names of people in high places, traitors to our country."

  "The trick is to think in the same way as my brother,” he said thoughtfully. “Where would he have hidden it? I am covering all the hiding places we used as children. The west wing was where our father's apartments were. Peter would not have been staying in that part of the Hall. I'm sure of it."

  "Might he not have moved in there after your father's death?"

  "Absolutely not. He would have felt guilt and he ran from such things."

  "Then why do you think he was there when...?"

  "He died? He may have taken his murderers there. He might have tried to escape.... “He sadly shook his head. “I don't know. But one thing I do know, Kate, is that you are not to be in anyway involved in this.” He sprang up and reached down to pull her to her feet.

  "There, I have told you far more than I intended to ever tell anyone,” Jason said, shaking his head. “There's something about you that invites trust."

  "Oh! I'll never make it home in time,” Kate cried, suddenly aware of how long they'd been talking.

  "I'll take you as far as I can without us being seen.” Jason mounted his horse. He leaned down and scooped her up behind him. Kate sat sideways, arms tight around his waist. This was the closest she'd been to any man except Laurie, who didn't really count. She breathed in his musky cologne. No man she had come across had used such a thing, certainly not Father. It was very pleasant. She leaned against his strong, muscled back as he rode over the fields and up to the band of chestnut trees that hid Roseheath from view.

  "Down you go, Kate. I am indebted to you for your help."

  He leaned down and lightly chucked her under the chin. “You're a brave, sensible girl. Take care and stay away."

  Jason rode back across the fields as Kate, holding onto her bonnet, ran full pelt for home. Arriving at the door, she heard the gig come through the gates and flew upstairs, throwing herself on her bed. Her mother came up shortly after, entering the room and exclaiming. “Oh, you look so flushed, darling.” She placed her hand on Kate's forehead again. “But you are still quite cool, so it can't be much. You overdid it in London, perhaps. Life here in the country is going to seem very dull for you now, isn't it?"

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  Chapter Six

  An elegant carriage trundled up to the entrance of Broughton Hall. The groom jumped down and opened the carriage door. Putting down the steps, he offered his hand to the occupant inside.

  Out stepped a vision. Golden curls danced from beneath a poke bonnet trimmed with feathers. The little face beneath its rim was captivating. Enormous, sapphire-blue eyes took in the burned out wing of Broughton Hall and the small, Cupid's bow mouth firmed.

  Lord Broughton came down the steps to greet her. He bowed over her hand, but his demeanor was decidedly less enthusiastic than most of the men the young woman encountered.

  "It is a pleasure to see you, Angelique, but I do wish you'd advised me earlier of your coming. I would have been better prepared."

  Once inside, Angelique's maid assisted in the removal of her sable-collared cloak, muff, and bonnet. The beautiful young woman took several dainty steps into the centre of the great hall and twirled around to face him. She put a hand up to the riotous curls that framed her perfect features. “Bon jour, Jason. The channel was very rough. I am trés fatique. I must look a fright."

  "You know very well it would be impossible for you to do so,” Jason remarked dryly.

  "I do hope I am welcome,” she said, pouting.

  "Of course. After all this is your home as much as mine."

  Her blue eyes viewed him quizzically. “I'm relieved to hear you say that it is so. I need to change and freshen up. Where have you put me?"

  "The Blue Suite in the east wing, Angelique. Not exactly Parisian in style. I hope you may be comfortable.” He waved his hand over the building work already in progress. “We are still at sixes and sevens here."

  She shook out the ruffles of her primrose carriage dress. “It shall serve nicely. Merci beaucoup."

  * * * *

  "I am glad to see you've discarded your widow's weeds,” Jason remarked, eyeing the diamonds sparkling on Angelique's bosom as they sat in the drawing room after dinner. The gown sho
wed off her lovely shoulders, a fashion he hoped the English would soon adopt.

  "Long ago, my dear brother-in-law. A person must get on with life, is that not so?"

  "I quite agree. You shall be an ornament to Broughton Hall as long as you choose to stay."

  Angelique raised delicate eyebrows. “And if I intend to stay ... forever?"

  Jason took a sip of his brandy. “You are a town butterfly, Angelique. I doubt you wish to do that."

  Angelique rose and walked about the room, lightly touching a blue Sevres vase resting on a slender, rosewood table, before turning to face him. “My marriage to Peter was brief. I doubt you know me well."

  "As you have never set foot in England, preferring to stay abroad after your marriage to my brother, I admit that is so. During our brief encounters in Paris, you revealed little of your intentions. That's why I'm curious, Angelique. Why did you marry Peter?"

  "You do not believe it was for love?"

  Jason shrugged. “I confess I'm puzzled. You showed no such wifely devotion when Peter returned to England alone. When you married, you were well aware I still lived and he was not the first-born son. You have never made claim to anything. Why have you come now?"

  Angelique studied him, her lovely face tilted slightly. “You invited me, did you not?"

  "I confess I hardly expected you to take up my offer after all this time."

  "I know one thing and that is you have changed, Jason. You are not the wild and rakish young man I met in Paris."

  "Everyone has to grow up sometime."

  She unfurled her ivory fan and fanned herself daintily. “I think I prefer the old Jason. You were so exciting in those days. And now that seems to have gone.... “She put her full lips together making a gentle ‘poof', that was, to Jason, so very French. He had to admit it made her look very kissable.

  Smiling, he said, “And now?"

  "I have not come here to criticize my gracious host, Jason. We are family. But you have become most serious, have you not? You once had fire in your eyes.” She lowered long, golden lashes, hiding her eyes from his amused gaze. “I found you most attractive."