by Untamed
He turned on his heel and strode away. Watching him go, Kate had the silly thought he was nearly as moved as she. She turned back to the horse and confided, “Well, my fine girl, just as you were a princess disguised as a coster’s hack, that big, rough-mannered Scot who just left us is my true Prince Charming.”
Two happy hours later, Kate emerged from the stable, cold, covered in muck, and happier than she could ever recall being. Determined to make up for the years of neglect and abuse, she’d set out on a protocol of pampering, including brushing the dust and scurf from the horse’s coat, mane, and tail, and taking a hoof pick to clean out her encrusted hooves. Princess wasn’t only old, but she was in very poor condition. Years of abuse had taken their toll. The state of her teeth shocked Kate. It was in examining them that she came across the scarring on the animal’s sensitive gums. Obviously someone in her long line of owners had used a cruel snaffle bit to excess. She also found white scars on flanks—crop marks. That her precious Princess had been used so cruelly brought fresh tears to her eyes, not happy ones this time. For the future, though, there would be no more snaffle bits or whippings or even the weight of a saddle to be borne upon that poor swayed back. Princess’s retirement days would be filled with lumps of sugar and brushings, with pets over the paddock fence and sweet nothings whispered into her dear ears.
She was on her way to seek out her husband and thank him again when she crossed paths with her house-guest. Felicity came from the direction of the orchard. In the dead of winter, the orchard wasn’t much to see, but then Kate was given to understand from Bea that her new friend had grown up in Scotland. The tall redhead still wore her carriage costume with the jaunty purple-feathered hat. The color made for quite a contrast with her flame-red curls.
Kate didn’t really care to stop, but the woman was her guest. She couldn’t be rude. “Did you have a pleasant walk, Miss Drummond?”
The taller woman raked her slanted green eyes over Kate from head to toe, making her mindful of the less-than-pristine state of her clothes. “Aye, and please, call me Felicity. Under the circumstances, I feel like we’re old friends.”
Kate found the remark odd, as they’d never met before that morning. “You must mean because Bea and I are sisters, of course?”
Felicity quirked her mouth as though she were struggling not to laugh. She shook her head, setting the dyed purple plume bobbing. “Actually I was thinking more so because of Rourke.”
The foreboding Kate had felt ever since the hansom cab drew up increased tenfold. “You know my husband?”
There it was again, that sly, slanted look. “Oh, aye, we go back several years. We’re old friends, Patrick and I. Ah, well, it was lovely chatting with you, but I must be getting back. I promised Bea I’d help her with her hair before the tea.”
She swept past Kate on the path.
Kate stood staring after her, the surety of her conclusion rooting her in place. Felicity and Rourke had been lovers. For a horrible, heart-stopping moment, it occurred to Kate to wonder if Felicity’s arrival with her sister might not be happenstance. Surely Bea must be in the dark, but what about Rourke? These past weeks, had he only been dallying with her, biding his time for his mistress to arrive? Perhaps dallying was too strong a word. Among the ton, it wasn’t unusual for a gentleman to have a wife and mistress both. Was it possible Rourke saw taking a mistress into keeping as just another trapping of success, not appreciably different from keeping a coach-and-four or acquiring a castle?
Were he and Felicity lovers still?
There was only one person whom she could ask: her husband.
Kate found Rourke in the library. When he gave the call to enter in response to her knock, his voice sounded tight, annoyed if not precisely angry. She entered, determined to broach the subject of Felicity Drummond, though she wasn’t quite certain how best to begin. Delicately, she supposed. Delicate or not, she had to know.
Her husband sat behind his desk, drumming his pen on the blotter. He seemed put out, angry. Gone was the warm-eyed man who’d left her at the paddock fence a few hours before.
He stared at her a long moment and then blurted out, “Why didn’t you tell me our housekeeper is pregnant?”
He could have knocked Kate over with a feather. Not certain whether to be relieved or annoyed herself, she said, “I was going to tell you … eventually.”
“Eventually, hmm?”
She swallowed hard. She could already see this wasn’t going well. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react.”
“And you naturally assumed that, great ogre that I am, I’d turn her and the babe out to starve?”
Rather than answer that, she posed a question of her own. “How did you find out?” Servants’ halls, country kitchens, both were notorious mills for gossip. If lesser servants were telling tales, Kate wanted to know.
“She told me herself a while ago.”
“Hattie came to you!” Kate was stunned.
“Aye, she at least felt I’d the right to know.”
The implication wasn’t lost on Kate. Apparently she wasn’t as good at this marriage business as she’d thought to have become.
She sighed. “Will you let her, them, stay?”
He nodded. “Hattie and her babe are welcome for as long as she wishes to remain. But I’m your husband, for Christ’s sake, the very first person you should turn to in trouble, not the last. Why didn’t you come to me? Why didn’t you trust me with the truth? Is it so very hard to believe I might be a reasonable human being? Do you think me a tyrant?”
Kate bit her lip against pointing out that their marriage had, indeed, begun with him presenting himself in a tyrannical way. She liked to think in the past week they’d moved beyond the play to establish a true marriage.
“It’s not that. It’s only that I’m used to managing matters on my own. The less my father knew of the workings of our household, the better it was for all concerned.”
Staring at his wife, Rourke was torn between fury toward her scapegrace father and an odd tenderness toward the brave little soul he’d married. Poor lass, she’d fended for herself and her sister so long she was afraid to let anyone else in, to let anyone else lead, let alone help her to shoulder the burdens that life brought her way.
“Christ, Kate, we’re wed, in case you’ve forgotten. What do you think a husband is for if not to protect and cherish you and be there in your time of need, as well as to help celebrate the good times, too?”
When she didn’t answer, he rose and rounded the desk. He found her shoulders with his hands and drew her against him. Even now, he was amazed that such a tiny body could house such a wealth of will, such a treasure of soul.
“Whatever else you may think of me, whatever my many faults are, they dinna include gaming or drinking to excess or purposeful cruelty. You can trust me to be there for you in your hour of need, be that hour in the light of day or the dead of night. I want to be the one you come to with your joys, your fears, and your troubles, too. I mean to be there for you always and forever. You can trust me, sweet Kate, not only with your confidences, but also with your heart.”
What do you think a husband is for?
Kate stepped out into the corridor, closing the door behind her. Patrick hadn’t seemed angry with her, so much as frustrated and hurt. Likely that was why she found herself giving serious consideration to the question. Other than the financial aspect of their arrangement, she hadn’t given their respective roles all that much thought. She already knew how to supervise a household. Beyond knowing how, she was good at it. As for a husband’s job, she’d never given it a great deal of thought. All her father had ever seemed to do was drink, hunt, and wager away their worldly goods. From what she could tell, he’d never been a helpmate to her mother, let alone a soul mate. To Kate he’d been a neglectful tyrant and now a burden.
That a husband might be a defender and helpmate, a lover and friend, had never entered her consciousness before now. Under the circumstances, she couldn’t
find it in her heart to quiz him about Felicity. Surely whatever “relationship” he and the buxom redhead had shared was in the past. So long as it was, Kate could put up with the woman for another few weeks. As her husband had pointed out many times, a castle was a big place.
It wasn’t until she stepped out into the great hall to examine the decorating in progress that it occurred to her she hadn’t told him his former “friend” was there.
Kate’s not telling Rourke about Felicity was soon remedied—by the redhead herself. His study door had scarcely closed on his retreating wife when his former lover boldly stepped inside, the scent of jasmine floating in before her. Once he’d loved the way the perfume mingled with the scent of her freckled skin, but now he found it cloying.
“Surprise!”
Rourke looked up from the pencil he’d been grinding into pulp on his blotter and felt his stomach slide to his knees. “Felicity, what the devil are you doing here?”
She put on a pout. “Now, Rourkie, is that any way to greet an old friend?”
He hadn’t seen her in nearly two years. Running his gaze over her, he confirmed that other than the citified accent she affected to cover her native burr, she hadn’t changed much—but he had. Like her perfume, her buxom body and freckle-dusted pale skin used to drive him mad. In bed, he’d made a game of connecting the “dots” while toying with strands of her flame-red hair. Until meeting Kate, he’d considered tall, buxom women like Felicity to be his type. How was it then that Kate’s sun-drizzled brown hair, intelligent amber eyes, and tight little body now seemed all that was womanly perfection?
“Given you left me for London more than two years ago without so much as a line, I suppose I hadn’t thought of you as much of a friend.”
Her sudden desertion had left him equal parts angry and relieved. Seeing her again now, he confirmed he felt nothing at all.
She reached out to fiddle with the paperweight on the edge of his desk. The miniature railway car was a trifle Kate had found in one of the shops on High Street and picked up for him. The gift had likely only cost a few quid, but it numbered among his most precious possessions. He didn’t fancy Felicity besmirching it with her touch.
She batted her eyes and looked up at him through her lashes. Such artifice once would have melted him, but not so now. How very much more appealing he found Kate’s honest, head-on gaze to be.
“What was I to do? Opportunity knocked, and when you wouldn’t come up to scratch and marry me, I decided to answer the door. But it seems you’re the marrying sort after all.” She tossed a glance at the plain gold band he wore.
Now that the shock of seeing her again was wearing off, the horrible thought snuck up on him like a boxer’s sucker punch. “Don’t tell me you’re Kate’s sister’s friend up from London?”
She looked up and nodded. “Aye, I needed to get away for a while, and the chit, while dull-witted, can be amusing at times—and useful. Befriending her brought me here after all.”
“You can’t stay.”
She greeted that statement with a snicker. “I’m afraid I can, and I will. Were I to suddenly decamp before the holiday, surely your lady wife would wonder why.”
“You leave Kate out of this.” Rourke pushed back his chair and rose.
She was nearly a match for his almost six feet, and his standing put them on eye level. “Whether I do or not remains to be seen.”
“What is it you want, Felicity?”
She appeared to consider the question, though he knew full well she must already have her prize in mind. The woman was a first-rate schemer. “That is for me to know and you to find out. For now I’m off to take tea with your little brown bride and her dim-witted sister. Lord only knows what the three of us will find to chat about. Toodles.” She blew him a kiss and turned to go.
Heart hammering, Rourke subsided into his seat. Despite his “rule” to look forward, never back, his former mistress was conspiring to drag him back—and down—with her.
“Felicity, not so fast.” Shaking with anger, Rourke called her back.
Slowly she turned about, no doubt staging the gesture, as she did everything else, for dramatic effect. “Aye?”
“Kate means a great deal to me. Should you consider doing anything to cause her harm or distress, anything at all, know that you’ll face dealing with me—and there’ll be the verra devil to pay.”
She smiled as though pleased to have gotten under his skin. “Dinna forget, ducks, the devil and I are old friends, too.”
Leaning over the paddock rail, Beatrice offered a carrot to Princess, Kate’s pony. The grand old girl greedily gobbled it up. From the looks of her, she hadn’t received many treats over the years.
She turned to her handsome companion, the warm look in his hazel eyes sending a little flutter to her heart. “I think it’s grand that you helped Mr. O’Rourke track her down. I don’t remember her, of course. I was only two when she was, um … sold, but I know she means a great deal to Kate.”
Ralph cast a sideways look to the tall young woman at his side. Lady Kate’s younger sister was as fresh and pretty as a springtime lily and, he thought, just as sweet. It was a pity her youth and birth put her beyond his touch.
Still, for whatever reason, he found himself asking, “Do you ride?”
She dropped shy eyes to her gloved hands. The last carrot having been consumed, she’d folded them demurely over the fence rail. “No, I mean, not yet. I’d like to, though.”
“I could give you lessons during your stay. Of course, you might prefer one of the groomsmen …” He let the offer die. Jesus, what was he doing?
Blue eyes the color of cornflowers lifted to his face. “No, no, I would love it if you would take it upon yourself to teach me, but only if you have the time, of course.”
“For you, miss, I’ll make the time if need be.”
A throat being cleared had their heads turning toward the barn. Kate’s brisk strides carried her down the path in their direction. Bea bit her lip. Speaking her thoughts out loud, she said, “Oh, dear, I know that look. She’s angry, and whatever the cause, heads will roll.”
She hadn’t seen her sister scowl so since she’d arrived the day before. Even when Kate had scolded her earlier about her so-called running away, she’d worn a soft, dreamy-eyed look.
After leaving her husband in the library, Kate had decided to take yet another walk in the bracing air to clear her head. She hadn’t meant to hurt Patrick’s feelings, but clearly she had. Given the gift of hindsight, she couldn’t believe that a few weeks earlier she really had feared he might turn Hattie out. It seemed household management, certainly the marriage part of it, was a great deal more complicated than the regimens and receipts set out in Mrs. Beeton’s book.
Her footsteps carried her to the path leading to the stables. She might as well see how Princess was settling in. Who knew how much time they might have together—the pony was nearing twenty and had lived a hard life, but Kate meant to make the most of what time they had.
Voices, punctuated by her sister’s giggle, drew her attention to the paddock. Bea stood at the rail, petting Princess and making calf eyes at Rourke’s valet, Ralph Sylvester. She held back, sizing up the scene. To her way of thinking, they stood much too close for comfort, hers at any rate. She ran her gaze over the valet. He had his hat in his hands and one foot propped up on the fence rail. Before now she’d been too absorbed in her husband to notice much about the other man, indeed, any other man, but studying him now she saw that he was most attractive. He also possessed charming manners, a glib tongue, and dancing eyes, all tools in the well-equipped rake’s repertoire. She recalled how his hazel eyes had sought out her sister’s at the church and quickened her steps.
She sidled up beside them. Bea’s flushed face and sheepish look confirmed her suspicions. Mr. Sylvester had a rather sheepish look himself, as though he’d been caught with his hand in the confectioner’s jar. In this case, the succulent sweet to be had was Kate’s baby siste
r, and she meant to make sure the valet kept his lecherous mitts clear of her.
Sliding her gaze to the valet, she said, “If you will excuse us, Mr. Sylvester, I’d like a word in private with my sister.”
“Certainly, milady.” His hazel eyes found Bea’s face. “I bid you a good day, miss.” He bowed low over her gloved hand.
Watching him walk off, Bea sighed.
Kate waited until he was halfway up the path before rounding on her sister. “You were flirting. Don’t put yourself to the trouble of denying it. I saw you.”
Bea shrugged. Her heart-shaped face wore a mutinous expression. “What if I was? Would that be so bad?”
“He’s my husband’s valet.”
Bea’s blue eyes narrowed. “We can’t all make marriages of convenience, Kat. Some of us must follow our hearts and marry for love.”
For the girl to speak of marriage and a man she scarcely knew in a singular breath raised Kate’s protective instincts to full hue and cry. Her little sister must be smitten, indeed. Certainly worthy, pleasant-faced, if dull Mr. Billingsby had never put a twinkle in Bea’s eye as the valet had. Unfortunately Mr. Billingsby, while lacking Ralph’s good looks and charm, had something substantial to recommend him that a personal servant did not: an income.
Her thoughts veered to Bea’s implication that she and Rourke had made a marriage of convenience. A few weeks before she would have agreed, but not so now. Before the arrival of her houseguests, she’d thought she and her husband were well on their way to building a true marriage. But her earlier encounter with Felicity had caused her to doubt herself.
Instead of letting the comment pass, she probed, “Why are you so certain I cannot possibly understand?”
Bea focused her attention on petting the horse. “It’s obvious, isn’t it? You and Mr. O’Rourke made a marriage of convenience. You are more business partners than man and wife. When I marry, it will be to a man whose soul aligns with mine.”