A Sensible Lady: A Traditional Regency Romance

by Judith Lown

“No need to worry about that happening, Miss Brampton. As I told you before, I have no intention of ever again getting myself entangled in a romantic relationship.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Katherine appreciated Lord Dracott’s thoughtful asking for Aunt Prunella’s blessing of their betrothal. The aging spinster could not have been more gratified and flustered if she herself had been the recipient of his suit.

  “How very kind, Lord Dracott. I had never dreamed…” She held one hand to her heart while she dabbed her eyes with a delicate handkerchief.

  “Katherine, my dear, you must be in alt.”

  Aunt Prunella clasped Katherine to her sparrow like frame.

  Hephzibah offered her good wishes.

  Sally blushingly echoed Aunt Prunella.

  Lord Dracott, seeing Miguel silently observing the scene, crouched to the boy’s eye level.

  “Your Aunt Katherine, Catarina, will soon become my wife, Miguel. Which means that you will be living with us—and Lizzie, too—at the Hall. Will you like that?”

  Miguel smiled solemnly and nodded.

  I must remember this moment, Katherine thought. However difficult it is to be the wife of a man I love, but who cannot love me, the memory of this moment will be happiness enough.

  As Katherine and Lord Dracott walked together to where he had left his horse, Shadow, munching on grass in front of the Dower House, his conversation was of practicalities.

  “I cannot have you trudging about the lanes of the parish, now that you are my affianced, Miss Brampton. If you have errands to run, use my dogcart. I shall instruct Clem that it is yours whenever you need it.”

  “Thank you, Lord Dracott.”

  “I will speak to Wharton about reading banns. Time is of the essence.”

  Things were proceeding too fast for Katherine.

  “Have you considered the possibility, Lord Dracott, that in spite of what we believe to be true, Miguel will not be legally accepted as Richard’s legitimate son?”

  “That would not remove the wisdom of our marriage, Miss Brampton. Lizzie will still need a mother. Miguel will need protection and security more than ever. And, I…I will still need an heir.”

  Turning to bid her good-bye, he took her hands in his, glancing down at the closed fist of her left hand. Katherine opened her hand revealing the heavy ring Lord Dracott had given her.

  “Do what you can to make it fit. I want you to wear it.”

  After kissing her lightly on the forehead, he was gone.

  *****

  That night, when Aunt Prunella and Miguel were sleeping peacefully, Katherine did not pace. Why should she? The problem of Miguel’s future—and hers—was solved. But, no matter how many times she turned her pillow, she could not sleep. Her mind was a whirl. Richard had married a highborn Spanish lady. Miguel was probably their son and the rightful heir to Oak End. Miguel, not Clive Brampton, was the rightful baronet.

  Katherine would marry Lord Henry Dracott as soon as banns were read. This time, Katherine would not withdraw her promise to marry as she had with Clive Brampton.

  How long would it take for Cousin Clive to hear the news of Katherine and Lord Dracott’s betrothal? Surely parish gossip would reach him by noon tomorrow at the very latest. He had returned from escorting his mother and sister to London, just as Leticia said he would. Leticia had said that his choice to remain in Sussex during the season was because of Katherine, that he had become obsessed with Katherine. Whatever would he say—or do—when he learned that she would marry Lord Dracott?

  What Clive Brampton would say or do when he learned of the challenge to his title and inheritance from Richard was beyond contemplating. Heaven knew he would not miss the income—his mother had brought a fortune with her marriage to his father. Clive had inherited it when his father, Clarence Brampton, died. But Aunt Brampton’s fortune had come from commerce. What Clive Brampton had received with his inheritance from Richard was the patina of long-established gentry. Losing the luster of that patina—and the baronetcy that confirmed it—would be mortifying for Clive, who reveled in being addressed “Sir.”

  Eager as Katherine was for her second cousin to be permanently out of her life, she blanched at the two humiliations he was soon to face. In her heart, she felt guilty that her security rested on another’s mortification. And it would not be the first time she had inflicted mortification on Clive Brampton.

  When Katherine had withdrawn precipitously from marrying him, she had done nothing to save his pride. She had not told him directly why she was refusing to honor her promise to marry him. She had left that task to Mr. Tramell, the old vicar. She had been shocked and upset as only the very naïve can be. And that had made her thoughtless—and, yes—cowardly.

  And though she could not regret fleeing to the Dower House when Clive had inherited Oak End, she knew her abrupt departure from the only home she had known inflicted exquisite embarrassment on the newly minted baronet at the very moment of his greatest social triumph.

  Katherine sat up in bed and hugged her knees. She was no longer the easily shocked, naïve girl who had hidden behind an old priest rather than calmly explaining to her fiancé why she was breaking their engagement. This past year had presented a series of difficulties she could never have anticipated. And she had coped with each one—even the ones she had created herself. She was strong and could summon courage when it was needed.

  There was nothing she could do to warn Sir Clive of the coming challenge to his title. But she could at least tell him directly about her engagement to Lord Dracott. She could afford to be thoughtful in that matter. What had Sir Clive called it? The “ladylike” thing. She would do the ladylike thing and spare him the embarrassment of learning of her engagement from a servant—or worse—in casual conversation in Drayford Village.

  All it would take was a quick visit to Oak End tomorrow morning. No one need know about it beforehand.

  Lord Henry Dracott would forbid it, a little voice said. But I have not yet promised to obey Lord Henry Dracott, she told the little voice.

  *****

  Usually, Katherine’s prayers were for others: for Aunt Prunella’s health, for Miguel to speak. But, as she made her way through back lanes and shortcuts to Oak End the next morning, her prayers were for herself. If only she could reach Oak End, speak with Sir Clive, and return to the Dower House undetected, she would ask for nothing more.

  Sally had been too excited to notice that Katherine had not eaten breakfast. She was thrilled that Katherine was finally shedding black and was eager to sort through Katherine’s long-neglected wardrobe and rescue what gowns she could.

  “I don’t know why you insist on going out wearing that drab old black gown this morning, Miss Brampton. I could get one of your muslin gowns ready for you. You owe it to Lord Dracott to leave off mourning, Miss Brampton, you know you do.”

  “This afternoon will be soon enough, Sally,” was all Katherine answered, as she kissed Miguel.

  “And, if you have time, perhaps you could use some thread and candle wax to make this ring smaller, so I can wear it.”

  Katherine handed Sally the emerald cabochon ring. The maid gasped.

  “I’ve never seen such a ring, Miss Brampton! Lord Dracott must truly love you.”

  Katherine blinked away tears.

  “Do not be telling yourself fairy tales, Sally. Lord Dracott is marrying me for any number of perfectly good reasons, but love is not one of them.”

  Sally looked up from studying the ring.

  “With all respect, Miss Brampton, I believe what I believe.”

  Sally and Aunt Prunella assumed that Katherine was going into the village. Katherine did not enlighten them about her true destination.

  *****

  She had not returned to the estate where she was born since removing to the Dower House last July; less than a year, but a lifetime ago. Katherine decided to approach the house from the east, through a spinney that would screen her presence. She considered enterin
g her old home clandestinely, hoping to find Sir Clive before being discovered by a servant. But such a plan would only fuel gossip if and when her visit became generally known. If she were to claim innocence, she would have to act innocently. So she squared her shoulders and lowered the knocker on the front door.

  When Mrs. Root, the old housekeeper, opened the door Katherine was faint with relief.

  “Miss Katherine!”

  The old lady beamed through tears.

  Katherine put a finger to her lips.

  “It is wonderful to see you again, Mrs. Root, but I am afraid I do not want my presence here known. Can I count on you?”

  “Oh yes, Miss Katherine,” Mrs. Root answered conspiratorially.

  “I must speak with Sir Clive.”

  “I will fetch him for you, Miss Katherine. Just wait in the old sewing parlor. No one ever uses it anymore.”

  Light streamed into the familiar room. The portrait of her great-grandmother still hung over the fireplace and a pair of porcelain dogs still flanked the hearth. Katherine had cut out the dress she was wearing on the large table in the middle of the room. She turned and gazed blindly out a window. She had been so focused on bracing herself for the interview with Clive Brampton, she had neglected to consider how emotionally draining it would be to visit her lost home once more.

  “Katherine? I must confess I had not expected the pleasure of a visit from you.”

  Sir Clive Brampton, immaculate as always, stood in the sewing parlor doorway, hands on hips, eyes narrowed.

  “May I close the door, or do you wish it to remain open?”

  “Please…please, do leave it open.”

  Katherine would figure out later how to deal with Lord Dracott if servants heard the conversation through the open door and their gossip reached him. But meeting Sir Clive behind closed doors would strip the last shred of respectability from her visit.

  She had intended to remain standing, tell Sir Clive that she was betrothed to Lord Dracott, and depart. But her knees threatened to buckle and she was forced to sit down. She chose a chair at the foot of the sewing table.

  “Am I correct in assuming that you have not paid me this highly irregular call in order to accept my offer of marriage?”

  Sir Clive Brampton strolled to the table where Katherine sat and leaned against it, arms folded across his chest.

  “Yes…yes. That is…you are correct. In fact, I came to tell you, to let you know before it becomes general knowledge, that I have accepted an offer of marriage from Lord Henry Dracott.”

  “Dracott?”

  Sir Clive looked at Katherine speculatively and smiled. His smile was just short of a leer.

  “My congratulations—not best wishes, as one usually offers a prospective bride—but congratulations. However have you managed this feat? Just what has been going on, back and forth, between the Dower House and Dracott Hall?”

  “That is an unwarranted insinuation, Cousin Clive Brampton!”

  How could she have thought she owed this man anything?

  He raised an eyebrow and drew out a beautifully enameled snuffbox. He opened it in a fluid motion that Katherine knew required hours of practice, applied snuff to both nostrils and sneezed into a fine lawn handkerchief.

  “You will forgive me, sweet cuz. I was somewhat taken aback by your news. Had not seen a hint of Dracott’s special interest in your direction.”

  Katherine could feel her face flush. She studied the table.

  “That is because he has no special interest for you to see.”

  Her voice was low, and to her dismay, she had to control its tendency to shake. She did not dare look directly at Sir Clive Brampton for fear of what he would read on her face.

  He began to laugh and covered it with a cough.

  “Do not talk nonsense, Katherine. Dracott’s heart might still rest under those grave markers in St. Chrysostom’s, but the rest of his body is very much alive.”

  Katherine’s face went from warm to hot.

  This time, he did not bother to hide his rueful laughter.

  “Are you certain you made the right choice, Katherine, my sweet? I would wager that I am quite tame and biddable, compared with Dracott.”

  Katherine forced herself to look directly at Sir Clive.

  “I assure you that Lord Dracott and I have made a very sensible agreement.”

  “Yes, yes, I can see the bargain. You gain security—a home for you, Miss Summersville, and, I assume, that Spanish child you insist is Richard’s; not to mention that undisciplined canine who assaults your visitors. Dracott gains a mother for that farouche daughter of his, and a mother for his heir—all without enduring the London Marriage Mart.

  “But do not deceive yourself, sweet cuz, you will never have him. He still belongs to the fair Angela.”

  Sir Clive shrugged and strolled to the parlor door. Katherine stood to leave.

  “And when are the nuptials planned? You will forgive me if I decline the honor of giving you away.”

  “Banns will be read Sunday—so within a month.”

  Sir Clive abruptly closed the parlor door.

  “Why the haste? You have said repeatedly that you would not consider marriage until a full year of mourning had passed for Richard. I am beginning to suspect—no, strongly believe—that you have not told me the entire story behind your betrothal.”

  Katherine grasped the table edge to steady herself.

  “What a ridiculous flight of fancy on your part, Sir Clive. You just now listed the reasons why a marriage between Lord Dracott and me makes perfect sense!”

  “But I will tell you what does not make perfect sense. The brevity of your engagement, if indeed there has been nothing going on between Dracott Hall and the Dower House. And your presence here. Why did you feel compelled to come here? Your visit puzzled me from the start. And then there is the look on your face. I would advise you to never try to tell Dracott an untruth—or a half-truth—for that matter. Your face is an open book, Katherine, my dear. And right now, guilt is written all over it.”

  “There is nothing more to discuss about my engagement to Lord Dracott, Sir Clive. Now, if you will excuse me.”

  Clive Brampton remained planted in front of the door.

  “Just look me in the eye, Katherine, and tell me that you know nothing that would be of further interest to me.”

  “I said, Cousin Clive, there is nothing more I wish to discuss.”

  “That is a pity, Katherine, because I do not believe you. And I do not intend to open this door until you convince me that you are telling me the whole truth.”

  Katherine’s brain felt like cotton wool. She struggled to review her options. The longer she remained in a closed room with Sir Clive Brampton, the greater the possibility that they would be discovered and she would be compromised. That would spell disaster. If Lord Dracott learned she had told Sir Clive about Richard’s marriage—that would also spell disaster. She was lost either way. There was one possible hope: if she convinced Clive to keep the defense of his inheritance within reasonable bounds, keep his behavior civil, Lord Dracott might forgive her the indiscretion of coming to Oak End.

  She took a deep breath, slowly sat back down at the sewing table and folded her hands to stop their trembling.

  “Very well, Cousin. On condition that you open the door, I will tell you what you want to know.”

  He considered her request, shrugged, opened the door, and sat opposite her.

  “Richard married a Spanish lady of noble birth early in the summer of 1809.”

  Skepticism quickly followed shock on Clive Brampton’s face.

  “And what is your source for such a tale? Has the trooper’s widow who foisted that child on you written you of a sudden recollection?”

  “Captain Charles Hamilton witnessed the marriage. Conducted by a priest of the Church of England.”

  Clive Brampton’s face turned white, and then red.

  “If you believe that you can put that strange s
ilent child forward as Richard’s rightful heir, you have an even lighter grip on reality than I had thought.”

  “There were other witnesses. And the priest, a chaplain for the British army in the Peninsula, will have a record of the marriage.”

  Katherine had never before seen Clive Brampton look bereft. He stood, hands clasped behind his back, and walked slowly to a window that looked out on the lawn sloping down to the spinney. When he turned, his usual look of calculation had returned.

  “But it is one thing to prove that Richard was legally married. It is quite another to prove to the satisfaction of a court that the boy—Miguel—you call him, is the son of Richard’s wife.”

  “True, but now with the war over, we could go to Spain for evidence if need be.”

  Katherine decided not to mention the initials on the ring and the partial signature on the ruined papers that had come with Miguel’s meager possessions.

  “And, either way, I shall be placed in an untenable position: robbing a poor orphan of his inheritance, or being made a laughingstock for having to give up a title to which I am not entitled.”

  There was a tone of resignation in Clive Brampton’s voice that encouraged Katherine.

  “No one can blame you for accepting an inheritance that everyone believed was rightfully yours. No one will think the less of you if you insist that proper evidence be presented to back up a claim that Miguel is Richard’s legitimate son. And I would think if the evidence is accepted by the court, society will only respect you if you accept the evidence, too.”

  Once more, Clive Brampton walked to the window and apparently studied the spinney. When he spoke, his voice was so low Katherine strained to hear him.

  “I wonder if anyone has been punished as severely as I for a romp with a serving maid.”

  When he turned, Katherine read defeat and resignation on his face.

  “You might as well run along now, sweet cuz. You may tell Dracott that I will be hiring legal counsel to protect my interests. I will hire the best to be had. But I will not be staying around to discover my fate. I plan to go abroad for an extended time.”

  Katherine walked quickly to the door.