by Mira Stables
Matters fell out much as he had expected. The arrival of a new and reasonably eligible bachelor in polite circles was greeted with acclaim. Old friends remembered him, and put the word about. By the end of the week he had a list of engagements that would have done credit to an habitué, and he had made the acquaintance of Viscount Sandiford.
If Katherine had not been involved in the matter, Dermot would have dismissed the Viscount as quite a pleasant sort of fellow, perfectly at home on any sporting suit, if a bit of a lightweight when it came to serious affairs. Speculation was rife as to his chances of success with “the heiress”. The majority held that these were good. This was Katherine’s fourth Season. She must surely be concerned to find a husband soon, unless she wanted to end up an ape leader. Apart from his debts and his expensive habits, Lord Sandiford was quite a creditable parti. There were some, however, who stood to it that the girl would never have him, pointing out that he had made all the running during the previous summer but the affair had fizzled out with the ending of the Season. Dermot took what comfort he could from these few. It was true that Katherine was seen a good deal in Sandiford’s company, but Dermot did not think that her manner showed anything more than liking for a pleasant escort. In fact, the greeting that she extended to himself showed an equal warmth.
She teased him a little, declaring that he was quite the last person that she had expected to see in Town, and wondering how the heifers and the hay crop were getting on in the absence of the master; but she was perfectly happy to dance with him, to drive out with him, and to accept his escort to various entertainments including a masquerade at Covent Garden. They went in a party of six of Dermot’s arranging, so that for once Lord Sandiford did not make one of the number; and this circumstance caused one or two knowledgeable witnesses to enquire if he had been ousted from his position as favourite in the Martenhays matrimonial stakes. This fellow new-come from the country was a dark horse, but he seemed to be making most of the running at the moment. Came from somewhere near the Martenhays place, didn’t he? Probably a friend of the family.
The rumours reached Viscount Sandiford’s ears. He had already noted with strong disapproval the easy terms upon which Mr. Winfield stood with the lady. In his pursuit of Katherine he had never before acknowledged a serious rival, but now it seemed that he must do so, and just when delay might be most dangerous. He knew very well that the announcement of his betrothal to Katherine would soothe the fears of his most pressing creditors, but, with a nice calculation of the odds, he reckoned that he had no more than a month in which to bring her up to scratch. He had nothing personal against Mr. Winfield—a pleasant, unassuming sort of man if somewhat rustic in outlook—but the devil was in it that he should turn up now at such an awkward juncture of affairs.
Alarmed, he set himself to out-manoeuvre his opponent, exerting all his considerable charm, and his knowledge of the best entertainment to be found in Town, to please and amuse Katherine. He even abjured his regular attempts to redeem his fortunes at the gaming table, in favour of taking her to Almack’s, that deadly dull holy of holies; and behaved so prettily, not only to Katherine herself but also to several of the Patronesses, notably Lady Jersey, that he was generally held to be reforming his way of life in preparation for entering into the bonds of matrimony. Since this was the impression that he had wished to convey, he counted the evening well spent despite its tedium. A second foray on the same front was less successful, since Mr. Winfield was also present, and Katherine danced with him twice. She danced twice with his Lordship, too, and no other gentleman was so far honoured, but that could scarcely be counted a signal victory.
His Lordship became anxious, but he could not devise any means of ridding himself of his bucolic rival. He had wild thoughts of provoking the fellow to a duel—just to incapacitate him for the necessary period. But for that to be of any use it was necessary to emerge the victor, and the fellow was reputed to be a good swordsman and a pretty fair shot with a pistol. Moreover, he was even-tempered and not addicted to heavy drinking. It would be difficult—perhaps farcical—to force a quarrel on such a man. He was well-liked, too. Sympathy would be on his side. His Lordship, unusually sensitive just now to the current of public opinion, rejected the notion. He concentrated instead on the invention of gallantries to be poured into Katherine’s ears, but since she had little liking for counterfeit coin, and was very well aware that she did not outshine all other females either in point of beauty, in wit or in fashionable accomplishments, he got little good of that. She smiled and disclaimed, or even told him not to be so ridiculous. And when, driven to desperation by such cold-heartedness, he renewed his offer of marriage, she pointed out, kindly enough, that she had refused him once, and that she was not the sort of girl to change her mind. His friendship she would be sorry to lose, since she found him an agreeable companion, but she had no intention of raising unfounded hopes in his breast. Unless he could accept his dismissal as final, it would be better if, in future, they avoided one another as far as possible.
He was in no position to cavil at this ultimatum. The extent to which he was seen in Miss Martenhays’s company was probably the only thing that kept his creditors at bay. He would not lightly forego her society. He humbly begged pardon and promised not to transgress again.
Katherine felt guilty, as well she might. It was true that she had no intention of marrying Lord Sandiford, and she had partly salved her conscience by making that abundantly clear, but she could not help feeling that his persistent attentions were serving a very useful purpose, and that it would be rather a pity if they suddenly ceased. They seemed to exercise such a stimulating effect on Mr. Winfield. Why that gentleman was still lingering in Town she could not quite fathom. He showed no sign of taking his departure, though surely he must have a dozen urgent tasks awaiting his attention at home. She knew for a fact—he had told her so himself—that this was the first time since his salad days that he had spent the summer months in Town. Of course it was quite probably financial exigency that had driven him to rusticate so completely in the past, while this year he could afford to be a little more extravagant.
Yet somehow she did not think that the social round was any more to his taste than it was to hers. Could it possibly be—she scarcely dared to hope—that in his own casual fashion he was paying court to one Katherine Martenhays? His manner was still not in the least lover-like. He paid her no elegant compliments, sent her no posies; but when they attended the same parties he was never far from her side, and was always at hand to attend to her comfort, whether she only needed a cool drink to refresh her after an energetic country dance, or wanted her carriage summoning early because she had the headache. And she had noticed that once or twice he had deliberately filched her from under Lord Sandiford’s nose. He would ask her to dance, just as his Lordship was approaching with the same intention. Once, when she had already danced with him twice, he had asked her to accompany him on a tour of their host’s picture gallery. He had not suggested that Lord Sandiford go with them, though his Lordship had hovered expectantly in that hope; and they had spent an entertaining half hour in lively discussion of the portraits, Mr. Winfield, displaying a vein of humour that she had not suspected in him, and offering his conjectures as to the dispositions and histories of the various subjects.
He was, in fact, delightfully attentive, but not possessive. And she wanted him to be possessive. There was no longer any doubt in her mind that she had found the man with whom she wished to spend the rest of her life, and she would not despise any shift that forwarded the possibility of a marriage between them. If Lord Sandiford’s attentions made her appear more desirable to Mr. Winfield, then she would make what use she could of them.
So it came to pass that Society was treated to a comedy that entertained it delightfully. Within the week bets were being laid in the clubs as to which of the rival contestants would win the lady. A naval man, dropping in at a party where all three were present, cracked an idle jest about port and star
board watch. The idea caught on, though nobody was quite sure which of the two gentlemen was which. People would enquire with an amiable twinkle as to which watch was on duty. Through all this, the lady preserved an admirable impartiality. If she drove out with Lord Sandiford in the afternoon, she would be found riding with Mr. Winfield in the Park next morning. She might have been comforted to know that the odds on Mr. Winfield’s success were shortening. He might not be wealthy, but he was a man of substance, said the knowledgeable; a man of good sense, too, with a pleasant way with him, well liked by his own sex, and quite a favourite with the ladies. If he was looking for a wife, he could take his pick of half a dozen eligible damsels. But his preference for Miss Martenhays was so marked, that the match-making mamas had resigned themselves to failure where he was concerned. If the girl could be persuaded to take Sandiford, then there might be a chance for some other maiden, but not otherwise.
Thus matters proceeded very smoothly and pleasantly, on the surface. But one of the three principals was deeply uneasy. In the early days of the rivalry Lord Sandiford had assured himself that Mr. Winfield’s attachment to Katherine was a very milk and water affair, probably born of his acquaintance with her Papa—they were close neighbours, he understood—and his lack of other female acquaintance in Town. As the newcomer’s circle of friends widened to include some of the real ‘diamonds’ of the ton, he would probably transfer his attentions elsewhere. After all, decided his Lordship, apart from her money there was nothing exactly intoxicating about Katherine. She was a nice little thing if you liked them quiet and pretty behaved. For himself, he preferred something a bit more dashing and colourful, though Katherine—with her dowry—would do very well as a wife. Once the knot was tied, one could always seek entertainment elsewhere. And perhaps it was better to have a wife who would be docile and submissive. After all, there was the title to consider. That meant an heir. He would not like to think that there was any back door business when that was in question. Yes, he would content himself with the dutiful Katherine—if only he could be sure of her.
That was the rub. Mr. Winfield’s courtship, if courtship it was, and not just damned interference born of friendship for the girl’s father, seemed to intensify instead of dying a natural death. His Lordship had done his best to bring various other damsels to Winfield’s notice. So far as he could judge, it was useless. The fellow was polite and pleasant to them, danced, chatted and returned them to their chaperones without making any attempt at improving the acquaintance. Whereas, whenever Sandiford tried to get Katherine to himself for a minute or two, he was forever falling over the fellow. What was equally alarming was his belief that Katherine liked his rival pretty well. Certainly she made no attempt to avoid his company, but rather seemed to encourage him. His Lordship’s reflections grew more and more gloomy. Something would have to be done. Proposing to the girl was no good. She had said she was not the one to change her mind, and he believed her. Very well, then. She must be obliged to change it. The only problem was how to achieve this desirable result.
It took him some time to find the answer, and even longer to devise a means of accomplishing it. Not even his best friends would have described his Lordship as being fertile in invention. Moreover, he was of an easy-going disposition so long as his own comfort was not in question, and he did not really care for the notion of distressing and frightening a girl, be she never so obstinate. But after racking his brains for a couple of days, he was reluctantly forced to the conclusion that he would be obliged to compromise Katherine in order to ensure her submission to his wishes. He wouldn’t really hurt her, of course, and though the resultant scandal would be unpleasant for her, it would soon be forgotten once they were safely married.
Comforting himself with such thoughts as these, he set about planning a scheme for abducting the lady and holding her captive for, perhaps, two or three days. That should be sufficient to achieve his design, and would serve the additional purpose of disposing of any objections that his prospective father-in-law might think of making to the proposed match. After such an adventure, any father would be only too thankful to have his daughter safely wed. After all, it was not as though he was just anybody. To be sure his pockets were wholly to let, but there was the title and an ancient name, and a crumbling, tumble-down ruin of a house in Sussex. Besides, he meant to be a kind husband. He would not interfere with Katherine’s pleasures, so long as she was discreet, and he would see to it that she did not interfere with his. So much settled, it remained only to arrange just how the abduction should be carried out.
It should have been easy. He was sure he had heard, in a vague sort of way, of several such affairs. But it turned out to be not easy at all. He had not concerned himself particularly with the details of such cases as came to his notice, and he could scarcely seek out the principals at this late date and ask their advice on the proper conduct of an abduction. Or had they been elopements? He had an idea that Gretna Green came into it somewhere, and for that he would need a post-chaise and numerous changes of horses. And how was he to persuade the lady to go with him? She had driven with him often enough in his curricle, but a closed carriage was a very different matter. He would have to invent a very urgent errand, and explain that he had borrowed a friend’s carriage in case the weather should turn wet.
All this planning and contriving was very exhausting, especially as he dared not change his usual way of life lest anyone grow suspicious. His manner grew more and more abstracted as he wrestled mentally with the awkward problems that kept presenting themselves to his imagination. Katherine, ascribing his lack of spirits to anxiety over financial matters, felt quite sorry for him, and did her best to distract his thoughts, accepting his suggestions for various outings in an uncritical spirit, and feigning an enjoyment that she did not really feel.
It took him a full week to complete his plans. They were complicated by his determination to manage the whole thing himself, with only the help of his groom. To be bringing strangers into such a business was both distasteful and dangerous. Besides they would have to be heavily bribed, and he simply did not have the money. For the same reason a post-chaise was out of the question. Postilions were notorious gabble-mongers, unless they were handsomely greased in the fist. A neat, light chaise, with his own groom to drive it. That was the ticket. And he had thought of an unexceptionable pretext for the outing. He would take Katherine to make the acquaintance of his Cousin Charlotte. She lived in Kensington, and was married to an officer in the Guards. So much was perfectly true. The fact that she was at present in Leicestershire at her parents’ home, awaiting the birth of her first child, need not emerge. He could tell a pitiful tale of her loneliness, say she was just new come to Town, and longed for congenial feminine company. That ought to turn the trick with the tender-hearted Katherine, and persuade her to overlook the impropriety of driving alone with him in a chaise.
Once he had her safely installed in the chaise, the rest was comparatively simple. Jason would have orders to drive them straight to the Grey Goose Feathers, a snug little hostelry just off the Great North Road. Its landlord, an ex-prize-fighter, had a kindness for his Lordship, who had been one of his patrons during his fighting career. He could be trusted to turn a deaf ear to pleas for help. And his sister, a tight-lipped Amazon, would supply such woman’s gear as Katherine would require for her brief stay. No doubt it would be pretty rough, not at all what she was accustomed to, but she should be thankful for even such simple provision for her comfort. He himself had no intention of laying a finger on her. Her absence from home, her presence alone with him, unchaperoned, would be quite sufficient to enforce her consent to his proposal. No one would ever believe that her sojourn in the inn had been wholly innocent.
Chapter Ten
It seemed that, for once, fortune had decided to smile upon his endeavours, for his plans worked more smoothly than he had expected. Katherine lent a sympathetic ear to the tale of his cousin’s predicament, and promised to go with him to call upon her.
Tippy Warner was perfectly willing to lend his light town chaise, giving only half an ear to his Lordship’s tale of escorting Miss Martenhays to visit friends, and never thinking of enquiring as to why the lady could not use her own perfectly adequate carriage. To be sure, Katherine looked rather doubtful when he presented himself with a chaise instead of the curricle that she was expecting, but the sky was rather overcast which might well presage rain, so his Lordship’s explanation about the desirability of a closed carriage sounded plausible enough. She did consider summoning an abigail to go with her, but, as it chanced, she had sent her own maid on an errand from which she was not yet returned. She decided that she was being unnecessarily fussy over so short a journey, and mounted into the chaise without further hesitation.
Lord Sandiford then proceeded to regale her with a long and detailed account of his friendship with Mr. Warner, the owner of the elegant chaise in which she was riding. It began with the two of them at school together, and it was exceedingly dull, but good manners compelled her to attend to it, and even to ask one or two helpful questions which set the narrator off again. She did not for a moment suspect that they were not bound for Kensington, but were working their way steadily northward.
She did think, however, that they must be taking a roundabout route. Not only did the journey seem unduly protracted—which might have been the effect of his Lordship’s saga—but she saw no recognisable landmarks. However, this was easily explained. When she enquired, she was told that his Lordship had wished to try out the carriage a bit, because his cousins were thinking of buying it from Tippy. He was duly apologetic for the delay, but did Katherine not think that the vehicle was extremely comfortable? He was discovering in himself an ingenuity in answering awkward questions that filled him with admiration.