“Horace,” she called loudly. “We’ll be needing several spits this time. Thank ye, m’lord. Ye are a good man.”
Worse followed when, as she was washing her neck and arms, she heard John actually invite him to dine with them.
“With pleasure,” Kelthorne responded warmly.
“And Mr. Doulting, too, o’ course,” John added.
“He will be much gratified. And if it pleases you, Mr. Ash, I shall bring a keg of beer.”
The actors who had followed him to Mrs. Marnhull’s wagon, all cheered him with several rousing, “Huzzas!”
“Ye have yer answer, m’lord?”
Judith was horrified. Had he now so insinuated himself into the troupe that she must endure his presence at nuncheon? So it would seem.
The real question, however, she could not yet answer— was this by design?
Judith sat down on her bed, only this time a little too hard for the corner gave way and she landed with a bounce on the canvas floor.
“What was that?” she heard Kelthorne ask.
“Judy, did yer bed fall again?” John called to her.
In this moment, her tent was far too close to Mrs. Marnhull’s wagon for her to be in the least content. She wore only her shift and her corset and even though she could not be seen, she felt quite exposed. “Aye,” she responded “But, tis no matter.”
“Miss Lovington’s bed has a weak post,” she heard John explain.
She felt her cheeks grow warm. How could he be speaking to Kelthorne about the state of her bed?
“How unfortunate,” Kelthorne said. “Perhaps someone should tell her to stop jumping about on it.”
The men laughed at his joke. She rolled her eyes and pulled a face, an expression no one could see, of course, but which afforded her some consolation.
“I must go,” Kelthorne said. “But I shall return with Mr. Doulting. At what hour?”
“Nuncheon be served at one,” Mrs. Marnhull stated firmly.
“We shall not be late.”
Judith spent the next several hours wishing some evil would befall Kelthorne to prevent his coming. No such misfortune, however, occurred, for five minutes before the hour, both gentlemen arrived, dashing in their riding clothes and top boots and astride two very fine horses, which Horace immediately took charge of.
As it was, nuncheon set her nerves on fire. With Lord Kelthorne sitting at her table she felt more vulnerable than she had in a very long time, though given his conduct, she did not feel particularly justified in her feelings. He held a pheasant drumstick and complimented Mrs. Marnhull on her culinary skills. He slipped peas into his mouth and flirted audaciously with Betty who in turn had taken to chewing her mint leaves more frequently than was usual for her. He ate the potato and cheese dish that was a favorite with the troupe but only once deigned to look at her. He did not even smile. Instead, he asked Bobby to pass the small beer and winked wickedly at Angelique who trilled her laughter so delightfully that Judith had the strongest urge to pull hard on long, curly locks.
Fortunately, Judith sat beside Mr. Doulting who proved to be a very good sort of man and an excellent companion at table. He kept a flow of conversation going throughout the meal and in the end she realized he had learned quite a lot about her: that the red rose was her favorite flower, that she favored pearls over diamonds and that Byron did not hold so much pleasure for her as Wordsworth.
A wonderful discussion of poetry followed and very soon she culled from him the information that he was a hopeful poet himself.
“Perhaps not hopeful,” Mr. Doulting said, taking a long pull on his tankard. “I have no expectation of finding my efforts in print, but I am excessively fond of scribbling.”
“I should love to read your work some day.”
Only then did Kelthorne address her. “He will never permit you to do so, Miss Lovington,” he said. “No one is allowed to read his poems.”
“Have we a poet among us?” John asked.
Mr. Doulting was obviously embarrassed and said, “A poor amateur at best.”
Judith knew that a score of questions would follow, so she said hastily, “I have been noticing your waistcoat. Do you perchance have your clothes fashioned by Weston? I am in the habit of making use of a needle, as most of the troupe is, and cannot help but admire the stitchery. Quite perfection.”
She watched him breathe a sigh of relief as he said, “Weston, absolutely. He is the very best tailor in London.”
“Henry, you should look at the embroidery work,” Judith said. “I think it might suit the Richard II cape you have been working on.” She turned back to Mr. Doulting, “Henry, if you must know, designs the costumes but we all share in the labor of fashioning them.”
Mr. Doulting was indeed very impressed and so followed a lively discussion of the various costumes he had already seen on stage and after nuncheon requested a tour of the designs for forthcoming performances.
Judith removed herself from the lively group clustered about the earl and his friend choosing to help Mrs. Marnhull clear the table. She had an opportunity, therefore, to watch Kelthorne among his inferiors.
He seemed quite comfortable with them, perfectly at ease. He had a congenial manner that thwarted defensiveness from those around him. Nor was his language bawdy in the presence of the ladies and he turned every such comment aside as lightly as though he were fencing with great skill. She found, much to her dismay, that she actually approved of him.
And yet, particularly after having lived in such a wild, insecure manner for eight years, her instincts had been carefully honed. Therefore, she sensed rather than saw that he had begun a determined, careful assault on her innocence.
“I think him a good man,” Margaret whispered, as the pair of them began preparing to wash the dishes. “He is my idea of wat a gentleman ought to be.”
“He does appear to have some rather fine qualities,” she agreed, glancing at him over her shoulder. He met her gaze briefly and nodded to her. The smile reached her lips before she could stop it. His smile broadened in a manner she could only think bespoke a sense of triumph.
With a lift of her chin, she turned back to the duty at hand. Thus she and Margaret worked quietly side by side for several minutes. Her friend glanced back more than once but Judith refused to do so, not after such a smile as Kelthorne had given her, at least not until Margaret said, “Do look, Judy. La, but has he just won me heart.”
At such a warm statement, Judith could not help but turn around. She saw a sight that melted her heart as much as it had Margaret’s. Shelly was sitting on Kelthorne's lap and he had his arm protectively about her waist as the child fed him a biscuit.
Judith quickly averted her gaze from the tender scene and concentrated instead on scrubbing the plates, sinking her hands once more into the hot water. Unexpected tears bit at her eyes. How wretched of Kelthorne to do something so sweet for now the deepest longings of her heart rose up like a fiery dragon from the hidden places of her soul. She felt as though her heart was being burned within her chest.
She rarely thought of what she had left behind in Sussex, the day she had run away from home. Yet somehow, seeing Kelthorne holding little Shelly, brought a dozen memories swelling in her mind all at once, of her invalid father whom she had adored, of a beloved uncle and cousins, of all her girlhood hopes and dreams that one day she would have a family of her own. She had been a proper Miss Pensbury and her father a respected baronet, Sir Christopher Pensbury. On the heels of these precious reveries, however, came the awful reasons for her escape.
The memory returned to her sharply in this moment, of the vile attentions of the Marquess of Stolford. He had been introduced to her in a bookshop in Brighton by her stepmother during the summer of 1810. He was afterwards a frequent visitor, by her stepmother’s invitation, to her home. She had not understood why she had been so often summoned to the drawing room, always, of course, when her father was resting in his bedchamber. She had been so young, just fourteen
, and it was highly unusual to be in company, nonetheless with a Peer of the Realm.
When the marquess took to kissing her hand upon his departure, she grew uneasy, though she could not say why for he was always kind in his attentions. Her governess, Miss Holywell, however, had understood precisely what was going forward but had said nothing until she overheard Stolford suggesting to Lady Pensbury that they take Judith on a tour of the West Country, perhaps spending the autumn at his country house.
How innocent she had been at the time for she had not in the least comprehended her governess’s extreme disquiet. Miss Holywell had been forced to explain in horrifying detail both the nature of Stolford’s reputation as well as precisely what would happen to her once he had her captive in his home. How quickly her childhood had disappeared in that moment.
She had fled her home with but a note left for her father. Little had she known she would never see him again, for he perished that Christmas. Her intention had been to reach her uncle to seek his protection. Fearing that Stolford would overtake her were she to use the most direct route, she had traveled in a circuitous manner. But by the time she reached her uncle’s house, the marquess’s coach had been in the drive. Only then did she understand that she would never be safe.
Tears now trickled down her cheeks.
The memory of Stolford still haunted her. In securing her safety from him by disappearing, she had forsaken her girlish dreams. To dwell on her former life, however, was to break her heart anew so she was in the habit of avoiding such thoughts. But how could she not be reminded today, with Kelthorne in the camp and holding Shelly so tenderly, putting her forcibly in mind of the life she had been taught would one day be hers—a gentleman to take as husband, a comfortable home, and, of course, a dozen children all racing down the halls and playing and squabbling.
Kelthorne had done this to her, with his kisses that had affected her so powerfully, whose mere presence caused her heart to flutter, and whose character was more complex than she would have thought possible. How much she wished such a man did not exist.
“Judy,” Margaret called to her softly. “Ye have washed that un fer the last five minutes.”
She felt a blush rise on her cheeks. “I fear I was thinking of other things.”
Margaret, who was drying the dishes, reached up and wiped a tear from her cheek. “So I see,” she murmured gently.
Chapter Four
“We would not press you, Aubrey, but she is absolutely perfect, you can have no notion, though you shall see for yourself when she arrives with the rest of the party shortly.”
Kelthorne regarded his elder sister quite coolly, his arms folded over his chest. Mary and Amy had arrived this morning, much to his surprise.
Upon returning from another hunting expedition—brought short by a sudden downpour, but from which he had still been able to provide Mrs. Marnhull with several rabbits—he returned to the stables only to find Mary’s carriage on the drive. They had arrived several days earlier than expected and the disappointment he felt was profound since he not only had been enjoying himself enormously with the troupe but he was right in the middle of his most precious scheme to tear down Judith's defenses. He felt as though a bucket of ice water had just been dumped over his head. Worse still, his prospective bride-to-be was due to arrive within the hour.
“You know I do not like to be surprised,” he said coldly. “Why did you not stay with our original plan?”
“I fear it is Radsbury. He has been required to go to London in three weeks’ time rather than six and we felt we should step up our plans. I do apologize for not informing you sooner, but a letter sent post would not have arrived before us.”
“Where are Radsbury and the others?”
“One of the wheels in the third coach was loose,” Amy explained. “Radsbury and Newnott stayed behind to see the task accomplished. He begged us to go on ahead so that you might be given a fair warning of our change of plans.”
“Well, it is most inconvenient,” he said, thinking how Judith had looked this morning.
When he had left the rabbits with Mrs. Marnhull, he had caught sight of her in a gown of pink muslin, her chestnut hair hanging to her waist as she swung little Shelly in circles. At the time, he had known the strongest impulse to leave his horse and even if she protested violently, to gather her up in his arms and kiss her. What fortitude it had required to merely tip his hat to her, to feign an indifference he was far from feeling, then to ride away.
“Aubrey,” Mary snapped.
He turned to look at her and saw that her eyes had narrowed suspiciously.
“What is it?” he inquired.
“Have you got up a tryst with one of those actresses? I have already been given to understand by your most exceptional butler that you have permitted an entire troupe of actors to camp in your pasture beyond the orchard. We saw them as we drove by. I was never more shocked to learn you had done so.”
“It seemed a harmless request to oblige, particularly since the troupe has promised us an entire month's entertainment. So far their performances in the local theater have exceeded our expectations. Have they not, Laurence?”
“Very much so,” Laurence said. He was seated by the fire reading a newspaper and did not bother to look up as he spoke.
Mary rolled her eyes at both of them. She was but three years Kelthorne’s senior yet had always treated him as though she was a great deal older. She had large hazel eyes, sharp features and light brown hair looped in several very tight narrow braids. She would have been accounted a beauty had she not been in the habit of keeping her lips pinched tightly together as though to keep her thoughts and feelings from streaming out of her all at once.
“Have you forgotten that we have a prospective bride with us?”
“I believe I should let you both know at the outset, that I have every intention of choosing the next countess of Kelthorne for myself.”
“And so you shall,” Amy said, her tone placating. She was a year younger than Mary but at least did not treat him in the same officious manner as her sister. She was taller than Mary but had a sweeter countenance.
“I would even say that Mary has spoken too stridently.” When he barked his laughter, Amy continued hastily, “But even I have hopes that you might find this young woman quite to your taste. She is refined, elegant, in possession of more poise than any young lady ought to be, and very very beautiful.”
At this, he turned and frowned at Amy. “She sounds like a paragon.”
Mary’s eyes twinkled. “She might just be. And I should tell you that in this case, I believe she might be too good for you, especially given your wretched reputation.”
Kelthorne was mollified. “I have no doubt that you are right about that.”
Laurence folded his newspaper and rose from his seat by the hearth. “I confess that now even I am grown intrigued.”
Amy turned to smile upon him. “So you should be, Laurence, for not only is she quite the most beautiful lady I have ever laid eyes upon, she is also a considerable heiress. If my brother will not have her, she might just do for you.”
“What is her name?” he asked.
“Abigail Currivard.”
“And why have we not heard of her or seen her in London?” Kelthorne inquired. “We are there quite often as you very well know.”
The sisters glanced at one another.
“Oh, ho!” Laurence cried. “Do I apprehend the stench of trade in the air?” He was laughing as he spoke.
Mary lifted her chin. “The spice trade and you will not call it a stench when you hear that her dowry alone is eighty thousand pounds. Upon the death of her father, she will inherit more.”
Kelthorne was astonished.
“Good God,” Laurence said. “I believe I may swoon. And where did you discover this creature?”
Mary left the small circle they had made and took up a seat on a sofa opposite the chair Laurence had just vacated. “We shall tell you everything you wish to
know, but not before you ring for some tea.”
“Of course.” Kelthorne moved to the wall by the door and gave the bell-pull a sharp tug. He ought to have done so sooner for when she was increasing, she was easily fatigued.
Mary looked about her. “I approve very much of the changes you have made. Uncle was such a nipcheese but these fabrics—and such a pretty shade of green—are of the first quality. I am so glad that you have inherited Portislow for a finer house one may not find in many counties.” She was puffed up with pleasure. “And it is so fortunate that the house proper is not part of the castle, otherwise, given how cold and damp castles are wont to be, you probably would never be at home.”
A discussion ensued about some of the changes until the butler appeared and tea requested.
“I’ll admit that this is a comfortable house. And I did rely entirely upon the expertise of the woman you sent me, Mary. Do I apprehend that since she resided in Bath, you had a hand in choosing and sending the fabrics?”
Amy laughed. “We both did.”
His sisters then launched into a detailed explanation of all their searches through various shops, and how they consulted with good friends whose taste they each approved. Kelthorne was happy to let them rattle on and he could even confess, despite the disruption of his plans, he was glad to see his sisters.
When tea arrived, he set the service before Mary and very soon each held a cup and saucer, leaned back in their chairs and sighed their contentment.
“Well, you did rightly in all your scheming. The result is very pleasing. Of course, with so much excellent wainscoting, the refitting of the main rooms was done with little inconvenience to myself. But do you think Miss Currivard will approve?”
Amy set her tea on the table at her elbow and carefully removed her bonnet. She patted her blond curls, even working to fix one that had become twisted from its long imprisonment under her bonnet. Of his two sisters, Amy was more in Kelthorne's likeness, sharing with him the color of her hair and the blue of his eyes.
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