by Mary Balogh
And since there was still a short distance to go to the Abbey stables, and since he still felt disinclined to join any group of gentlemen, Nicholas allowed himself to indulge his mind in the memory of that kiss. It was just the sort of thing he had set himself to avoid, of course. But even now, after he had had leisure in which to consider, he could not think of any alternative course of action he might have taken. If those soldiers had seen his face, the chances were that they would have known him. There had not been time enough to scramble back across the rocks without incurring strong suspicion. Anyway, a return to the main beach would have brought him face-to-face with the soldiers there.
The only thing to do had been to kiss Katherine, a ruse that had both hidden his face and embarrassed the poor men to such a degree that they had retreated without further ado. It really was a good thing for him that his thoughts had been taken up by his own danger. If he had been able to concentrate on that kiss, he could not have answered for what the outcome might have been. Even in the final few seconds, when he had allowed himself the indulgence of prolonging it, he had felt heat rise in him at the very intimate positioning of her body against his and at the vivid memories of what she had felt like two nights before when he had not had to hold back his desire. And in that very setting. The memories had been almost too much for his self-control.
She had responded too. And he was not sure whether to be pleased or offended. At first he had thought that she must know the truth. She had been clinging to him and kissing him with total abandon. He could have laid her down and made love to her with her eager cooperation. He was quite sure of that. And how could she have been so intimately close to him, so deep in his embrace without knowing that he was the same man who had loved her on the floor of that very cave just two nights before? But she had not known. Incredible as it seemed, when she returned to herself, it was Sir Harry Tate she saw. And she was horrified at herself.
Should he feel offended or hurt to think that she could so easily forget a loving that meant so much to him and abandon herself, to a man who made every attempt to show her contempt? Nicholas had to admit that at first he had felt that way. He had been almost angry with her as he followed her back across the rocks to the main beach. But how could he remain so? Was it not more likely that her body could still feel the attraction that had led to such a satisfactory coupling two nights before while her mind saw only a thoroughly unpleasant and unmannerly baronet? Poor Katherine. She must be feeling very confused. That was probably why she had slipped twice on her way across the rocks and had slapped viciously at his hand when he had reached out to help her up the second time.
Nicholas could not blame himself for what had happened the previous afternoon. But he could regret it. It was hard enough on his system to see Katherine daily, to remember what they had shared together, and to know that he must stay away from her. It was doubly hard now to know that even as the obnoxious Sir Harry he could attract her. How was he supposed to resist the temptation, in heaven’s name? His main hope would have to be that she felt such horror and disgust with herself that she would not allow him within ten feet of her.
He sighed as the group reached the stables and he dismounted onto the worn and familiar cobblestones of the stableyard. Problems. Problems. But then, where would he be without them? In Shropshire, in all probability, climbing walls in his boredom. At least life was far from boring at Barton Abbey.
Sir Harry politely hid a yawn behind his hand as Lord Barton turned to direct some remark his way.
Kate had intended to work on through teatime. With another hour of concentrated work she might reach the end of this particular section of books. Written in Latin, these last few she had cleaned. Her father had taught her some Latin as a girl. But she had never become really proficient. It seemed that there had always been too many children at home to interrupt either her or Papa. It had always been her ambition to read the classics in their original language.
Even as she was smiling rather ruefully over the thought, Kate detected another slip of paper inside the front cover of the book she held. It had some writing on it, the ink faded brown with age. “Clive, meet me at the cave in one hour,” the note read. “Great secrecy essential. Let old cane-swisher see this on peril of your life. Jonathan.” Kate was smiling in earnest after reading it through two or three times. “Old cane-swisher” she supposed to have been a Latin tutor. She could almost imagine the two boys—Nicholas’ father and the present earl—passing notes when the master’s back was turned and they were supposed to be studying Latin declensions.
She climbed down to the library floor and reached out to place the note with the doodles on the desk. Would it bring back fond memories to Lord Barton? Would it arouse his guilt? But she retained the note in her hand, hesitating before putting it down. Nicholas perhaps had nothing of his father’s. Nothing with which to convince himself of the reality of the man who had sired him. Something as small and trivial as this note from one immature schoolboy to another could be infinitely precious. But of course she had no way of giving it to him. And did he deserve such a gift from her anyway?
The door opened behind Kate even as she hesitated. She folded the paper into its original crease and put it calmly into the pocket of her apron before turning to see who had entered. She was relieved to find that it was Lady Thelma.
“Oh, Kate,” that young lady said, closing the door behind her, “I am so glad to find you here alone. I have been scarce able to concentrate on the conversation this afternoon. And really the bonnets at Miss Hatch’s are not remarkably pretty, though Julie bought one that looks quite becoming on her. And I was terrified of highwaymen. We had only a coachman with us, you know. I do not know what would have happened if we had been stopped.”
Kate smiled. “I believe I can assure you that there are no more highwaymen here,” she said. “Your father had the coast guard make an extensive search for the one who stopped us. He is not still here, you may be assured. He would have more regard for his neck than to stay.”
“But he was never caught,” Lady Thelma said doubtfully.
Kate smiled again. She looked at the pale, rather petulant expression of her mistress and understood that her cross mood had nothing to do with either highwaymen or the lack of a fashionable milliner in the village. “Would you like to walk out where you will not have to be sociable for a while?” she asked.
“If we go into the formal gardens, we will attract a train of followers who will consider such a walk a marvelous idea,” Thelma said. “Sometimes I do wish I was back at Wragley, Kate. I never wanted to go to London. And I did not wish Great Uncle to die just yet. I don’t want to be Lady Thelma Seyton with a grand dowry.”
“How about the old cloisters?” Kate suggested. “They seem not to be very popular, but I think they make a very peaceful and picturesque walk.”
“Oh, yes,” Thelma said. “Let us go there, Kate, and miss tea. You really are a dear. I am so glad you agreed to be my companion. But I do wish you would leave off your half-mourning. That brown is very dull. When we return, to London, I shall come with you to order a complete new wardrobe, and I shall get Papa to pay for it all too.” She smiled, completely oblivious of any hurt her words might have caused.
When they were strolling in the stone cloisters a few minutes later, the vaulted roof over their heads, the stone pillars supporting it and separating the cloisters from the garden beyond, Kate waited quietly for what she knew must be coming. She had not expected quite what Thelma began with, however.
“Kate,” she said on a rush, “if I were to leave here, would you come with me?”
“You mean to return to London?” Kate asked.
“N-no.” The girl hesitated. “If I were to leave, Kate, without Papa knowing.”
“Eloping?” Kate asked tentatively.
Thelma looked at her, agony in her eyes. “Sidney has spoken with Papa and he has been refused absolutely. He is not poor, Kate, and his birth and lineage are impeccable. He is heir
to a small estate and a modest income. He was educated at Oxford. But of course he is not nearly important enough for Lady Thelma Seyton. He is far beneath the notice of the daughter of an earl.” The girl’s face had flushed. Her voice was bitter.
“I am sure your father must be considering your happiness,” Kate said, realizing even as she spoke how foolish her words were.
“No, my consequence,” Thelma said. “He has his heart set on my marrying the Marquess of Uppington. I would rather be dead, Kate. And I mean that. I would be miserable with him. He is so very much the aristocrat and so very good-looking. I feel dull and ugly when I am with him. I know I am no beauty, Kate, and I know I am not very bright or very charming. On the other hand, I am not quite ugly or quite dull either. But if I marry Lord Uppington I shall soon be convinced that I am both. I cannot go through life like that. I would rather be dead.”
“Yes,” Kate said, abandoning the role that she knew she should have been playing under the circumstances. “Yes, you are right. You must not marry Lord Uppington. He is not in any way worthy of you. And your father cannot force you to do so, you know. You can say no.”
“That is easy for you to say,” Thelma said. “You have such a firm character, Kate. I am sure that all your life you have insisted on doing just what you wish. I am not like that. I know that when Papa storms at me or—worse—wheedles me, I shall give in and consent to marry the marquess. And I know I shall not be able to say no to Lord Uppington’s face. How embarrassing and utterly impossible that would be.”
“You must just keep in the forefront of your mind what the consequences of your giving in would be,” Kate said. “A lifetime with the marquess.”
Thelma shuddered. “Sidney wants me to go away with him,” she said. “I think it is the only way, Kate.”
“To Gretna?” Kate said. “Oh, no, there must be another way. Your reputation would be ruined forever. You would never be received again.”
“I don’t care,” the girl said recklessly. “I have no wish to be received.”
“And Mr. Moreton?” Kate asked. “Will he be content to spend his life cut off from the class into which he was born?”
“Yes,” Thelma said defiantly. “He loves me.” But she looked doubtful and thoroughly miserable. “Will you come with me, Kate?”
“If you go, yes,” Kate said after a short pause for consideration. “But don’t rush, Lady Thelma, please. Give it time. Give it thought. Life can be a long business if one does something irrevocable and then discovers that one has made a mistake.”
Thelma stared down at her hands and said nothing. Kate was wildly wondering if she could speed up her attempt to find Lord Lindstrom. If she could only prove that the present Earl of Barton had no claim to his title or his fortune, the future would look very different for Thelma. Far from being hurt by such a discovery, the girl would probably be relieved. And there would be far fewer objections then to her marrying her Mr. Moreton—if that young man would still want her after such a disgrace.
Chapter 16
A week had passed in which life had settled to a humdrum but not unpleasant routine for Kate. Lady Thelma had become more friendly with the younger ladies, perhaps as a defense against the company of Lord Uppington. A few times a day she felt it necessary to have Kate by her so that she could talk from the heart, but for most of each day she was content to let her companion go her own way.
The girl had somehow succeeded in getting both her father and her suitor to agree to give her a little more time in which to make up her mind about marrying the marquess. Neither seemed at all anxious about her answer. Lord Barton doubtless trusted to the influence he had always had over his daughter’s life. Lord Uppington probably could not imagine that any woman in her right senses or out of them would refuse his hand.
Kate had written to her aunt to make inquiries about Lord Lindstrom and was impatiently awaiting her reply. She was trying hard not to expect too much. It was more than likely, she tried to persuade herself, that Aunt Priscilla would never have heard of the baron or would have no idea how one might contact him. It was in every way possible that even if her aunt did know Lord Lindstrom, he would turn out to be a different man from the one she needed.
In the meantime she plodded on with her work in the library and studiously avoided close contact with either the Marquess of Uppington or Sir Harry Tate. It had not been particularly easy to avoid the former. Lord Uppington had clearly set himself to seduce her. One afternoon when she had thought he was playing billiards with Lord Toucher he had come into the library, closing the door behind him, but she had been prepared. She had merely descended the library stairs quite coolly, walked over to the fireplace, and used the bell to summon the butler before the marquess had realized her intent. She had thought of some excuse to leave the room with Russell. The marquess, she imagined, had been furious.
Avoiding Sir Harry had been an altogether simpler matter. Apart from the fact that she had almost run headlong into him as she left the library with the butler on that same afternoon, they had not been near each other. He had not even led her into the dining room since their encounter on the beach. Kate could only conclude that the incident had embarrassed and disgusted him as much as it had her. She was very pleased to find that it was so. She ruthlessly ignored her feeling of restless boredom that might have been alleviated by a spirited exchange of insults with Sir Harry. Far be it from her ever to admit that she missed him. Obnoxious man.
On this particular afternoon Kate was again with everyone else. Lord Stoughton had arranged a boating party on the long lake to the north of the house. This time they were not to stop for a picnic at the rotunda but to row to the end of the lake and have tea there. The picnic fare would be fetched by land. There were only three boats, each of which would carry four persons. Kate remained behind at the rotunda with the older couples and Lord Barton until the boats should return to fetch them. Why all three boats returned, no one knew, when only six of them remained to be transported, but there was a great deal of laughing and teasing at the unnecessary rowing that one of the young men had done. Lord Barton stepped into the boat rowed by his son and was joined by his sister and brother-in-law. Sir Peregrine Lacey and his wife traveled with Mr. Moreton. Kate smiled at Lord Poole’s plea to have at least one passenger so that his return journey would not have been in vain.
She sat on the seat opposite him as he rowed, smiling indulgently at his outrageous compliments. It was true that she was wearing a muslin dress of the palest gray, by far her most glamorous garment. And she wore an unadorned straw bonnet rather than one of her more severe ones. But she still felt distinctly like someone’s poor relation. She was not about to believe that she rivaled the sun in brilliance merely because Lord Poole happened to say so. But it was pleasant nonetheless to be noticed, she thought perversely, reaching over the side of the boat and trailing one hand in the water.
“Lord Poole,” she said on impulse, “you must have spent a considerable amount of time in London, have you not?”
He looked gratified. “How can you tell, ma’am?” he asked.
Kate glanced at his starched shirt points, his skintight coat heavily padded at the shoulders, his striped silk waistcoat, his white-topped and tasseled Hessians, and smiled into his eyes. “You are so very fashionable,” she said. “Where else would you have acquired such town bronze?”
He bowed his head in acknowledgment of her superior judgment.
“Do you know a great many members of the ton?” she asked. “It must be quite wonderful to attend a London ball and see all the important people of our country gathered in one room.”
“Such amusements can become something of a bore, believe me, Mrs. Mannering,” he said with such studied indifference that she almost laughed. He reminded her of Sir Harry Tate except that Sir Harry’s air of ennui came entirely naturally.
“I was married before I could make a come-out,” Kate said with a sigh. “But my father frequented London as a young man. He met
my mother there. He often speaks of his fashionable friends, though he has not seen many of them for years.”
“Indeed?” he said, looking at her with open interest.
“Yes,” she said. “Sir Henry Parnell is my father. I do not suppose you have heard of him?”
He shook his head politely.
“I wonder if you know any of his former associates,” she said. “Now, let me see. What are some of their names? Sir David Lawrence?” She had picked the name out of the air and was not surprised when he shook his head again. “Lord Lindstrom?”
“No,” he said. “I've never met the fellow. He rusticates in Devon, you know. Doesn’t like society. I have played cards with his son on occasion, though.”
“Indeed?” Kate said brightly. “Is not that amazing? And his son would be about your age?”
“A little younger, I would guess,” he said.
“Oh,” Kate said, the excitement in her voice not hard to feign. “I would wager that Papa would be delighted to hear of his friend once more. Do you know in which part of Devon his lordship lives?”
“Heathfield Court is the name of the place,” Lord Poole said after a moment’s consideration. “I’m afraid I would not know the exact direction, ma’am. I don’t know this part of the world. Bath is the farthest west I have been until coming here.”