by Mary Balogh
But time was running out. And what would she do if she had to leave the Abbey tonight without having discovered the address? It was very important that she get that letter on its way soon so that Nicholas could arrive back in time to get the papers from Josh and save the Pickerings from homelessness and starvation.
The trouble was, Kate thought now as she stitched delicately at her embroidery, she was completely out of touch with what was going on in the house. All the ladies had retired to their rooms, Lady Thelma had said. But what about the gentlemen? Had they gone out? Were they too in their rooms? Were they engaged in some other activity in the house? There was no way of knowing beyond going on a search. And she would do that now if she had not turned craven in the last few days.
She stitched on. Another very depressing result of her confinement to her own room and Lady Thelma’s was that she had not seen Sir Harry in the last five days either, except on horseback with the same riding party of which Mr. Dalrymple had made one. It really did seem a hard fate to be cut off from his company when they had so little time left anyway. She would have so liked a few more chances to talk with him, perhaps walk with him. Even if the conversation consisted entirely of quarreling and insults. It was dreadfully frustrating to think of his being in the same house as she, yet totally beyond her reach.
Perhaps it was just as well, she thought. Nothing could develop from the relationship, if their association could be dignified by that name. The more time she spent with him, the fonder she would grow of him, and the harder it would be to be without him after she left with Lady Thelma. The argument seemed curiously unconvincing, but she must keep telling herself that it was true nonetheless.
One good result of having to keep to herself was that she had not had to fear running into that hateful worm the Marquess of Uppington. It had been relaxing for five days to know that she did not have to keep glancing over her shoulder lest he be creeping up on her. She could not remember fearing anyone as she had feared that man. She would have to remain hidden for only relatively few hours longer. And then she would be fleeing with the runaways and could forget the very existence of the Marquess of Uppington.
Kate’s needle remained suspended over her work for a moment as she frowned down at a quite unoffending silk anemone. He was not the reason why she had not ventured out in search of Mr. Dalrymple, was he? Was she frightened of running into the marquess? She had been telling herself that her reluctance was due to her desire not to be seen by Lord Barton. But why should she fear him? What could the man do to her more than he had done already? He could not dismiss her. He could not refuse to give her written recommendation. He had done both of those things already.
Was it Lord Uppington? It was so very possible that while creeping around peering through doorways in search of the one man, she would actually find the marquess. And perhaps in a quiet part of the house where they would be suddenly alone together.
Good gracious, Kate thought indignantly, threading her needle through the edge of the cloth and folding it up resolutely, it was fear that was keeping her skulking upstairs. Cringing, feminine terror of a rake who could not even put up a decent fight against an indolent gentleman like Sir Harry. She was living in fear of a man who would resort to spite and lies in order to destroy his victims once his pride had been wounded.
Fear the Marquess of Uppington? Never!
“Lady Thelma,” Kate said, getting to her feet, “you are tired despite your excitement. You have yawned twice within the last five minutes. You really must have some sleep. Tonight will be sleepless, and the next few days are like to be busy and tiring ones. I am going to leave you now.”
“I am sure you are right, Kate,” Lady Thelma agreed, “though I swear I shall not sleep one wink. But I must not keep you from your bed. You must try to sleep too, you know. ”
Kate strode along to her own room, feeling better than she had felt for days. She would show anyone who cared to watch how fearful she was, indeed. She dumped her work bag unceremoniously on the desk in her dressing room without bothering to put it away, turned to the pier glass to make sure she was fit to be seen belowstairs, and turned resolutely to leave. She did stop briefly beside the desk, though, hesitate, and slip something from inside her work bag into the pocket of her dress before whisking herself from the room and to the drawing room.
She entered unannounced but found the room empty. The house was far from quiet, though, she discovered as she went downstairs. Footmen and maids seemed to be dashing in all directions, several of them laden with flowers. Doubtless all was being made ready for the evening festivities. Kate peered into the state dining room, more out of curiosity than an expectation of finding any of the gentleman there. The large epergnes of flowers and the sparking silver and crystal tempted her to linger, but she would not lose the momentum of her errand. She moved on to the salon, the library, the hall, and found no one. Mr. Moreton and Lord Poole were in the billiard room, but there was no one else there. Kate murmured an apology and withdrew.
How disappointing it was not to have seen Mr. Dalrymple after making such a determined effort to thumb her nose at her fear.
“Have you seen Mr. Dalrymple?” she asked the only footman she could see who was not rushing about on some errand.
“I believe he went riding, ma’am, with Lord Stoughton and two other gentlemen,” the young man answered with a bow.
Bother, Kate thought, wandering to the open front doors. Now she would have to do this all over again. But this evening it would be out of the question, when everyone would be dressed for a grand occasion and there would be so many visitors wandering around. Why had she not mastered her fear before this? If only she had realized it was terror of the marquess that was keeping her in her room, perhaps she would have shamed herself into coming forth long before this.
And then she turned her eyes skyward. She might have known! The Marquess of Uppington himself was climbing the curving steps that led down to the terrace. And he had seen her. Well, if she could not fulfill her errand with Mr. Dalrymple, Kate thought, at least she could redeem herself in her own eyes by not running from this confrontation. The marquess’s face was still looking as if he had been in a severe boxing mill. And that face was not looking at all pleased to see her. It was very likely that he would walk past her just as if she were not there at all.
Kate moved slightly so that she stood in the center of the doorway. “Good afternoon, my lord,” she said with a bright smile. “Is it not a beautiful afternoon?”
He looked up at her, startled, and inclined his head stiffly. “Ma’am,” he mumbled.
“I am standing here quite undecided,” she said. “Should I venture into the garden for a stroll or should I not? Tell me, my lord, will I be cold without a shawl, do you think?”
“I think it unlikely, ma’am,” he said. “The air is warm.”
“Ah,” she said. “I did not bring a bonnet downstairs with me, either. Will anyone mind, do you think?”
“It is unlikely,” he said. “Most people are in their rooms or riding, I believe.”
“Oh.” Kate sighed.“I had hoped that perhaps someone would wish to accompany me. But no matter. If no one else is here, and doubtless you are tired after a walk or a ride, I shall have to venture out alone.”
The marquess’s eyes narrowed on her smiling face for a moment. Then he held out an arm to her. “Allow me,” he said. “I can think of no more pleasant way to while away the next half-hour than a stroll in the garden.”
Kate smiled and took his arm. “I thought you were out of charity with me,” she said.
“On the contrary,” he replied. “I believe we now understand each other perfectly, Kate. You have made it clear to me that you are not lightly bought. I have made it clear to you that my women bow to my wishes or find themselves hurt.”
“Alas,” Kate said, stepping onto one of the gravel walks that skirted the fountain, “I did not know until it was too late my lord, just what a firm character you have. I h
ave to confess that I have met my match at last.”
“Yes,” the marquess said, “I thought you would have realized that, Kate.”
“I understand that congratulations are in order,” she said. “It seems that your betrothal to Lady Thelma is to be announced this evening.”
He inclined his head.
“And now you will not have a resident mistress when you marry,” she said rather sadly, “unless I have a replacement already.”
“All is not lost, Kate,” he said. “In fact, matters might turn out better than I had anticipated after all. It appears you have learned your lesson well, my dear. I shall be in London next week. I shall set you up in your own establishment there. The arrangement will be a great deal more satisfactory than having to work behind my wife’s back at home. You will be well cared for. You will not have to worry about not being given a character by Lord Barton. I treat my mistresses with generosity even when I eventually tire of them, provided that they give me essential services. I demand total obedience, of course.”
“Of course,” Kate murmured.
“It is a pity you have left your capitulation until your last day here,” the marquess said. “But no matter. There is still tonight. You will leave your door unlocked so that I may come to you when the ball is over, or even during, if I can slip away for a while.”
Kate glanced back to the house. Then glanced again.
Was that someone coming? No, go back, she cried mentally. Not yet.
“This is a rather secluded area, my lord,” she said shyly, “and you said yourself that there is no one around.”
He smiled. Kate preferred to think of it as a smirk. “Your eagerness to please shows that I have taught you well already, Kate,” he said. “I see that a few cuts of a whip by way of discipline have worked wonders with you. I shall have to keep that in mind.”
Kate had moved a little way from him, into the shade of a weeping-willow tree. His back was to the house. And that figure was still moving toward them. It was the young footman to whom she had talked a little while before.
She smiled enticingly, her eyes dreamy. “Come closer, my lord,” she said huskily, one hand disappearing into the pocket of her dress. The tip of her tongue moved suggestively across her upper lip to moisten it.
The Marquess of Uppington followed the movement with his eyes, and his smirk broadened. He took one step toward her, his arms already opening up.
“That is,” Kate continued in the same voice, removing her hand from the pocket, “if you dare.”
The very sharp points of her embroidery scissors were pointing in the direction of his stomach, or perhaps somewhat lower. Kate smiled.
“What?” he said, halting in his tracks. “What is this, Kate?”
“This is a challenge, my lord,” she said pleasantly. “Since I did not wear gloves this afternoon, I do not have one to fling in your face. But it is a challenge nonetheless. The challenge is, my lord, to get past these scissors unscathed. Quite easy, really. I am one small female against a large and strong gentleman—one whose face would be unmarked now if two, unsporting thugs had not held his arms. It should be very easy for you to take the scissors away from me without losing more than two or three of your fingers in the process. And if you succeed . . . ” Her voice had become husky again. She smiled instead of completing the sentence.
She glanced over Lord Uppington’s shoulder, willing the footman to stay where he was. He was standing still now, not more than thirty feet behind the marquess.
Lord Uppington’s eyes had narrowed in an expression of menace. He held out one imperious hand. “Give me those,” he said, “and count yourself fortunate that I do not thrash you as you deserve. Foolish woman. Do you think that a pair of scissors is a deadly enough weapon to deter me?”
“No, I do not,” Kate said. “I am quite sure, in fact, that within moments I shall be overpowered and ravished at last. I have been disappointed several times in the past. Do not disappoint me again, my lord. I like my men angry and ruthless. A tame wooing leaves me quite unaroused.”
His nostrils flared and he took another step toward her. He now had only to reach out a hand to contact either her hand or the scissors.
“You have to make only one correct guess,” Kate said. “If you make a move toward me, I have a choice. Either I cut at your hand or I stab inward at your body. If you guess the first and try to lunge beneath my hand to my wrist, I will have a clear path forward to your, er, stomach. If, on the other hand, you guess the second and try to come at my wrist from above, I can cut upward and make a far worse mess of your hand than you made of mine with the whip. You must be a gambler, my lord. You have a fifty-fifty chance of being correct.”
The Marquess of Uppington looked at the wicked points of the scissors glinting in the sun. “I shall give you one more chance, Kate,” he said. “Give me the scissors and we will say no more about this disgraceful scene.”
“Come and take them from me,” she replied.
He stood undecided for several moments while Kate smiled and the footman stood perfectly still. Then the marquess lifted a hand and waved a finger menacingly at her. “You will be sorry for this,” he said. “You will hear more of this matter.”
“I rather think not,” Kate said. “Or perhaps you are right. I am sure the footman behind you will take great pleasure in spreading the story among the servants of how one small lady vanquished the Marquess of Uppington with a pair of embroidery scissors without having to strike a single blow.”
Lord Uppington spun around as if those scissors had just been jabbed into his posterior. “What is your purpose in being here?” he barked at the wooden-faced footman.
The footman bowed. “Her ladyship has need of Mrs. Mannering’s company upstairs, my lord,” he replied.
“And that message has necessitated your interrupting me out here?” the marquess said. “Take yourself off, fellow, before I take your name and report you.”
The footman bowed again. “I believe the summons was somewhat urgent, ma’am,” he said to Kate.
“Thank you,” she said. “I shall go ahead of you. My lord?” She curtsied to Lord Uppington, pocketed the scissors, and hurried along the gravel walk in the direction of the house.
Nicholas was thankful to be at the end of another dreary afternoon. He had been riding with Dalrymple and Stoughton. Not that he had joined in the conversation with any great enthusiasm. He was bored. Would this infernal ball never be over? And would the house party never come to an end? He only hoped that Clive Seyton would make his move immediately after. Surely he would. In fact, the day before, the earl had said at luncheon that he thought he would take himself off for a couple of weeks to visit friends after his guests left. He was clearly paving the way for the explanations he would have to give various people when he left for France.
Waiting was dreary enough. But he had not even been able to brighten up his days with walks or conversations with Katherine, or even with simply looking at her. That would have been better than nothing. She was extremely pleasant to look at. But for some reason she had decided to keep herself away from the company. She had given in her notice and felt no more obligation to be sociable to Lord Barton’s friends perhaps? She was still frightened of Uppington and had decided to stay completely clear of him?
Nicholas hoped that her absence had nothing to do with him. They had quarreled during their last encounter, but then, they almost always quarreled or managed to exchange some very satisfying insults. She could not have suddenly developed such a disgust of him that she kept to her own room rather than see him, surely. It was the effect he had hoped to have on her at the start, of course. Would it not be ironic if he had succeeded now when he no longer wished to do so? She would be leaving the next day. It seemed unlikely that he would see her again unless he forced the issue somehow.
And he had still not discovered why she wished to contact Nicholas Seyton in Shropshire. The Evanses knew nothing. The Pickerings knew nothing. He had vis
ited both to find out what they knew. It was all most frustrating.
It was as they were climbing the curved steps to the main doorway that Nicholas saw Katherine again. Not just her. She was with someone, and he had a nasty suspicion that it was Uppington. But he held himself back from immediately tearing off to her rescue. There was a third figure in the garden in the unmistakable livery of a footman. Bruce, doubtless, keeping a protective eye on Katherine as he had been directed to do. But how the deuce had Uppington lured her out there when she had not even been seen downstairs in five days?
Nicholas allowed his riding companions to pass inside to the hall without him. He walked back down to the terrace to await the arrival of Katherine, who was hurrying toward him ahead of Bruce.
“Why, Mrs. Mannering,” he said when she was within earshot, though she seemed still not to have seen him. “Rivaling the flowers with your beauty as usual, I see.”
She looked startled. Then she blushed, an interesting sight, he thought. “Oh, Sir Harry,” she said. “What a foolish thing to say.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said with a bow. “I knew you might be depended upon to receive a compliment graciously.”
“I am afraid I must hurry,” she said. “Lady Thelma needs me urgently.”
Nicholas looked up at the footman who had come up behind her and was about to pass by. Admirable man, he thought.
“Then I will not detain you,” he said. “I trust you have not been suffering any abuse from our mutual friend yonder?”
Unexpectedly she grinned. “You might ask him the same question,” she said. “Or rather, you might ask that footman. You are more likely to get an honest answer from him.”