She blinked, as if he had asked if she could walk, or hem a handkerchief.
‘Yes, of course. I mean,’ she realised she sounded as if it had been a foolish question, and in truth, many ladies did not choose to hunt, ‘I have hunted since I could ride a pony capable of keeping up. It was the one thing about which I think my papa took pride in me. He never begrudged me good mounts. My stepmama did not hunt.’ She looked rather pointedly at Bidford.
‘Just because I am not a neck-or-nothing rider does not mean I cannot judge horseflesh,’ he declared.
‘No,’ admitted his sister, ‘that is not the reason, to be sure.’
Lord Ledbury choked over a pastry crumb. She was not slow witted, his bride to be. Her sharpness with Bidford made him want to laugh, but it would be different if aimed, as it had been on their first encounter, at him.
3
Kitty had never been one of those girls who dreamed of a wedding with scattered rose petals, and ‘a handsome prince’ from the depths of a fairy tale to take her hand before an admiring, and probably envious, throng. This was a good thing, since it was February and there were no rose petals available, and other than the minister, the minister’s wife, Bidford, and her maid, Wootton, who sniffed noisily throughout the ceremony, there was nobody else present in the little fourteenth-century church. It was too cold to wear just a gown, and most of her winter pelisses were practical rather than opulent. Surveying her wardrobe beforehand, she had decided to wear her best walking dress, which was thankfully a soft shade of pale green, and her opera cloak, which was a dark chestnut velvet, lined with gold silk and edged in fur. The only person who would recognise the incongruity of the ensemble would be Lord Ledbury, and he would probably be thinking of other things at the time.
As she walked up the aisle on her brother’s arm, she gazed at the straight back of the man about to become her husband. Only at the last minute did he turn. Prince he most certainly was not, but he was most definitely handsome. For a heartbeat she wished he was not.
He did not smile at her, but looked composed and calm. He made his responses clearly, and looked her full in the face as he did so. If he had any doubts they did not show. She tried to match him, but there was one tremor as she declared, ‘I, Catherine, take thee, George Anstruther, to be my lawful wedded husband.’ The rector could not decide if he was pleased that the couple appeared to be taking the rite so solemnly, or disappointed that there appeared to be no emotional connection whatsoever between them. When Lord Ledbury thanked him after the service was completed it was as if he was thanking the smith for shoeing his horse.
Bidford having declared that a ‘wedding breakfast’ would be nothing more than a delay to the newly-weds’ departure, Kitty had but to change into a travelling dress, and take one final look about the room that had been hers but was now devoid of any trace of her presence, and return to find Bidford had provided his new brother-in-law with a glass of wine.
Without the viscount having given any instruction, the staff had lined up in the cold and damp outside to see her off, and it was this alone that brought a lump to her throat. There were tears from Cook and the housekeeper, and a number of trembling lips. When Ledbury handed her into the carriage she could not master her voice enough to thank him, and until the first change there was silence between them.
As the fresh horses were put to, the earl turned to his new wife.
‘I am sorry. I do not know if you prefer to be called Kitty or Catherine. What Bidford called you may have been his choice, not yours.’
‘I prefer Kitty, my lord.’ The thought of him using her name seemed far too intimate, and yet in view of what lay ahead, it was nothing. She blushed, and he frowned, wondering why.
‘Are you warm enough?’
‘Yes, thank you, my lord.’
If he had hoped to get to know a little more of her upon the journey he was to be disappointed. Her replies verged on the monosyllabic, and he soon gave up, shut his eyes and pretended to be asleep. For her part, Kitty stared, unseeing, out of the window, and felt as if she was drawing ever closer to an abyss.
*
It was nearly dark when the carriage slowed and came to a halt, and she had no idea of the size or aspect of the house into which she was invited to step. She blinked, dazzled by the sudden light from an abundance of candles. A clock chimed the hour and she was surprised to discover it lacked ten minutes before five o’clock. The butler, a man whom she judged to be in his late fifties and who had a slight stoop, introduced himself as Norton, and apologised for not having the staff assembled for her ladyship upon arrival.
‘It being inclement, and the hour of your arrival unknown, my lady, I did not want everyone standing about idle. Would you care to have them assembled now or…’
‘To be honest, Norton, I would much prefer a cup of tea. I have had nothing since ten of the clock this morning.’
The butler smiled in an avuncular manner.
‘Of course, my lady. You will no doubt wish to refresh yourself after your journey. Would you care to take tea in your chamber or in the blue saloon?’
‘In my bedchamber I think, since I will be changing for dinner.’
‘Cook has planned for dinner a little later than usual, in view of the uncertainties.’ He cast a cautious look at his master. ‘Will seven o’clock be convenient, my lord?’
‘I shall not expire, Norton, but if my…’ He paused. ‘If my lady has not eaten since the morning, something should be provided.’
‘I assure you, my lord, I will not faint away. Tea I most certainly require, but I have no interest in food.’ She sounded defensive, seeing his comment not as consideration, but disparaging.
‘As you wish.’ The earl felt rebuffed, and did not care for it. He set his foot upon the first stair of the sweeping staircase and requested, without looking back, that Whicham, his valet, be sent up as soon as he arrived, there having been a delay at the last change of horses.
Kitty stood in the expanse of the hall, with its immense and ornate fireplace, and felt very alone. If Norton, who possessed a secret romantic streak, had hoped his lordship might escort his lady upstairs upon this occasion, he gave no sign. Nor could Kitty know how greatly she was under scrutiny.
The news that his lordship would be arriving, two days hence, and with his bride, had arrived and set the household chattering like jackdaws. Nothing was known of the lady, and in a few quarters there were whispers that perhaps the appellation would be inaccurate. A sudden marriage might mean Lord Ledbury had taken it into his head to marry upon whim, and would be bringing ‘home’ some female totally unsuited to her title and position. This rumour was quashed by Norton, who sensibly remarked that the messenger had come from Lord Bidford’s seat near Huntingdon, so common sense indicated the lady would be some relative of the viscount.
‘As long as her new ladyship knows how to go on, and doesn’t blame me for the darned sheets and the state of the north wing,’ bemoaned the housekeeper, Mrs Gowthorpe, privately to Mr Norton.
Norton, on the basis of first impressions, thought the new Lady Ledbury would be the sort to ‘know how to go on’. She was no schoolroom miss, which was a good start.
‘Let me say, my lady, as it is good to have a lady of the house once more. I will have your trunks conveyed up to your room upon their arrival. If you would be pleased to follow me, I will show you the chamber immediately.’
Kitty thanked him. That he should do this himself indicated the importance he rightly placed upon her arrival. She followed him up the stairs, turning not to the right, as her lord had done, but to the left, which surprised her a little. She tried to take in her surroundings, but concluded that getting her bearings would be better left until the morrow. Norton halted, and opened wide a door for her. The bedchamber was decorated in what must have once been a sunny yellow, though the silk hangings had faded to a dull lemon, and there was a smell of disuse swiftly masked by the introduction of a bowl of pot pourri. It was very definitely a fe
minine room.
‘Oh, this is charming,’ declared Kitty, not without some truth, though she was also mindful that family retainers tended to be very protective of ‘their’ house.
‘It has, alas, been empty too long, my lady. I will have tea brought up directly. If there is anything else…’
‘Oh no. Thank you, Norton.’
He bowed and withdrew. Kitty wandered to the table upon which a mirror was set. Bizarrely, brushes were still laid out. ‘Many years’ the butler had said and yet…
‘What are you doing in this room?’
Kitty jumped, and turned to see the earl standing in the doorway, his expression grim. She had not previously heard his voice raised above cynical boredom.
‘I was shown to it. It is the bedchamber of the lady of the house, and with a little renovation…’
‘It was my mother’s room. You will touch nothing, and I will have your things placed in the green bedchamber adjoining mine.’
‘But does this not…’ She halted. He had turned the other way upon the stairs so it was foolish to assume his room was close by. She had made other assumptions too, not least that her husband was incapable of real emotion, and this anger and what lay behind it, were real. ‘As you wish, sir. It is, after all, your home.’
‘And you are my wife. We shall deal better together if you remember that.’
The riposte that she bit back was whether he would remember he was her husband.
*
The green chamber to which she removed was dark and oppressive. The bed was, she noted, quite new, and large. The rest of the furnishings were heavy and outmoded. The unpleasant likelihood was that a succession of women had used the room, and not been either interested in, or entitled to comment upon, its decoration. The aspect, which she discovered the next morning, was in fact very pleasant, looking south-east over the parkland to the front of the house, and the window was both large and possessed of a window seat. The curtains, however, were a dark green velvet, worn with age and far too big for the embrasure, so that they kept out at least half of the available light even when open. There was nothing feminine about the room. She tried to imagine it as hers, and failed. The second door, the one which must lead either directly into her husband’s chamber, or into a linking dressing room, made her heart sink. He would enter her room through that door tonight, and expect…? That he would know what he was doing was obviously not in question, but she had no idea. It was a daunting prospect, and she wished it were already tomorrow.
The constraint at dinner was almost tangible. Kitty felt so sick that she merely toyed with the food, despite her underlying hunger. The earl scowled at his plate. He had been married for fewer hours than he could count on his fingers, and was already regretting it. He could not decide now if he had married a shrew or a mouse, and neither ‘rodent’ appealed. If he had been pushed to describe what kind of woman he would have eventually have selected as a wife, he would have conjured up someone witty, poised, and a sultry brunette, someone to intrigue and excite him, at least for a while. The wan female who picked at the chicken on her plate and did not once initiate any conversation was no more interesting than the chair upon which she sat so straight. It was a relief when she left him to his port, over which he brooded, even though he took but two glasses.
Kitty, by contrast, could not even face a cup of tea. She twisted her hands, gazed repeatedly at the clock’s inexorable advance, and wondered, for the hundredth time, if she should apologise in advance, say nothing, or… Well, she could not imagine the ‘or’ part. When he came to sit with her he looked morose, though he attempted conversation by telling her a little of the house’s history, from its Tudor origins, when the family had abandoned the cold defences of a mediaeval keep, the vestiges of which remained upon the edge of the estate, through the improvements made at the Restoration, and the remodelling carried out by his grandfather. In other circumstances Kitty would have been interested. As it was she made her excuses as soon as she could do so, and requested permission to retire.
‘Yes, yes of course.’ Her lord lost his composure a little. Even he had to admit the idea of bedding a woman with whom he had barely got past the stage of exchanging common civilities was awkward. He watched her close the door behind her, and rang for the brandy. He would need something to fortify him for what had always been pleasure and was now a duty.
*
She woke alone, and in near darkness, though the grey morning was a line of pale light between the suffocating green curtains. She did not want to remain in the bed, though the fire in the room had not been lit. Perhaps that was a custom of old, not to enter this room in the morning if…
With a sigh, she threw back the covers, and set her feet to the worn rug beside the bed. She shivered within the nightgown she had reclaimed after ‘it was all over’. Her padded silk wrap still lay over the back of the chair before the chest on which the mirror sat. She pulled it about her and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a little disordered, and she wondered where the cap had been discarded. In a night best forgotten that, at least, had been funny. His look of horror when he had entered the room and found her sat, apparently calm, in the bed, her nightcap tied under her chin, her nightgown designed for warmth, not allure, had made her want to laugh out loud. Thereafter nothing had been amusing. Whatever he had expected, she had disappointed. Well, at least it was over and done with, and perhaps, if she was that unappealing, the interlinking door would remain closed most nights hereafter.
She pulled a brush through her hair before she rang the bell, and awaited her maid. Disguising matters from someone who had known one from infancy would not be realistic, but the pretence must be kept up. When Wootton entered, she turned and smiled brightly at her, and bemoaned the cold but nothing else.
‘I’ll have a maid light the fire as soon as the cat can lick her ear, my lady, and have a can of hot water brought up. Whatever did you get out of bed for so swift? You’ll catch your death in this draughty, ramshackle place.’
‘I am not sure we can do much about the draughts, but less ramshackle it will soon be, Wootton, once I have taken stock. It is a fine house, I think, and could be quite habitable again, given a little care.’
‘Well, “careless” seems the way of things recent-like, my lady, though Mr Norton wrings his poor hands over it. You’ll have an ally there, to be sure.’
‘I need not just allies, but armies,’ laughed Kitty, softly. ‘You know, Wootton, keeping house for my brother had become most uninteresting, but now, I have a project to keep me fully occupied.’
Wootton watched her mistress closely, and missed little. Her lips pursed, but she nodded, and asked which gown was desired for the morning.
The under-housemaid who lit the fire was too lowly to speak up in the servants’ hall, but the housemaid who brought the can of hot water for her ladyship’s ablutions, reported that she seemed very composed and perfectly at ease. Had Kitty been privileged to hear the sighs from Cook, and the look she gave Mrs Gowthorpe, the housekeeper, she would have discovered where their sympathies lay.
*
As it was, she came down to breakfast, which she ate in lonely estate, and then asked to see the senior members of the household in the morning room.
‘This house has been neglected, though not by you who live here all the time. It is my intention that it should revive. I want a house in which I am happy to entertain by the summer, and that means hard work. I take it nobody objects to that.’
There were mutterings of approval.
‘Begging your pardon, my lady,’ Mrs Gowthorpe interjected, ‘but hard work will need to be accompanied by hard cash. Has his lordship said that money can be spent upon the house again?’
In truth, Kitty had not yet broached the subject with him, simply assuming that a major part of her duty as a wife was to see the family seat in good order.
‘Money will be forthcoming, for repairs and for making things more up to date. I certainly wish to pu
rchase new soft furnishings, and, in some cases, remove very unsightly pieces of furniture to less visible parts of the house. Which means, firstly, that I need to see everywhere. I do mean everywhere Mrs… I am sorry, was it Gowthrop?’
‘Gowthorpe, my lady.’
‘Well, I want to see the state of the house below stairs too.’
‘That is most irregular, my lady.’ Norton was shocked. After all, below stairs was his empire.
‘It is, however, necessary. If everything is antiquated and run down, how can one have an efficient household? I want to see things as they are now.’
‘So you would approve one of those new ranges, my lady?’ Cook tried, and failed, to keep the hope out of her voice.
‘Goodness, yes.’
Cook looked as though she had been given a vision of heaven.
*
The earl rose late, for country hours, and did not look into his wife’s chamber, but came down to a belated breakfast with the sort of scowl usually reserved for a thumping head after a heavy night. He was surprised that the under-butler attended him, and asked for Norton.
‘I am afraid Mr Norton is engaged with her ladyship, my lord,’ declared the under-butler, apologetically.
‘He is?’
‘Yes, my lord, going through the house with her ladyship and Mrs Gowthorpe.’
The scowl became a frown of incomprehension. ‘Why the devil does she want to do that?’
‘I believe her ladyship is undertaking a… a survey, my lord.’
‘A survey?’
‘Of what needs doing to make the house as it should be, my lord.’
‘It isn’t falling down.’
‘No, my lord. At least, not the main parts.’
His lordship blinked. He had not been told about any problems, but then he had not spoken with his steward, or with Norton, about the house in… well, since he came into the title five years since. It had looked sound enough then.
The Devil You Know Page 3