Cecilia Grant - [Blackshear Family 03]

by A Woman Entangled

  “He wasn’t at all bad, for a peer.” Viola studied the card, sitting on Bea’s bed. “If you must marry a Lord Somebody, I suppose you could do worse.”

  “I sincerely doubt he wants to marry me.” She leaned in to get a noseful of rose fragrance, and to hide her face from view. “He’s met me all of three times. I’m sure he only meant to be kind, because he knows my situation and knew I wasn’t likely to get flowers from anyone else.”

  “A man doesn’t usually send roses just to be kind.” Mama had come in with the maid and stood at the foot of Rose’s bed. “You ought to give serious thought to whether you would accept his addresses. Your father would want to know what answer to make, if he should ask permission to court you.”

  The prospect—the very words—twisted her innards. No, she ought to say. I’ve already thought about it and I cannot accept his addresses. But the sight of Rose stopped her tongue. If she made a brilliant match, she’d be able to introduce her sister to some of those people so secure in their consequence that they never felt the need to claim it at others’ expense.

  She drew a breath. “I’ll give it thought, then.” It was as though she’d stepped into an intricate snare, and any move she made just drew it tighter. “Vi, did you still mean to walk with me to Berkeley Square? I’m expected there in half an hour.”

  SHE’D WISHED for flowers from some other man, and at Harringdon House she had them. Lord John Prior had sent a tasteless profusion of blossoms, along with a note apologizing for the sudden indisposition that had robbed him of the pleasure of dancing with her, to Miss Westbrook in care of Lady Harringdon.

  “I do believe he mistakes matters.” The countess, spaniel in her lap, looked over Lord John’s note with delight. “He supposes I’m bringing you out as a marriageable young lady.”

  He mistook matters, surely enough. If he thought she didn’t know exactly what sort of indisposition had led to his departure, or what physick he’d received for his pains, well, he was gravely mistaken indeed.

  “I’m not sure there’s necessarily any mistake.” Louisa Smith’s conduct simply put Kate to shame. Even with this new awkwardness between them, she was staunch in stepping up to challenge Lady Harringdon’s slights. “He feels sorry for having had to break his engagement to dance with Miss Westbrook, and, not knowing her own direction, thought to send his bouquet to the lady with whom he’s now seen her in company twice.”

  “If it had been a more modest bouquet, I might agree with you, Miss Smith.” Lady Harringdon waved Lord John’s note at the floral arrangement, which she’d had brought to the parlor that the two young ladies and Mrs. Smith might consider it thoroughly. “But these are the flowers of a man who means to impress himself in a lady’s imagination. He’s left nothing to chance, you see. Whatever might be Miss Westbrook’s favorite color, she is assured of finding it here.”

  “Mistake or no, I think his regard for Miss Westbrook speaks well of him,” Mrs. Smith ventured, sending Kate a kindly smile. She’d looked so pleased last night, when she’d seen Louisa turned out to such advantage. She must not know of the wilting that Kate had later induced.

  “Indeed. And I’d say it speaks equally well of Miss Westbrook, who has proven that her manners and charm, at least, are worthy of a duke’s son.” Lady Harringdon handed back the note. “We shall have to take care to find you a position with an older lady who hasn’t any wish to marry. No younger lady likes to feel that her companion outshines her with the gentlemen.”

  Kate folded the note to put away in her reticule. When she’d imagined stupefying a gentleman of rank, she’d supposed that the state of stupefaction would prevent him, at least in the beginning, from running off to engage in indecency with other women. Not to say Lord John was stupefied. But it was, indeed, an extravagant bunch of blooms. Perhaps he strove to assuage his guilt, and perhaps this was a representation of how he would go on with whatever lady he married. Committing indiscretions and paying penance in flowers.

  “I’ll own my taste in these things is old-fashioned, but I remain partial to a simple bouquet all of one color.” Mrs. Smith nodded to her daughter. “I thought the roses Lord Barclay sent to Louisa were perfectly charming.”

  “Miss Smith, you sly devil.” The countess trained the full weight of her attention on the other of her young callers. “You’ve been here five whole minutes and didn’t breathe a word of this. Have you made a conquest, and what will this mean for Sir George Bigby? I insist you tell us everything.”

  Well. Apparently Mama had been wrong about what was signified by a man’s sending roses, or perhaps Lord Barclay meant to court two ladies at once. Kate felt her fingers curling to grip the sofa cushions, in spite of her mightiest effort at aplomb. No sooner did she think she knew her circumstances, than something must change.

  “There’s nothing very much to tell.” Miss Smith went pink. “A bunch of roses arrived this morning with his card.” She threw one anxious glance to Kate. “We’d danced fairly early in the evening, and also spoken a bit before supper. He does make better conversation than many gentlemen.”

  “Better than Sir George, I think she means to say.” Lady Harringdon looked around in satisfaction at the others. “I don’t recall ever seeing you blush, Miss Smith, when speaking of the baronet.”

  What if she did just step aside, and leave Lord Barclay to Miss Smith? She could send back his flowers with some explanatory note. It’s clear to me you have a better prospect before you, and I suspect it’s clear to you, too. I’m sorry but my heart is engaged elsewhere. I’m sorry but we just wouldn’t suit. Any of those explanations would do. Then she could live in hope that Lord John Prior would follow his garish bouquet with more attentions, and not too often make a wallflower of her while indulging himself in someone else’s arms.

  Somewhere in this dull meditation came the sound of footsteps in the hall; purposeful, urgent footsteps. All conversation trailed off at the appearance of Lord Harringdon in the doorway, pale and clearly distressed.

  “The dowager Lady Harringdon has taken very ill.” He spoke to his wife, not even acknowledging the guests. “Morland has sent for the physician. I’m going to have him send for all the family as well.” He bowed, seeming only now to realize that he’d neglected to do so before, and as he came back up, his eyes connected with Kate’s.

  She was halfway to her feet, as indeed Mrs. and Miss Smith were, preparing to take an immediate leave. His gaze froze her. She felt every bit of his worry, as surely as if her heart took its rhythm from his. And she wanted—so, so badly she wanted him to ask her to send for Papa, but he didn’t. “Ought I—” Her throat was parched and the words barely made a sound, and before she could try again he’d turned and gone.

  “My apologies.” Lady Harringdon rose, too. “I shall have a servant fetch all your wraps. Mrs. Smith, I’ll have your carriage brought round.” She hurried off, leaving them to wait for their cloaks.

  Kate stood where she was, with nothing in the world to do but wait for her wrap and walk home. She still felt the echoes of Lord Harringdon’s alarm in the middle of her chest. Everywhere else she felt numb.

  “Miss Westbrook.” Louisa stepped forward suddenly, hands clasped before her. “Kate. May Mama and I send our carriage to fetch your father?” She hadn’t even asked her mother’s permission. Her eyes were grave and resolute.

  And now the numbness gave way to a crawling desperation. “You’re so kind to offer. But even if he were welcome here, I don’t know where to find him. If he’s in a courtroom, he cannot simply leave. And I’ve no idea whether he’s in a courtroom, or if so, which one he’d be in, or whether he’s someplace else altogether.” She’d never felt so helpless, so useless in her life. “And even if we do find him, I can’t be at all sure that he’d want to come.”

  Louisa moved a step nearer. “He must have an office. We’ll start there. If he’s not in his office, someone there may know where he’s gone. We’ll ask everyone until we’ve found him.” She reached out and t
ook Kate’s hands. “You’ll feel better to be doing something than you would if you simply sat about.”

  Beyond her, Mrs. Smith nodded. Their generosity was almost too much to bear.

  “Thank you.” A footman came with the cloaks. She pressed Louisa’s hands before releasing them, and bowed her head to Mrs. Smith. “Thank you both so much.” She blinked back a few tears—she might have more need of them later—and hurried into her cloak.

  THE CLERKS in Papa’s office said he’d gone to meet with a solicitor, and gave her the direction. She and the Smith ladies arrived at that man’s office to find he’d already left, and the solicitor hadn’t any idea of his next destination.

  “It wouldn’t be his own office, or surely the clerks there would have said they expected him back soon,” Miss Smith reasoned. Thank goodness for Miss Smith’s ability to reason, because Kate’s own had fled.

  Papa could be anywhere. There were so many buildings in the Inns of Court, and so many rooms in each building. And for all they knew, he might have gone to see a solicitor who kept an office elsewhere, or to the wig maker’s, or to any of a dizzying number of places. Where were they to start looking?

  “I think we’d best try his office again,” Mrs. Smith suggested. “Perhaps he finished this last appointment early and has gone back before the clerks expected him there.”

  Halfway back to his office, they ran into the Mr. Kersey she’d met the day she’d gone with Sebastian and Viola to see Mr. Blackshear in the criminal courts. Mr. Kersey hadn’t seen Papa and had no way of guessing where he’d be, but he thought Mr. Blackshear might be of use, and lost no time in sending for him.

  They were waiting with Mr. Kersey in his chambers when Mr. Blackshear came up the stairs, taking them two at a time. She’d never been so glad to hear anyone’s footsteps, or see anyone come into view. He swung through Kersey’s doorway in a swirl of robes, got them all resettled in his own rooms across the hall, directed Kersey to make tea, and asked her and the Smith ladies to tell him every detail.

  What had happened, exactly? What did they wish him to tell Mr. Westbrook? Ought he to bring him back here, or could he take him straight to the Smiths’ carriage? Where was the Smiths’ carriage to be found? Where had they looked for him already? Did they all wish to wait here, or would they like him to order hackney cabs to take them home? With marvelous efficiency he got through all of this, and then he stopped in front of her. “I’ll find him, Miss Westbrook. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.” And in another swirl of robes, he was gone, and she heard the thump of his quick pace down the stairs.

  It seemed a very long time before he returned, and he looked weary when he did. But he’d found Papa and sent him in the carriage, just as he’d said he would.

  She was so grateful.

  “Let’s see to getting you all home now,” he said, and he took care of that, too. A hackney took her home, where she told Mama what had happened, and waited on the bench in the entry hall until Papa finally came in.

  A single look at him told her she’d been too late. Not only in finding him this afternoon but in taking the steps to reconcile him with his family. She ought to have … but she didn’t know what she could have done differently. She’d been making her good impressions, little by little, with both Lady and Lord Harringdon. Little by little just hadn’t been enough.

  He sat down and put his arm about her, as he hadn’t done since she was a child. She sagged against him. She couldn’t cry.

  “Kate,” he said. She would not cry. “I grieved for her years and years ago.”

  “But she didn’t die years and years ago.” She understood his meaning perfectly well. It just wasn’t fair to give up on someone who was still alive, and shared blood and so many memories with you. It wasn’t fair to grieve for someone while she still liked to sit in the parlor for social calls, and hear stories read out of Ackermann’s Repository.

  “You’re lucky to have the example of affectionate grandparents on your mother’s side. Affectionate aunts and uncles as well. Not all families are like that.”

  She wouldn’t speak of the letters. She couldn’t admit to having read them. But there had been affection in Papa’s family, once. Could it really die out altogether? “Was everybody there?” she said instead.

  “Yes.” For a moment he was silent. “Please don’t imagine a tearful reconciliation around our mother’s deathbed. There was nothing of the sort.” He squeezed her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. “Be glad of your own loving family, dear.” He stood, then, and went upstairs.

  She didn’t follow straightaway. When his footsteps had gone past the second landing she moved to the end of the bench against the wall, mere inches from where she’d stood side by side with Mr. Blackshear the day he’d encouraged her to go into ballrooms and catch a duke. And she wept, silently, for Papa and his mother, for her arrogant, hopeful plans of that day, for all the many things about which she’d been so very wrong.

  AGAIN HE’D lain awake and thought about Miss Westbrook, but this time worry had kept his thoughts chaste.

  He hadn’t told her—nor did he intend to, ever—what effort had been required to persuade Mr. Westbrook to go to his brother’s house and his mother’s sickbed. He was the worst possible person to try to convince a man to overlook grievances with a brother, of course, but try he had, with every tactic of reason, every appeal to sentiment at his disposal. In the end he believed it had been the specter he’d conjured of Kate herself, pale and drawn as he’d left her in his chambers, that had finally convinced her father to make this gesture for her sake, if not his own.

  Nick sighed, lifting his hat and scrubbing a hand through his hair, as he started up Middle Temple Lane on his way back to Brick Court. He hadn’t bothered wearing a wig to breakfast, since he didn’t have any appointments following. A part of him would like nothing better at the moment than to simply go back to bed. He might first make a visit to Westbrook’s office, though, and learn about last night’s outcome and how Miss Westbrook was faring.

  His heart had fairly broken for her, seeing her in that state. He’d known all about her pride in winning her aunt’s notice, and the vanity that attended her relations with the Harringdon household, but he’d had no idea there was a genuine attachment to her grandmother. In fact he hadn’t known there was a grandmother at all.

  She’d been trying all along to patch up the estrangement in her father’s family. Every time she asked one of those questions in the parlor or at the dinner table—Are you sure no one on your side is musical? Perhaps our talent comes from the Westbrook line—she’d been tilting at that same windmill. Someone ought to have told her that sometimes families broke apart and there was simply no way to mend them.

  He sighed again, this time shoving his hands into his topcoat pockets. In the right one was the paper left with him by Mrs. William Blackshear. He hadn’t even taken it out to read it yet, though until Kersey’s messenger had found him with the news about Miss Westbrook yesterday, it had been the leading topic in his thoughts. Perhaps after he’d gone to look in on Westbrook he’d sit down and see what sort of note he might write, if he did decide he had something worth saying to Will.

  He turned in to Brick Court, meaning to get his wig before venturing to call on Westbrook, and for the second straight day, he was stopped by the sight of a woman on the bench. A small, sad figure this time, wrapped in a cloak and facing him, or rather, the path from which she’d known he must appear, rather than making a study of the sundial.

  He had nothing to learn, now, by going to call on Westbrook. Her face made everything plain.

  “Kate.” He crossed to the bench and sat. “Was it too late, then, when your father went to her?”

  She nodded. Her eyes rolled skyward and her mouth compressed as she strove to hold back tears. “I think it was too late a long time ago. But I failed to see it.”

  “I’m sorry.” He couldn’t touch her. Not only because they were in public view and she had a reputatio
n to protect but because things went so terribly wrong when he touched her. He kept his hands deep in his pockets. “You tried to do a worthy thing. I’m sure there’s little consolation now, in thinking of that, but the consolation will grow in time. And your father will recognize the love behind what you tried to do.”

  In spite of both their efforts, her eyes glittered with tears, and now one spilled over and rolled down the soft plane of her cheek. She wiped it with the back of her glove. “I thought I had more time. I was proud of the progress I thought I was making. But I ought to have tried harder, instead of allowing myself to get so caught up in …” She waved her hand vaguely. “I’ve just made such a mess of everything, Nick.”

  “That’s not true.” His name in her voice touched him like a brief surreptitious kiss. He couldn’t let her know that. “You’re distracted by grief and disappointment at the moment, but that will ease. And then you’ll see more clearly the things you’ve accomplished, and the things you can still accomplish. Trust me. You haven’t made a mess of anything.” He shifted, preparing to rise to his feet. “Come; I’ll see you back to your father’s office. You ought to go home and get some more rest.”

  She shook her head hard. “Papa doesn’t know I’m here. I don’t …” Of a sudden she was finding it very difficult to meet his eyes. “I said I was going to call on Miss Smith. And I walked down here on my own.”

  “To … tell me of your grandmother’s death?” His whole body went still: if his blood could have arrested itself in his veins, it would have.

  “Yes. And also to thank you for your help and kindness yesterday afternoon.” She took a breath. And also … Her lifting intonation, the indrawn breath, an overall quality of suspension, made clear she had more to say. Her hesitation made clear she was finding herself short of nerve.