Kate sighed. “Well, you make me feel old sometimes, I confess.”
Merry’s brows drew together. “Do I? I’m sorry. You deserve to be happy, Kate.”
“But I am happy.”
“Are you?”
“Just a little tired, my dear. Goodnight.”
Kate took ages to fall asleep. She had lied to Merry. In truth, she was miserable. How long could this go on? Would she and Robert never be friends? She doubted they would ever be lovers. She had hoped for a while that their one coupling would result in a child. But that proved not to be the case. At this rate, her child-bearing years would have passed by the time he got around to it.
The next afternoon a calling card was presented to Kate where she and Merry sat in the salon with their tapestries and embroidery. Robert had gone to his club.
Kate raised her head from the card to study Merry. “We have a caller. It’s a Mr. Foster.”
Merry’s mouth formed an ‘O’ and her eyes filled with apprehension.
“Please send Mr. Foster up,” Kate said to the footman.
Minutes later, a long-limbed, fair young man of about five and twenty entered the room. He bowed over Kate’s hand.
“Lady St. Malin, how good to meet you at last.”
“Likewise, Mr. Foster. Merry has spoken of you.”
His gray eyes twinkled. “Not all good, I’ll wager.” He bowed over Merry’s proffered hand.
Her cheeks were scarlet, and her eyes sparkled with something akin to anger. “Well, you’ve found me, sir,” she said ungraciously.
Kate frowned at her. “Please sit down, Mr. Foster. May I offer you coffee or wine?”
He reluctantly drew his gaze away from Merry. “No thank you, my lady. I came with the hope I might speak privately to Miss Hargrove.”
Merry shook her head, but Kate had already agreed. There was an awkward silence.
“Very well, then,” Merry said in a sulky tone.
Kate stood. “I must instruct Hove as to the hanging of a painting. It arrives this afternoon. I’ll leave you two alone for a few minutes.”
As she walked to the door, Mr. Foster moved quickly to Merry’s side. “Merry, if I’ve driven you from your home, I am inexpressibly sorry. It was wrong of me to speak to you so harshly. I must confess to suffering jealousy when you encouraged that scoundrel…”
“Armand is not a scoundrel.”
“Armand is it? No gentleman allows a young lady of your breeding to call him by his given name.”
Kate closed the door, hoping that Mr. Foster would discover the best way to appeal to Merry. He was not as dashingly handsome as Armand, but she liked the unaffected honesty in his gray eyes. She hoped he would not try to press Merry but would allow her to come to the right decision on her own. She was flighty, but that was because she was not yet eighteen. Imprudent, perhaps, but not stupid by any means.
Kate encountered Robert in the corridor walking toward the salon. “Don’t go in just yet,” she said, gesturing to the closed door.
His eyebrows rose. “Why not?”
“Mr. Foster has come to see Merry.”
Robert frowned. “Who the devil is Mr. Foster?”
“The man her father hopes she’ll marry.”
“And you left them alone?”
“I thought it best to give them a moment together to sort out their differences.”
He stepped around her. “Well, I don’t.”
She took hold of his arm. Conscious of his strength and his proximity, she hastily removed her hand. “Can we go to the library? I wish to talk to you.”
He nodded toward the salon door. “But what about…?”
“Let them be, Robert. What can happen in our salon?” She flushed, recalling their moment of passion in that room.
He paused, studying her face. “I suppose a few moments can’t hurt.”
When they reached the library, he swiveled to face her. “What is it, Kate?”
She told him about Armand and the episode in the park as the appearance of Mr. Foster cast a new perspective on the situation.
His brows snapped together so fiercely her stomach tightened in alarm. “You didn’t see fit to tell me this earlier?”
“Knowing your temper…”
“I don’t have a temper,” he said in a raised voice, every line of his body taut as a pianoforte wire.
“You don’t?” She glared at him, ready to fight him for Merry’s happiness. If clumsily dealt with, this affair could all go horribly wrong.
“No,” he added lowering his voice.
She sighed. “It seems prudent to allow Mr. Foster his say. Let nature take its course.”
“And if that course is for Merry to run away with this vagabond… Armand De Ville?”
“If she meant to elope with him, she would’ve done so. Why come to us in London where she had even less freedom?”
Robert leaned against the back of the leather chesterfield and crossed his arms. He studied her silently. “You believe anything Merry does makes sense?”
“Yes. Unconsciously perhaps.” Under his scrutiny Kate’s pulse thudded. “I suspect she never planned to marry Armand. She wants to marry Mr. Foster.”
Exasperated, Robert ran both hands through his hair. “Then why the devil didn’t she agree to the marriage?”
She held his gaze. “Sometimes women need a little encouragement. They need to know that a man loves them.”
Was that discomfiture that flittered across his face? It was gone in an instant. His fingers returned to rake his hair, leaving it to flop over his forehead in that attractive way that always made her catch her breath. “I’m sure I don’t know what women want.”
She wouldn’t let him get away with that. “Perhaps you should give it more thought.”
He frowned. “I don’t like it that you kept this from me. You’re too secretive for my liking, Kate. How am I to trust you?”
“I am secretive?” she spluttered. “I don’t disappear at night to visit my lover!”
He looked wounded. “And neither do I!”
“Not now, perhaps! But you can’t say you haven’t visited her since we married.”
They both breathed heavily. “That’s unfair!” he snapped. “I haven’t touched another woman since I married you!”
Rage at his duplicity and the unfairness of his criticism bubbled up in her throat to choke her. “Do you expect me to believe that? When you have disappeared at night, sometimes until dawn?”
“You can believe what you like.” He went to fling open the door. “I’m going to the salon to break up this charming tête à tête. The responsibility of Merry’s welfare rests on my shoulders, remember?”
“Which you have happily left up to me, until now,” Kate snapped.
“Which I shouldn’t have done by the looks of it.” He cast her a glance of such dislike she shivered. “You may rest assured I shall take over this task you’ve found so distasteful.”
“I don’t find it distasteful.” Her voice trembled as she followed him down the corridor. “I’ve enjoyed having someone to talk to.”
Robert opened the salon door and the couple inside broke quickly apart. They turned shining faces toward them.
Robert walked into the room. “What goes on here?” Robert asked sternly.
Merry danced across the floor to them, leading Mr. Foster by the hand.
“Robert, I should like to introduce my fiancé, Mr. Hugh Foster.”
Foster sheepishly offered Robert his hand. “I beg pardon, my lord. This is conduct unbecoming. But it’s the first chance I’ve had to straighten things out with Merry.”
Robert gave his hand a hearty shake. Kate suspected there was more than a soupcon of relief in the gesture. “Glad to meet you, Foster. I gather this is what you want, Merry?”
Merry hugged Kate. She swirled to give Robert a teary smile. “Yes. Mama and Papa will be so pleased. I can’t wait to tell them.”
“Then I wish you both happy.” Robert g
lanced at Kate. “It seems everyone’s happy.”
“You must come to our wedding,” Merry cried. “It will be held in Bath after my eighteenth birthday.”
“Of course. We wouldn’t miss it.” Kate thought to quiz her about Armand once they were alone, but she decided against it. Best left well alone. She suspected the Frenchman had only ever been a means to make Hugh jealous. She hadn’t underestimated his power of persuasion, however. She spared a sympathetic thought for him even though his conduct in this affair was ill judged. It might well be that his circumstances were as he said. And she suspected he really was in love with Merry.
They all turned at the knock on the door.
“My lady’s portrait has arrived,” Hove said. “Do you wish it hung, my lord?”
“Thank you, Hove,” Robert said. “It’s to replace the mirror over the mantel.”
Two footmen carefully carried the painting into the salon. They stripped off the brown paper. The portrait had been fitted into a heavy, ornate-gilt frame.
After it was hung, they gathered around to view it. It dressed the wall and suited the décor in the room. Kate had to admit she did look regal. With an intake of breath, she acknowledged that she really was a marchioness.
“Oh Kate,” Merry said a throb in her voice. “It is so beautiful. And so very like you. Especially that spark of wisdom in your eyes.”
“A very fine work,” Mr. Foster said, “from the hands of a master.”
Kate looked at Robert, praying he did like it. “Indeed, it is,” he said quietly. “A very fine work.”
Two days later, Merry’s father came to fetch her home. Mr. Hargrove expressed gratitude for their sensitive and adroit handling of the awkward affair. He hoped they were not overly inconvenienced by his wayward daughter. Mrs. Hargrove and he looked forward to them attending the wedding, which was sure to be a much happier occasion. “You must stay at Roseleaf Manor,” he said, with a warm smile. “My wife and I would be delighted.”
When she and Robert entered the house having seen them on their way, Robert turned to her, one hand on the banister rail. “I am grateful for your handling of this business, Kate. It was skillful as Hargrove said. And all the praise must go to you. I was blind to the true circumstances. It might have turned out quite differently.”
She hated to see chagrin in his eyes. “Women tend to confide in each other more, Robert,” she said, “that’s all.”
“A blessing in this instance.” He stood aside for her to pass him.
Kate picked up her skirts and ascended the stairs, knowing he would disappear into the library for hours. She took no joy in being proved right. She’d been at fault, too. Why hadn’t she confided in him? She feared she’d wanted to punish him in some way, which would’ve been very shabby indeed. If he could only sense how much she yearned to reach out to him. But on reaching the next floor, he nodded to her before disappearing through the library door.
Peace settled over the house again. Kate missed Merry’s bright voice and appealing laugh. She had not had time to speak to Brigitte about the episode in the park and now called for her. When the maid appeared, Kate told her how disappointed she was that Brigitte had abandoned Merry to a fortune hunter. “You were asked to accompany her for a reason. And that was to ensure she was not open to scandal.”
“But, my lady, Miss Hargrove insisted I leave her,” the French maid said. “I had to do as she wished.”
“You should have remained within sight. You were nowhere to be seen. And you did not return to the house for some hours.”
Brigitte twisted her fingers and fell silent.
“Can you give me a reason why I shouldn’t dismiss you?”
“It was wrong of me. I’m truly sorry, my lady. It won’t happen again.”
“I expect there’ll be no opportunity for it to happen again,” Kate admitted, relenting. Merry could be difficult she knew only too well. She was not pleased with Brigitte, but it wasn’t reason enough to dismiss her. “I’ll overlook it this time.”
Brigitte bobbed. “Thank you, my lady.”
There were no social engagements this evening. Robert had gone riding in the morning and was now in the library interviewing a man for the position of steward for one of his properties. Kate spent most of the afternoon alone in her chamber reading.
The previous evening, she and Robert had attended a concert where the famous mezzo-soprano, Girolamo Crescentini performed. His hauntingly beautiful voice had moved her to tears. Everything seemed to affect her these days, from the rose and violet tints in the sky at dusk, to a dew-drenched cobweb sparkling like a diamond necklace in the garden. Despite offering her rare praise, Robert had shown no inclination to change their circumstances. Kate worried that he still didn’t trust her.
As the days passed, Kate began to feel very tired and wasn’t entirely sure she could continue this way for much longer.
Chapter Sixteen
Robert had departed for Birmingham in the north on business, planning to visit the iron works. He would be gone for over a week. Kate missed him although they’re reached a kind of polite truce. She liked to see him at breakfast or over the dinner table. She tried to fill in the lonely days, taking lessons on the harp and riding with friends in the park.
She attended another literary soiree at the Duchess of Devonshire’s house, where ladies of the ton read poetry. Mrs. Smedley read John Donne’s poem, The Broken Heart, in throbbing tones, her bosom swelling with emotion. Donne’s concept of love made Kate want to giggle. She did not accept ‘love as a ravenous pike’ or to ‘liken her heart to the small fish it feeds on.’
After the polite clapping died away, Lady Ellis leaned forward and tapped her on her arm. “I must say I wouldn’t mind if my husband fought for my honor, Lady St. Malin.”
Kate stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”
Lady Ellis’ raised her eyebrows. “Surely you’ve heard your husband fought Lord Southmore.”
“When was this?”
The lady’s eyes gleamed. “Some weeks ago. In the early hours of the morning on Hampstead Heath. He beat Southmore soundly.”
Kate remembered Robert’s bruised and cut cheek.
“He would not tell you, of course. Lord Southmore was laid up for some time with a broken rib and damage to his hands.”
A discussion followed about the Gothic novel published that year, An Arabian Tale, but Kate had yet to read it. As soon as it was polite to do so, she left.
She returned home, her mind in a muddle. Had Robert fought to defend her honor? Or had it been a matter of pride? Jealousy? She couldn’t be sure and was a little ashamed of herself for wishing Robert would plant Southmore a facer. Well he had, apparently, although she hadn’t asked him to, and it didn’t thrill her that he’d hurt the man because of her.
As the carriage negotiated the busy streets, she came to the opinion that it was possible to be lonelier in the city than the country. In Cornwall, the days had passed serenely, without the demands made of one in London. Perhaps she really wasn’t suited to city life.
Lady Moncrieff, who she had not met previously, had invited her to a costume party at Vauxhall Gardens the following Friday. She assured Kate that it would be perfectly acceptable for her to come alone. As Robert wasn’t expected home until the following day at the earliest, Kate accepted, with the hope that it would lift her spirits.
On Friday evening, dressed in lavender silk and wearing a lacy black mask, Kate traveled with Lady Moncrieff in her carriage. Vauxhall Gardens was situated over the Thames River, and many arrived by boat to pay their shilling entrance fee.
Kate found it remarkable with its chinoiserie buildings, pavilions, temples, and the wooded wildernesses of elm, sycamore, and lime. Couples dressed in finery strolled the romantic Druid walk and many romantic assignations took place among the trees.
The square was enclosed by walks and the western wall of the gardens with an orchestra housed in a building in the center. A statue of the composer, H
andel by Louis Francois Roubiliac, took pride of place. Lady Moncrieff informed Kate that during his lifetime, Handel often visited the gardens.
In the grove, she and her hostess settled in a supper box which easily held the fifteen in their party. Each box had been defined by a different painting, none of which could be considered fine art.
While a supper of chicken and thin slices of ham was served, a hush fell over the crowd as a thousand oil lamps burst into light, casting the gardens in a fairy-like glow. Kate wished Robert was here to see it. She felt quite hollow attending this alone.
As the evening passed, with wine freely imbibed, the crowds in the grove grew rowdier. Kate grew dismayed when her party become a risqué affair. A gentleman drank from a lady’s slipper. Robert would never have approved. Another reason for him to find her lacking, she supposed. Well, she was here now and must make the best of the evening as it became too difficult to leave. After the guests in her box melted into the crowd, Kate sat alone, but for one other woman, she had only been introduced to that evening. She found it a struggle to engage her in conversation as the woman craned her neck to gaze at the crowd. Then a man approached and escorted the lady onto the dance floor. Left alone, Kate’s spine tingled with unease.
*
Robert arrived back at ten of the clock weary but pleased to have sorted out the problems at the iron works. There was now a good manager who Robert felt confident would prove worthy. A footman informed him her ladyship had not yet returned from Lady Moncrieff’s party at Vauxhall Gardens. Robert grew annoyed. Kate should be here awaiting his return. It appeared she hadn’t missed him. That it might be his fault just made him even edgier. He’d been like a bear of late, burdened with all this responsibility, and he hadn’t appreciated Kate keeping things from him. Although that, too, was most likely his fault. Not to mention, having to deal with his mother’s husband again, who set his teeth on edge.
Robert climbed the stairs with a hot bath in mind. Lady Moncrieff was not the sort of company he wished Kate to foster. While his valet drew the bath, Robert nursed a brandy in his dressing room. To be fair, Kate had not expected him home until tomorrow. He grudgingly admitted he’d missed her, more than he’d thought possible, and hoped that they might try to narrow the gulf that stretched between them, so wide, it seemed more difficult to cross than the Bay of Bengal.
The Marquess Meets His Match Page 15
