Sipping at his wine, which was barely tolerable, Jules paced around the small dining cabin. A smile flirted with the corners of his mouth. How had this journey to his ancestral home, which had filled him with some mild trepidation, memory being what it was, turned into such a divertissement? He felt like a bear-leader: all these children to watch out for and not one of them with the least bit of sense. And that supposed chaperon! She hadn’t appeared above decks once.
What would Juliana and Dominic make of the news that he had wed? Feeling a great rush of affection, Jules thought of his delightful sister-in-law. She would, no doubt, attribute it to her gypsy princess, Mrs. Forbes, and her prophesy.
Jules, however, did not possess a romantic nature; he had simply mistaken the room and fate had stepped in. Now he would have to make the best of it. And the best thing for all concerned was a quick, quiet wedding between himself and Lady Kathryn Thistlewait. All he had to do was make the minx see reason.
That prospect did not appear encouraging at all! His intended bride marched into the room, chin thrust to the ceiling, her remarkable Thistlewait eyes flashing.
“Comte,” she stated firmly. “There is nothing you can say that will force me to withdraw my protection from Miss Strange. She goes to Château Saville with us or—”
He raised his palm in the hope of warding off another of her lengthy explanations. “I agree,” he said softly.
She closed her mouth, blinking ridiculously long dark eye lashes. “You do?”
“Of course. It is plain that Miss Strange needs our protection. But, perhaps you might give me a few of the particulars?”
Jules sipped slowly at his wine as Kat regaled him with the tale. On the surface he preserved a calm, almost bored demeanor. But, inside he seethed. He knew Sir Edmund Trigge. How anyone could still name him a gentleman was beyond Jules’s understanding. Their paths had crossed but once on the Continent, but he had heard many stories about the man before and after that incident. It too had involved a very young, very wealthy, very silly girl. And although Jules had not been in time to preserve the girl’s reputation, he had saved her life and made absolutely certain that Trigge had not profited from his dastardly deed. The child’s guardian had removed her immediately to the Americas so she could begin a new life.
Trigge had reason to hate him, and Jules knew the man played by no rules. The Contessa Marietta Primavetta had known Trigge, also. What she had ever seen in him Jules would never understand.
The fear in Lady Kathryn’s eyes showed clearly when she spoke of Trigge, and she was right to feel so. Once again he had been thwarted; they must all be on guard.
“So you see, it will all work out perfectly,” Lady Kathryn finished with a sigh. “When I cry off and we leave your château to return to London, Caroline shall accompany us. Her reputation will be intact. Well, my lord, what do you think?”
Looking into her eager face, her golden hair like a halo in the candlelight, her aquamarine eyes wide and glistening with excitement, her red ruby mouth with full lower lip curved in a delicious smile, Jules’s immediate thoughts were not fit for Lady Kathryn’s ears.
Instead, he answered with a lift of his eyebrow and the flicker of a smile. “I think it will do nicely. But I have one request. Since we are, in the eyes of the world, affianced, could you bring yourself to call me by my name?”
“Jules?” she asked softly, and at his nod she grinned. “You are being ridiculously understanding.”
Slowly her grin faded, and he was lost again in her remarkable eyes which grew wide and round in excitement and slanted in amusement. Now they did neither; they were quietly serious.
“My lo … Jules, I don’t know why you are being so understanding in the midst of this coil, but I do appreciate your kindness.” A soft pink flushed her high cheekbones. “I want you to know it is not personal, my crying off. It is just that I am determined to wed only for love, like Mama and Papa.” Her cheeks were now a rosy red, matching the ribbons threaded through her hair, holding back its wild exuberance.
She seemed to expect no answer so he did not give one, he simply stood as she left the room.
He had never possessed a romantic nature. He had always been a realist. Now, however, there was the faintest quickening of his pulse as he contemplated how he would change Lady Kathryn’s mind.
Chapter 5
Gwynneth Tutwilliger bent over the writing desk in her bedroom, laboring at her letter. In the basket beside her at least a dozen crumpled sheets bore witness to her struggle.
This missive to Sybilla must be sent by the fastest messenger at dawn tomorrow. The sooner everything was set in motion the sooner her darling Kat would be happily settled. Then she could devote her full attention to Mariah; she had already decided Mr. Vanderworth was perfection itself. Gwynneth now had only to make the young man accept that Mariah was his ideal.
Looking down at the lines she had just written Gwynneth groaned aloud. What balderdash! She and Sybilla had been friends for years despite the fact they were both known to be shockingly outspoken. So, she might as well remain true to form and be herself.
Taking a fresh sheet of paper, Gwynneth stuck the quill pen in the ink pot one last time.
“Dearest Sybilla. Come at once. Your step-grandson, Jules, must wed my godchild, Kathryn Thistlewait, immediately! Fondest regards, Gwynneth.”
There! She sat back with a satisfied sigh. That should do the trick. With any luck, her godchildren would arrive at Château Saville only a few days before Gwynneth would spring her surprise.
The fiacre Saville had hired was surprisingly well sprung. Even the interior was most comfortable with an abundance of pillows and blankets. Kat had settled Miss Hamilton cozily on one seat while she and Caroline shared the other. The men rode beside them. Kat could see them both out her window: Saville astride his black stallion, brought over on the boat with them from England, and Jacko on a rich chestnut gelding, hired at the last moment.
Saville turned, smiling, to say something to Jacko and Kat was struck by the strength of his profile. From this angle he did not appear detached, as if he were hiding a secret, he appeared to be a man of character and nobility, a man she could depend on and trust. Perhaps it was only the patch that made him appear so unapproachable.
“I know it is vulgarly curious, my lady, but just how did the Comte de Saville lose his sight?” Caroline asked, straining to see out the window.
Caroline was slowly recovering from her fright with what, Kat realized, must be her natural exuberance, so she overlooked the impertinent question. As Kat was Saville’s fiancée it was only natural the young girl would think her privy to such information.
“We have never discussed it.” Kat smiled. “It is not a matter of any importance to me.”
“Oh, how romantic!” Caroline sighed. “To be so in love his scars are as nothing to you! No doubt he earned them bravely in war against that horrid Napoleon creature.”
“Yes, I agree with Caroline,” Miss Hamilton yawned delicately. “You must inquire, Kathryn, if he was on the Peninsula or at Waterloo. I recall hearing that his brother, the Marquis of Aubrey, distinguished himself.” Hannah closed her eyes and then just as quickly lifted her lids. “Or, of course, he could have been maimed in a duel.”
A loud gasp escaped Caroline’s pursed pink lips. “Never say so, Miss Hamilton! Oh, surely not a duel.”
“I think not,” Kat answered, shaking her head and glancing back out the window.
The men were laughing, the sunlight accenting their ebony and golden heads. They appeared to get on very well. Jules was a good example for Jacko, Kat thought. She wouldn’t mind at all if her twin emulated the older man.
But all this talk of duels terrified her. She would never have allowed Jacko to call Saville out for her sake—although she was now certain he would not have accepted the challen
ge—for even if her twin was the youngest member of the Four Horseman’s Club, he was the worst swordsman and the poorest shot in the ton.
A tremor of fear pulsed through her. She would never forget the look on Sir Edmund’s scarlet face when they had thwarted him. What chance would Jacko have in a duel against him?
Giving herself a mental shake, Kat refused to dwell on such horrid thoughts. This was her first journey to the Continent and she fully intended to enjoy the French countryside.
The ravages of war were hidden under the lush greenery, and the villages had been whitewashed. But occasionally she could spy a man with a wooden peg or an empty sleeve. The war could never be forgotten with these reminders. Kat wondered how they, as English, would be received by Jules’s people. Not, of course, that it really mattered for they would only be staying for a short time. Still, it was his homecoming and she would not wish to cast a shadow over it.
Jules had decided not to press forward and had warned her that they would stop overnight at an inn near Reims.
Les Hirondelles looked very much like an English inn; the painted wooden sign with two doves could have been a taproom sign in any English village. But inside the hospitality was very different. There was no private dining room, their party would have to be content to share a board with the locals. Kat found this prospect delightful, a chance to practice her halting French. Obviously Jules had sent instructions ahead for the innkeeper, and carefully following his French, Kat learned that he was delighted to welcome the comte and his party.
“I have ordered us a light fare for tonight. I find it best when traveling,” Jules remarked after seating the ladies, Kat at the head, Caroline and Jacko on one side, Miss Hamilton on the other, and sliding himself into a chair at the foot of the table.
“Have you traveled much, my lord?” Caroline inquired, her wide blue eyes bright with curiosity.
“Yes. I have spent ten years on the Continent and in Greece, Miss Strange.”
“Oh, how thrilling!” Caroline enthused. “Until I went to London I had never left Northumberland. Were you on the Peninsula?”
“No, that was my brother, the Marquis of Aubrey. I did not take part in the French wars,” he returned flatly, and for the first time Kat noticed him absently run one long finger over his scarred cheek.
Caroline cast a startled look at Hannah and then an even more knowing one at Kat. Her enquiring countenance was easily read by all around the table; if Saville had not received his wounds at war, how then?
“Dash it, Miss Strange, regular chatterbox this evening.” Jacko laughed easily, very much like a man accustomed to dealing with sisters. “Let’s dine in peace. Need some wine to wash the dust away, Saville.”
As if on cue two serving girls appeared with bottles and glasses.
Kat was happy to see Caroline did not seem offended at Jacko’s words. She merely shrugged and took a tiny sip of wine.
Not by any outward sign did Jules allow that Caroline’s prying was disconcerting. He knew his appearance evoked a lot of questions. He was only surprised they had not come much earlier and from Kathryn. She seemed to take his appearance almost as a matter of course, but then he knew she did not intend to go through with the marriage, so perhaps it held little import for her.
He sat back, once again exuding his mysterious and detached air, not yet willing to deal with the interest that he sensed around the table.
Kat suddenly had the most alarming desire to see beneath that facade. Instead, she picked at the omelet with mushroom sauce, the delicious cassoulet, the dish of peas, and the basket piled high with delicate pastries. She could not, however, resist the apple tart.
She had spoken the truth when she told Caroline that Saville’s scars were of no concern to her because in all truth they did not distract from his appeal. And Kat realized he did hold a certain appeal for her; not simply because he was showing her such absurd kindness or because they were bonded together in this stratagem to thwart Society’s strictures, but for other reasons that she didn’t quite understand. It would be necessary to stay at least a fortnight at the château before she cried off. During their time together she determined to learn more about him.
“Kat … Kat, stop wool-gathering!” demanded her insensitive twin. “Miss Strange has been asking you to walk in the garden while we have our port.”
Kat glanced up to see Jules already standing to assist Caroline and Hannah from the table.
He lifted that particular eyebrow and flashed her a small smile. “Lady Kathryn, are you all right?”
Blinking rapidly, she nodded. “Yes, a walk in the garden will be just the thing before retiring.”
Following them from the dining room where Jacko and Saville already had moved to the fireplace with their port, Hannah yawned. “Kathryn dear, would you mind if I failed to join you? I find traveling so exhausting.”
“No, Hannah, you go on up. We shan’t be long,” she called back, rushing to keep up with Caroline who was already out the side door and into a moonlit garden.
“Oh, look at all the stars!” Caroline sighed, twirling around on the crushed rock path. “And there is the most pleasant scent in the air.”
“This is an herb garden.” Kat bent lower to the plants. “Here are rosemary, thyme, and fennel. Over there I smell mint. The French are much more clever in their use of herbs for cooking.”
“Oh, Kathryn, you are so knowledgeable.” Even in the pale moonlight Kat could see how woebegone Caroline’s little face had become. “No one ever taught me about such things. I don’t even know how to plan menus for a household. Sir George’s housekeeper always did so and before that, Papa.”
Impulsively, Kat gave the smaller girl a hug. “Perhaps when we reach the château I shall be able to give you some pointers.”
“Oh, wonderful!” Caroline clapped her hands, suddenly animated again. “You will soon be the mistress of the château so you will be taking inventory of the linens and the kitchen. You can show me just how to go on. Oh, what fun we shall have! But here I am, going on like a chatterbox, just as your brother said!”
“Don’t be taken aback by Jacko.” Kat smiled. “He is simply accustomed to dealing with me and our sister, Mariah. He is a bit spoiled I’m afraid.”
“Oh, he doesn’t bother me a bit,” Caroline said breezily. “You are all being so kind I would be a poor creature indeed to complain of anything. I’m only happy that we are all so comfortable together and that your brother can treat me like a sister.”
In all her twenty years Kat had never heard another female speak so offhandedly of her devastatingly handsome brother. Intrigued, she couldn’t help but laugh softly. “You are very unique, Caroline.”
“Oh, because I am not enraptured with what an Adonis Lord Thistlewait is?” She sighed, a trifle dramatically, Kat thought, smiling in the darkness. “I believe I prefer older gentlemen.”
The smile was quickly wiped from Kat’s face at the idea that this young girl might be developing a tendre for Saville. It was a very uncomfortable thought.
“Perhaps that is why I was so foolish with Sir Edmund. But I have learned my lesson.” Thrusting her tiny nose into the air, Caroline stared at her with wide serious eyes. “I shall not be so quick again to think myself attached. I will wait until I meet someone like the comte and we fall in love like the two of you.”
Kat could not quite meet those wide trusting eyes so she looked down. She discovered, much to her chagrin, that she must have dropped the small reticule that had hung around her wrist.
“I’m such a peagoose,” she muttered, glancing around at the shadowy foliage. “Caroline, could you fetch me a lantern or a candle? It seems I have lost my reticule.”
“Oh, my, yes. I shall return in a trice.” Lifting up the hem of her blue dimity dress, Caroline fairly flew into the inn.
Kat bent over
, brushing aside some unruly mint stalks, hoping to spy the small mesh bag. Really, Willy was right. Kat was shockingly careless with her belongings, and this had most definitely gotten her into the suds. If she hadn’t left Jacko’s note just lying about, Willy wouldn’t have followed her, and they all wouldn’t be in this shocking coil.
Hearing footsteps on crushed rocks, she straightened, turning.
“How quick…” The words died on her lips as fear bounded into her throat, cutting off her sentence.
Blocking the pathway to the inn door was Sir Edmund Trigge, the moonlight bathed his angular face in silver and made his pallid eyes glisten.
“So we meet again, Lady Kathryn,” he murmured, moving one step closer.
This time Kat did retreat. “What are you doing here, Sir?” she demanded in as strong a voice as she could muster.
“I am simply breaking my journey, just as you are, my dear.” His thin lips curved in a crooked smile. “I saw you from the taproom window where I narrowly missed running into Saville. How fortuitous that we should be able to have this private meeting.”
“Sir, you go too far. I wish no private meeting with you.” Desperately she searched for a way back to the safety of the inn. She had forgotten she was out of England. Here the customs might be different—she should never have remained in the garden alone.
“No. Of course not.” He backed away a step.
Kat felt relief lighten the tightness that had strangled her chest until he continued:
“But then, I didn’t ask for your interference on the boat, either.” He sneered. “You had best get used to our little meetings, Lady Kathryn, I feel sure they will take place with some regularity.”
Only a desperate man would insult her so. “I do not believe Saville or my brother will look kindly upon this threat,” she returned, drawing herself up to her full height.
He shook his head with a low, rough chuckle. “I saw your face on the ship. You’re afraid of me, aren’t you, my dear? But then you should be. You have no idea of what I am capable of, do you, Lady Kathryn? So, if you know what’s good for you and your brother, this conversation will remain our little secret.”
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