The carved four-poster bed in Kat’s chamber was beautiful; the rich patina of the old wood making her run her fingers over its smoothness. Here, as in the other rooms she had seen, the brocade draperies were faded and she could see where the bedcovers and hangings had been carefully mended.
All along their journey they had seen the marks of war; in the countryside and in the people. The château also bore its scars.
Hurriedly pouring water in a porcelain bowl, Kat freshened herself. Just a few tugs on a hairbrush brought her unruly mop into order among the ribbons. She changed quickly from her traveling dress to a simple at-home muslin in a sea green she knew enhanced her natural coloring. Now she was ready to meet the others. She knew she was early, but she hoped she might find Jules in the small salon where they were to gather before supper. She wished a word in private to assess whether or not he would object if she and the others stayed on for a while.
It was clear the small salon was the one room in which Madame Bernair had placed the treasures she had been able to save. On the mantel an antique French clock ticked—it looked like pictures she’d seen. Vaguely she remembered there’d been a French king who’d delighted in making clocks—a Louis, she thought—and wondered if this could be one of his. On the tables were placed fawn leatherbound books, and at the windows the deep green brocade draperies still retained their rich color. But the most outstanding treasure was the huge oil painting over the fireplace.
She now knew exactly what Jules would be like without his patch and scar. The man staring down at her had expressive, large, dark eyes, heavily rimmed with lashes; the high cheekbones gave his face strength and character, as did the mouth, although it was curved in such an appealing smile that it exposed an underlying sweetness. It was not a beautiful face such as Jacko’s, instead it mesmerized and compelled, making one wish to know what lurked behind that dark gaze and to experience the delights that smile promised.
The woman was breathtakingly beautiful, but her perfection of face and figure made her appear unreal. But not so the baby she held in her arms. Jules had probably been about a year old when this was done. His soft baby face was alight with joy and curiosity, his expressive eyes bright above his rosy chubby cheeks.
“It was done shortly before my father died.”
Kat whirled around. He was standing in the open doorway, staring up at the painting. -
With lightning clarity Kat realized the patch and scar made not a whit of difference; Jules himself, as he was, stirred within her all the emotions she had felt while studying the painting. She wanted to know him better. It was a slightly frightening realization.
Taking a calming breath to still her suddenly racing pulse, she smiled. “It is a wonderful painting. You were an adorable baby.”
The unpatched brow lifted questioningly and the wonderful smile which, obviously, was a legacy from his father, curved his mouth. “I look as if I might have been a troublemaker.”
“Yes, that, too.” Kat laughed, glancing again at the painting. “Your mother was beautiful.” Looking back, Kat’s breath caught in her throat. Jules’s smile had disappeared. In its place was such cold anguish that a chill shook her.
“Yes, she was,” he said in a flat voice, before turning away. “Good evening, Miss Hamilton. Miss Strange … Ah, Jacko, you are just in time. I believe our meal is ready.”
The dining hall was just that, a large lofty room, its wall hung with priceless tapestries that, miraculously, Madame had saved during the terror and its aftermath of senseless plundering. One exceptional piece depicted classical gods lying about on a grassy meadow playing music to one another.
Jules was pleased with the supper. It seemed he had a staff to be grateful for. He remembered none of them, although Madame must have been in the house before he left. He did, however, remember the one tapestry and the large ring of keys the housekeeper carried. A difficult thing to deal with—his childhood memories. He smiled faintly. His guests had just finished the dessert soufflé and all looked content. Except Kathryn; he had sensed all evening that she wished to speak privately with him. That was easily enough arranged.
“I am afraid my cellar is not yet complete, Jacko,” he apologized. “Shall we forgo our port and join the ladies for coffee?”
“Capital idea, Saville!” Jacko leapt to his feet. “Actually in the mood for cards. Are you game?”
“Oh, I’d love to play!” declared Caroline.
“You like cards, Miss Strange?” Jacko uttered with a shocked stare at her excited face.
“Oh, yes! My guardian, Sir George Bartholomew, was an inveterate player. He taught me everything he knew. I’m quite good,” she declared proudly.
“We’ll see about that.” Jacko laughed, leading the way back to the small salon.
Miss Hamilton browsed through the leatherbound volumes, found one in English and seated herself quietly in a corner. Jules very kindly took an extra candelabrum to her chair. Kathryn’s imploring glance evoked an alarming eagerness to discover what was bothering her.
Jacko and Caroline, each possessing a quite brilliant glint in his or her eye, already had seated themselves at a table.
“Would you mind playing piquet? I wish Lady Kathryn’s opinion of the gardens,” he drawled.
Jacko didn’t even glance up. Obviously his brotherly urge to chaperon was not as strong as his gamesmanship. “You go ahead. Miss Strange and I shall amuse ourselves.”
“Oh, yes, Lord Thistlewait,” Caroline said with great confidence, turning up a card. “I believe it is my deal.”
“Thank you, my lord. I need to speak with you about a matter of great urgency,” Kathryn whispered as he led her through a doorway onto a small flagstone terrace circled round by a charming flower garden.
“I sensed you wished to speak alone. Besides, I truly would like your opinion of the landscape,” he offered, knowing she might like a few moments of grace before she talked about whatever it was she dreaded so. It was strange how easily he had come to understand her moods.
She strolled from flower bed to flower bed, occasionally stopping to lift a heavy bloom to her face.
“I would say your gardener is doing an excellent job. These are quite lovely.” She straightened, turning to gaze up at him. “Jules, I’ve been thinking about my plan to cry off. If you don’t mind, I believe we should change it.”
He felt as if a fist had slammed into his chest. Never had he intended to allow her to cry off, but he hadn’t dreamed she would come to that decision on her own. He moved a step closer, his pulse doing an odd uneven beat. “Lady Kathryn—”
“Never fear I plan to hold you to this ridiculous engagement,” she interrupted hastily.
Even in the moonlight he could see how her skin flushed with color. His own felt much the same, suddenly scorched and sensitive.
“It is just that I owe you a great debt and … and I wish to repay it.” Lifting her chin, she met his gaze steadily. “You have been quite wonderfully kind to go along with my scheme so I would like to repay you by assisting you in the restoration of the château. Willy says I’m quite good at household management. And besides, to cry off so soon after we have become engaged would be too ramshackle. Well, Jules, what do you think?” she finished in a much smaller voice than she had began.
A perfect excuse to give him more time to woo Kathryn he could not have thought up himself, although he disliked the thought that she felt indebted to him. “If that is your wish, then it is mine,” he said softly, smiling.
To his surprise, her eyes widened and a pulse began to throb in her throat. She placed her fingers over her smooth skin.
“Thank you, Jules. You are so very kind. I—” “Oh, Kathryn, I beat him!” Caroline crowed, bursting out onto the terrace.
“Girl’s a regular card shark,” Jacko grumbled from the doorway. “Not myself tonight. Tom
orrow we’ll have a rematch.”
Caroline clapped her hands, giving Kathryn a quick hug. “Your brother is a poor loser,” she laughed. “Oh, my yes, Lord Thistlewait, I’ll be delighted to beat you again tomorrow.”
“I … I believe we should all retire now. None of us are quite ourselves tonight,” Kathryn said softly, no doubt attempting to head off the retort all could see forming on her brother’s face.
Jules remained on the terrace after they left him, laughing together, eagerly making plans for the morrow. He had never fully understood his reason for giving in to Lady Tutwilliger’s demand for an engagement or for agreeing to Kathryn’s plan, although he had always intended to make her see reason.
Now he felt adrift. Kathryn, Jacko, Caroline, even Hannah in her quiet way, had helped to make this homecoming easier. He’d been so concerned about all of them he hadn’t had a chance to dwell on the unpleasant memories. He’d cut himself off from normal society far too long. Like Dominic, he had allowed the incident at Culter Towers to dominate his life. Look at the happiness Dominic had finally found! For an instant, when Kathryn had said she wasn’t going to end their engagement, he had felt that kind of joy. Then she had gone on with her reasoning and the joy had fled, leaving only a determination … He was a man who had always been sure of himself and honest about his own actions. Yet, in his dealings with Kathryn he seemed to be acting upon impulse instead of logic.
“Monsieur le Comte,” Madame Bernair broke into his thoughts and he turned to her. She stood before him holding a cream vellum envelope.
“This arrived by messenger before dinner. I did not wish to disturb you with your guests.”
Strolling back into the salon he broke the seal. Quickly reading, he stopped Madame Bernair before she retired. “Madame, were you aware that Monsieur Castlemagne was in residence?”
“Non, monsieur,” she shook her head.
“Then you had not informed any of his servants that I was due with a house party?”
“Non, monsieur,” she repeated.
“That will be all,” he said absently, staring into the ashes of the fireplace. An old name Castlemagne—one of his father’s friends. It was amazing he was still alive. Jules would be delighted to call on him. In a small community it was probably impossible to keep any secrets, still Jules wondered how Castlemagne had known that he had returned.
Chapter 7
The four-poster bed was quite comfortable; the linens, although mended, smelled of sunshine and a hint of lilacs; the pillows were plump and the mattress was firm beneath her. There was no explanation for why she couldn’t sleep. She was exhausted from the trip. Not the travel itself, but the circumstances surrounding it. Unfamiliar feelings and questions bound up in her relationship to Jules, her championship of Caroline, but most of all, her fear of Edmund Trigge. She’d never had to fear before. Her body was nearly numb with fatigue as she lay curled on the bed, but her mind careened forward—filled with pictures, very attractive pictures of Jules. Jules at ease, sprawled in the taproom of the Blue Boar Inn; bemused, his shirt open, struggling to deal with the onslaught of her entire family; alert, exuding power and confidence as he faced down Sir Edmund; and amused, struggling to hide his smile each time Hannah conveniently took one of her little naps. He had, nearly from the moment of their meeting, shown her nothing but kindness. She could not help but wonder what was behind his courtesy to her.
Was she like Caroline, vulgarly curious about him? How little she knew of his emotions. His thoughts were a mystery to her. Kat did not think his air of detachment assumed, it was simply a part of him. Tonight, in the salon, she had fully realized his appeal, which more than ever made her wish to understand him. Somehow she knew that meant getting him to trust her enough to reveal how he had received his wound.
Sighing, Kat turned over, seeking a cool space on the pillow to rest her hot cheek. Finally she closed her eyes, willing herself to stop thinking of Jules. Ever so slowly she felt her mind let go and begin to drift away, but just before she slept she realized the visions of Jules had pushed all dread of Sir Edmund away.
Noir, eager for a gallop, pulled at the reins until Jules gave him his head. The early morning mist swirled before them, hiding everything ahead on the road. Not until he reached the hillcrest did Jules pull the horse to a stop. Noir pawed the earth, snorting, impatient to be off, but Jules stilled him as he gazed down at his home.
The château was, compared to Culter Towers, a modest house. But, surrounded by terraced vineyards stretching up the sides of the lush green valley it presented a certain appeal. Generations of Savilles had thrived here, allied to the French king, until the great revolution shattered their world. Strange, Jules thought, none of those Saville ghosts called to him. He felt no bond to this place; how could it feel like home? England—Culter Towers—had been home since he was five years old, and it held the only family he had left, the only people he loved.
Noir reared slightly and Jules reined him in before beginning, slowly, to make his way down into the next valley. It was too early for a morning call, Jules knew, for he had left all his guests still abed, even Jacko. But he could not wait to discover how his father’s old friend, Gustave Castlemagne, had known he was here.
A niggling uneasiness had kept him tossing and turning all night. He refused to dwell on what, or should he confess who else had disturbed his slumber.
Château Castlemagne was in much better condition than his own home, and when the butler showed him into a small sitting room, Jules immediately saw it had been freshly painted and refurbished. The healing of the wounds was good to see.
“Monsieur le Comte, the master is still abed,” the butler began. “I—”
Jules held up his palm. “Do not disturb him. I shall leave my card. Please give him my regrets that my houseguests and I shall not be in residence long. Perhaps some afternoon that is convenient we could talk over the old days. I’d like to hear some stories of my father.” Jules continued, as if compelled to ask. “I am surprised that Monsieur Castlemagne knew I had returned.”
“He was delighted to learn you had come from England with our houseguest, Sir Edmund Trigge.”
Jules forced a smile. “I see. Is Sir Edmund about?”
“I believe he has gone for a morning ride, Monsieur le Comte.”
“Thank you,” Jules murmured thoughtfully. What new mischief could Trigge be up to? Outside he took the reins from the groom and vaulted into the saddle. Obviously, Noir sensed his distraction. He pawed impatiently and quivered with excitement. “Not this time, my friend.” Jules whispered, leaning over to stroke the horse’s silky mane. “This time we do not race. We hunt.”
Luck was with him. Less than a mile from the château Sir Edmund crossed his path. Jules blocked the center of the road, Noir prancing delicately. Edmund had little choice but to bring his horse to a standstill, for the roadside was lined with a thick hedge which allowed for no escape.
“Alone this time, Saville?” He sneered, his beady eyes flicking about nervously. “No young pup of the ton to aid you?”
“I need no help where you are concerned, Trigge,” Jules spit out, lunging forward to grip Edmund’s reins. “I’m sure you recall the last time we disagreed on the subject of a young lady.” Edmund’s face flushed scarlet as Jules continued, “I’ve warned you once already, and you did not heed me.”
“Let go of my reins!” Sir Edmund sputtered, “Or answer the consequences!”
Jules laughed harshly. “Your memory is failing you, Trigge. I believe you challenged me to a duel once before and I refused. A duel of honor can only be conducted between equals. And you are certainly not my equal! I feel it would be better for your health if you were to quit this part of France, immediatement!”
“You go too far, Saville,” he hissed, tugging frantically at the reins Jules still held in an iron grip.
“It is you who go too far. Stay away from those I call my friends, Trigge, or you shall be sorry. Since you are no gentleman, honor will not constrain me.” Disgusted, Jules tossed the reins at Edmund. “Definitely cut short your visit with Gustave. Your presence in Champagne is an offense.”
Jules danced Noir back and the horse reared in eagerness, making Sir Edmund’s steed suddenly bolt and tumble him to the dusty roadway.
Jules didn’t bother to laugh as the horse galloped, reins flapping, toward Castlemagne. Instead, he directed Noir delicately around the vanquished rider, sprawled inelegantly in the dirt.
Edmund sat up and shook his fist. “You’ll answer for this, Saville! All of you will!”
Paying no heed, Jules gave his horse his head and they cantered home.
Madame Bernair’s deliberately cool air had not risen one degree all morning long. Dutifully, she showed Kat the linen closets, the pantries, and the small store of silver, crystal, and china that had been saved from the terror. Even Caroline’s exuberance and eagerness to learn when she joined them halfway through the inspection did not change Madame’s sour expression in the slightest. The only shift on her placid face occurred when Jacko found them in the library. Then some emotion flirted through her eyes as she gazed between them.
“We are twins, Madame Bernair,” Kat quietly informed her.
“I see that,” she stated flatly, before turning to the cabinet and continuing. “These are only a few of the original books that escaped the plunder.” She opened one glass-fronted door. “Here is a small dress sword we found after the looting. And these inlaid dueling pistols were hidden by my parents.”
“By gad, they’re beauties!” Jacko breathed, picking one pistol up, its mother of pearl and gold handle reflecting the light from the windows. He tested its weight on his palm. “Feels perfectly balanced. Love to try their aim.” He slid Kat a dimpled smile. “Saville won’t mind. My future brother-in-law after all. Percy and Glady say all I need is more practice to be a credible shot.”
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