Lord Devere's Ward

by Sue Swift

  * * *

  To Kate, living with the Penroses felt rather like slipping into a hipbath full of heated water. She conveyed her gratitude to her host and hostess at luncheon, a meal again attended by Lord and Lady Penrose, and the two eldest children.

  “Stuff and nonsense!” said Lady Anna briskly.

  “We’re delighted to have you.”

  “Mamma, shall we go to Sevenoaks after luncheon?” Louisa asked. “I need a few ells of thread-lace to trim my old bonnet. We can visit the seamstress and select fabrics for cousin Kay while we’re there.”

  Anna considered. “I am not sure Sevenoaks will have all we require. But it will be a start.” So after luncheon, the four females piled into the Penrose coach for the brief drive into nearby Sevenoaks. A charming town, Sevenoaks had an appealing Tudor ambience, boasting numerous half-timbered buildings and cobblestoned streets. The Penroses, who stood as the local squires, were well known there, and they were greeted with friendliness by the merchants with whom they dealt. Kate was introduced to all and sundry as “Cousin Kay Tyndale, come all the way from India!” The spurious Miss Tyndale was regaled by the most interesting gossip in the tea shop and plied with the sweetest cakes.

  The draper had a small establishment in the center of town, and while he did not carry the fine silks and satins the women would need for their London social occasions, he showed them plenty of wools and cambrics suitable for everyday wear. Kate hesitated before selecting colors other than black and gray for her ensembles. Despite her disguise, propriety forbade her from indulging in the bright colors which would most flatter her hair and complexion. She comforted herself with the memory that her grandfather had preferred her in vivid plumage.

  She chose a deep Prussian blue for her riding habit and several sprigged muslins for morning and day dresses. In the country, she would prefer twilled sarcenet for her dinner gowns, but she knew later, in London, only the sheerest of fabrics would suffice, with only delicate shawls to protect her from the elements. Still, she selected a stout wool for her pelisse, in a lovely warm red.

  Louisa was unable to find the fine thread lace she craved for her bonnet, but prevailed upon her mother to purchase some ribbons to refurbish the hat. “For,” Louisa told Kate, “it is quite my favorite bonnet for walks at Penrose, and I am loath to replace it.” Anna herself needed no more clothing, but she helped Pauline choose fabrics; the fourteen-year-old grew rapidly and seemed to constantly need new gowns. The visit to the draper was followed by an equally fruitful stop at the seamstress, who measured Kate, fore and aft, top to bottom. She repeated the same process with Pauline.

  The ladies returned to Penrose House near dusk in excellent spirits. They were met at the door by a solemn deputation.

  The three youngest children stood in a row. They were neatly dressed, and Charlie blew a small tin horn to get the attention of the adults. Their governess watched from a window embrasure, fondly smiling at her charges.

  “Harrumph!” said Harry, who began to read from a scroll.

  “Whereas: Cousin Kay Tyndale is visiting Penrose; and secondly, said cousin hales from the faraway and interesting country of India; and thirdly, cousin Kay took dinner with our parents and sisters; and fourthly, said cousin Kay took luncheon with the same parents and sisters—”

  Here, Harry’s voice took on a somewhat indignant note. He continued. “And fifthly: said cousin then went to Sevenoaks—”

  Here he was interrupted by little Margaret, who rushed forward impatiently and flung her arms around Kay’s legs. “Won’t you have supper with us?” Harry glared at his younger sister. “Mags, get back here. You broke ranks.”

  “Please? Please? We so want to hear about India!” Charlie tugged at Kate’s skirt.

  “Now, children!” Anna visibly stifled a laugh.

  “It’s all right,” said Kate, smiling. “I will tell you stories while you are eating your supper, if you will then go properly to bed.” She patted Mags on the head. “Now go with Mrs. Stowe, and I’ll be up directly.”

  The children retreated up the stairs as Anna laughed into her handkerchief. Louisa said, “Harry takes being Father’s heir very seriously.”

  “I think he’s an insufferable little prig.” Pauline sniffed.

  “You’re too harsh,” said her mother. “Harry does very well.”

  “They’re lovely children, and you must be very proud,” said Kate. In her experience, nothing flattered an assiduous mother more than hearing her children praised.

  * * *

  And so the days passed. Kate fell into the same pattern of life she’d led as a child and had desired to resume at Badham Abbey. She rose early and dressed in apparel suitable for outdoor pursuits, then rode or walked for an hour or two. If the weather did not permit those activities, she read, worked embroidery, or practiced piano. She occasionally borrowed Louisa’s watercolors or charcoals. While Kate was but an indifferent artist, she was loath to lose whatever skills she had acquired at Miss Elizabeth’s School in Bath.

  After luncheon, Kate and Louisa would amuse themselves by dancing while Pauline played the piano. Miss Elizabeth employed a caper merchant to teach her charges, including Kate, the latest steps.

  Louisa had learned from her parents. Kate, the taller of the two, partnered Louisa through country dances and quadrilles with glee. She even led Pauline through the rudiments of the waltz.

  “How odd it would be to be held by a man, so.” Pauline laughed as Kate expertly twirled her around the drawing room floor. The carpets had been kicked aside, and Louisa played a waltz on the upright.

  “Dashed unpleasant, in fact.”

  “Only unpleasant if you didn’t like the cove,” Kate said.

  “Kay and Paul! You know what Mamma will say if she hears you using cant.” Louisa lifted her hands from the keys. “Cousin, from where did you learn such language? Do people speak so in Calicut?”

  “The officers do,” said Kate recklessly. “Bup bup-bup, pa pa-pa,” she hummed in three-four time, continuing to whirl Pauline around. She felt she had fielded the question rather well. The cant and slang she spoke came from her friend, Bryan St. Wills, as well as from the brothers of her schoolmates, who were permitted to visit Miss Elizabeth’s between the hours of three and five on Saturdays. The young people would sit, drink tea, and engage in such social intercourse as was deemed appropriate. Even the close supervision of Miss Elizabeth did not, however, prevent some improprieties. Thus came Katherine’s considerable vocabulary.

  “Will you dance the waltz in London, Louisa?” Pauline asked as the dance came to an end.

  “Only if the patronesses of Almack’s say I might,” she answered, beginning her scales.

  Pauline sniffed. “I think it’s silly, a crowd of stuffy old ladies telling us what we should and shouldn’t do.”

  “I daresay you are right,” said Kate. “But that is the way of our world, if we want to marry well. What other choices have we?”

  “I could become a governess,” argued Pauline.

  “And Papa says my Latin and Greek are very good. I could teach in a school.”

  The two older girls looked at her with astonishment writ large upon their faces. “Whyever would you want to do such a silly thing?” Louisa wanted to know, her hands temporarily still. “If you marry rightly, you would never have to work for your keep.”

  “It doesn’t seem fair.” Pauline looked troubled.

  “Other women have to work. Just because our father is a baronet and our grandfather was an earl, it means we marry and have babies, and that’s all.”

  “But that’s very important,” said Kate. “Your uncle Devere is a member of the House of Lords.

  They make laws and help run the country. Who would lead if gentlewomen ceased to have children?”

  “Cromwell wasn’t a gentleman.”

  The two young ladies shuddered.

  “You have a bit of an independent streak, I vow,” Kate said.

  “Best not let Mamma
and Papa hear these sentiments. Your trip to London would be in grave doubt.” Louisa resumed her practice.

  Pauline began to look alarmed. Kate squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “We won’t tell.”

  * * *

  Kate settled into life with the Penroses with ease and contentment. She formed the habit of taking her afternoon tea with the three younger children in the nursery. She invented tales of India which were drawn from her generous imagination as well as from her education. Sir Pen’s library helped. After a week, she declared she had no more India stories, saying,

  “I’m only seventeen, you know! Not much has happened to me.” She told them fairy-stories and tales from history instead.

  As spring warmed the earth, her activities moved out of doors. She found willing companions in Harry and Charlie, showing them that she could match any adventurous boy at riding, climbing, or archery. She loved the spring weather, and would often take a book to read in the boughs of her favorite old oak.

  * * *

  Absorbed in The Odyssey, his ward appeared unaware of Quinn’s scrutiny from beneath the tree.

  Leaning against the trunk, Kate sat at her ease with her legs astride one large limb, presenting a picture which would fill any man’s mind with the most lustful thoughts. Her frilled petticoats peeped from underneath her too-short gown, exposing her ankles and calves. As Quinn watched, an image of her legs clad in revealing hose popped into his thoughts. With difficulty, he dragged his mind away from the memory, recalling instead the frogs she’d put in his bed on the occasion of their first meeting.

  He swallowed, then called, “Good morrow, Kate, for that is your name, I hear.”

  He’d startled her, for she grabbed the limb with her free hand as her legs clenched around the branch.

  The flesh at Quinn’s groin tightened, and he swore softly under his breath. He had promised himself he wouldn’t even think of swiving the chit. Most improper! Can’t take advantage of my own ward! And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from envisioning her mounted on his body instead of the bough.

  She interrupted his fantasy. “Where did you study all this goodly speech?”

  “It is extempore, from my mother-wit.” Laughing, he caught the book she tossed down to him.

  She swung one leg over the limb, climbed down to the next convenient branch, and dropped out of the tree.

  “The Odyssey, dainty Kate?” He smiled, gently mocking. Her occupation was anything but dainty.

  She reddened. “I but seek to improve myself, sir.”

  “What portion do you read?” he asked. As he opened the book at the purple ribbon marking her place, she tried to grab it out of his hand. Despite her height, he was a head taller. With limbs to match, he easily evaded her grasp, flipping the volume open.

  “Ahem! My Greek is weak, as it has been a few years since I left Oxford, but I can translate: ‘I mounted the glorious bed of Circe.’“

  “It’s Pauline’s. Give it back!” She made another unsuccessful snatch at the book. Her face flushed in a most becoming manner.

  “I am not sure if either my ward or my niece should be reading about Odysseus and Circe.” Lifting the volume far above her head, he danced away from her darting hand.

  “Perhaps the tale of the lotus eaters is more to your taste?”

  He staggered back, one long hand clutching his chest. “Thou hast hit it! Do I strike you as such a lazy fellow, then? I assure you I have been most prudent and prompt in regard to your affairs.”

  “Oh?” She stopped grabbing for the book.

  “I have introduced a bill into the House of Lords to remove you from Badham’s care. Carrothers is away, inspecting your various holdings. The solicitor and his clerk have been warned off from blundering into this matter in any way. Herbert and Oswald are not in London. They are in Bath, I fear.”

  “His name is Osborn.”

  Quinn waved a languid hand as they walked toward Penrose House. “I give your detestable cousin’s name all the attention it deserves.”

  “Did they go to my old school?”

  “I believe they did.” He tucked her arm into his.

  “I have received a letter from a Miss Elizabeth Telmont. She has been contacted by the current Earl of Badham, and expresses concern in your regard.”

  “She was my schoolmistress, and dear to me. I wish I could tell her I’m safe.”

  “Can she be trusted?” He handed the book to Kate and opened the gate to the kitchen garden. He escorted her past the orderly rows of late winter vegetables.

  “I’m sure of it. But one never knows into whose hands a letter may fall.” Her hand tightened on his arm, a pleasant feeling.

  “You are correct. On to more amusing topics.

  Sweet Kate, I had thought you had purchased more appropriate clothing, but I see you are still in the gown borrowed from my tweeny.”

  She looked down at her mussed skirts. “Oh, I use this dress for tree-climbing and games with the children, sir. We have made several excursions into Sevenoaks and I have close to a full wardrobe. You, of course, are as fine as fivepence.” Her voice sounded oddly choked.

  He laughed, comfortable in a fitted coat of blue superfine, with a waistcoat and unmentionables of primrose twill. Knowing he’d see Kate, he’d tied his cravat in an exacting manner. He walked with her through the kitchen garden, then entered Penrose House through a back entrance, evading the cooks in the kitchen, where preparations for luncheon were in full force.

  “I’d best change,” Kate said.

  * * *

  Kate slipped her arm from his and ran lightly up the stairs, clutching her book. She slammed the door in her haste and, once safely inside her room, threw the volume on her bed. Leaning against the door, she pressed her hands to her burning cheeks.

  Why, oh, why, did her guardian have to catch her reading that particular passage of The Odyssey? And what was it about the man that overset her so? His conduct toward her was everything proper, and his attention to her affairs diligent. He still looks like a setter dog, she told her tumultuous heart. But his shoulders, in the handsomely cut coat, appeared wide and masculine. He moved with unusual grace and power for someone so long-limbed.

  She remembered the strength in Quinn’s arm as he escorted her through the gardens. He’s surprisingly muscular for a dandy, she thought. She imagined his beautiful brown eyes held his entire soul as he looked at her. But he saw her as his child, and finding her perched in a tree doubtless confirmed rather than changed his perception.

  She poured water from the pitcher into the bowl on her dresser to splash her face. She grabbed the bell pull and told herself to stop refining upon such a tedious matter. She hoped he would not tease her at luncheon in regard to her choice of reading materials.

  Bettina entered to assist Kate out of her dress and boots. Kate stripped off her damp shift. She wondered why the garment felt moist, as the day was not so warm as to cause unnecessary heat. She rubbed a cloth soaked in cool water over her sticky body, then put on fresh underclothing.

  “The primrose muslin?”

  “The blue, I think.” For no reason Kate could define, she wanted to look her best at luncheon. The celestial shade flattered her eyes and complexion more than did the yellow.

  “You did not wear a hat this morning, Miss Kay,” remarked Bettina, as she braided Kate’s hair. “You will freckle and turn brown as a berry if you are not more careful, and all the town bucks will call you a bran-faced miss.”

  Kate, teased out of her megrims, laughed. “Well, there are worse fates.”

  “Your parents sent you to England to marry well.

  They will not be pleased unless you return to India with any less than a baronet, I’m sure.” Bettina coiled the braid on top of Kate’s head, pinning it. She left curls to frame Kate’s face.

  “I wonder if they have considered I may not return at all. It is possible that any husband I marry won’t wish to travel or live in India.”

  �
��Do you miss your home, ma’am?”

  Kate paused, unsure of her answer as an image of the frigid, moonlit attic of Badham Abbey at midnight flashed through her mind. She pushed the unwelcome memory away and thought instead of her parents. “Yes and no. I’m lonely for my family, of course, but the Penroses have made me feel so welcome that I am scarcely ever homesick. I miss the weather,” she said, recollecting the contents of one of the books she’d perused regarding India’s climate and geography. “It is much warmer, and here I find I am often chilled, though not, of course, on such a fine day as this.” She donned her hat of chip-straw and tied its blue grosgrain ribbons beneath her chin.

  The weather permitted luncheon to be served on the sunny balcony outside the dining room. The day would have been too warm but for a slight breeze, and Kate gratefully felt the air soothe her hot nape.

  * * *

  Quinn watched the soft wind lift a chestnut curl touching his ward’s cheek and envied that tender breeze. Staring at Kate from across the table, he imagined caressing her hair. Dressed in a gown which flattered her eyes, she was entirely captivating.

  She had been so delightfully flustered when caught reading the salacious passage from The Odyssey. He’d wanted to press her down into the tall grass and show her exactly what Homer had meant.

  She barely looked at him at lunch, sweet torturer. Did she know how much one look from her fine blue eyes affected him?

  His Kate. His Kate. Dear God, he was already thinking of her as his own possession. He ground his teeth, frustrated. A young woman as independent as Katherine Scoville, who climbed out of attic windows and traveled alone over half the country, would surely object to such an approach. And what of his honor?

  He avoided temptation by leaving after luncheon.

  Despite his hasty departure, he spared some time for a private tête-à-tête with his sister. They sat in the drawing room and hatched their plans while Pen dozed in his wing chair after the heavy meal. The open French doors allowed Quinn to hear the shouts of the children at croquet. Bees hummed in the fragrant rose-vine just outside.