by Sue Swift
“Nonsense! You do not practice Mozart and Bach for three, four hours every day to amuse prospective cicisbeos,” Kate said. “You study music because it pleases you to do so, and because you have true talent.”
Louisa blushed.
“Don’t deny it, Lou, anyone who has heard your performance knows it to be altogether out of the ordinary,” Pauline said.
“If that is indeed the case, Miss Penrose, we would be enchanted to hear you play after luncheon, if you would be so kind.” Lady Ursula sounded delighted to have hooked the latest favorite of the ton into performing.
Louisa appeared to regain her composure. “My sister exaggerates. My skill is no more than commonplace.”
Kate knew Louisa was modest but not truthful.
After lunch, the sky clouded. Lady Ursula called the group into her drawing room to again urge Louisa to play upon the pianoforte. Kate had seen her “cousin” at the instrument many times, but she never ceased to be struck by the change in Louisa’s demeanor which took place whenever Lou played the pianoforte. Gone was The Fairy; here was a pure spirit attempting to wrest something real and true from the inanimate ivory, wire, and wood of her instrument.
Kate listened with pleasure as Louisa played a Bach fugue with both precision and fire. When she finished, there was a short silence, then the room erupted in applause.
“I told you,” said Pauline. “She looks like her garret is empty, but there is substance underneath all that fluffy hair.”
“It’s your turn, Paul.” Louisa beckoned to her sister.
“Mine?” Pauline gasped. “You can’t be serious.”
“Absolutely.” Louisa gave Pauline her most wicked grin. “Since you and Kay have seen fit to puff my talents, the least I can do is return the compliment.” She turned to their hostess. “Ma’am, you must hear my sister and my cousin sing.” Kate’s stomach hit bottom. She felt it unwise to draw attention to herself, given her situation, but she had no choice. She knew that a becoming modesty was unexceptional but it wouldn’t fadge to refuse.
“Very well. Perhaps one short tune.”
“The Oak and the Ash?” Pauline suggested.
Louisa nodded, then struck the opening bars of the famous old English folk song. As was their habit, Kate took the melody and Pauline, who had a pleasing contralto, sang the harmony. By the time they reached the second verse, everyone joined in on the chorus.
One song followed another, and the hours sped by until the scheduled end of the luncheon at three o’clock. Lady Ursula made her goodbyes to the flock of young guests as a parade of barouches and landaus left along her graveled drive, heading back to Town.
“We shall have to invite her to some
entertainment of ours,” remarked Pauline to Kate.
“She is really very charming.”
Kate buttoned her pelisse. Although it was not raining, their open landau was chilly in the cloudy afternoon. “Yes, I enjoyed myself thoroughly. Oh, do get up quickly, sir,” she called to Bryan, who had abandoned the crowd of males with whom he had traveled to Hampstead in favor of accompanying the Penrose party back to Town.
“It’s dashed cold.” Louisa huddled in her cloak.
“Can we close the top of the landau?”
Bryan checked the hinges. “I believe the mechanisms to be stuck. No use trying to pull it out, that’ll just make it worse. Spring ’em!” he shouted to the coachman as he swung up into his seat.
As they headed back to London, the coach was forced to travel more slowly when they entered Edgware, for a small fair crowded its High Street. The coach threaded cautiously through rickety booths set up for the day, because carts displaying produce of farmers and wares of local craftsmen blocked any direct route. Kate saw colorfully dressed locals mingled with pickpockets and cutpurses come from London to pluck the country pigeons at the fair.
Suckling pigs oinked and chickens clucked while their owners bartered with purchasers.
“Look, Louisa.” Kate pointed at a dark blue tent, set off to the side of the fair, spangled with myriad golden stars and silver moons. A dark lady clad in colorful shawls and veils stood outside the tent.
The lady’s eyes met Kate’s as Louisa cried out,
“Oh, a fortuneteller! Do stop, coachman!” The coachman pulled back on the reins. The team came to a rumbling halt on the gravelly road.
“What foolishness is this?” inquired Bryan. “Miss Penrose, you cannot mean to tell me you put any credence in the cupshot mumblings of some grubby, dishclouted gipsy.”
She turned to him, her face red. “I’ll thank you not to criticize what you don’t understand, sir. Set me down at once.”
Bryan compressed his lips and huffed, the picture of masculine exasperation, as the landau stopped. At that moment, the sun came out and he said, “I suppose you will now say that the sunshine is a good omen.”
Ignoring him, Louisa grabbed Kate’s hand.
“Come with me, cousin Kay. You must want to know something of your fate, so far away from home.”
“I know of my fate,” said Kate, who nevertheless clambered down from the landau after Louisa. She did not want Louisa going into the dark tent alone. “I will marry some eligible here in London, or I will travel back to India and wed. There is no mystery.” The fortuneteller glanced at her, her dark eyes sparkling. “Oh, but there is indeed a mystery, my lady. You are not what you appear to be, and you will never see India.”
Louisa emitted a tiny shriek of delight. “See! See, Kate, she already reveals all manner of important things to us.”
The gipsy smiled. She had large, glittering eyes and a flashing smile. Her gravid body was hidden by flowing, exotic robes in all shades of pink and purple.
“You, first.” She nodded to Louisa. “Then you,” she said to Kate. “And what of you, my little elf?” she called up to Pauline, still seated in the landau.
“I don’t think so, ma’am,” responded Pauline politely. “It would be rude for us all to abandon Mr.
St. Wills.”
The gipsy laughed. “You do not believe, young skeptic. That is all right. You will grow up and become a woman, and then you will understand there are more things in the world than that which you see with your eyes.” She brushed aside a filmy cloth panel and gestured for Louisa to enter the tent.
Chapter Seven
Kate waited outside as the coachman walked the horses up and back, up and back. Finally, Louisa exited the tent, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief.
Despite her misgivings, Kate asked, “What did she say?”
Louisa refused to speak of any predictions, saying only, “Her words are a secret. But see if she doesn’t tell you of your heart’s desire.” She pushed Kate into the tent.
The interior was dark, lit only by short, chubby candles. Incense smoked in a burner in one corner, filling the air with the exotic fragrance of sandalwood.
The gipsy sat at her ease upon large pillows with a large bowl of water set before her. As she stirred it with one hand, Kate saw her fingers were long and shapely, with well-kept nails.
“I surprise you,” the gipsy said, in a lightly accented voice. She smiled up at Kate, who still stood.
“I was once a lady’s maid to the Duchess of Avon, but I earn more here. Please, sit.”
Kate sat on another floor pillow, unbuttoning her pelisse. She bent her head to look into the bowl, which appeared to contain ordinary water.
“What is this about India? You have nothing to do with India!” said the gipsy. “But have a care, young lady, for you are pursued. But the danger is transitory.” She swished her hand through the water.
“Those near you love you and will protect you from harm.” Swish, swish.
Intrigued, Kate realized that the gipsy did seem to have some strange ability. “Is there more?” she asked. “Louisa told me you could tell me my heart’s desire.”
The gipsy smiled at Kate, then looked at her reticule. Removing a coin, Kate handed it to the woman, who loo
ked directly into Kate’s eyes.
“You already know your heart’s desire. But the one you want will never ask you for your heart, though he would take it. You must willingly give yourself to him should you wish to attain happiness in this life.”
“Oh.” An image of Devere flashed through her mind while an unaccustomed languor pervaded her limbs. She breathed deeply, and the dizzying scent of sandalwood filled her head. “Is there more?”
“There is a great deal more. One near you will be in danger.” She spoke casually, as though predicting sunshine on the morrow.
“Bother. Who?”
“That I cannot see. But I see triumph, and many—
no—two journeys, or more. An ocean voyage, mayhap.”
“I thought you said I wasn’t going back to India.” The gipsy hooted. “You have never been to India and you never will. You mock me. Now, go!” Kate stumbled forth from the tent, having been given a great deal to think about. She clung to the landau for a moment, recapturing her balance and her serenity. Bryan helped her climb into her seat.
She was in a contemplative mood. Both the fortuneteller and Sybilla had provided more information about her guardian than Kate wanted to consider. Nevertheless, the words nibbled at her thoughts like mice in the larder. Your guardian has a bit of a reputation with the ladies…he’s known to be quite the Corinthian… The one you desire will never ask you for your heart, though he would take it.
The thought that she, Kate, would have to act firmly to take her own marital happiness was a new one. Perhaps she’d been naive, but she’d always dreamed she would be courted by some Prince Charming (or at least a viscount) and, when the time came, she would easily enter a joyous and untroubled marriage. Precisely what that marriage would entail was vague to Kate, but she feared it not. Her parents had been happy together, and she had never seen any reason to consider that an equally delightful union would evade her.
Now she had cause for concern. How was she to
“give herself” to attain her heart’s desire, while maintaining the standards of conduct which had been drilled into her from earliest memory?
And if Quinn would take her heart, with what would he leave her? A gentleman who had a reputation as a Corinthian and a rake might never change his habits. A loveless marriage was not within Kate’s plans. She knew she had pride enough to require loyalty, and she was prepared to give the same. Was this what the gipsy meant when she said Kate would have to “give herself?”
They drove out of the crowded fair toward London. There was little conversation. Louisa and Kate were particularly quiet. After Bryan and Pauline had stopped teasing them about their experiences in the fortuneteller’s tent, the journey was silent except for the crunch of the wheels on the road, and the occasional shouts of the coachman to the team.
As they passed through the new park which the Prince Regent had built, Kate saw a flurry of movement along the edge of the shrubbery just before a shot rang out. Louisa screamed, a high panicked sound. Clutching Pauline, she dropped, trembling, into Kate’s lap, who threw herself down over both girls.
“Are you all right? Are you all right?” Kate released Louisa and Pauline, then grabbed Louisa again when she saw that Lou trembled with fear.
“Yes! Yes! Only I am sure I felt the shot brush by my cheek!” Louisa turned to Bryan. “St. Wills?”
“I am not injured, Miss Penrose. May I see your bonnet?”
Louisa’s fingers shook as she untied the hat.
Bryan examined it. “I am sure you imagined the shot coming so close to your person. If you had felt the bullet on your face, it would have left a hole in your bonnet. See, it is intact. Drive on, coachman,” he called to their driver, his voice calm.
“P’raps the shot merely seemed close because this district is excessively quiet,” Pauline said, a hopeful note in her voice. “It has nothing to do with us.
Cousin Kay, Whatever is wrong? You’re white as a sheet!”
Kate’s thoughts were in agitation. The fortuneteller had seemed so truthful when she stated danger was transitory. She had sounded as though there was nothing to fear. However, Kate knew that if she were killed, her funds would go to her last remaining relatives: Herbert and Osborn. As much as she loved them, the Penroses were not her family, despite the deception they practiced upon the whole of London society.
“Let’s get back home as soon as possible,” Kate said. “Driver! Spring ’em!”
Upon their return to the Penrose residence, Kate retired alone to the library to compose a letter to Quinn, entreating him to call upon her at his earliest convenience.
Anna entered as Kate struggled over her missive.
“Kay, whatever is the matter?”
Kate raised teary eyes from her task. Balls of crumpled stationery littered the desk. “Ma’am, this is my fault. I must leave your house at once.”
“Stuff and nonsense!”
“‘Tis true! Whyever else would anyone shoot at us were it not for me?” Kate snuffled into her handkerchief.
“No one shot at you. I spoke to St. Wills about the matter. The shot was far away, and had nothing to do with you at all.” Anna shook Kate firmly by the shoulders. “Now, I want you to take a bath, have some tea, and go to sleep early tonight. And there will be no more talk of leaving.”
* * *
Nevertheless, Kate’s message went out to Quinn, who was not in London. He had traveled to his Surrey home and attended races for several days.
After he had the pleasure of watching his horses win and place, he returned to London to yet another pleasure. His lovely ward desired his presence.
His heart beat faster as he read her note.
Bruton Street
My Lord Devere,
I pray you shall attend me
at your earliest convenience.
Sincerely, K.G.S.
He frowned. Katherine had never before written him a note to ask him for anything, least of all his company. He had an uncomfortable inkling that all was not right in his ward’s world, despite his efforts to cocoon her with the Penroses. Something had happened to overset her serenity.
After washing off the dust from the road, he walked the short distance from Berkeley Square to Bruton Street. At three o’clock in the afternoon, he did not know if he would find Kate at home.
Nevertheless, he felt in need of the walk.
He found the household quiet. An inquiry made of the butler revealed that the Penrose ladies were out; Lady Anna had promised to show Misses Louisa and Pauline the delights of the Burlington Arcade. Sir Pen was at White’s. Kate was alone in the house, but for the servants.
Quinn found her in the small back garden.
Bees buzzed in the perennial border of herbs and flowers. The fountain ran, with the cupid statue spitting water in a never-ending stream from the center of the fountain into the bowl. The tinkle and clatter of water was greatly calming. In contrast to the frantic tone of the note she’d sent, Kate’s face looked serene as she napped in a chaise longue beneath a vine-covered arbor, which partially shaded her from the afternoon sun.
Quinn stood over his ward, watching her rest.
Her chestnut hair, piled on top of her head, reflected reddish lights in the dappled sun admitted by the arbor. One curl had escaped, and lay on her neck. She did not wear a tucker for modesty on this warm spring day, and the bodice of her thin, pink muslin dress was cut fashionably low. He could see gentle curves inside the fabric puffed over her chest. Her bosom rose and fell with her breath. Her creamy skin glistened with a slight sheen of moisture. Although her face was shadowed, her mobile lips, parted slightly, were eminently kissable.
It would be such a simple thing to steal a kiss, just one kiss, from her rosy, open lips, slipping his tongue inside her mouth to meet secretly with hers, just one tender, sweet, lover’s kiss. And it would be just as simple and easy to free one of her lush breasts from its flimsy confinement, to weigh its heavy roundness in his hand; to taste the delicate p
eak, feel it harden and pucker beneath his lips—would it be sweet, like the strawberry it resembled, or would it be salty with her summer sweat?
She’d be hopelessly compromised.
They’d have to marry.
Quinn smiled. She’d be his, then, to explore, to touch, to probe, to feel and caress, to tease her legs apart and taste the very depths of her, and then to take her—
To take her.
All without a word or gesture of assent on the part of his ward.
His ward.
Quinn shook his head, then sat on the edge of the longue.
* * *
Asleep, Kate dreamed.
She stared at the fine double portrait of her parents which dominated the hall at Gillender House.
Her mother had been a graceful blonde lady, and the memory of her painful death did not surface in Katherine’s contemplations as she gazed at the picture, which had been painted shortly after Bennett had married Margaret. Dressed in a blush-pink morning gown, Margaret sat with her pug in her lap, addressing the viewer with a steady blue scrutiny.
Her husband stood at her side with his hand resting on her shoulder. Pictured in profile, Bennett looked down at his wife fondly.
By some strange magic, the portraits seemed to transform. Was it Kate who sat in the chair? Did the hand on her shoulder belong to the first Earl, Robert?
The faces and clothing of the individuals shifted and coalesced.
A redheaded man looked down at Kate as she sat in the wing chair, cradling her dog. He had a familiar visage with soulful brown eyes. She scented a spicy fragrance, cloves with a touch of citrus.
Her body, starting with her hand, tingled in an unfamiliar but pleasant fashion. A shadow seemed to cross her vision. Kate awoke with a start to find Quinn perched beside her on the edge of the longue, watching her as she slept. He had taken her hand, tickling her palm with his fingertips. The flesh at the apex of her thighs stirred with a liquid, coiling heat.
She jerked her hand out of Quinn’s. The slight smile on his face did not disappear, but broadened into his familiar devilish grin as the book she had been reading slipped from her lap and fell to the ground with a bang. Quinn picked it up.
