Regency Debutantes

by Margaret McPhee

  The dowager seemed to shrink before Kathryn’s very eyes, her narrow shoulders closing in, her velvet cheeks growing gaunt. A hollow cough rent the air.

  Guilt stabbed at Kathryn’s breast. ‘No, it isn’t—’ ‘Do not worry yourself, Miss Marchant.’ A blue-veined hand dabbed a delicate lace handkerchief to each faded eye. A sad little sniff…and then the dowager played her trump card. ‘I shall contrive my best to attend the injured child upstairs, but at my age …’ The words trailed off. ‘Such a strain on my health, the worry of it all …’ Lady Maybury sniffed again and a tremor quivered upon her lips.

  Dear Lord, but the old woman was clearly distraught and in danger of working herself into a fit of the vapours! Kathryn leapt forward and took one frail old hand within her own.

  ‘That poor urchin …’ There was what sounded to be a definite sob in her ladyship’s voice.

  Kathryn gently rubbed the paper-thin skin covering the back of Lady Maybury’s hand. How could she make her understand that it really was not her choice at all? That she would much rather leave behind the house in Green Street and live her life as the dowager’s companion? But it was not a matter of want. ‘Dear Lady Maybury, please do not think that I don’t want to accept your kind offer, or help little Maggie. There’s nothing I would rather do, but—’

  The old lady clung to her, her eyes brightening of a sudden. ‘Oh my dearest gel! I knew that you would see sense; that you wouldn’t be so heartless as to sentence an old lady to a season of loneliness and ill health. I cannot tell you the relief!’ Ravensmede’s grandmother’s smile was wonderful to see.

  ‘But—’ started Kathryn uselessly, and stopped. The old lady was looking at her with such expectation that she could not correct the mistake. It would be a cruel and heartless woman that could shatter such joy. Who knew the effect such a shock would have on the lady’s health? Kathryn swallowed down that sinking feeling and forced a smile to her face. And not once did she allow herself to look in the direction of the lady’s grandson standing so tall and silent by the fireplace.

  The small girl lay still within the great bed, her brown pansy eyes trained upon Kathryn’s face.

  ‘How old are you, Maggie?’

  ‘Four,’ the little voice whispered back.

  ‘And do you remember where it is that you live?’

  ‘Whitecross Road, the top room in Number Sixteen.’

  ‘Good girl! You’re really very clever. I’ll send a message to your mama and papa so that they know where you are and aren’t worried about you.’

  Two fat tears rolled down the cheeks that Kathryn had just cleaned. ‘Want to go home. Want me ma.’ A hiccup sounded.

  Kathryn wiped the tears away. ‘Of course you do, moppet. And when you’re better, so you shall. The doctor’s looked at your leg and do you know what he said?’

  The question distracted Maggie away from the sobbing she was poised to commence. ‘What?’

  ‘He said that it isn’t broken at all, only bruised, and that it will get better very soon. But until then you’re to rest in bed and eat lots of food.’

  Maggie’s eyes opened wide at the prospect. ‘Lots an’ lots of food?’

  ‘Lots and lots and lots!’ confirmed Kathryn with a grin. ‘And I’ll be here to tell you stories and talk to you, so you won’t be lonely at all.’

  Maggie smiled up into the kind face that hovered above hers.

  A creaking of the door and Lord Ravensmede materialised by the bed. Kathryn struggled to get to her feet, but was stayed by a warm hand touched to her elbow.

  ‘No need to get up on my account.’ His voice was both deep and melodic, without a hint of the practised drawl he used when he was out.

  She raised her eyes to his and felt a shimmer of excitement ripple down her spine. Just his proximity caused her heart to race. Her fingers fluttered to rearrange the fichu that she had recently replaced. Averting her face, she sought to turn her mind from inappropriate thoughts of the Viscount of Ravensmede. ‘Maggie is a very clever girl and has told me where she lives.’ With great gentleness she stroked the child’s forehead.

  Ravensmede smiled. ‘Very good.’

  Whether this remark was addressed to herself or Maggie, Kathryn remained unsure.

  Maggie was regarding the tall dark-haired man solemnly. ‘Are you the pa?’ she asked quite suddenly.

  ‘The pa?’ Ravensmede looked rather bemused.

  ‘Are you?’ The round dark eyes had not wavered from his face.

  Ravensmede glanced with amusement at Miss Marchant.

  ‘You must be.’ The strands of black hair so carefully combed out by Kathryn bobbed up and down as the child nodded. ‘And you must be the ma,’ added Maggie with certainty to Kathryn. ‘Where are your little girls an’ boys?’

  Crimson flooded Kathryn’s cheeks. ‘Hush now, Maggie, you’re tired and need to sleep. I’ll come back and see you later.’ A small kiss was dropped to the little girl’s forehead.

  ‘Promise?’ the baby voice queried.

  ‘I promise,’ vowed Kathryn and rose to her feet, casting the child’s previous innocently uttered questions from her mind.

  Ravensmede opened the door and waited for her to pass through, before following her out into the passageway.

  A throaty laugh sounded. ‘Ma and pa!’ And the look that smouldered from those green eyes caused a dancing sensation deep in Kathryn’s belly.

  She kept her gaze straight ahead, concentrating on each step, the pink-and-gold patterned carpet, the pale gold-coloured walls with their wall sconces and elaborate gilt-framed paintings, anything other than the man walking by her side. He was so close she could almost feel his heat scorching the full length of her left-hand side. Living in the same house as Lord Ravensmede was going to prove difficult in more ways than one.

  Firstly, there was the simple fact that he was a bachelor, coupled with the not-so-small problem of his reputation. Secondly, Aunt Anna and Uncle Henry were not likely to receive the news of her move well. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, was the strength of her own inappropriate reaction to the Viscount. From their first encounter over Miss Dawson’s shoe, to that unwitting kiss and the subsequent calamity with the potatoes in St James’s Park, Kathryn was well aware of the trouble resulting from that very reaction. The more she thought on it, the more she came to realise that, even as Lady Maybury’s companion, living under the same roof as Lord Ravensmede was likely to prove a dangerous pastime—and one that she could not afford to risk, even if it did mean an escape from Aunt Anna’s cruel treatment. All she had left was her reputation, and that wasn’t something that she was prepared to jeopardise. She did not want to hurt Lady Maybury, or leave Maggie for that matter, but the alternative was far too threatening to contemplate. The decision made, she pressed her lips firmly together and stopped abruptly.

  Ravensmede had stepped past her before reacting to her halt. ‘Miss Marchant?’ He sauntered back to stand beside her.

  ‘My lord, I …’ The words were rushed before her fragile resolve could fail. ‘I know that I agreed to your grandmother’s most kind offer, but upon further reflection I’m afraid that it is—’

  Ravensmede took her hand within his and raised it lightly to his lips. ‘For your kindness to my grandmother you have my gratitude. She’s very dear to me and I would not like to see her ill or distressed. Her heart is weak and the family have been advised that she must be spared all that we can. Any shocking news, any great disappointment is to be avoided. That’s why I’m so relieved that you have the generosity of spirit, Miss Marchant, to indulge an old lady’s whim.’ Warm lips pressed against the roughened red skin of her hand.

  Kathryn felt the breath catch in her throat. She blinked several times to clear her head. And stifled the groan.

  ‘Grandmama is rather set in her ways. As you may already have noticed, she’s very much determined to do things in her own style, even if it does rather fly in the face of what is deemed convention.’ He smiled. ‘She often take
s irrational sets against people, but rarely have I seen her warm to someone as she has to you. My grandmother likes you, Miss Marchant, and that really is quite an achievement.’

  It seemed that there was no way to extricate herself from the agreement. But surely the Viscount himself can see the position in which I would be placed? Kathryn’s thoughts flitted back and forth. ‘My lord—’

  ‘Please, call me Nicholas.’

  Kathryn recoiled as if he’d slapped her. Call him by his given name? Indeed she would not!

  The smile deepened. ‘Or Ravensmede, if that is your preference.’

  She gritted her teeth and started again. ‘Lord Ravensmede …’ Confound the man, but he was laughing at her. Anger flushed her cheeks and she raised steely eyes to his. ‘This is a serious matter, not some tomfoolery for your amusement.’

  His mouth straightened but those mesmerising green eyes were still brimful of laughter. ‘Indeed, Miss Marchant, I assure you that I had no such thought.’

  With a tug she rescued her hand from within his. ‘You cannot be unaware that living here as your grandmother’s companion would place me in a somewhat awkward position.’

  The green eyes opened wide and innocent. ‘Whatever can you mean, Miss Marchant?’

  Her anger deserted her of a sudden and she sighed. ‘Just that you are a bachelor and that, as an unmarried lady, perhaps I’m not best placed to accept the position offered.’ There, she had said it. She found sudden fascination in the patterned carpet.

  ‘How old are you, Miss Marchant?’

  She looked up in surprise. Of all the answers she had expected this had not been one. ‘Four and twenty, my lord.’

  ‘Ravensmede,’ he corrected.

  Two spots of colour burned high in her cheeks. ‘Ravensmede,’ she repeated softly.

  The corner of his mouth squinted up in a boyish gesture. ‘Then you’re hardly a schoolroom miss, and quite old enough to be considered suitable as a lady’s companion. That, coupled with my grandmother’s lineage, will ensure that no disadvantage attaches itself to your reputation.’

  Her cheeks were glowing with all the subtlety of two blazing beacons. ‘I’m well aware that I’m considered to be left on the shelf, but that has no bearing on the concern that I’ve raised.’ The thump of her heart echoed throughout her body and she wished that she were anywhere but here, standing beside Lord Ravensmede, listening to him confirm his notion of her as an old maid.

  He watched her closely. ‘That was not my meaning, Miss Marchant. I’m sure that there’s many a gentleman who would be only too happy to make you his wife.’

  Kathryn swallowed her embarrassment well and attempted to force the conversation towards safer ground. ‘You mentioned your grandmother’s lineage?’ she said demurely, as if her face were not aflame.

  That not-quite-serious expression was back on his face. ‘She’s the daughter of a duke, and the widow of one of the wealthiest earls in the country. If Grandmama is for you, Miss Marchant, no one will dare be against you.’

  She digested this information in silence for some minutes. It seemed that Lord Ravensmede had just removed the last of her reasons to refuse Lady Maybury’s request. ‘Then I hope I may prove useful in my new position.’ Quite deliberately she turned and walked slowly towards the staircase, throwing the words over her shoulder as she went. ‘When does Lady Maybury wish me to start?’

  ‘Immediately.’

  She nodded once. ‘Then, I shall return first thing tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I fear you misunderstand me, Miss Marchant. My grandmother needs your assistance now.’ His gaze held hers.

  ‘Very well. I’ll return to my uncle’s house to inform him of what has happened and pack up my clothes.’

  ‘There’s no need. I will dispatch a letter to Mr Marchant. Your clothes may be sent over later.’ There was a determination in his voice that she did not understand.

  ‘I cannot just leave for a drive in the park one afternoon and not return! It’s a preposterous suggestion!’

  A hand on her shoulder spun her round, and she found herself imprisoned by his grip on her upper arms. ‘And what of your aunt and uncle, what of your cousin—is their treatment of you not equally preposterous?’ His eyes stared down into hers.

  Her skin scorched beneath the touch of his hands. ‘I…I’ve never said so.’

  ‘You don’t need to.’

  Surely he could not know? She had spoken to no one. Her heart was beating wildly within her chest. ‘I won’t renege on my agreement with Lady Maybury, if that’s what you’re afraid of.’

  ‘I know you would not hurt an old lady’s feelings, Kathryn.’

  Her eyes widened at his use of her name.

  ‘Nevertheless, I cannot permit you to return alone to Green Street. As I said, I will write to Mr Marchant with a full explanation.’

  His confident assertion pricked at her pride. ‘Cannot permit?’ Her tone was incredulous. ‘I don’t think that it’s your place to say such a thing, Lord Ravensmede.’

  The green eyes did not betray their surprise by as much as a flicker. ‘If you’re bent on such a journey, then I must insist on accompanying you. My grandmother is quite fatigued by the drive and subsequent incident with the child. Trailing her back across town is quite out of the question. Therefore, we should ready ourselves immediately, Miss Marchant, unless you would prefer to wait until it is dark…’

  Kathryn knew very well what his lordship was saying. Arriving alone with Lord Ravensmede to take her leave of them, no matter Ravensmede’s assertions as to Lady Maybury’s influence, there could be no doubt what it would look like. Aunt Anna and Uncle Henry would have an apoplectic fit. She ground her teeth. ‘I have no need of your escort. I’m perfectly happy to go alone.’

  ‘No.’ The single word was decidedly emphatic.

  ‘Lord Ravensmede, you’re behaving most unreasonably.’

  A dark eyebrow raised. ‘Are you so very eager to return there? Do they treat you so well that you’re loath to leave them?’ There was an undercurrent to his words that made her shiver.

  ‘It’s not so strange a request.’

  ‘You haven’t answered the question, Miss Marchant.’

  There was silence.

  ‘It seems that you leave me little option, my lord. Write the letter if you must.’

  And this time he did not chide her for the use of his title.

  It had been several hours since a letter had been dispatched from the Viscount of Ravensmede to Mr Henry Marchant and still there had been no reply. Kathryn eyed the soft white cotton of the borrowed nightdress with some reticence. She was still uneasy about her sudden new-found position and the means by which it had been effected. Ravensmede’s refusal to allow her to return alone to Green Street worried her. Undoubtedly he was stubborn and arrogant and used to getting his own way, but she had never thought him to be so downright unreasonable. It flew in the face of all she knew of him. But then she had to concede that her knowledge of Lord Ravensmede was remarkably scant. And he had made her a most indecent proposal in St James’s Park.

  Her fingers reached out and lifted the garment to her lap. Lady Maybury had seemed to think nothing remarkable in her grandson’s overbearing attitude; indeed, the old lady appeared to positively encourage Ravensmede. She was still half-expecting Uncle Henry to come charging over, demanding to know what precisely was going on. But hadn’t her uncle always been too keen to court the favour of the aristocracy? If she knew Uncle Henry, he’d be carefully weighing up the best response to further advance his own schemes. She sighed just as a light knock sounded at the door and a young maid entered.

  ‘I’m Jean, miss. Come to help you undress for bed.’ She bobbed a little curtsy.

  ‘Thank you, Jean, but I’m used to dressing and undressing myself.’ Kathryn watched the crestfallen face and suddenly realised why. ‘Are you an abigail?’

  The thin face flushed. ‘No, miss, I’m a chambermaid, but I’m a quick learner and …’
The maid waited to be dismissed.

  ‘Perhaps it would be nice not to have to struggle round to reach the buttons on this dress,’ Kathryn said with a smile. ‘Do you mind if I change my answer?’

  ‘Oh, no, miss, not at all.’ And Jean bounded across the bedchamber to begin work in the lofty realms of a lady’s maid. She started with the careful removal of Miss Marchant’s fichu, folding the worn length of material into a neat pile before turning to tackle the buttons of the faded blue afternoon dress. It was only then that the smile dropped from her face, replaced instead with a look of shock. The narrow brow wrinkled in consternation and the brown eyes rounded as two new pennies.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ Kathryn eyed the maid with some concern.

  The gaze dropped to the floor and two small spots of colour mounted in the thin cheeks. ‘No, miss.’ She skirted round to release the back buttons that secured Miss Marchant’s dress, taking care not to meet the lady’s eyes. The dress, petticoats and stays were removed in a matter of minutes. ‘Shall I help you into your nightdress, miss, before brushing your hair?’ The slender hands strayed towards the folded nightdress.

  ‘No thank you, I can manage from here myself. Thank you, Jean, I shall see you in the morning.’

  The maid bobbed a curtsy and almost ran from the room, leaving a rather puzzled Miss Marchant looking after her.

  Still clad in her threadbare shift, Kathryn unpinned the heavy coil of her curls, sat down at the dressing table, and began to brush her hair using the silver-backed hairbrush from the set laid out on the mahogany surface. The golden glow from the fireplace illuminated the room, and the candle still sat where she had left it on the small table beside the bed. Her eyes glanced up to the oval looking-glass and froze. The brush ceased its action, hovered in mid-air and quickly resumed its position upon the dressing table. And all the while Kathryn’s gaze did not waver.

  From the mirrored glass a pale thin figure stared back, a ghost of the woman she had once been. Her stomach tightened and sank at the sight. For there, in front of her very eyes, was the obvious reason for the maid’s strange behaviour. How could she have so easily forgotten? Reddened fingers reached up and cautiously traced the large purple black smudges adorning the skin around her collarbone, then shifted down to touch each and every one of the bruises peppering her thin arms. Beneath each eye was the faintest trace of shadow and her cheeks had about them a slight gauntness, lending her whole face a look of worn fatigue. Indeed, she looked little better than the poor child recovering in the bedchamber further along the passageway. Little Maggie, who had lain so still and cold on the ground in Hyde Park as to chase every thought from Kathryn’s head save for those concerned with the child’s welfare. Little Maggie, over whom Kathryn had so readily draped her fichu and spencer. And, by removing her fichu, she had unwittingly exposed her shame for all to see. Dear Lord! The bruises could not be missed. Not by Lady Maybury. And certainly not by Lord Ravensmede. So absorbed had she been in the accident and all that ensued that not once had she remembered the presence of those ugly telling bruises. A groan escaped her at her own ineptitude. She knew now why the Viscount had been so downright stubborn in his refusal to allow her to return to Green Street. He had seen the bruises and drawn his own conclusions.