Regency Debutantes

by Margaret McPhee

  The slightest pause. ‘I will speak with Henry Marchant until I know the whole of it. And then I’ll decide what to do with him. Perhaps I should call him out.’

  ‘No!’ Her eyes widened in horror. ‘You must not!’

  ‘He does not deserve your sympathy, Kathryn.’

  ‘No, please!’ Her hands grasped at his arms, tightening, enforcing her will. ‘You’re wrong. It wasn’t him…he’s done nothing!’

  Not Henry Marchant? His focus narrowed. ‘Then who?’

  Nothing, just the pressure of those slight fingers.

  ‘Hell’s teeth, Kathryn, tell me!’ he growled with more force than he intended.

  ‘Aunt Anna.’ A faint whisper, barely more than the expiration of a breath. Cheeks so pale he thought she would swoon.

  He moved to take her arms, unmindful that she still held his. A mirror of her stance, unnoticed in the incredulity that enveloped him. ‘Are you telling me that Anna Marchant inflicted those bruises upon you?’ His voice sounded cold and hard and distant even to his own ears.

  ‘Yes.’ Her body recoiled from his, and she stepped back until the chair was between them. ‘You have what you wanted. Are you happy now?’ The slight figure turned and fled, leaving Ravensmede staring at the library door that had just been slammed so adamantly in his face.

  Kathryn stood still as a statue and stared down from the window of her bedchamber, although quite what made it hers she could not be sure since there was nothing of her own in it. A calm, light-filled room that was furnished with the finest furniture, or so it seemed to the woman who had made do for as many years as she could remember. It was as close to a sanctuary as she had come, even if it was owned by the man who had just caused her to reveal that which she had promised never to. But she could not have allowed him to meet Uncle Henry thinking what he did. The thought of exactly what Ravensmede had threatened to do twisted in her gut. Call him out. There was no doubt in her mind that he would have done just that…and more.

  Her fingers kneaded at the tight spot developing behind her forehead, trying to forestall the headache she knew it would become. What would the Viscount do with the knowledge? Oh, Lord, please do not let him speak of it, not to Uncle Henry, and certainly not to Aunt Anna herself. It would only make matters worse. Aunt Anna will deny all, cast me as a liar. I have no proof and they have provided me with a home all this time. And the scandal! Perhaps I should speak with Nicholas…Dear Lord, have I so quickly come to think upon him in such familiar terms? The thought was really rather shocking. She pressed the cooling palms of her hands to her eyes. Think, Kathryn, think! She willed herself. I have created this problem and therefore I can solve it. So engrossed in her task was she that she did not hear the chamber door brush against the rug as it was pushed hesitantly open. Indeed, it was not until something tugged at her skirts that she jumped and gave a small exclamation of surprise.

  ‘Why are you crying?’ The pansy brown eyes were regarding her with concern.

  One slender hand pressed to her breast before Kathryn bent and clutched the child to her. ‘Maggie! You startled me. I didn’t hear you come in.’ She rearranged the locks of hair around the girl’s forehead and kissed her. ‘You were as quiet as a little mouse.’

  Maggie smiled and touched small fingers softly to the shadowed areas beneath Kathryn’s eyes. ‘Why was you crying?’ she repeated.

  ‘I wasn’t crying, moppet, just thinking.’

  But the child persisted. ‘But you was sad, wasn’t you?’

  ‘Just a little, but I’m not any more. Now, Miss Maggie, what are you doing out of bed?’ Kathryn chided in a voice of mock severity.

  Maggie was not fooled for one minute. ‘Looking for you to tell me another story.’

  Kathryn placed her hands on her hips and looked stern.

  Maggie laughed.

  ‘Oh, very well then, but only if you get back into bed. You must not get up until Dr Porter has checked your leg this afternoon.’ Secretly Kathryn was pleased that the child felt well enough to wander. And, from the way she was jumping rather excitedly up and down, it appeared that the injury to her leg was perhaps not as bad as they had first thought. With one arm cupped protectively round Maggie’s shoulders, Kathryn guided the small girl back along to the room from whence she had come.

  The day passed quickly for Kathryn in her new role as Lady Maybury’s companion, and she did have to admit that her first impression of that employment found it to be infinitely preferable to anything she had experienced in the house at Green Street. Ravensmede’s grandmother was loud, opinionated and had evidently taken rather a shine to Kathryn. Beneath the old lady’s harsh exterior was a heart of gold. She brooked no nonsense and did not suffer fools gladly, but when it came to her grandson it was quite clear to Kathryn that he held a special place in the lady’s heart. It was just before three o’clock when the doorbell sounded. Miss Marchant was still seated at the lady’s writing desk situated within Lady Maybury’s rooms. With pen poised in hand and rather ink-stained fingers, she was waiting patiently for the dowager to dictate the next line of the letter. Her ladyship showed no sign of having heard the bell.

  ‘Lady Harriet sounds to me to be indolent in the extreme. You must not hesitate to chastise her as such, my dear Frances, else you will never get her married off.’ Lady Maybury was seated comfortably upon a pink chair. She paused to allow Kathryn to copy down her words, her head cocked to one side like a small lively robin.

  Kathryn finished the sentence and glanced up. The clock on the mantel chimed three.

  Lady Maybury ignored it. ‘Lady Gardiner’s daughter was quite the same, and look what became of her.’

  The grey eyes drifted to the clock face.

  ‘No, Frances, you must stand firm. It’s the best advice I can offer.’ Lady Maybury nodded her white curls forcefully. ‘Do not pen the next words,’ she instructed. ‘They are for your ears alone. Harriet Kiddleby was an indolent child and she’s now an indolent young woman. I blame Frances, of course. She always was too soft with the gel. If she doesn’t act quickly, she’ll be saddled with the wretched gel for the rest of her days. Frances never did have much sense.’ A tap at the door interrupted Lady Maybury’s tirade.

  A footman entered and addressed himself to the dowager. ‘Mr Marchant has arrived, my lady. He’s in the drawing room with Lord Ravensmede.’

  The snowy head graciously inclined. Only when the door had closed did she resume her conversation. ‘Now, what was I saying? Ah, that’s right, I remember now.’

  ‘Should we not…?’ Kathryn looked tentatively at the old lady.

  ‘Make them wait!’ came the abrupt reply. And so she did. It was some considerable time later and with a degree of mounting agitation that Kathryn came finally to pen the words, remember me to Lady Augusta. Adieu—Yours ever, Eleanor Maybury.

  Ravensmede’s grandmother offered no apologies for her tardiness. Rather, she cast a piercing eye in Henry Marchant’s direction as if it were he who was making unfair demands upon her time. Kathryn sat at the old lady’s side on the sofa and prayed fervently that the Viscount had not made any mention of her bruising. Her uncle looked distinctly uncomfortable, a sign that did not bode well. The tension in the room was thick and suffocating. No one spoke. She forced a smile to her face. ‘Uncle Henry, how good of you to come. My aunt is not with you?’

  ‘No.’ He did not return the smile. ‘Unfortunately she is otherwise engaged.’

  Another awkward silence.

  Her eyes sought Ravensmede’s. His face was stern, forbidding even, but she thought she saw a softening in that shared moment. It was gone before she could be sure. His attention returned to the man sitting uneasily in the chair with his back to the door.

  ‘Mr Marchant. As I explained in my letter, Miss Marchant has been kind enough to agree to become my grandmother’s companion. You understand, of course, the honour that Lady Maybury is conferring upon your family with such an appointment?’ Ravensmede had resumed the habitual
arrogant drawl that had been missing for the past two days. A dark eyebrow winged as if daring Henry Marchant to disagree.

  Henry cleared his throat and looked away. ‘Quite. I have no objection to my niece accepting such a position per se.’ The gruff throat cleared again and the large hands gripped the chair arms. ‘However…’ Henry looked at the marbled fireplace. ‘My wife and I are concerned with the manner and speed with which the offer and acceptance have been made. Kathryn is like a daughter to us and naturally we can only be greatly concerned when she leaves our home for a drive around Hyde Park, and fails to return.’

  ‘I understand your…concern.’ The stress was on Ravensmede’s last word. There was an iciness to his tone that Kathryn had never heard before. ‘Indeed, it really is most commendable.’

  Mr Marchant’s gaze shifted uncomfortably.

  Ravensmede’s drawl intensified. ‘The accident involving the child that occurred during the drive has left my grandmother quite exhausted. At her age, I hardly expect her to oversee the child’s care amidst all of her other activities. Thus, the immediate requirement for a companion to assist her arose. Miss Marchant was the ideal candidate.’

  Henry Marchant gave a little cough. ‘And Lady Maybury will be staying here with you?’ The question dropped dangerously into the air.

  Kathryn’s stomach tensed. The unspoken inference was obvious. And, if her uncle thought it, then so would everyone else, despite all of Lord Ravensmede’s persuasion. The Viscount turned a glacial focus upon Mr Marchant.

  Mr Marchant drew back against his chair.

  ‘My grandmother has taken a house in Upper Grosvenor Street for the Season,’ said Lord Ravensmede.

  Kathryn could not suppress a surprised glance in his lordship’s direction. Hadn’t Lord Ravensmede led her to believe that they would be living here in Ravensmede House? His face betrayed nothing.

  ‘In that case, I can raise no objection. My niece is four and twenty, and many years beyond the age at which she would require my permission.’ For the first time since entering the room Henry Marchant looked at Kathryn. ‘I hope that you’ll be happy in your new position.’ His gaze skittered away. ‘I’ll have your trunk sent round.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Kathryn had never been one to shirk her duty and she did not do so now. ‘I will call upon my aunt and Lottie tomorrow to take my leave of them.’ Belatedly she consulted her new employer, ‘If that is acceptable to you, my lady.’

  A scowl flitted over Lord Ravensmede’s face, and disappeared.

  Before Lady Maybury could reply, Henry Marchant cleared his throat and repeated the words that his wife had instructed, ‘Regrettably, both your aunt and cousin will be out tomorrow.’

  A small silence followed.

  ‘Then the day after, perhaps?’ Kathryn suggested.

  ‘I believe them to be engaged on that day also,’ he said awkwardly, and shifted in his chair.

  Kathryn made to reply but Ravensmede was there first. ‘How good of your family to be so understanding of the situation.’

  Confusion clouded Mr Marchant’s face.

  The Viscount leaned forward towards the older man in a confiding manner. ‘Some people are embarrassed by class differences, but clearly your lady wife is not one of them. Now that Miss Marchant is companion to my grandmother, she must exercise more discernment in her choice of those with whom she associates. It is well that Mrs Marchant understands that.’

  Henry Marchant’s cheeks stained a ruddy red at the insult, but he said nothing.

  Seeking to alleviate the growing tension, Kathryn spoke to her uncle. ‘Please send Aunt Anna and Cousin Lottie my regards and my thanks for all their kindness over the years.’ From the corner of her eye she saw Lord Ravensmede’s jaw twitch, and she almost smiled. Then Kathryn remembered Aunt Anna. If she had thought her aunt to be an enemy before, she had best have a care and watch her back from now on. Anna Marchant was not a woman to forgive or forget.

  Henry Marchant nodded once. ‘Of course.’ He cleared his throat again and looked uneasy.

  It was Ravensmede who finally brought an end to the charade. ‘Then we bid you good day, Mr Marchant.’ He stood over a head taller than Henry Marchant and looked down into the man’s small eyes. ‘Your niece will be safe with my grandmother, Mr Marchant. Have no doubt of that.’ And beneath the polite reassurance was the veiled threat of something dark and dangerous. Henry Marchant felt it too and scuttled from the room with a speed surprising for a man of his girth.

  Sunshine flooded the breakfast room the next morning as Ravensmede sipped his coffee. A plate containing the remains of kedgeree lay abandoned before him.

  ‘It’s quite impossible, Nicholas. I barely slept a wink last night, most probably as a result of that infernal Marchant rat. What kind of man stands by and allows his wife to beat his niece? He’s despicable! Little wonder I was tossing and turning throughout the night!’

  ‘Grandmama,’ the Viscount admonished gently, ‘you promised that you wouldn’t speak of it. Kathryn did not want us to know of her aunt’s guilt.’

  ‘Fustian!’ exclaimed his grandmother. ‘The gel’s still up with Maggie. She’ll not hear me from there!’ She winced. ‘It’s no good. I’m really not myself this morning. You and Kathryn will have to take the child home.’

  Ravensmede’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ll send for Dr Porter.’

  ‘No! There’s nothing wrong with me that a few hours’ sleep won’t cure. Stop fussing, Nick. I’m not dead yet!’ The old lady drew him a fierce stare. ‘Just make sure you look after my companion.’

  Ravensmede’s mood lightened at the thought of Kathryn and a closed carriage. He quirked a smile. ‘As you wish, Grandmama.’ A small bow and he turned to leave.

  ‘And Nick—’ Her voice stopped him at the door. The faded green eyes glared a warning. ‘Remember that Miss Marchant is under my protection.’

  He raised an ironic brow and was gone.

  Kathryn’s arm tightened around the child sitting by her side. ‘I promise I shall come and see you again very soon.’ The carriage rumbled through the streets leading them to the rookeries in Whitecross Street and the little girl’s home.

  Maggie eyed her hopefully before looking over at Lord Ravensmede on the opposite seat. ‘And will the pa come too?’

  ‘I don’t know about that.’ She laughed. Somehow she could not imagine the Viscount of Ravensmede visiting a four-year-old girl in a street of overcrowded slums. But, come to that, she had not thought he would have paid for Maggie to have the best of medical treatments, cared for her within his own house and then personally delivered her to her parents.

  Ravensmede leaned forward. ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘Good.’ Maggie snuggled closer into Kathryn’s side, feeling in the pockets of her new apron. The pretty white frills around its edge contrasted nicely with the matching pink-and-white highwaisted frock worn beneath it. An apple was produced and the carriage soon reverberated with the sound of Maggie’s crunches.

  ‘That’s what I like to see, a good healthy appetite.’ Kathryn stroked the little girl’s clean, shiny hair, fixing the pink satin ribbons as she did.

  She felt Ravensmede’s gaze upon her and looked up to meet it. His mouth was not quite in a smile, and there was a solemnity about his eyes that made her feel peculiar.

  The rest of the journey continued with Kathryn pointing out landmarks and shops to Maggie. Ravensmede made no effort to join in, just sat back and watched the woman and the child. Once they had arrived, Kathryn did not miss the purse that he pressed into Maggie’s father’s hand, or the kind words that he uttered to the child’s poor work-worn mother. A kiss on Maggie’s cheek and they were gone. Kathryn waved until the little girl and her family were just a speck in the distance, and wondered at what she could never hope to have. A child of her own. A family. She thrust the thought aside and looked at Lord Ravensmede. He had not spoken since their return to the carriage, just sat looking from the window as if his thoughts were elsewhere.


  ‘You should not have said that you would visit her. She’ll look for you and be disappointed when you don’t come.’ Kathryn spoke the words gently, not to chastise but merely to show him the error of his ways. What did a man like Ravensmede know of a child’s fragile trust?

  Then his eyes were on her, casting a spiral of excitement into her breast and down deeper into her stomach as they ever did. She ignored her body’s response as best she could. ‘What makes you think that I would lie to the child? Do you think so little of me?’

  She felt the colour rise to her face at his continued scrutiny and the accusation in his voice. ‘No, I just thought…’

  ‘I know what you thought, Kathryn,’ he said.

  Anger flared. ‘On the contrary, Lord Ravensmede, you know nothing of what I think! Don’t presume to do so!’

  He smiled at that. ‘Ouch,’ he said. ‘The kitten has claws.’

  He really was the most infuriating man alive. Deliberately she turned her face to watch the passing houses. And ignored him.

  ‘You think me infuriating,’ he said with unnerving accuracy.

  ‘I didn’t say so.’

  ‘You didn’t have to. And you think that I make promises I won’t keep.’

  ‘No.’

  A cynical eyebrow raised.

  ‘Very well, yes.’

  His eyes did not leave her face and a sensual tone crept into his voice. ‘I always keep my promises, Kathryn.’

  Her blood tingled.

  Anticipation grew in the punctuating silence.

  ‘It seems that you have much to learn of me.’

  Kathryn’s heart thudded in her chest. Blood surged through her veins, visibly throbbing at the pulse-point in her neck. ‘Lest you had forgotten, Lord Ravensmede, I’m companion to your grandmother. There is no need for us to know anything of each other.’

  He did not appear in the least discomposed, just stayed leaning back against the seat with his legs stretched out before him. ‘On the contrary, I care for my grandmother, and, as such, it’s only natural that I take an interest in her health, in her life and…in any companion that she may have. Indeed, I would be failing in my duty if I did not undertake a thorough appraisal of your character, Miss Marchant.’