Regency Debutantes

by Margaret McPhee

  If Lady Maybury felt any irritation towards her companion’s insistence she hid it well and thus, at the end of the afternoon, they finally departed Madame Dupont’s on very good terms with the promise of two completed evening gowns for the following week, and the rest to follow later.

  The days passed with an easiness and speed that Kathryn had not experienced for many a year. Life with Lady Maybury was pleasant indeed. The old lady could be demanding in the extreme, but she was also kind, interesting and in possession of a rather wicked sense of humour, as her companion quickly discovered. Even Lord Ravensmede’s visits to his grandparent failed to blight Kathryn’s growing happiness. From the time of his arrival until his eventual departure she kept herself busily employed in tasks well away from the drawing room where Lady Maybury entertained. There was, after all, no point is jeopardising the harmonious existence into which she had fallen within the dowager’s rented townhouse.

  As Kathryn found contentment in her new life, her daydreaming diminished. There were still times when, in her mind, she was the sole recipient of a certain nobleman’s heart—a nobleman who did not want her as his mistress, but as his wife and the mother of his children. But this time, she kept the tall, handsome Viscount strictly confined to her dreams. Kathryn had learned her lesson well. Neither Lord Ravensmede, nor anyone else for that matter, would be allowed to ruin the chance she now had for happiness.

  Warm golden sunlight spilled across the deep rosewood table in the parlour of the house in Green Street, highlighting a patch of dust that had escaped the maid’s cloth and beeswax. Under ordinary circumstances such an omission would have been enough to earn the poor girl a clout round the ear and a thorough tongue lashing from the lady of the house. But, fortunately for the maid, matters within the Marchant household that afternoon were anything but ordinary. For Anna Marchant, sitting alone and bolt upright in the comfortable armchair beside the unlit fireplace, was reading the contents of a letter that had just been delivered by the letter carrier. A small gasp erupted into the emptiness of the room. The colour drained from her complexion. Her mouth gaped liked a landed fish. ‘No!’ she whispered aloud. ‘It cannot be…’ She smoothed the paper out upon her lap and then, grasping the sheet so tightly that her nails dug into her palms, made to read the small, neatly formed script once more.

  26 May 1815

  Amersham

  Buckinghamshire

  Dear Mrs Marchant

  I beg that you will forgive the nature of the tidings that I write to impart, but I have just heard such news that renders me, in good conscience, unable to remain silent.

  I was very pleased to make your acquaintance at Lady Finlay’s recent ball, and I do not think that I was mistaken in finding that you are a lady of impeccable taste and judgement. However, word has just reached me here at my sister’s residence that your niece, Miss Kathryn Marchant, has accepted the offer of a position as the dowager Lady Maybury’s companion. As you will be well aware, Lady Maybury is the grandmother of the Viscount of Ravensmede, a nobleman of renowned repute. For reasons that I dare not put into writing, my dear Mrs Marchant, I am compelled to warn you against allowing your niece to take up Lady Maybury’s offer. Suffice to say, I have evidence that, were it to become public knowledge, would most certainly jeopardise her reputation. I fear that Kathryn is not of the same genteel mould as you and your sweet daughter Lottie, but of that I will say no more lest this letter falls into the wrong hands and risks your family’s embarrassment. It is unfortunate that I am forced to remain here in the country for a few days longer on account of my sister’s confinement, but I assure you that I will return to London with haste and call upon you as soon as is possible.

  With all good intentions

  Your friend

  Amanda White

  By the time Mrs Marchant finished reading her mouth was quite dry and her heart rate had kicked to a canter. What on earth had that little bitch Kathryn been up to? Making a fool of the family that had saved her from destitution on the streets, if Amanda White’s insinuations were to be believed. Mrs Marchant folded the letter up and went to hide it in a safe place, all the while musing on why she disliked Kathryn so very much. The deed was done: Kathryn was already installed in the dowager’s house in Upper Grosvenor Street. Nothing in Mrs White’s letter could undo that, not without serving the entire Marchant family up to the gossipmongers. And that was something that could not be risked. A sneer contorted her mouth, and her eyes were filled with spite. Anna Marchant had no intention of meekly awaiting the return of the widow to discover just what was going on with Kathryn, no intention at all.

  Kathryn stared at her reflection in disbelief. She tried to speak, her mouth even shaped to say the words, but none were forthcoming. Her delicately shaped eyebrows rose and fell expressively and when still she could not speak she whirled around and in three steps had gathered Lady Maybury into a spontaneous embrace.

  ‘I take it you’re pleased with Madame Dupont’s creation!’ chuckled the old lady.

  Kathryn finally found her tongue. ‘Indeed, my lady, it’s quite the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. When I look in the mirror I see a stranger looking back at me. I’m nothing like myself!’ A slender hand patted the dowager’s arm once more. ‘Thank you for allowing me to repay your loan with such reasonable terms.’ As Lady Maybury’s companion she was not entitled to a wage as such, but her ladyship had insisted on giving her a generous sum, all of which would now be consumed in paying for the outfit in which she was now attired.

  ‘You are very welcome, child.’ Lady Maybury smiled. ‘I do believe Marie was right when she insisted upon this colour. It complements your eyes.’ Her head perched to one side in contemplation. “Yes, Kathryn, you shall do very well.’ One snowy eyebrow arched, mimicking the gesture so often used by her grandson. ‘Very well indeed.’

  For once in her life, Kathryn Marchant thought that perhaps that might just be true. The dress was of a sheer violet silk, highwaisted and cut so that the skirt draped enticingly to the floor with the merest suggestion of the curves hidden beneath. With a low décolletage it revealed rather more of Kathryn’s other assets than she was used to, but her bruises were gone; when she suggested the addition of her fichu, Lady Maybury snorted and turned a more-than-querulous eye in her direction.

  ‘There’s no need for any such thing.’

  Sprinkled liberally over the bodice were the tiniest cream pearls, which led the eye down to the broad cream satin ribbon that adorned Kathryn’s waist as well as the edge of her short puffed sleeves. On her hands she wore an elegant new pair of cream gloves that reached up and over her arms to past her elbows. Her neck was bare save for the few chestnut tendrils that nestled about it. The mass of her curls had been gathered up high on the back of her head and fixed in place with pins and cream-and-violet coloured ribbons. A matching cream shawl and reticule completed the elegant ensemble. Little wonder that she scarcely recognised the woman looking back at her from the dressing mirror. Suddenly aware that she had been entirely absorbed in her own appearance, Kathryn turned to the dowager, who was resplendent in the forest green silk. ‘You look lovely, my lady. Madame Dupont has truly worked her magic here tonight. We shall be quite the finest dressed ladies at Lady Cooper’s ball.’

  ‘I never doubted it for a moment,’ said her ladyship in reply.

  The ballroom was glowing with the light of a multitude of candles balanced in four enormous crystal chandeliers. Lady Cooper’s affair was proving to be quite a success judging from the mass of people squashed within the confines of her ballroom. Kathryn and Lady Maybury had been fortuitous in finding seats close by the floor-length windows, which were opened in an attempt to remedy the stifling heat. Mrs Lee and Lady Hadstone soon arrived to monopolise the dowager’s attention, leaving Kathryn to watch the proceedings upon the dance floor and around its periphery. She sipped her lemonade and enjoyed her contemplation. The oppressive heat of the ballroom vanished, the air grew cool and sweet, scented
with the freshness of grass and earth and blue sky. Instead of the press of sweat-drenched bodies were spacious marble chequered floor tiles and a flood of sunlight. Across the floor stood one large figure, immaculate in full evening dress, his green eyes light like tender young leaves, smiling his heartrending smile…for her alone.

  ‘Kathryn!’ The dowager’s hand touched to her arm, and the spell was broken.

  She looked at Lady Maybury, an expression of guilt blazoned across her face. ‘I do beg your pardon, my lady. I’m afraid my thoughts had wandered a little.’

  But the dowager’s focus had shifted and was fixed quite firmly on someone else, someone that stood directly before Kathryn, someone of whom Kathryn was becoming rapidly aware.

  ‘Miss Marchant,’ he said. The deep melodic tone teased a shiver down her spine. ‘A pleasure to see you again.’ His bow was superbly executed.

  ‘Lord Ravensmede.’ She made her devoirs and tried to ignore the warmth that had suddenly pervaded her cheeks. Distant and polite, stay distant and polite at all times, she reminded herself. But it did not slow the thrumming of her heart or the acrobatic antics of the butterflies massing in her stomach.

  He was dressed as if he had stepped straight out of her daydream: a finely tailored black coat worn with pale pantaloons that clung rather revealingly to his long muscular thighs. Well-shaped calves and ankles were encased in white stockings, leading down to a pair of highly polished black buckle slippers. A white satin waistcoat overlaid a snow-white shirt and neckcloth, beneath which it was clear that there had been no need for padding of any description. Nicholas Maybury was indeed a man of impressive physique. He turned to his grandmother and smiled. ‘I trust this evening finds you in good health?’

  ‘Never better, my boy. I have the constitution of an ox, as well you know.’ Aside to her cronies she added, ‘He’s ever hopeful that I will shuffle off this mortal coil, but I do not intend to accommodate him for quite some time.’

  Kathryn listened to the conversation continue for some little time, with Ravensmede politely exchanging small talk with all three elderly ladies. Notably he did not attempt the same with her. Indeed, his neglect was rather marked. Two strangers in a ballroom. Their kisses had never been. Respectable. The Viscount and his grandmother’s companion—a class apart. It was what she wanted, after all, so why did it bring a heaviness to her heart? And then, at last, Lord Ravensmede’s attention was upon her, and it was as if they were the only two people there.

  His eyes met hers.

  Her heart skipped a beat. It was her dream becoming a reality. She wetted her suddenly dry lips. Tried to shake off the enchantment in danger of overcoming her. Knew that she was staring at him in a highly inappropriate fashion. None of it made any difference. Kathryn glanced around, looking for a way to extricate herself from such temptation.

  ‘Miss Marchant,’ he said, and her name sounded like a caress upon his lips.

  His lips… Her eyes were on them, tracing their outline. Firm, chiselled, with a hint of sensual fullness. Lips that had kissed her with such expertise. Her own mouth parted at the memory. Anticipation fluttered in her stomach. The breath trembled within her throat. She swallowed hard. Fought to regain some semblance of self-control. ‘Lord Ravensmede.’ How could she sound so calm, so unaffected, when she wanted so desperately to feel the press of his mouth against hers, the strength of his arms around her?

  ‘The next dance is the waltz. I understand it to be a favourite of yours.’ He did not appear to be in the grip of any such torrent of emotion. But there was something in his gaze that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand upright.

  Kathryn’s cheeks warmed. ‘I…um…that is…’ Her fingers slid to twist at the violet silk of her skirt. ‘I do not think that…’

  A corner of his mouth twitched. ‘Grandmama, may I borrow Miss Marchant for the next dance? I promise to return her safely and I’m sure that these two beautiful ladies…’ he turned the full force of his rakish good looks upon Lady Hadstone and Mrs Lee ‘…will engage you in such interesting and witty conversation that you shall not note her absence.’

  Lady Hadstone and Mrs Lee giggled girlishly and fanned themselves with fervour.

  Lady Maybury knew better. The tone of her voice was harsh, but the look in her eye was one of endearment. ‘Why the blazes should I object?’ And she turned her attention back to her friends.

  Ravensmede smiled at that, then faced Kathryn again. ‘Miss Marchant, would you do me the honour of partnering me for the waltz?’ His eyes lingered at her lips before rising to meet her gaze.

  Her throat was in danger of sticking together. The pulse at the side of her neck throbbed wildly. She prayed fervently that it would not show. ‘Thank you, Lord Ravensmede,’ she uttered weakly. From the corner of her eye she could see Mrs Lee and Lady Hadstone positively agog. For the sake of good manners she could not refuse him, and neither did she want to. ‘I would be delighted.’ And in her heart she knew it was the truth.

  A large hand extended, closed around hers and tucked it securely into his arm. He did not speak until the music started and they were gliding effortlessly around the room. ‘Are you happy with my grandmother?’

  Her lashes swept up and she regarded him with surprise that he could ask such a question. ‘Of course, my lord. Lady Maybury is very kind to me.’ He smelled of soap and bergamot and something else that was uniquely him.

  ‘It seems you have a short memory, Kathryn.’

  She swallowed hard, aware that she remembered all too well a moonlit room and the dimmed interior of a coach. ‘I don’t know to what you are referring, sir.’

  His eyes glinted with emerald lights. ‘My lord? Sir? I think we know each other rather better than that would suggest.’

  Her cheeks grew hotter. Did he know what he was doing to her? From the look on his face, most probably so. ‘On the contrary, Lord Ravensmede, I’m companion to your grandmother. Any other mode of address would be quite inappropriate.’ Despite the traitorous reaction of her body to his proximity, she was determined not to let her mask of polite indifference slip. Such a path was the rocky descent to ruin, nothing more.

  ‘Do you deny then, Miss Marchant—’ he stressed the use of her formal address ‘—that which has passed between us on two separate occasions?’ His eyes held hers with an intimacy to which he had no right.

  She bit uneasily at her lower lip, unsure of where his words were leading.

  ‘Surely you do not forget that as well? Shall I remind you of the kisses that we’ve shared?’ he teased.

  She gasped and glanced self-consciously around. ‘Ssh! Someone might hear you!’

  ‘Then you do remember, after all.’

  ‘Of course I remember,’ she snapped. ‘I’m unlikely ever to forget!’

  ‘Why? Do my kisses affect you like no other’s?’ Ravensmede laughed.

  She could do nothing to prevent the intensifying rosy stain that scalded the fairness of her skin.

  ‘Your face betrays you, Kathryn.’ And for some reason he looked extraordinarily pleased about it.

  ‘You are no gentleman to say such things!’ she said, afraid of what she had revealed.

  ‘I assure you, Kathryn, I’m no gentleman at all.’ A wicked twinkle set in the green eyes. ‘But that is something of which you are, no doubt, already aware.’

  ‘Lord Ravens—’

  A dark eyebrow arched. ‘Tut tut, Kathryn, what must I do to make you use my given name?’ His gaze dropped pointedly to her lips.

  ‘Nicholas!’ the whisper ejected with alacrity.

  He smiled. ‘Much better. So now that we’ve sorted one small problem, let us deal with another. Why have you been avoiding me?’

  Her denial was too quick. ‘You’re mistaken.’ The chestnut tendrils cascading around her neck shook. She was not wanton. No matter the strength of his left hand surrounding hers, or the undeniable heat that emanated from the touch of his right against her waist. No matter that she quivered with the
hope that he would kiss her, as he had before. She must strive to show him that he erred in his opinion.

  ‘I’ve visited my grandmother on five occasions and not once have you been present. Do you mean to tell me that she sent you away when she knew I had arrived?’

  ‘No. I was simply engaged with other chores.’

  ‘I’ve told you before, Kathryn Marchant, you make a poor liar.’

  Her eyes met his at the shared memory of the last time he had uttered those words.

  His hand tightened upon her waist.

  She trembled beneath it.

  ‘I owe you an apology, Kathryn. That day in the carriage, I should not have taken advantage of you. Forgive me.’ The edge of his thumb delicately caressed her fingers.

  Right at this moment in time she would have forgiven him anything. ‘I was not entirely blameless in the situation,’ she admitted. ‘I should not have…’ She glanced away. ‘I ought not to have…’ Was there any polite way of saying what had to be said? Silver eyes met smouldering green once more. ‘You know very well what I’m trying to say, Nicholas.’

  A knowing smile was her only answer.

  She cleared her throat nervously. ‘No such thing must happen again. I’m Lady Maybury’s companion, and even if that were not the case…’ Anxiety widened her eyes. ‘I would not have you think me anything other than respectable.’ There, she had said it.

  The music filled the silence between them.

  ‘I do not think anything else,’ he said, and a strange expression came over his face. ‘And as you rightly said, you’re my grandmother’s companion. Do you think that I would do anything to dishonour her?’

  ‘No.’ It was the truth. There seemed to be a genuine bond of affection between the Viscount and his grandparent.

  He was still looking at her in that peculiar way. ‘Are you truly so averse to my company, Kathryn?’

  She sighed. The lie refused to form upon her lips. ‘I’m averse to any impropriety that might blight my reputation. My good name is all that I have left.’