‘I had not thought you would have included Mrs Marchant in your circle.’ His lordship’s voice never normally betrayed emotion. But on this occasion Kathryn thought she could detect the subtle undertone of disapproval.
One faded eye glittered rather threateningly in Ravensmede’s direction. ‘Would you have Kathryn go without me? I have a notion to hear the chit sing, nothing more.’ Then fatigue showed in her face. ‘Take us home, Nick. I must have my nap in preparation for tonight’s outing and time is getting on.’
Anna Marchant was up to something, Ravensmede was certain. Why should the woman suddenly be so eager for Kathryn’s attendance…and seemingly on her own? The invitation had been issued to Kathryn alone. His grandmother had taken the liberty of inviting herself. Mrs Marchant’s lack of enthusiasm for Lady Maybury’s presence had not escaped his attention. For the rest of the day Ravensmede found himself to be pondering the question. It was the foremost matter in his mind as he dispatched the note to Cadmount. He had still not resolved the issue when a footman announced Lord Cadmount’s carriage. Five minutes later the two men were en route to Haymarket.
It did not take long for Cadmount to become aware that his friend’s attention was otherwise engaged. Conversation was scant for the duration of the journey. Cadmount had his suspicions as to the cause of Ravensmede’s somewhat brooding mood, but knew better than to test them at that precise moment.
It was only when they had seated themselves within the auditorium that Lord Cadmount understood Ravensmede’s sudden urge to attend the opera this evening.
‘Isn’t that your grandmother with li’l Miss Marchant over there?’ The fair brows indicated the direction of the sky-blue box not so very far from Cadmount’s own.
‘It appears you may be right,’ drawled Ravensmede. ‘Shall we…?’ He did not wait for the answer, but was up and threading his way through the crowds with leisurely determination.
‘Lord Ravensmede.’ Kathryn could not prevent the sudden gallop of her heart.
‘So you decided to join us,’ said Lady Maybury quite matter of factly. ‘Lord Cadmount.’ The snowy white head dipped, sending the deep red plumes balanced thereon into a frenzy.
‘Your servant, ma’am,’ said Lord Cadmount and bowed. ‘You look as exquisite as ever, dear lady.’
‘Flatterer!’ shrieked her ladyship, but she smiled and fanned herself all the same.
Kathryn tried hard to keep a straight face. It appeared that Lady Maybury had rather a soft spot for her grandson’s friend. Her eyes flitted once more to Lord Ravensmede, who was looking devilishly handsome. ‘You made no mention, sir, that you planned to attend tonight.’
‘No, I did not.’ His gaze held hers for a moment longer, raising in Kathryn the peculiar tension she had felt before when he had held her in his arms or pressed his lips to hers. She looked away, unwilling to allow such feelings to resurface.
For the rest of the evening nothing in Lord Ravensmede’s manner or speech was anything but formally polite, but she could not dispel the odd sensation that he was, by his very presence, lending her his protection, and not at all in the scandalous way he had once suggested. And when, at the end of the evening, Ravensmede and Cadmount assisted Lady Maybury and herself to her ladyship’s carriage, Kathryn was surprised to find that she did not wish to say goodbye.
The next day Kathryn entered the breakfast room to find a parcel and a small box sitting on the breakfast table.
Her ladyship barely raised her eyes from The Times. ‘Could they print this confounded news any smaller? I can’t see a damn thing!’ she complained.
‘Would you like me to read to you?’ Kathryn knew how her ladyship hated to admit just how much her eyesight had deteriorated. It was their usual routine, Kathryn reading aloud, the dowager interrupting with comments, both learning the news of the day, both discussing their subsequent views and opinions. ‘I’m sorry I’m late, my lady. I overslept a little. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.’
For morning time Lady Maybury appeared to be in an unusually good mood. ‘It’s of little consequence. My stomach can’t be kept waiting for breakfast and I knew you would arrive shortly.’ She helped herself to another chop and a couple of devilled kidneys. ‘Couldn’t sleep then, gel?’
Kathryn lifted the coffee pot. ‘No. I slept like a top,’ she lied. ‘I can’t think why I didn’t waken. It must have been all the excitement of yesterday.’ She most certainly was not about to admit that she had lain awake half the night thinking about the lady’s grandson.
‘What excitement?’ asked Lady Maybury between mouthfuls of kidney.
‘Why, our visits to the painting exhibition and the museum, and, of course, the opera.’
Lady Maybury smiled. After a few minutes in which Kathryn sipped her coffee and ate some eggs, the elderly voice asked, ‘Aren’t you going to open them?’
‘Open them?’ Kathryn asked, rather unsure of herself, and her eyes drifted to the packages sitting across the table.
‘It is your birthday, is it not?’
Kathryn let out an exclamation of surprise. ‘Yes, but how did you know?’
‘We Mayburys have our ways.’ The old lady smiled, and pushed the small dark box towards Kathryn. ‘A small token of my affection, gel.’
Kathryn stared at the box, her hand touched to her lips.
‘Open it.’
The box was shallow and rectangular in shape, with an external covering of blue chinoiserie painted silk. Inside, on a lining of plain white silk, lay a strand of ivory pearls and two matching single-pearl drop earrings. Kathryn gasped. ‘They’re beautiful!’
Lady Maybury’s smile broadened. ‘Happy birthday, Kathryn.’
‘I…’ The words faltered and then she was up out of her seat and throwing her arms around the dowager. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered in a voice thick with emotion, ‘it is a long time since anyone remembered my birthday, and never with such a truly lovely gift.’
Lady Maybury patted Kathryn’s hand. ‘I’m glad that you like them. Now, open your other present.’
Still standing, Kathryn looked at the large parcel on the table.
‘Hurry up, then. My curiosity’s getting the better of me.’ Lady Maybury resumed her attack on her breakfast. ‘When one gets to my age one’s family take steps to curtail all excitement. It has the effect of making some ladies, not to put too fine a point on it, overly inquisitive.’ One ancient hand removed itself from the cutlery for long enough to push the parcel further in Kathryn’s direction.
The brown paper crinkled beneath her fingers as she picked at the knots in the string.
‘For heaven’s sake, gel,’ huffed her ladyship, and, extracting a small, finely crafted pair of scissors from pocket in her dress, she reached across and snipped the string. ‘You’ll be there all day with those knots. No point in wasting time.’ Lady Maybury attacked her chop once more, but her eyes were trained firmly on the parcel.
Kathryn peeled back the wrapping to reveal a wooden box filled with the brightest range of water-colour pans. Inserted in cunningly designed compartments within the set were small pots for holding water and a narrow drawer containing the finest sable brushes. ‘It’s wonderful!’ Her fingers traced the contours of each and every part, touching with a care that suggested reverence.
‘What’s that beneath it?’ A silver fork stabbed towards the paintbox.
With the box positioned carefully on the tablecloth, Kathryn saw that the parcel also contained a pad of cut paper sheets and a box of sketching pencils. ‘Who on earth could have sent me…?’ The letter was folded in half and lay at the bottom of the pile. Even before she read the words her heart leapt, for there at the top of the paper was the Viscount of Ravensmede’s crest. Fingers fluttered to her cheek as her eyes skimmed the boldly penned script.
Her ladyship laid down her cutlery upon the emptied plate, dabbed a napkin to her lips, and emitted a small burp. ‘Do you like m’grandson’s gift?’
Kathryn’s emot
ions were in quite a flurry. Abruptly she found her chair, and stared at the pile of art materials before her. ‘It’s…exquisite! But…’ She plucked distractedly at the apron of her dress before running her fingers across the beech paintbox. The clear grey eyes raised to the dowager’s. ‘I can’t accept it.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘It’s not that I’m not grateful, because, of course, I am. It’s just…well…not quite appropriate that I receive a gift from a…’ She couldn’t very well describe Ravensmede as a rake to his own grandmother, so she searched frantically for a suitable word, and found one: ‘…man.’
‘Man!’ Lady Maybury’s tone cast the word in derision. A cackle rent the air as she seemed to find Kathryn’s statement of extreme comic value. When she had stopped laughing long enough to speak, her ladyship helped herself to more coffee and said, ‘I thought the fact he’s reputed to be one of London’s most notorious rake-hells might have influenced you more.’
Kathryn balked at the lady’s words and flushed with embarrassment. It seemed that nothing similar affected Lady Maybury’s sensibilities.
‘It’s all a load of stuff and nonsense, of course. Rebelling against his father’s hand and the like. Wanted to fight for his country. Tried to buy himself a commission. Charles, m’son, soon put paid to that. The two of them have been at loggerheads ever since. Nick’s not cut out to be a rake and a wastrel. He’s just bored; there’s nothing and no one to tax his mind. Never had a real challenge in his life, errant puppy that he is. Things have fallen too easily into his lap all along.’ The distant look in her eyes faded. ‘For all of his reputation, Kathryn, I’m certain that, in this at least, Nick is well intentioned. It is a birthday gift, nothing more. I see no impropriety. My advice to you, gel, is to accept the art materials with grace. Besides, I enjoy watching others paint. It soothes m’nerves.’
In all the time Kathryn had known the dowager she had seen no evidence to suggest that the old lady was afflicted with anything that could be remotely described as a nervous condition. The paintbox was very beautiful. She cast a longing look at it.
‘So you’ll paint for me this afternoon,’ coaxed Lady Maybury.
Using the water-colours and brushes and paper that Lord Ravensmede had bought for her? His letter wishing her birthday greetings was still clutched between her fingers. She folded it and placed it on the table. ‘Yes, my lady, of course I will.’
A week later Lord Ravensmede was standing in the library of his grandmother’s rented townhouse, browsing through the water-colour studies that lay upon the table. The assortment mainly consisted of still-life studies, carefully contrived arrangements of flowers and fruits. All were of a good artistic standard, but what really caught his eye was the single sheet at the very bottom of the pile. Kathryn Marchant had captured every aspect of his grandmother’s personality in those few brush strokes. The intelligence and perception within that gaze, the kindness and loyalty beneath that harsh façade, and, most tenderly of all, the hint of vulnerability in the grand demeanour. It was something that Ravensmede guessed few others besides himself had ever glimpsed. It was not a posed portrait of rigid formality, but a natural moment frozen in time. His grandmother looked as if she were watching Kathryn, but without the consciousness so usual in those sitting for a portrait. Ravensmede found it hard to draw his eyes away. A noise at his back signalled Lady Maybury’s entry.
‘Quite the little artist, isn’t she, Nick?’ Then, without waiting for an answer, she continued, ‘I didn’t know my face was so revealing. Seems that our Kathryn has a very real talent when it comes to portraits. Unlike most, she can look beneath the veneer we present to the world.’
Our Kathryn … The expression hit Ravensmede like a bolt from the blue. Our Kathryn … It seemed so right that she was one of them, a part of their family. Aware of his grandmother’s scrutiny, he shook the thought from his head and looked directly at her. ‘Grandmama…you do know what you’re about with Anna Marchant tonight, don’t you?’
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Thought I would send her into that viper’s nest on her own, did you?’
‘No, I thought that you might find an excuse that Kathryn need not endure such a farce,’ he said wryly.
The old lady chuckled. ‘Doubting your old grandam’s wisdom, Nick?’ She caught his large hand and held it sandwiched between her own. ‘Kathryn’s attendance this evening will put paid to any suggestion that all is not well between her and her relatives. We do not want any gossip arising over either that or the haste of her move to Upper Grosvenor Street.’
‘Indeed not,’ said Ravensmede. ‘But Anna Marchant seemed too eager that Kathryn attend Lottie’s musical. Given the fact that the woman can barely conceal her dislike for her niece, I wonder why that might be.’
‘As I said, it would be commented upon if Kathryn were not present. And the Marchant woman is determined to curry favour with the ton.’
‘Maybe,’ said her grandson, ‘but I have the feeling there is more to Mrs Marchant’s invitation than meets the eye.’ His lips curved in a mocking smile. ‘I fancy that I too have a notion to hear the chit sing.’
A voice floated in from the hall.
‘That will be Kathryn.’ The dowager drew him a strange little look. ‘The aim is to stamp out gossip, not start it. Is your presence really necessary?’
‘Absolutely,’ answered her grandson.
The two moved towards the door.
Kathryn’s sense of dread that had fast been escalating over the past week had reached a pinnacle. No matter how many times she told herself that she was being foolish, no matter how much she insisted that Aunt Anna would never behave with anything other than congeniality before the dowager, Kathryn could not rid herself of the fear. She did not want to set one foot back in the house in Green Street. Even just thinking about the place brought a cold nausea to her stomach. The memory of the three long years that she had lived there would not be easily erased. It was one thing meeting Aunt Anna out in the street, quite another venturing back into her aunt’s own domain—where all the power was, and always had been, in Mrs Marchant’s hands. Nothing bad could happen, not in Lady Maybury’s presence, or so Kathryn reassured herself. But despite all of her efforts, she could not quell her mounting apprehension. It was therefore with a considerable amount of relief that Kathryn descended the staircase of the dowager’s house to discover that Lord Ravensmede had every intention of accompanying his grandmother and her companion to Miss Lottie Marchant’s musical evening.
‘Kathryn…and Lady Maybury,’ gushed Anna Marchant with a sickly smile plastered across her face. ‘So pleased that you could both make it to our little gathering.’ The ladies were in the middle of their devoirs when Mrs Marchant spotted the tall dark presence by the doorway. ‘Lord Ravensmede!’ It was all she could do to prevent the smile slipping from her face. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’
‘Mrs Marchant,’ he said lazily, and watched her through narrowed eyes while she led them across the room to where Lady Finlay was chatting with Lottie.
‘Lottie dearest, look, some more guests have arrived to hear you sing. Cousin Kathryn, Lady Maybury, and…and Lord Ravensmede.’ Anna Marchant looked up to see his lordship smile. It was something that bore a startling resemblance to one of the great black wild cats in the royal menagerie, being unaccountably menacing. The Viscount’s eyes held the suggestion of a threat.
Lady Finlay stared short-sightedly at Kathryn. ‘I can’t say that I remember meeting you before, Miss Marchant.’ She peered long and hard. ‘Have we been introduced?’
Kathryn raised her chin a notch and endured the scrutiny. ‘No, indeed, my lady, I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.’
‘My cousin was present at your recent ball as my companion, but that was before she was persuaded into Lady Maybury’s establishment.’ The words were innocent enough, but no one present was in any doubt as to the intention behind them. Charlotte Marchant intended to set her cousin firmly back in her pla
ce.
‘Indeed,’ drawled Lord Ravensmede from Kathryn’s side. He looked at Lottie with an air of utter boredom. ‘My grandmother insisted that Miss Marchant is such delightful company that she simply would not hear of anyone else as her companion.’
Kathryn felt her hand being tucked into Lady Maybury’s arm. ‘Such a lovely gel,’ said the dowager.
With such overt championing, who would dare to stand against it? Certainly not Lady Finlay. Especially when Lady Maybury leaned forward and hissed in her loudest stage whisper, ‘Her mother was one of the Overton Thornleys.’ The snowy white curls nodded knowingly.
Anna Marchant looked as if she would have liked to throttle the dear old dowager there and then. ‘Ah, here is Mr Dalton. Now we can all take our seats for tonight’s entertainment. I’m sure that no one will be disappointed with my darling girl’s performance.’
‘I’m sure that young Lettie will not let you down,’ said Lady Maybury.
Lottie’s baby-blue eyes squinted in displeasure and she looked demandingly at her mama.
‘Lottie,’ said Mrs Marchant with emphasis.
The dowager’s smile contained all the warmth of a hooded cobra. ‘Yes, indeed, dear little Lettie. Let us hope she’s as talented as her cousin.’
‘Her name is Charlotte, which the family shorten to Lottie.’ Anna Marchant positively snapped the sharp retort.
Aristocratic cheeks were sucked in all round and a knowing look passed between the ladies of the group as they ambled to take their seats in Mrs Marchant’s drawing room.
Kathryn found herself seated between Lord Ravensmede and Lady Maybury in the row of chairs furthest back in the room. His lordship sat closest to the door, as if he hoped to make a quick escape should Lottie’s musical ability prove not to his taste. Kathryn hoped fervently that he would not leave. Just his presence made her feel safer, allaying the worst of her fears regarding her aunt and the house in Green Street.
She sneaked a look up at him through downcast lashes. He was relaxed in the chair, as if he had not a care in the world, long legs stretched out before him, dark hair worn fashionably short, and an expression of bored indifference upon his face. His attire was immaculate as usual. A deep blue tail-coat, above which showed a white high-pointed collar and a snow-white neckcloth tied in a simple but stylish knot. Her eyes slid lower to where one hand rested on his thigh. A light sprinkling of dark hair showed on the back of the hand. His nails were short and clean, his skin a light honey coloration. It looked to be a strong squarish hand; a hand used to taking what it wanted, and one that Kathryn knew was capable of the most tender caress. Her abdomen gave a little flutter and she swiftly moved her eyes on from his hand to the thigh beneath it. That did not help matters. Not when the thigh, encased in tight buff-coloured buckskin, was so long and muscular, and the front of his coat was so very short. Her cheeks grew warm and she quickly raised her gaze to find herself staring directly into his eyes. Something warm quivered deep inside her. He smiled, and the quiver became a somersault.
Regency Debutantes Page 41
