by Anne Gracie
He recalled his own words, his first ever proposal of marriage. If it is the money, you need not worry about it. I have plenty of money.
He leaned against a nearby railing and groaned. What sensitivity! What finesse! Such fine heartfelt words of romance! I am very wealthy... Marry me.
He had as good as offered to buy her! Of course she'd turned him down—him and his money and his cursed tradesman's blood!
But he'd thought it might tempt her. After all, she'd risked her life for riches, over and over again! Pennington's Black Pearls, Alcorne's diamonds, Grantley's emeralds and now Brackbourne's Bronzinos.
Yet she would not marry him for the same.
Hugo almost groaned aloud again.
His fine new house, filled with all the beauty and elegance money could buy. Empty. A cold showroom of wealth. His life was just as empty, he realised. The house, the money—it hadn't been enough.
Kit had spoken of a home. Of love and family gathered around a fire. He wanted that. He wanted her. Wanted her to fill his life and his house, to fill it with laughter and mischief...and children.
He needed quite desperately for her to belong to him. She didn't have to love him—he wasn't asking that much; only that she be with him for the rest of their lives. To be with him, to let him protect her, to hold her at night, to sleep in his bed with him, to bear his children and love them. And teach them to laugh.
It had to be better than hanging for burglary! If only he could convince her of it.
Stubborn wench! He would find some way to protect her. She might repudiate him, but she could not prevent him rom following his instincts.
His instinct was protect her, whether she wanted it or not.
She might not want his money, but he would use it and all the resources he had at his disposal in order to shield her from the worst consequences of her folly. He hurried home, where he sat at his library desk and began to pen a letter to Captain Patchett.
"Are you sure you want to go to this house party, Kit dear?'' said Rose Singleton. “I think it would do you good, for you are, if you don't mind me saying so, looking a little peaky, and some exercise and fresh sea air will restore the roses to your cheeks. However, it must be admitted that most of the company will be a good deal older than you— I do not know whether there will be many young people at all—it is to be more or less a family and old friends' sort of gathering, not the sort of dashing social affair that you might have been expecting."
Kit smiled. "Oh, I don't mind. In fact, it would quite a pleasant change. But are you sure your friends are happy to have me stay as well?"
Rose laughed. "Oh, of course, yes. They will love you. Julia Marsden was a girlhood friend of mine—we attended the same seminary, you know, in Bath. And of course Sir William Marsden is a dear. He was an intimate of your dear papa's—though he was just Billy Marsden to us then—we grew up together, you know."
Kit nodded. "Yes, Aunt Rose. Papa did mention Sir William Marsden." Indeed he did.
"But if you are not inclined to go, you must say so. I do not mind at all staying in London."
"No, no," said Kit hurriedly. "You must not say so. I would love to attend a house party and to meet your's and Papa's old friends would suit me perfectly. You forget I
have never visited an English country estate, and I am so looking forward to it."
"Of course, how very odd it seems, to be sure. Very well, if you are certain then, my love, I shall write to Julia and accept her invitation and we shall leave at the end of the week." Rose beamed with satisfaction. "You will like their home, I'm sure, my dear. It is quite lovely, with the most wonderful gardens and there is a beautiful lake where we can go boating, if the weather is fine. And the sea is not very far, either, of course."
Kit smiled at the middle-aged woman fondly. Rose was clearly very eager to go to the Marsdens' house party, yet had been quite willing to forgo her pleasure for Kit's sake. Never had anyone, except Maggie, considered Kit before herself. It was truly heartwarming, and Kit felt quite unworthy. She was, after all, using Rose, even if it was in a greater cause.
As for the house party, it was beautifully opportune. She'd been racking her brains for weeks as to how to gain access to the Marsden home. Now, with absolutely no scheming or planning on Kit's part, it had all fallen into place. The timing was perfect. Now that the fourth compartment had been filled, it would be wise to be away from London for a time. Already people were speculating a great deal.
Her Chinese red herring—or should she say red carp?— was working splendidly, but she'd had too many close shaves as it was, and it would not be clever to push her luck, particularly with the Watchdog breathing down her neck at every turn. Better to let the excitement die down a little.
The house party would get her out of London and away from Mr Devenish and his all-too-suspicious mind. And his annoyingly acute brain. As well as his infuriating habit of
turning up where he was least wanted. Not to mention those all-too-broad shoulders.
She sighed, thinking of those shoulders.
Yes, it was better to stay away. To take herself out of the paths of temptation.
Marry me. She closed her eyes. It was not possible, of course, but oh...the temptation...
Not so simple now, was it, the choice between a sacred promise concerning her father's honour and the offer of happiness...? Her father's dying words came back to her: Women don't understand honour. Their minds are too cluttered with emotion.
Her mind was certainly cluttered with emotion right now.
The house party would offer a welcome respite.
The hired post-chaise and four turned in off the road between two enormous stone-mounted gates, and down the long winding drive which led to the house. The Marsden family home, Woodsden Lodge, was a beautiful old Elizabethan house, set on a natural rise in the land, and surrounded by walled terraces. The house overlooked a deep, winding valley.
There was a fine open parkland to the east of the house, giving way to thick, verdant forests. To the west lay what Kit thought might be the kitchen gardens, surrounded by ancient grey stone walls. In the front was what looked like a wonderful rose walk, laid out in an ancient Elizabethan knot design.
"See that rose garden?" Rose said.
Kit nodded. "It looks lovely."
"It is Lady Marsden's pride and joy. Sir William gave it to her as a birthday gift one year. It is modelled on the very ancient one of her old home, but in the middle of the design, there is the most beautiful little pavilion, where you can sit and just smell the roses. Julia—Lady Marsden, that
is—calls it her Romantic Rose Arbour." She laughed. "Sir William, of course, pooh-poohs the idea of any romance, and calls it the Folly of Love. He is deeply sentimental, you understand, and terrified lest anyone should discover it."
Kit laughed. How wonderful it would be if someone— no one in particular, of course—ever built a romantic garden for her. It was the most romantic and lovely notion. Kit liked the sound of Sir William and Lady Marsden. She wished she didn't.
It would have been easier if Sir William beat his wife instead of making gardens for her.
The house itself looked very old to Kit's eyes. Built of the dark grey stone which was obviously the local building material, it was tall and square and could have seemed forbidding except for its multitudes of large square mullioned windows placed at regular intervals across the front.
Two servants ran out to greet them as the carriage pulled up in the paved courtyard which framed the front entrance. By the time the groom had put down the steps for them to descend the carriage, Sir William and Lady Marsden were coming down the steps from the porched entrance of the house to greet them.
"Oh, Rose, mydear," Lady Marsden said. "Oh, I am
so pleased you came. I vow, I have not seen you for such
an age—oh, I know we met briefly in Town, but that was
just a moment or two—now you are here we can have as
&n
bsp; many long, comfortable cozes as we wish!"
The two ladies embraced affectionately. Kit stood back a little, smiling. It was clear that Rose and Lady Marsden were very good friends.
And this is your little niece, eh, Miss Singleton?" boomed Sir William, smiling kindly at Kit, who curtsied politely.
"Yes, this is my long-lost niece, Miss Catherine Singleton—but she prefers to be called Kit," added Rose.
"Well, then, Miss Kitty it is," agreed Sir William. "That'll clear up any confusion—this profusion of Miss Singletons. For the duration of this house party it shall be Miss Rose and Miss Kitty, eh? How's that?"
"That will be delightful, sir," agreed Kit, feeling a little surprised. There was no mistaking the genuine friendliness and kindness in Sir William's eyes. Yet he was one of the men on her father's list.
Sir William, like the rest of London society, had accepted the tale of the long-lost niece. If he really knew who her father was, he would never have invited her here, let alone been so friendly and welcoming.
He offered her an arm.
She took a deep breath and placed her hand on it. She had been braced a little for the possibility of some unpleasantness. This was the first one of her father's enemies who she had had to be on terms of everyday intimacy with, and the situation had been fraught with uncomfortable possibilities. But now...
She heaved a sigh of relief.
“Tired after your long journey, Miss Kitty, what?'' enquired Sir William, patting her hand in a fatherly manner as he ushered her to the house.
"Oh, no, not at all. The roads are very good. I was just enjoying the air here," explained Kit. "So pure and cool and fresh. Delightful after the smoky air of London."
"Ah well, soon clear out your lungs o' that," chuckled Sir William. "Are you a young lady who likes to ride, p'rhaps?"
"Oh, yes, indeed I do."
"Good, then p'rhaps after a spot of somethin' to eat, you'd care to take a look at a few o' my nags. Dare say you'll find one or two are not so contemptible. Might be
able to fit you up with a ride for tomorrow, what! If you care to, that is."
Kit beamed. "I'd be most delighted, Sir William. In fact, there is nothing I'd enjoy more."
They went into the house together, and as they went, Sir William pointed out little items he thought may be of interest to her. And she was interested. For all his bluff heartiness, he was a genial and kindly host who was going out of his way to make a young woman, a stranger to him and his family, feel very much at home. Kit found the whole thing a little disconcerting.
This friendly, seemingly kind-hearted man was one of the cold-blooded conspirators who had betrayed her father so many years ago.
"What do you say to a nursery supper tonight, Rose?" said Lady Marsden. "Most of our guests will arrive in a day or two, so Billy and I thought it would be nice to be simply enfamille tonight with you and Kit."
Sir William joined in. "Thought we could have supper like we used to in the old days, Rosie, what? Join the girls up in the nursery, boiled eggs and toast soldiers, and crumpets and honey and fruit cake and cocoa." He looked a little self-conscious and added, "All bosh, of course, but it's the girls, y'see. Always feel a bit left out when there's a house party on." His gruff belittling of the nursery supper fooled no one. Sir William was a big softie when it came to his daughters, decided Kit. It was becoming quite impossible not to like him.
"No, like this, Miss Kitty-cat," laughed Nell, the oldest of Sir William and Lady Marsden's daughters. "You must -old the bread so, at an angle, and then it will toast easily."
"Ah, yes," said Kit, adjusting the angle of her toasting
fork. "I see, it is really quite simple when you get the hang—oops!"
Everyone laughed as the nursery rilled with the scent of burning toast. Sir William reached into the flames and snatched out the blackened chunk which had fallen off Kit's toasting fork. With much pantomime, he carried the burnt toast stealthily towards the window, hissed, "Don't tell Nanny," and flung it out into the night, to gales of girlish laughter.
"Aha! So that's what startled my horses when I arrived," said a deep voice from the doorway. "A missile of burnt toast. I suppose it is an improvement on boiling oil! But I thought I'd been invited."
There was a chorus of excited greeting from the little girls and Sir William. Rose and Lady Marsden joined in the hubbub, as Hugo Devenish was welcomed into the cosy little schoolroom.
"How do you do, Mr Devenish," murmured Kit, aware she was the only one not giving him a friendly welcome. But she couldn't. She was shocked to the marrow by his arrival. She'd thought him safely at a distance, in London. Clearly he'd been expected. But why had no one mentioned it?
"Come in and have a seat, Mr Devenish," said Lady Marsden warmly. “Your clothes are much too fine to ruin them as my husband does by sitting on the hearth rug with the children." She rolled her eyes in mock frustration at Sir William, who grinned back unrepentantly and winked at Mr Devenish.
"Dev, old fellow. Come here and show this girl how to hold a toasting fork," he said. "Wouldn't credit it—girl's been to India and all sorts of outlandish places but she's never toasted bread in front of a nursery fire before! Shockin' gap in her education! Rectify the matter myself, only I've discovered an appalling absence of marmalade.
Can't have toast without marmalade, y'know. Off to see to thr matter immediately."
"Oh no, it's quite all righ—" Kit began.
"I'd be delighted," interrupted Mr Devenish smoothly, as Sir William breezed out of the room, his youngest child, Molly, riding horsie on his back.
He sat down on the hearth rug, right next to Kit. In sec-oods little Sally, aged five, clambered over his long legs and plopped herself down in his lap. To Kit's astonishment, stern, unapproachable Mr Devenish didn't turn a hair. He simply seized a fork and bending his head to the little mop of golden curls, showed Kit and the child how to attach the bread securely to the fork.
Nell settled herself down with Kit, declaring she would show Miss Kitty-cat the way of it because there wasn't all that much bread left, and suddenly peace reigned in the nursery, as the important business of making toast took precedence over all.
Kit tried very hard to concentrate on following the commands of her toast instructress, but her eyes kept flickering sideways to the big dark man sitting on the hearth rag with the tow-headed moppet in his lap. His big hands were guiding the little ones, and he murmured encouragement in a low undertone. Sally scowled in grim concentration as she held the fork towards the fire, its weight unobtrusively supported by the man. After a moment or two, the little girl looked up at him.
"Now?"
"If you like." He nodded, and she carefully drew the fork back. They both inspected the toast and after a short consultation, solemnly pronounced it ready to be buttered. That was Lady Marsden's job, apparently. She buttered the toast lavishly, honey was applied and the toast was devoured by child and man alike, with gusto.
Kit watched the whole procedure, a lump in her throat.
He sprawled, relaxed on the hearth rug, in his fine London clothes and his shiny Hessian boots, a small, decidedly sticky girl-child resting against his chest, sleepily licking honey from her fingers. He seemed not to mind at all, in fact he looked like a man who had been given a taste of Heaven for the evening.
Kit bit her lip. He looked so stern and severe and he'd been so gentle with the little one, it almost broke her heart to watch them.
He glanced over at her and smiled. He wasn't a man who smiled often. It made her want to weep again.
After that night at the opera, she'd resolved to keep him at a distance with the strictest, most rigid formality.
Formality was simply not possible; not when they were both sprawled on a hooked woollen rug in front of a crackling fire, the detritus of an impromptu picnic scattered around them and each with a sleepy child nestled against them. Or in his case, with a small tow-headed angel curled up in the cr
ook of his arm, sound asleep against his heart.
Kit swallowed. Something seemed to be stuck in her throat.
"I think it is time we put these children to bed," said Lady Marsden softly. She stood and lifted Molly who was fast asleep, from her husband's arms. He in turn lifted the sleepy Nell from Kit's side and carried her through to the bedroom. Mr Devenish rose, Sally still asleep in his arms, and followed the Marsdens through to the children's bedroom.
He returned in a moment, stretching his arm. "Arm went to sleep," he grimaced slightly. "Little tyke weighs a ton."
Kit was not deceived. Like Sir William, Mr Devenish clearly loved children. And neither of them seemed to mind that they were only girl-children. It was an attitude Kit had never come across before. It wasn't because they were English, either. Her father was English and he'd been so bitter
about her mother's failure to give him a son. He'd never forgiven Kit for being a girl.
Sir William seemed not to mind that his wife had given him three worthless girls. He didn't even seem to think they were worthless. Nor did Mr Devenish...
Kit wondered if Mr Devenish would be as sanguine if his own wife failed to provide him with an heir. Would he treat his own daughters with such tenderness?
She watched him standing before the fire, his back to the room, his long strong legs braced in their black Hessian boots. She thought of the grave way he'd consulted with the little girl over the readiness of the toast. He hadn't acted like a man who thought little girls were a worthless nuisance.
His daughters would be lucky, she thought.
So would his wife...
Chapter Ten
"Kit, dear, you will be pleased to hear we are invited for luncheon to Gelliford House tomorrow." Rose smiled happily at Kit over the breakfast table.
"Oh, how nice," said Kit politely. "What is Gelliford House?"
"You have never heard of Gelliford House?" said Sir William, surprised.
Kit shook her head. "Should I?"
Rose looked at her, shocked. "But, Kit—Gelliford House!"
Kit smiled and shrugged ruefully. "Never heard of it. I suppose it is some frightfully grand mansion where Shakespeare lived, or Queen Bess or someone. You forget I did not grow up in England. I do not know all the famous places."
