Virgil had been leaning against the wooden wall. Now he stood up, rolling his shoulders. ‘Don’t you think you should be asking yourself that question?’
He sounded utterly drained. Kate, too, felt quite empty save for a gnawing sense of loss. She caught his hand and rubbed it against her cheek. ‘I can’t begin to tell you—to imagine…’ She blinked furiously. No tears. ‘It wasn’t your fault, Virgil. I wish you could see that, but I can see there is no point in my trying to persuade you. What I’m trying to say is, I understand. Why you told me, I mean. You have no cause to worry, I understand completely.’
* * *
They agreed that it would be for the best that he leave Castonbury and continue north with his planned visit to New Lanark sooner rather than later. Paradoxically, the certainty that he was leaving and the knowledge that his truly shocking history made the very notion that he could care for her impossible allowed Kate to admit to herself that she had begun to care for him. Virgil’s tortured confession had torn at her heart, but the warning behind it had been entirely effective. She had no option now but to pull herself back from the precarious brink upon which she had, quite obliviously, been teetering.
‘Yes,’ she agreed as they walked back to the great house from the fishing pavilion, ‘it is for the best that you leave.’ But saying what she ought and accepting its consequences were two different things. She had never been inclined to melancholy, but she could sense its grey mantle hovering over her as she pictured a Virgil-less Castonbury. ‘Though now we are in accord, perhaps there is no need for you to go straight away,’ she said cautiously.
Beside her, she sensed Virgil hesitating. ‘I do have some business I haven’t had the chance to tie up for Giles. And there is the Buxton assembly the day after tomorrow, if you still wish to go?’
They could dance together. Since no one else was like to ask her, they would be obliged to dance together, Kate thought. ‘There can be no harm in us dancing, surely.’
‘Surely,’ Virgil agreed with a semblance of a smile. ‘I shall make arrangements to leave the following morning. In fact, I think I’ll walk back to the village and book a place on the mail right now.’
It was not that he was eager to be rid of her, Kate told herself as she watched him striding off. Were he so, he would not have agreed to stay a moment longer at Castonbury than necessary. This business with Giles could be quickly concluded. And as to the dance…
She had mentioned it to no one. Not even Aunt Wilhelmina knew she was considering attending with only Virgil as a chaperon. She had assumed that Virgil would invite Giles and Lily, but he had not. Under other circumstances, of course, she would have suggested it herself, but with Virgil leaving Castonbury so soon, this would be their last chance to be alone together. Alone together in a crowded ballroom, that is, but at least they would be free of the oppressive atmosphere which prevailed whenever Aunt Wilhelmina and Virgil were in the same room.
Kate’s mood lightened a fraction. She would not ask permission. She was four-and-twenty; there was no need for her to ask permission of anyone. She would order the carriage for after dinner, and she would wear her best dress, and she would hold her head high in front of all who snubbed her, and she would dance with Virgil for the first and last time.
* * *
‘What will you wear tonight, my lady?’ Polly’s head poked over the screen behind which Kate was bathing in a large copper tub in front of the fire. ‘The claret velvet? Or what about the green silk with the French trim? Only I heard His Grace was joining you, so you’ll want something a bit grander than usual.’
Kate dropped the lavender-scented soap into the water. ‘My father is coming to dinner?’
‘So I heard downstairs. Didn’t Mrs Landes-Fraser tell you?’
Kate made a wry face. ‘I’ve been avoiding my aunt today. The truth is, Polly, that I’m going to the assembly at Buxton tonight, and I haven’t told her.’
‘You’re going dancing?’ Polly edged around the screen, her eyes narrowed. ‘You never go to public assemblies. Why haven’t you told that aunt of yours? Who is escorting you?’
Kate picked up a large sponge and set about soaping it industriously. ‘Mr Jackson.’
Polly swore colourfully. ‘You’ve got some brass. They’ll never let you go, especially not now that His Grace will be at dinner.’
‘I don’t see how it makes the slightest bit of difference. Virgil—Mr Jackson—has been a guest in this house for some time, and my father has shown absolutely no inclination to meet him. Yet on the eve of his departure…’
‘So that’s it,’ Polly exclaimed.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Come on, my lady, you don’t fool me. He’s leaving tomorrow. It’s a last fling, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t know what you mean by fling…’
Polly pursed her lips. ‘I think you do—leastways, I think you know more about it now than you did before your Mr Jackson came to visit.’
‘He is not my Mr Jackson.’
‘No, nor likely ever to be. His Grace would have you banished.’
‘It has nothing to do with my father, Polly. Mr Jackson is not—we are not— There is no question of such a thing. We are friends, merely. And he’s leaving tomorrow.’
‘And you want one last night with him, and I don’t blame you. If he was mine—’
‘He is not mine,’ Kate interrupted, trying not to notice the wistful note in her own voice.
Polly ignored her. ‘Right, then. The blue crepe, I think—you’ve never worn it. Have you ordered the carriage? Good. Now, let’s get your hair washed. We need to make sure you look your best.’
* * *
Two hours later, Kate stood in front of the looking glass. Her gown of celestial blue crepe was worn over a white satin slip and trimmed with a deep border of tulle embroidered with silks and chenille in a variety of contrasting shades. The sleeves were puffed, the décolleté low, trimmed with net lace and tulle, which frothed seductively over her tightly laced bosom. Polly had dressed her hair high on her head, teasing several wispy curls out from the severe chignon, which suited her far better than the fashionable Grecian styles. She wore only pearls—a tight choker with a diamond clasp around her throat, several bracelets over her French kid gloves and a pair of pearl and diamond drops in her ears. Her silk slippers were the same celestial blue as her gown. Her chemise was white silk, as were her stockings, though they were white tied with dark blue garters, the same colour as her corset.
Kate smiled with satisfaction. ‘I look very well. Thank you, Polly.’
‘You look lovely.’ Polly handed Kate her reticule. ‘Don’t you dare lose courage, my lady. No matter what His Grace says.’
‘No,’ Kate said with far more conviction than she felt. She took a last look in the mirror. Her heart was fluttering with excitement. Anyone would think she was a girl making her debut, not a grown woman, for goodness’ sake. ‘Wish me luck, Polly.’
‘Knock ’em dead, my lady. And if you don’t,’ Polly said grimly, ‘I will.’
* * *
Though she knew that Virgil’s valet would have been as well-informed as Polly regarding the duke’s presence, Kate made sure to be the first in the drawing room. They saw so little of her father since Jamie and Ned had died, that at times she quite forgot all about him. Smithins, His Grace’s proprietorial valet, kept him abreast of household matters, but as her father’s health deteriorated so, too, had his interest in these affairs. Giles, she knew, kept the duke in ignorance of a great deal of his worries for fear of the effect it would have on him. She suspected that Smithins, too, filtered out much of the household gossip. Though the impending arrival of the child he already claimed for his grandson had revived the duke somewhat, Kate was rather astonished at his decision to take dinner en famille tonight. Virgil’s last night. Could it be that her father actually felt guilty at not having met the man who had been his guest? No, she thought with a curl of her lip, more likely her father w
ished to flaunt his heritage at an American who, she had no doubt Aunt Wilhelmina would have informed him, had not a drop of aristocratic blood in his body.
‘Have you heard?’ Giles stormed into the room, looking harassed. ‘Our father has deigned to join us for dinner tonight. I tried to stop him, but he was insistent. Said he wanted to meet the American, something about showing him how the Old World did things.’
‘Oh, Lord, are we to dine in state, then?’
‘Heaven knows how many courses. At least it will give that Frenchman who rules the kitchens something to do. Didn’t you know? I thought you must, when I saw you in your finery.’
Kate took the glass of Madeira gratefully. ‘This, brother dear, is a ball gown,’ she said. ‘I thought you were a connoisseur of women’s clothing too.’
Giles grinned. ‘Those days are well in the past now. I’m a happily— What do you mean, a ball gown?’
‘I’m going to the Buxton assembly. It was all arranged before I discovered our revered sire was joining us.’
‘I never heard anything. Who is escorting you?’
‘Virgil.’
It was not often that her brother was at a loss for words. Kate raised an eyebrow at him, and sipped her Madeira.
‘You can’t!’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Kate, I know you have no time for the proprieties…’
‘Why should I? I am a ruined woman, as my aunt never fails to point out. For heaven’s sake, Giles, it is a public ball. No one would bat an eye were you to go unescorted.’
‘You wouldn’t catch me dead there, unless I was dragged kicking and screaming.’
‘Which is quite beside the point. You cannot have it both ways, you know. Either I am ruined and it matters not what I do, or what I did with Anthony Featherstone did not ruin me and therefore does not matter.’
‘Sophistry, sister dear!’ Giles drummed his fingers on the high mantel, where he had taken up his accustomed position, standing with his back to the fire. ‘You are set on this?’
Kate nodded.
‘May I ask why?’
‘I am tired of allowing the opinions of others to decide my actions. Anthony is happily married and, as ever, the darling of society. I did nothing more than he did. Less, for I did not talk. Why should I continue to pay when he does not? It’s not fair.’
‘Kate, it’s how things are,’ Giles said with a sigh. ‘If you wish to return to society, why did you not discuss it with me? With my sponsorship—’
‘Had Papa and Aunt Wilhelmina sponsored me five years ago, you would not have to offer now.’
‘You feel they let you down?’ Giles nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I can see that you do, and I admit you have cause. Had I been here—’
‘But you were not, and I doubt you’d have persuaded Papa to listen back then, in any case.’
‘You do see, Kate, that turning up without any female to lend you countenance, in the company of an unmarried man, and one who moreover is not even related to you—’
‘And an American into the bargain,’ Kate interjected sarcastically.
‘It has nothing to do with his heritage,’ Giles said. ‘Virgil Jackson is the kind of man who will be treated with respect wherever he goes. What do you think we’ve been doing while you’ve been setting the Dower House to rights? There’s barely a house in the county Virgil hasn’t visited with me, and in every single one he’s been well received, not to say downright toad-eaten. I’ll wager he’s plagued with invitations, though he’s chosen to accept none of them. You’d best make sure he marks your dance card before you go, or you’ll find yourself without a partner.’
‘He has said nothing of all this to me.’
‘Why would he, save to rub your nose in it? Most of these people won’t open their doors to you. Virgil’s not so insensitive.’
‘No.’ Kate finished her Madeira. ‘Does this mean you won’t object to my going to the ball, then?’
Giles gave a bark of laughter. ‘Was there ever any chance I could stop you?’
The drawing room door opened and Virgil entered. ‘What is the joke?’
‘You and my sister,’ Giles said. ‘Lord, I’m looking forward to seeing the old man’s face when you tell him you’re taking her to the Buxton assembly.’
‘Yes, I heard His Grace was joining us at dinner. Do you wish to change your mind about the dance, my lady?’ Virgil turned towards Kate as he spoke. She rose from the gilded settee, and had the satisfaction of seeing her appearance reflected in his expression. ‘That is a very beautiful ball gown,’ he said. ‘And you look quite breathtaking,’ he added softly, taking her hand between his.
She blushed. ‘You look very smart too,’ which was an understatement. In silk knee breeches and a tightly fitting black coat, with a white shirt, white waistcoat and white stockings, Virgil looked starkly magnificent. She could not quite believe that after tomorrow morning she would never see him again. Though she knew this for a fact, it was one thing, she was discovering, for her to know, and another for her to accept. She didn’t want him to go, though she knew there was no reason at all for him to stay, nor ever could be.
He really was magnificent. She watched him, standing beside Giles. The two men were of very similar build. Funny, she’d never thought her brother either attractive or handsome, but he was both. She wondered now if Lily felt, when she looked at Giles, as Kate felt when she looked at Virgil.
Not that the cases were the same, for Giles and Lily were in love, whereas she and Virgil were…in lust? No, it wasn’t that. Though her heart was beating quite erratically. And her corsets felt too tight. And she couldn’t help thinking of the skin and muscle under those tight-fitting breeches. The curve of his buttocks. The span of his chest. The seductive potency of his manhood.
‘Katherine?’
Kate jumped. ‘Aunt Wilhelmina.’
‘Why are you wearing a ball gown?’
‘His Grace, the Duke of Rothermere,’ Lumsden intoned, as if he were announcing war.
Giles rolled his eyes as the door was flung open. Phaedra stopped short, a comical look of dismay on her face. Kate smothered a smile. Obviously her sister had not benefited from any sort of warning.
‘Your Grace.’ Mrs Landes-Fraser, more than usually draped and bedecked in shawls and turbans and feathers, abandoned her interrogation of her niece to drop into a curtsey so low Kate feared she may require help in recovering. It was an absurd gesture, in her opinion, but her father seemed to appreciate it, for he held out his hand and allowed it to be kissed, for all the world as if he were a prince.
He was looking much frailer than when she had last seen him. He had been a tall man, but he was stooped now, bent over like a question mark, his evening clothes loose on his wasted frame, the last remnants of his white hair wispy on his mottled pate. His once hawk-like features were blunted by saggy skin and watery eyes. Crispin Torquil Fitzmerrion Montague had the appearance of a man headed shortly for the grave.
‘Father.’ Giles made a curt bow. ‘May I present our guest, Mr Virgil Jackson.’
‘Your Grace.’
Kate was pleased to note that Virgil’s bow was neither deferential nor particularly low. His tone was not cold, but nor did it contain any warmth. He did not say it was an honour. Her father, too, noted all this. His brows snapped together. His expression, which had been benignly supercilious, now hardened, giving his audience a fleeting glimpse of the ruthless despot he had once been. ‘I believe my daughter invited you, Mr Jackson,’ he said. ‘Under the mistaken belief that she will warm me to this abolition nonsense, no doubt. Katherine’s propensity for supporting lost causes knows no bounds.’
‘Papa! How—’
‘Mr Jackson is as much my guest as Kate’s,’ Giles intervened hastily, ‘as you are perfectly well aware, Your Grace, for I have informed you myself. Mr Jackson is an extremely astute businessman and has, amongst other things, been so kind as to give me some very sound advice regarding your investments.’
‘Giles!’ Mrs Landes-Fraser exclaimed. ‘There are ladies present. I am shocked that you should raise such matters in mixed company. Girls, where are your manners? You have not yet greeted His Grace.’
‘Papa.’
‘Phaedra. You smell of horse.’
‘I am just back from the stables, Papa. There was no time to bathe. No one told me you were joining us,’ Phaedra muttered, glaring at her aunt.
‘And, Katherine.’
‘Papa.’ Kate made a very small curtsey.
‘I believe I have you to blame for oversetting my arrangements for my grandson. The boy is my heir. It is not at all fitting that he stay in the Dower House.’
Giles sighed heavily. ‘We have been over that, Father. We agreed—’
‘I did nothing of the sort. I may be sick in body, but I am quite in control of my own mind. I want that boy here, under my roof in the Castonbury nursery. This will all be his one day.’
‘If he proves to be Jamie’s child,’ Giles said.
‘Of course he is Jamie’s child,’ the duke snapped. ‘He must be.’
Giles, abandoning any pretence of keeping the peace, opened his mouth to argue, but was interrupted by the clash of the dinner gong and Lumsden’s stately announcement that His Grace was served. When Mrs Landes-Fraser would have taken the duke’s arm to support him in the short journey across the marble hall to the dining room, Smithins appeared like a ghost, leaving her to be escorted by a most reluctant Giles.
‘I’m sorry,’ Kate whispered as Virgil took her arm, motioning to Phaedra to take the other, ‘my father is unforgivably rude.’
Virgil shrugged, and squeezed her fingers. ‘You think I care about him looking down his patrician nose at me? What’s unforgivable is the way he treats you.’
‘Oh, that was nothing,’ Phaedra said chirpily. ‘Before Jamie and Ned died, Papa and Kate used to argue hammer and tongs. Why are you wearing a ball gown, Kate?’
‘Because she’s going to a ball,’ Virgil replied. ‘With me.’
The Lady Who Broke the Rules Page 15
