The Wicked Viscount

by Heather McCollum

  Rap. Rap. Cat’s stomach jumped at the knock. Nathaniel?

  Jane opened the door, but the man standing there was slim and small in stature. He looked vaguely familiar.

  “Master Brooks,” Jane said with surprise.

  Master Brooks glanced inside the room, his gaze stopping on Cat. “I…I…am here to escort Lady Campbell to dinner. Lord Worthington was called into a meeting with His Majesty King James, so he asked me to collect her…” He stopped and swallowed, giving her a small bow. “I mean to say, I am here to collect you, Lady Campbell, for cards and conversation before being served.” He bowed low. “Edward Brooks, at your service.” He straightened. “I am the solicitor for the Worthington family.”

  Edward Brooks, she remembered him from her sopping entry into Hollings. He was the solicitor who would have written up Benjamin Worthington’s will. She smiled at him, trying to keep the glint in her eyes friendly and not predatory. The man looked easily frightened, like a hare surrounded by wolves. She walked forward, the gentle sway of the heavy costume around her brushing the floorboards and rich woven rug as the edge of the embroidered train followed behind.

  “Master Brooks,” she said, her voice soft as she demurely rested her gloved fingertips on his arm. “Have you, by chance, ever seen the massive strength displayed by Highland warriors during a caber toss exhibition?”

  He turned to lead her from the room. “No, milady, I have n-not.”

  She smiled sweetly into his flushed face. “Well now, I will tell you all about it. You see, the Campbell clan is the most powerful family in Britain.”

  He led her down the hall of bedrooms. “The cabers can weigh one-hundred-and-fifty pounds and reach twenty feet in length,” she said, and he steered them down the long gallery where she had witnessed Esther’s meeting with Iain two nights ago. She noted, out of the corner of her eye, that the statue of Queen Mary had been replaced with a statue of a warrior on a rearing stallion. Would the art piece be banished to the rubbish pile or was her nose being glued back on?

  “A massive feat,” he said, leading her toward an arched doorway into a salon.

  “We do not dine in the banqueting hall?” she asked.

  “No, milady,” he said, the stutter finally having faded as she drew him into casual conversation, playing the part of a refined lady. Cat found acting rather easy when she put herself completely into the role. “The building is far too large for a simple meal.”

  Simple meal? And yet she was to dress as if going to a ball.

  “The Banqueting Hall is used for plays and balls mostly,” he continued. “But also to greet ambassadors, and on Maundy Thursday, it is where the benevolent king gives out shoes and food to the poor.” They reached the salon off to the right where the hum of conversation came. “Cards will be played before and after,” he said. “A quieter pursuit to dancing in light of King Charles’s recent death.”

  “Speaking of that sad occasion, were you by chance at Whitehall when the king died?” she asked, watching the nervous man.

  He shook his head. “No, milady. I was not present on the day he died, although I had met with Lord Stanton in my London office two days beforehand.”

  “Oh? What business did he have with ye?”

  The man’s eye twitched. “The Marquess wished to send a missive to Lord Worthington.”

  “About?”

  The man’s face turned red. “I am sorry, milady,” he said, averting his gaze to the hem of her petticoat. “But I cannot discuss my client’s business.”

  “So Lord Stanton is also your client?”

  “Please, milady,” Brooks said, indicating the salon with an outstretched hand. Several gentlemen stood outside the room, turning to look at her as they approached.

  “I know how to play Whist. Perhaps you would care to play a hand or two,” Cat said as she returned the nods from two men who may have helped her and Mouse at the Frost Fair, though her memories of the incident were muddled.

  “I am afraid I have work to do, milady,” Brooks said.

  Did that work include plotting to poison her? Could Lord Stanton have asked Master Brooks to send her a tonic that would make her slumber for eternity? Cat was starting to think that the English court was more dangerous than taking down a wild boar by herself.

  Dressed in fine clothes with long, dark wigs, the two men near the door were friends of Nathaniel. One stared without returning her nod while the other one smiled, his lips turning up with his brows in nothing less than a seductive grin. There was a definite invitation lurking in Lord Danby’s face, and she averted her gaze to the gold leaf paper adorning the walls.

  Without further words, Master Brooks indicated the door. Cat stepped inside under an archway and paused, her gaze sliding along the silk and velvet bedecked people in the room. Some stood talking in clusters while others sat around card tables. She didn’t see the tall, broad figure of Nathaniel. Was he still meeting with the king about Esther Stanton?

  Next to them, a man in a powdered wig stood at attention. “Lady Catriona Campbell of Killin, Scotland and Master Edward Brooks of Lincolnshire.”

  Feminine laughter lifted from the back of the room where three heads of golden curls sat at a table near the hearth. Several other ladies, splendidly dressed, turned to look at Cat, some of them frowning, almost all of them whispering to another lady or gentleman standing near them. Apparently being rude was permissible at court as long as it was said in whispers.

  Lord Danby came inside to stand next to her. “Lady Campbell. We have not been formally introduced. I am Lord Wallace Danby, a friend of Lord Worthington’s. I am very glad to see you recovered from the Frost Fair.”

  “Thank you,” she said, stretching the you out to play her part of refined English lady. “Especially if you played a role in my rescue.”

  He bowed his head. “A service I gladly provided.” He offered her his arm. “May I show you to a table?”

  Since Nathaniel wasn’t yet present, and standing in the doorway with the nervous Master Brooks wasn’t ideal, she set her fingertips on his arm. “I know few people at court, but I do know how to play at cards.”

  Thank goodness Nathaniel had taught her on their journey south. Right now, she would happily give all the finery she wore to be alone with him again in their snug cabin. She’d squandered her time with him then, letting her anger keep her from him because he was English and taking his comment about her being a diversion as an insult. Aye, he was English, and aye, she was a diversion to his senses. The first fact she could look past, and the second she frowned over. Had he left her last night because she was once again a diversion?

  Cat noticed one woman standing in the corner next to a stringed instrument set on a pedestal. Princess Ekua was dressed in pale rose silk with a matching head wrap. “Perhaps we can say hello to Her Royal Highness, Princess Ekua,” she said, indicating the lovely woman.

  “First meet Lords Kellington and Wickley, as you have spent time with their daughters, Lady Lucy and Lady Francis,” he said, steering her toward two older men who were staring openly at her. Danby leaned down to her ear. “And might I say you look enchanting tonight. I had no idea that Scottish ladies were so unique and handsome.”

  Cat wasn’t sure what to do with his flattery. “Thank ye,” she said, her accent slipping. She cleared her throat. “And you…look very handsome as well.”

  Danby laughed and fingered his mustache, which stood twirled out from his lips on both sides. Cat felt herself flush but refused to acknowledge it. She had the most basic training in court etiquette. With each word she uttered among these people, she failed somehow.

  “Lord Kellington. Lord Wickley. May I present Lady Campbell from Scotland.” They bowed their heads as did she.

  “Yes. From the wilds of Scotland,” Lord Kellington said. “We met briefly upon your arrival at Hollings Estate.” He smiled broadly, and Cat could see the resemblance to his daughter, Lucy. “I daresay that the fresh air breeds hearty beauties up in our nor
thern territory. No plague or pox up there in the wilderness, is there?”

  “No, milord,” she said. “Just snarling wolves, famine, and power-hungry Englishmen with muskets.”

  All three courtiers stared at her for a moment before Danby broke the tension with a hearty laugh, which the other two picked up immediately as if not to be left out of the jest.

  Lord Wickley glanced around, a sly grin on his face and lowered his voice. “And nary a Catholic in sight.”

  Lord Kellington snorted and shook his head. “One would think that the king would have picked up the protestant habit from living amongst the Scots for a time when his brother sent him into exile there, but that wife of his…” Mary of Modena was an Italian duchess before her husband stepped into the kingship upon the death of his brother, Charles. “She has bewitched the king with her popish ways.”

  “’Tis not the best place to be spouting treason,” Danby said and nodded toward a door to the left, which had just opened. Standing under the archway was a tall, well-proportioned lady with dark hair, curled up in court fashion. Her gown was golden, and the short necklace around her throat was made of large white pearls, contributing to her air of royalty.

  Everyone in the room turned toward her as if she were the sun itself directing the bright flowers. “Her royal majesty, Queen Mary,” the man at the far door called out, although the room had already hushed. Cat, jarred from her study of the woman, curtseyed low with the rest of the ladies in the room while the men all bowed as if in orchestrated unison.

  The queen nodded to the room and entered. Esther, and her two friends, immediately walked over to her, curtseying low before her. She held up a hand to stop them from following her as she walked through on her way out into the corridor where an official-looking courtier waited to escort her somewhere.

  Danby’s mouth lowered to her ear. “The queen looks pale tonight. There are whispers that she is with child again. She has lost so many, and after her young daughter, Isabel, died, several years ago, she became even more passionate about her religion, fanatical even.”

  Cat stepped farther from the man. “A blessing if she is with another child then.”

  Danby canted his head. “If she bares a boy, the babe would be heir to the throne over James’s eldest daughter, Mary, who is wed to William of Orange. The people will rise against them if they decree that a boy child will inherit, because James and his queen will no doubt raise him Catholic. Even a girl child would throw the country into alarm as she would be raised Catholic and could possibly steal the future crown from her Protestant sister.” He stepped close to her once again, and Cat’s gut flipped inside as if she were being cornered. Lord Danby didn’t know that she possessed five ways to kill him if he overstepped himself. Would a refined lady give him a warning before stabbing him in the throat or eye?

  “Excuse me,” she said, turning on her heel to walk directly to Princess Ekua who still stood alone in the corner. Did her abrupt departure seem rude? She didn’t care in the least.

  Cat bowed her head in greeting. “Your Royal Highness, I am Cat Campbell from Scotland.” She straightened, smiling. “I know your brother, Titus. He helped us save Queen Catherine and another Englishwoman. He is quite strong and brave.”

  A gentle smile touched Ekua’s lips. She was beautiful with flawless, brown skin and warm, almond-shaped eyes. “Lord Worthington told me that you had helped Titus heal from his wounds.” She bowed her head. “For this, I am very thankful.”

  “He was quite concerned about you being here,” Cat said and moved to stand next to Ekua, their backs to the wall. “Are you well?”

  Ekua didn’t respond for several moments. “There are several definitions of well,” she said, and Cat felt almost spellbound by her accent. Royal and thick with colorful twists, which spoke of mysteries and a rich culture about which she knew nothing. “My health is quite well, thank you,” she said. “The English court is generous with their food and trinkets.” She fingered a gold cross pinned to the top of her bodice.

  From across the room, Esther Stanton stared at Cat and then shifted her gaze to Ekua. Tipping her head, the woman tapped her gloved finger on her lip and said something to her two blonde friends, which made them also look over.

  “I believe we are being watched,” Cat said.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “I am always watched here at Whitehall Palace,” Princess Ekua said. “An item from a foreign land at which to stare.” There was no self-pity in her voice, only dignity with a hint of rebellion.

  Before Cat could utter a question, Esther and her ladies walked up before them. “Look ladies,” Esther said, a brilliant smile on her delicate features. “This must be where ladies from the wild stand in the room. One with a complexion like cocoa and the other with skin pocked by mud.”

  Francis pursed her lips, her arched brows reaching even farther up her forehead. Lucy frowned slightly, but then smiled. “I think you both look lovely tonight.”

  “Yes,” Esther continued, gazing at Cat. “You do clean up nicely, Lady Campbell, though it is difficult to tell if remains of the Thames speckle your face. Perhaps the scent lingers.” She inhaled audibly through her tipped-up nose.

  “Esther,” Lucy whispered, her eyes round.

  If she were home, Cat would have Esther Stanton on the ground begging for mercy as she sawed a blade through her hair. Here amongst the aristocrats, Cat was untrained in their choice of weapons of words and toxic smiles.

  Turning to look at Ekua, Cat bowed her head. “Forgive this foolish woman, your highness. She thinks herself above royalty.”

  Ekua stared at Esther with the look of a condemning queen. “In my country, she would have her tongue cut from her head and her hair sheered away to let the evil out.”

  Cat laughed softly, a smile returning to her face as Esther’s eyes grew round, and her lips pulled back in a grimace. “How interesting. I was thinking the same exact thing,” Cat said. “We women from the wild have much in common, your highness.”

  Esther turned away, a look of fury pinching her face. “Come ladies. Let us play Whist.” She pulled Francis Wickley’s arm, and the woman followed her easily.

  Lucy Kellington curtsied before Ekua. “Forgive me, your highness, as I was not told of your royal lineage.” She stood, glancing over her shoulder. “And I must apologize for Lady Stanton. She has a temper that injures her on many occasions.” Her gaze shifted to Cat, and she bobbed her head. “You are both welcome to play at Whist…with us,” she said, though her words were weak.

  Cat smiled but cursed inside. She’d meant to question Esther about the mysterious tonic brought to her and what she told Mouse out on the ice, but the woman had already retreated. “Thank you. Perhaps we will join in a round.”

  Lucy’s eyes widened, and she nodded, hurrying away.

  Beside Cat, a low chuckle came from Princess Ekua. “In your land, you are a warrior.”

  “Aye, a Highland Rose,” Cat said, watching Esther flounce down into a seat at an open table, her cheeks red. “Our thorns are deadly.”

  “It would be an honor to have you in my army,” Ekua said, folding her gloved hands before her.

  A real smile grew on her face, and she met Ekua’s gaze. Cat bowed. “And I would be honored to fight for ye,” she said, allowing her normal accent to come forward, knowing that the princess wouldn’t mind the strangeness in it.

  Ekua smiled wisely. “I believe you just did.”

  Lord Danby and his friend walked over, apparently not put off by Cat’s abrupt departure. “Would you care to play?” he asked, indicating the card tables. There was still a spot next to the hateful woman and her two ladies.

  “I suppose…yes,” Cat said and curtseyed to Ekua.

  The princess chuckled softly. “She will think you are chasing her.”

  “Maybe I am,” she answered and let Danby lead her away. As they passed through the people, conversing and laughing softly at the card tables, she still saw no sign of Nathani
el.

  “Is Lord Worthington with the king?” she asked Danby.

  “Yes. I left him there some time ago discussing oaths and the politics of your homeland.” Danby sniffed. “And the king is still badgering him about his upcoming marriage.”

  Marriage? The toe of Cat’s slipper caught her hem as her stomach dropped. Danby’s arm kept her from falling. The king was pressing Nathaniel to marry? Who? Esther Stanton?

  “Careful,” he said. “There are many chair legs and boots around on which to trip.” He swept his arm wide to make a man move from the path and then came back even with Cat. “Yes, the king has been playing matchmaker, I am afraid. He likes his nobles wed. Views them as more stable. And James is looking for some happier events on which the kingdom can focus, like the union of two beautiful members of the gentry.”

  He laughed, although she saw nothing at all remotely humorous about his comments. Danby stared at her as if waiting to see her reaction. He had found Nathaniel in Cat’s room. Perhaps he studied her to see hurt on her face to feed any rumors that were already moving through the court.

  As they neared the table, Lucy’s eyes widened as if she thought Cat might leap at Esther. Danby bowed to the ladies. “My Lady Campbell knows how to play Whist.”

  Cat bristled under his term. She was definitely not his Lady Campbell. But she smiled and sat before Esther could turn her away.

  “I am sure she does not play very well,” Esther said. Danby laughed as if she were being clever instead of ornery, and Cat lay her palms on the table as if keeping them in plain sight would remind her not to hurl a dagger.

  Esther spread the large painted rectangles out on the table, her thin fingers mixing them. She dealt out the cards, and although it was a bit different than playing with two people like Nathaniel had taught her, Cat picked it up quickly. In between hands, she’d scan the room, but he was still cloistered away with the king. Could James be forcing him to wed Esther? The thought curdled her stomach, and she rubbed one hand across it.