Too Dangerous For a Lady

by Jo Beverley

  “A son. Also dead.” Lord Cateril sank into a chair by his wife’s side and took her hand. “All hope is gone.”

  It was overly portentous, but Kitty knew what he meant. The king and queen had presented the nation with seventeen children, but now with the king insane and expected to die at any time, there’d been only one legitimate grandchild, the Regent’s daughter, Charlotte.

  With her dead, the succession was in peril. Unless one of her aged uncles produced a legitimate child, the British Crown could pass to a foreigner. That was alarming, but Kitty’s heart ached for the people involved. “Poor woman. And her poor family. Royal, but not beyond the hand of fate.”

  Lord Cateril sighed. “Amen. The shops and theaters have closed in respect. The court is to go into mourning, but I’m told everyone of all degrees is putting on black, or at least dark bands.”

  “We must do the same,” Lady Cateril said. “The family must wear full black.” In spite of her genuine shock and sorrow she shot Kitty a triumphant look.

  Kitty almost protested, but Lord Cateril agreed. “You’re right, my dear. And black bands and stockings for the servants. Now, please gather the household together in the hall. I must read out the news.”

  Kitty helped to pass the word and soon the family and servants stood together in the hall as Lord Cateril read out the letter he’d received. All were affected and many wept.

  Afterward she went to her room to take out one of her black bombazine gowns, wishing she’d given them away as she’d thought to do. As a red-eyed housemaid fastened the back, Kitty resolved two things.

  Court mourning would last only until the funeral. She’d do no more than that. And she would find a way to live again—to escape the everlasting shadows of Cateril Manor.

  * * *

  The princess’s coffin, along with that of her stillborn child, was lowered into the royal vault at Windsor on November 15, but they didn’t hear the details until two days later. Lord Cateril read the account of the interment to the assembled household and they all prayed again for the princess and the bereaved family. He then declared that the servants could put off mourning.

  Kitty went upstairs and came down again in a pale violet gown. When she encountered Lady Cateril, she received a flat look, which seemed even worse than anger. Strenuous thinking over the past weeks had brought her no closer to escape.

  She’d discussed the situation with her sister-in-law Sarah. One barrier to employment was that she had no references. She asked Sarah if she might at least give one about her character.

  “For employment?” Sarah had asked, eyes wide. “Mama would never permit that.”

  “She can’t stop me.”

  “But she can make my life miserable if I assist you.”

  Sarah was plump, practical, and kind, but not courageous. She never tried to cross Lady Cateril over anything.

  Kitty tried another approach. “Don’t you think we should try to ease her out of her mourning? She has two fine children still, and six grandchildren—yours and Anne’s.”

  Anne was Lady Cateril’s youngest child, who’d married a man who lived three counties away, probably by design. Anne had as much spine as her mother.

  “She won’t,” said practical Sarah. “In some ways she likes the effect of it, but it reflects true grief. She always loved Marcus best.”

  “Doesn’t John mind?”

  Sarah shrugged. “He’s his father’s favorite, and he is the heir. Surely you’re comfortable here overall, Kathryn. Why would you want to become someone’s servant?”

  On the surface it would be idiotic. She was treated as one of the family with everything provided for her. She’d never had to touch the small sum left her by Marcus, for any bills were paid by Lord Cateril without complaint.

  Kitty spoke the truth. “I want to wear rainbow colors and be joyful.”

  Sarah frowned. “I don’t think governesses or companions are encouraged to dress gaudily, or romp around laughing.”

  Kitty sighed. “You’re right, of course.”

  She left it like that, but such reasons didn’t change her mind. She was only twenty-seven years old. She couldn’t live like this for the rest of her life.

  Two days after she’d put off mourning, Kitty found the parlor empty. John and Sarah had driven out to visit friends who were celebrating the recent healthy birth of a child. Lady Cateril was going over the account books with the housekeeper, and Lord Cateril was in his office.

  Thanking the heavens, she settled by the fire, Sillikin at her feet, to seek escape of another sort—in the delightful adventures of the heroine in Forbidden Affections.

  Dulcinea was trapped in the rat-infested castle in trembling expectation of a visit from the evil count when Lady Cateril entered the room.

  “Silent reading, Kathryn? You know I don’t approve.”

  Damn. She couldn’t resist asking, “Would you like me to read to you, Mama? You might enjoy Forbidden Affections.”

  She only heard her own words as she spoke and had to fight the giggles. Fulminating was exactly the word for the look she received. She braced for the scold to follow, but the door opened. Poll, the housemaid, had a letter in her hand. “His lordship’s sent this for Mrs. Marcus, milady.”

  She looked as if she might give it to Lady Cateril, so Kitty held out her hand. “Thank you, Poll.” She received letters from only one person, so she said, “It will be from my friend Ruth Westway.”

  “Ah.” Lady Cateril’s expression lightened a little. Ruth was a clergyman’s wife and thus approved of. She sat. “You may read that to me, Kathryn.”

  It was spiteful revenge for that mischievous offer to read from the novel, but not worth fighting over. Kitty and Ruth were long past their school days, when they’d shared all the anxieties, dreams, and longings of their silly hearts. The letter would contain news about Ruth’s home and family, and of her work in the parish around the Shropshire village of Beecham Dabitott.

  Kitty broke the seal and unfolded the letter, but was startled to see that Ruth had written a great deal. To save the cost for the recipient, she’d kept to one sheet of paper, turning it sideways and continuing the letter crossways. There were even a few lines on the diagonal.

  A sense of dramatic doings rose from the jumble, especially as one phrase stood out because Ruth had underlined the Yes!

  Yes! I’m sure your astonishment equals mine.

  At least that didn’t sound like tragedy.

  Kitty needed to read the astonishing news in private, but Lady Cateril was waiting. The beginning of the letter seemed to be normal news and she didn’t think Lady Cateril could see the crossways writing, so she’d make do.

  My dear Kitty, it’s been a long time since I wrote, but we’ve been very busy here in Beecham Dab. Such terrible news about Princess Charlotte. All around put on some mark of mourning, and we tolled the bells at the time of her interment. It is a reminder to us all to be mindful of everlasting life.

  Sadly, we have been visited by death more frequently than usual here this year, which has kept us busy. A sickness came in the summer heat and carried off ten in the parish, including the sexton. Many others were ill, even into harvesttime. By God’s grace all in my family escaped and are well. Little Arthur is babbling very cleverly for three. Maria is still quiet, but that makes her an easy babe.

  Kitty remembered that Ruth’s second birth had been difficult. She and the child had survived, unlike poor Princess Charlotte. She continued to read more descriptions of the children and the hard work of the parish, and about a pair of clever cats they’d acquired, which were keeping the vicarage completely clear of mice.

  At that point she invented a farewell and folded the letter. She longed to leave the room immediately to read the rest, but that could stir suspicion, so she used the entry into a necessary subject. The housekeeper had asked her to try to persua
de Lady Cateril to allow some cats in the house.

  “Perhaps we should have cats, Mama. There are mice in the kitchen area, causing problems in the storerooms. A cat or two would control them.”

  “I could tolerate cats there, Kathryn, but cats do not stay in their allotted space.” Kitty had no answer to that. “I’m pleased you see for once that I am right. It’s a pity that your dog doesn’t kill mice. Dogs do generally obey orders.”

  Sillikin half opened her eyes as if commenting on that.

  “I’ve never known her to kill, Mama.”

  “If she weren’t fed, perhaps she would.”

  Preferably kill you!

  Seething, Kitty left the room without explanation. She couldn’t stay in the room another moment, but she itched to read Ruth’s astonishing news. Perhaps Andrew Westway had been offered a grander parish, or even a place in a bishop’s establishment. Kitty had no idea how advancement in the church was achieved, but she was sure Ruth’s husband deserved it, if only because Ruth had chosen him. Perhaps they’d received an unexpected inheritance, or found buried treasure in the garden. Perhaps the Regent had dropped by for tea!

  Her flights of fancy were interrupted by the portrait of her husband hanging over the stairs in such a way that it always confronted her as she went up. It had been painted after Marcus’s death, based on a miniature done in 1807, before his heroism and maiming.

  It showed a magnificent, young, dark-haired officer in his gold-braided regimentals, bright with vigor and life, but it was the Marcus Cateril she’d never known. She’d met him after he’d lost a leg and an eye, been scarred in the face, and been broken in other ways that caused him pain till his dying day.

  She fought tears, as she often did, not of grief over his death, but of sadness for all he’d lived with. He’d often said he wished he’d died alongside his senior officer during that magnificent assault at Rolica. She knew he’d meant it. The overdose of laudanum that had killed him had not been accidental.

  She hurried on into the refuge of her room and wrapped herself in two extra shawls. Fires were not kept lit throughout the day in bedrooms, even when the weather turned cold. After a moment she added woolen gloves, then unfolded the letter, hoping for truly diverting news.

  Now for the main impetus for writing, Kitty. The sickness carried off our local lion, so a new gentleman has come among us as Lord Dauntry. You’ll remember that Viscount Dauntry has the giving of this parish, so it was of some importance to us. The new viscount is a very distant relative of the old one and has never been here before, but by blessed good fortune he and Andrew both attended Westminster School only a few years apart, though Dauntry was plain Braydon then.

  Ah. A friendship with the new viscount might advance Reverend Westway’s career wonderfully.

  Lord Dauntry has joined us to dine quite frequently in the weeks he’s been here and thus we have become familiar with his situation. The inheritance was a complete surprise to him. One might say a shock.

  At this point Ruth had run out of paper and begun the crosswise writing, so Kitty turned the page.

  In addition to the title and Beauchamp Abbey, he is now guardian of the two daughters of his predecessor. He also has the care of the Dowager Lady Dauntry, the late Lord Dauntry’s mother, who lives on in the house. Thus he sees the need of a sensible woman to assist him with this. I immediately thought of you.

  A laugh escaped. What was Ruth thinking of?

  Then she read the next line.

  It would mean you living close, Kitty. Only think of that!

  Oh. Yes. Only think of that. She and Ruth had met when they were both parlor boarders at school and become inseparable, but when they’d left school, their paths had gone in different directions. Ruth had found employment as a governess. Kitty had returned home and soon been wooed into marriage by Marcus. They’d rarely met since, and not at all now for four years.

  To be close again. Wondrous, but surely impossible.

  I know it would mean exchanging life as part of a noble family for one as a servant, but I have had the feeling that you’re not entirely comfortably situated.

  It was so like Ruth to read between the lines. Kitty had tried to put a bright face on her situation here just as she had during her marriage, for she didn’t believe that a trouble shared is a trouble halved. It seemed to her that complaining of trials that couldn’t be avoided was merely sharing the misery.

  But now perhaps there was something to be done. Did she have a possibility of employment? She couldn’t see what the position would be. Surely the children had a governess. Companion to the elderly lady, then.

  With Ruth nearby.

  There could even be weekly visits.

  Kitty focused eagerly on the page again.

  So I put forward your name and explained why you might be suitable, but then Lord Dauntry shocked me by saying he’d resolved that the lady he needs must be his wife. My hopes were exploded.

  Kitty’s were, too.

  She crumpled the letter and threw it across the room, but Sillikin ran to retrieve it and bring it back to her, tail wagging.

  “This isn’t a game, you foolish creature.”

  But she took it and smoothed it out again. “What a way to tell a story, dragging me this way and that. But I don’t suppose I’d have liked the position anyway. Minion to an old woman, and a servant, no matter how it’s dressed up.”

  She knew that talking to her dog was a sign of desperation, but there’d been many times when there’d been no one else who should hear such things.

  She picked her up. “I’d have a room of my own, but no company other than my lady, who could be even worse than Lady Cateril.” The dog licked her chin. “Yes, I know I have you. Thank heavens.”

  Sillikin turned to settle on Kitty’s lap, but pushed the letter sideways with her paws so it slid toward the floor. Kitty caught it and realized she’d not reached the astonishing news. Perhaps that would raise her spirits. She smoothed the paper and found her place.

  I was bold enough to ask why, and Dauntry pointed out that his wards are hard to handle and his elderly dependent an ill-tempered tyrant. Though we see little of the Braydon family, I fear that is true. He repeated that anyone he brings into the house will need the authority of a wife. Then he startled me by asking if you would fulfill his requirements as wife!

  Yes! I’m sure your astonishment equals mine.

  It did indeed.

  Marriage?

  To a viscount?

  Was it a full moon?

  I was cast into a tizzy. He, however, continued as if discussing whether to plant turnips or cabbages to say that he needs his household under sensible management without delay and asked again if my friend might be suitable and willing.

  I didn’t know the truth about either, but the thought of you within miles, not to mention the opportunity for you to become a peeress, was too much to resist, dear Kitty. I said you might. Of course that commits you to nothing, and I know you’ve said you will not marry again, but do please give it thought, for Lord Dauntry means what he said.

  Kitty frowned at the dog. “He must be mad. Would I want to marry a madman to escape?” Then she answered herself. “Perhaps. If he were safely mad.”

  Ruth was correct in saying that she didn’t want a second husband, but in part that was because she couldn’t imagine finding a comfortable one. He would have to be a mild man with a comfortable income, but what did she have to offer such a prize? She had no great beauty or charm and no money.

  I respect your devotion to Marcus, but can you continue as you are at Cateril Manor for the rest of your life? Upon hearing of the death of Princess Charlotte, I found myself contemplating the uncertainties of life and our duty to use our time on earth well. However, my desires might cause me to overpersuade you, so let me tell you of the problems.

  The writing wa
s becoming even smaller. There must be a great many problems and that was a relief. Kitty could feel the temptation of this ridiculous plan and she needed an antidote.

  Lord Dauntry stated plainly that he sought a wife who would not think she could change his ways. Kitty, I fear those ways include carousing and wicked women. He behaves with complete propriety here, but he is a very fashionable gentleman and his life since leaving the army has been mostly in London. You are more familiar than I as to what that might involve.

  Kitty was, but she was fixed on the words “since leaving the army.”

  Ruth said nothing of wounds, but Kitty’s London life had included many of Marcus’s army friends. Some were good company, but she’d learned that soldiering often left scars, even if they weren’t visible. She wasn’t attracted to the idea of any second marriage, but certainly not to another ex-soldier.

  He asked if I would put the proposal to you. I made no promise, but later Andrew and I discussed the matter. He is uncomfortable with the situation for many reasons, but he sees how advantageous it could be to you and he confirmed my assessment that Lord Dauntry would be a tolerable husband as long as you kept to his conditions.

  And if not? Rages and bruises, then weeping contrition and threats to kill himself? If she’d been a meeker woman, perhaps Marcus’s life would have been easier, but his anger and roughness had developed an echo in herself. She’d answered rage with rage, and rebutted accusations with some of her own. . . .

  She wasn’t suited to be any man’s wife. But the next line leapt out at her. Remember, Andrew and I would be close by to offer loving support.

  To be close to Ruth and have her loving support.

  What was more, if she became Lady Dauntry—astonishing thought!—she’d be able to visit the parsonage whenever she wished. She could invite Ruth and her family to her own home. What was the name? Beauchamp Abbey. Was it pronounced in the French way, bowshamp, or did it match the village name—Beecham? She pushed aside irrelevant questions.

  Here at last was escape from Cateril Manor, but could she bear the price?