“I’d be delighted. I intended to take a box, in fact.” Gerard laughed, shamefaced, as a thought struck him. “For my wife.”
“Wife!” exclaimed Carter. “The most dashing bachelor in the army, wed? Have I been away that long?”
Gerard shook his head, still smiling. “No, not at all. It was a bit of a whirlwind courtship, and now I’ve made her come all the way to Bath. I was just contemplating a small token of apology when you saw me.” He cocked his head at the window.
“No one is better at choosing jewelry than Cora,” said Carter with amusement. “I daresay she could offer you a word of advice if you like.”
“I would be very glad of a woman’s opinion,” Gerard said in relief. “I’ve little experience of jewels.”
“Of course,” cried Mrs. Fitzwilliam. “And Danny shall be so pleased he doesn’t have to offer his opinion at all!”
“Ecstatic,” confirmed Carter, and they all laughed. “Then if you don’t mind, I shall walk up the street to the coffee shop and wait for you there,” he said to his sister. “A pleasure to see you again.” He bowed his head at Gerard and limped up the street.
“I hope I haven’t inconvenienced you.” He turned to watch his friend go. “He’s doing quite well.” Carter’s leg had been perilously close to amputation. Gerard remembered him swearing viciously at the surgeons when they were arguing over whether to dig out the bullet or take the whole leg off at the thigh. Only when Carter appealed to the regiment’s colonel did the doctors agree to leave it on. “I was told he would never walk again.”
“Yes, he’s doing very well,” she answered softly, also watching Carter, her face shadowed with concern. “And I do believe seeing a friendly face will help even more. He’d much rather be on campaign than trapped in Bath amusing his sister. How very fortunate we ran into you.” She mustered a smile and put her hand on Gerard’s arm. “But enough of Danny. Let us find something lovely for your wife.”
Katherine spent her first day in Bath exploring the house. Bragg hovered at her elbow every step of the way, clearly under orders to wait on her no matter how much she assured him she was quite satisfied to inspect the rooms alone. Her first impression was confirmed—nice rooms, dull furnishings—and she resolved to open the drapes as wide as possible since the house was a little dark.
She was in the narrow dining room when the front door knocker banged, the sound echoing through the hall. Katherine looked up, startled. Who could it be? She knew no one, and wasn’t dressed for visitors at all. She’d been officially still in mourning for Lord Howe when she went to London, and so only had dark, somber clothes to pack when Gerard insisted they must be off in an hour’s time. Until Lucien sent the rest of her things as she asked him to do, her wardrobe was tightly constrained. “I’m not in,” she said quickly when Bragg glanced at her. “Not today.”
He nodded and went off to answer the door. Katherine rushed across the room to hover behind the door, wildly curious to know who was calling. Someone to see the captain? He said he’d been to Bath before and had important business here again. Ought she to receive the visitor, in case it was something of importance to him?
“Lady Darby and Mrs. Woodforde extend their compliments to the lady of the house,” announced a regal male voice, “and welcome her to Queen Square. When it is convenient, they shall call on her and invite her to tea, as a gesture of neighborly goodwill.”
“I’m sure she’ll be very gratified,” said Bragg’s gravelly voice. “Captain and Lady Gerard de Lacey send their compliments to the ladies.”
The door closed. Bragg came back into the dining room with the small salver bearing two cards, which he offered to Katherine. “Lady Darby lives next door, ma’am,” he said. “I believe Mrs. Woodforde is her sister, who lives across the Square.”
“Oh.” Katherine fingered the cards. They were for her. “Thank you, Bragg.”
She went upstairs to review her wardrobe once more. Clearly it was time to cast off mourning, but she had no pretty clothes. Her mother, who possessed an unquestionable flair for fashion, always sighed over Katherine’s coloring and figure and declared her beyond hope. She urged dark colors and simple gowns on Katherine, saying vivid colors and elaborate styles would overwhelm her. Howe had agreed, as did Lucien, and among the three of them, she had little freedom to dress more gaily. Katherine remembered Gerard’s distaste at the sight of her clothing and felt a spark of rebellion. She would order a red dress, and a bright blue one. And if they looked hideous on her, then . . . well, at least he couldn’t scold her for doing what he urged.
But even if she ordered the dresses that afternoon, they wouldn’t be ready for days. She looked at herself in the mirror, studying the simple dark blue frock she wore. There was a bit of ivory trim on the bodice, but certainly nothing that might be termed beautiful or stylish. She would have to order more. If only something could be found to flatter her.
She deliberated a moment, then rang the bell. “Do you know where I might find a dressmaker’s shop?” she asked Bragg when he came.
“Most likely in Milsom Street, my lady,” he answered. “Plenty of shops in Milsom Street and Bond Street; one of them’s bound to be a dressmaker. I could send a boy to see.”
“No, thank you, I shall see for myself. Is Milsom Street close by?”
“Aye, madam; ’tis just up the hill a bit. Shall I call a chair?”
“No,” she said again, beginning to smile. “I shall walk.”
A while later she set out with Birdie, who clutched a rough street map sketched by Bragg. She was glad to be out of doors and took the opportunity to look around at everything. Bath seemed to be constructed entirely of pale stone that glowed in the sunlight, with bursts of greenery everywhere. It also seemed to be located on the side of a mountain. Birdie was puffing by the time they reached Milsom Street.
“I see why they have chairmen,” she said between gasps.
Katherine smiled. “We’ll become used to it. I see no need to be carried about.”
“Wait until you must walk down that hill,” Birdie grumbled.
Without any fixed destination, they walked slowly, stopping to look in the shop windows at bonnets, prints, bolts of silk, leather-bound books, and every other sort of thing a person could buy. Katherine was amazed and delighted. Bragg was right; there were plenty of shops, including two dressmakers. She was about to enter one, a lovely little shop with the most beautiful fashion dolls in the window, when Birdie made a sharp, shocked sound behind her.
“What is it?” Katherine turned, worried the hills might have been too much for her abigail.
Birdie had her mouth pursed in disapproval. “Nothing at all, madam. Let’s go in.”
But she saw him. Her husband had just come out of a shop across the street, and was now strolling along with a woman on his arm. They had their heads close together in conversation. They were near enough for Katherine to see that the lady was very beautiful, with dark curls pinned up beneath her fashionable straw hat and a generous bosom under her stylish pelisse. Whatever they were discussing engrossed them; neither looked away from the other until Gerard opened the door of a coffee shop and ushered his companion inside.
“Shall you order a blue dress or a green one?” asked Birdie. “I vow, that color in the window would look very well on you.”
Katherine said nothing. She waited until a few carriages passed, then crossed the street. Gerard and the woman had come from a jeweler’s shop. For a moment she stood looking at the bracelets tastefully displayed in the window. Howe had had mistresses. Discovering the first one shocked her; she’d gone to her mother in tears when she realized her husband was visiting, and lavishing jewelry on, a handsome widow in the next town barely three months after wedding her. Her mother chided her for being silly about it. Men like Howe were supposed to have mistresses, she explained. It was the way of their class. Katherine had better not kick up a fuss or Howe might punish her by withholding her pin money.
After that Katherine didn’t say a word. To her knowledge, Howe had visited at least three other women during their marriage, and after the first shock wore off, she realized she hadn’t minded very much.
But Gerard said he wouldn’t take a mistress unless they didn’t suit each other in bed. Perhaps he had lied that morning when he said he was pleased. Perhaps she had been so disappointing last night, he couldn’t wait to find another woman. Perhaps the woman had been waiting for him, and she was the reason they had come to Bath. And he rushed right out to see her and buy her jewels.
Katherine heaved a silent sigh. Perhaps it was none of that. Perhaps it was just that her husband preferred livelier company, or more fashionable women, or felt compelled to offer his arm to an unescorted lady. She didn’t know him well enough to guess why he was strolling leisurely about town with another woman after telling his wife he would be consumed with business every day, and she must amuse herself. She had tried to tell herself their marriage would be like this, but she didn’t realize until now just how much she’d hoped it would not.
“Madam.” Birdie broke into her thoughts. “Let’s order some dresses, my lady,” she said gently. “It’s time to shed these drab clothes.”
All her anticipation of that had faded, but she refused to be put off. She had endured it before, and she could endure it now. “Yes,” she said, turning her back on the jewelry shop. “Let’s order a dozen dresses.”
Chapter 13
Gerard returned home with much on his mind. Visiting the post office had yielded more questions than answers, it seemed. He had a description of the man who mailed the letters but nothing else of real value. He didn’t know what to make of the idea that all the letters were written at one time, and the first thing he did on reaching Queen Square was retrieve the other two letters, posted from London and an unknown town, and compare the writing under a strong light with a lens. Only on one letter had the town been spelled correctly the first time, and the correction on the first letter was identical to the correction on one of the Bath letters. It clearly looked like the work of someone who wrote the same thing three times incorrectly, amended them with increasing exasperation, then got it right the fourth time.
And what that said about the blackmailer, he had no idea.
He got out the reports from his father’s investigators and read them all again. They appeared to have spent more time looking for Dorothy Cope herself, and to a lesser extent the so-called minister who had married her to Gerard’s father, a man called Ogilvie, than for the actual blackmailer. That must have been at Durham’s direction; Durham would have preferred to cut off the blackmailer’s ability to harm with one ruthless stroke, then laugh at the villain’s threats. Gerard, on the other hand, didn’t give a damn if he found Dorothy Cope or the Reverend Mr. Ogilvie if he could instead find the man who knew about them and relieve him of any damaging evidence. If Ogilvie or Mrs. Cope still lived, they would be elderly. As long as neither one of them had sent those bloody letters, Gerard had no interest in disturbing their lives. He just wouldn’t allow them to disrupt his.
Bragg tapped at the door. “Dinner is ready, Captain.”
“Thank you. Is Her Ladyship waiting?”
“Yes, sir, in the drawing room.”
Gerard nodded and waved him off. He pulled on his jacket and patted the pocket; the necklace he’d bought for Kate was still within. He left the tiny study and went into the drawing room, where she was sitting very still and erect on the hideous sofa. Even with all the lamps lit, the room was oppressively dark, with a brown rug on the floor, heavy green draperies at the windows, and muddy green silk on the walls. The furniture was of dark, heavy wood, upholstered in the same sickly green as the walls. It depressed his spirits just to walk into the room. “Shall we dine?” he asked Kate abruptly, not wanting to spend another minute in there. “I apologize for keeping you waiting.”
She rose without a word and laid her hand on his arm. Not until they were seated in the dining room—little better than the drawing room, although the mustard yellow color of the walls was a trifle brighter—did Gerard realize she was avoiding his gaze. Her expression was smooth and placid, and she was polite to the servants, but she never looked his way. When dinner had been served, he snapped his fingers and waved at Bragg and the footman, who silently left the room and closed the doors.
Gerard didn’t know what might have irked her, so he waited. In his experience, an angry woman was rarely a silent woman. But Kate picked up her fork and began eating without so much as a word. He gave a mental shrug and turned to his own dinner, but eventually he had to know. “What did you do today, my dear?”
“I looked over the house,” she answered. “Birdie and I went for a stroll.”
“Excellent.” Gerard could practically see frost on her breath when she spoke, but he couldn’t imagine why. They’d been on rather good terms when they parted this morning—or so he’d thought. “I trust you found everything in order.”
“Yes.”
“Did Bragg make himself useful?”
“Yes.”
“Did you like the town?”
She took a sip of wine. “Bath is lovely.”
He leaned back in his chair. “What’s wrong, Kate?”
Her jaw twitched. “Nothing. Why do you ask?”
“You seem quiet.”
Her gaze flashed his way for a second. “What is there to say?”
“You haven’t anything at all to say to your husband?”
“I answered all your questions.”
That she had. Gerard poured more wine. Perhaps he should let it go . . . If only he were able. “I met an old friend today,” he said, switching tactics. “He invited us to attend the theater with him the evening after next.”
She put down her fork. “I’d rather not.”
“Do you not enjoy the theater? We could attend the Assembly Rooms instead. They often have very fine entertainments there, balls and concerts.”
Faint color bloomed in her cheeks, but she still didn’t look at him. “I have nothing against the theater. I simply don’t wish to go out yet.”
He frowned. “Not at all? Bath is a capital place. I hate to think you want to sit at home alone.”
She hesitated. “I haven’t anything proper to wear to the theater.”
“Is that all?” Gerard exclaimed. “Order some gowns.”
“I did.” She raised her eyes to his at last. “Several. In Milsom Street.”
Of course—a woman needed clothing, and he’d made her leave London with only a single valise. “I hope at least one is red,” he said with a grin and a wink. “We shall wait until your new wardrobe is ready and go to the theater then. I’ll take a box and invite my friends to sit with us. You’ll like them, I know. Lieutenant Carter is with my own regiment; a tremendous fellow, recovering from a leg wound. And his sister will be with him, a very charming widowed lady. I should like to have them around to dinner as well.”
Kate sat in silence, her hands in her lap. “Perhaps. Was she the lady you were walking with on Milsom Street today?”
“Hmm? Yes, Mrs. Fitzwilliam. She’s been caring for Carter, and if we can persuade him to go out more, I think she would be very grateful.”
“I see,” his wife murmured.
Belatedly it dawned on Gerard what she was really asking. Kate sat stiffly in her chair, shoulders a little hunched, eyes shadowed. There was a fierce, troubled expression on her face. For a moment he felt affronted. Already she doubted him? But perhaps he should have expected it. Most likely this was another of Lord Howe’s legacies. He pushed back his chair and tossed aside his napkin. “Come here.”
She started. “What?”
“Come here.” He reached out one hand. Slowly she got out of her chair and gave him her hand. Gerard pulled, tumbling her into his lap. “Put your hand in my pocket.”
She quit struggling to right herself, and her eyes rounded in shock. “What?”
For a moment she just stared at the necklace. It wasn’t the most elaborate piece, but he thought it suited her. Mrs. Fitzwilliam had steered him away from lockets and chokers toward this simple but striking pendant. The oval amethyst stone was surrounded by two dozen small pearls and hung on a long gold chain. As soon as he saw it, he pictured it nestled between Kate’s bare breasts, the deep violet of the stone reflecting the hidden lights in her eyes.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “It’s beautiful.”
He took the box from her and removed the necklace. “I met Mrs. Fitzwilliam this afternoon for the first time,” he said, unhooking the clasp. “I asked her advice because I know little of jewels.” That was always Charlie’s domain; Gerard still recalled his father’s snarling over the bills from London jewelers for Charlie’s mistress of the moment. Never buy jewels for a woman unless you are assured of equal value in return, Durham had advised him and Edward. “And I am not having an affair with her,” he added, fastening the chain at the nape of her neck.
“I didn’t think . . .” Her voice died away as she fingered the pendant.
“Yes, you did.” He leaned back. “Aren’t you going to thank me?”
“Thank you,” she said at once. “Very much.”
“Not like that.”
She blushed again, but leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. This time he let her control the kiss. After a moment she touched her tongue to his lip, and obediently he opened his mouth. Her tongue was gentle, a bit shy, but Gerard found himself being rapidly carried away by her earnestness. Four days ago she’d let him kiss her; today she cupped her hands around his jaw and kissed him. By the time she lifted her head, his heart was thumping, and his trousers were growing tight.
Blame It on Bath: The Truth About the Duke Page 14
