by Mary Balogh
Thelma sought Kate out as soon as she was able. She found her in the library, working now on a middle shelf.
“I could kill Adam!” she said feelingly. “Why did he have to think of having a ball?”
Kate looked up in surprise from the book she was dusting. “Do you not welcome the idea of the entertainment?” she asked. “The ballroom is such a grand apartment, and scarcely ever entered. Will it not be lovely to see it filled with flowers and with bright gowns and coats?”
“No, it will not!” Thelma threw herself into the chair behind the desk. “Papa has come up with a most brilliant idea to make the evening even more memorable. He thinks it will be the perfect occasion for the announcement of my betrothal.”
“Oh,” Kate said. She replaced the book on its shelf and climbed down the few steps of the staircase that had elevated her to the middle shelf. “Have you agreed to marry Lord Uppington, then?”
“No, I have not,” Thelma said. “But you see how it is, Kate. I am really not being given a choice. Papa assumes that my answer will be yes, and so does Lord Uppington. He took me for a turn on the terrace a short while ago and told me that he looked forward to my answer some day before the ball, and to the public announcement during it. What am I to do?”
Kate had grown fond of Thelma. There was a great deal of sweetness in the girl and very little malice. But there were times when Kate would have dearly liked to shake her. She looked gravely at her employer and spoke gently. “You must tell them both quite firmly that you decline the honor,” she said. “And you must refuse to change your mind or even agree to think about the matter for a while longer. You must say it now so that the news does not spread that this is to be a betrothal celebration.”
“Oh, but how can I?” the girl wailed. “Papa will be so very cross. And I could not possibly face the marquess with a refusal.”
“Then you must marry him,” Kate said mercilessly.
“I would rather die,” Thelma said. “I shall see what Sidney has to say. Perhaps he will have an idea. But I know what it will be. He will want me to run away with him. I believe I will have to do that, Kate. There is no other way.”
“There is another way,” Kate persisted. “Your father can hardly disown you for refusing to marry the man of his choice. Perhaps he will be angry, but he will get over that. He cannot force you to marry the marquess.”
“No,” Thelma said, “but he can refuse to let me marry Sidney.”
“Until you are of age, yes,” Kate agreed. “After that you may please yourself. You would have fewer than three years to wait.”
“Three years!” Thelma cried, leaping to her feet. “I shall be old by then. I cannot possibly wait that long, and it would not be fair to ask Sidney to wait.”
The argument continued, while Kate tried to point out all the terrible impropriety of an elopement when there was a much simpler way of handling the problem. But there was no instilling courage into Lady Thelma. Running away to Gretna Green with the man she loved and facing social ostracism afterward seemed to her far easier than facing two men and saying the word “no” to each.
By the time Kate was left alone again, she had been reminded that she had agreed to go with her employer if she decided to run away. And she would honor that promise. She might have no more than one week left in this house, then. But it should be long enough. If only Josh had brought back a favorable answer. He had been gone for two days. There had been a possibility that he would be back the night before, but he still had not arrived when Kate stole away to the lodge after dinner. She was containing her impatience with difficulty now. She could not decently leave the house until after luncheon. Then she should be free if Lady Thelma held to her plan to interview the gardener with Lady Toucher in order to plan the flowers for the ball.
What would the answer be? she wondered. It was agonizing to wait. What if there was nothing, no new information? Then she would have to admit defeat. She did not know why she would care about having to do so. What was Nicholas Seyton to her now? Merely an attractive adventurer who had taken advantage of her. A man who did not even have enough faith in his own cause to stay and continue searching for answers. But it was not for him that she wanted to succeed, Kate told herself. There was the sheer challenge of discovering the almost impossible. She would hate to have to leave the Abbey the following week with the puzzle unsolved.
Several ladies and gentlemen set out that afternoon to walk from the house up into the wooded hills to the east. They had been told that the top of the hill afforded a magnificent view out across the ocean and over miles of land in the other three directions. Some of the ladies had remained behind to busy themselves on plans for the dinner and ball the following week, and Lord Toucher had excused himself on the grounds that such exercise would trouble his rheumaticks, but the group of walkers was large enough.
Sir Harry Tate had a giggling and talkative Miss Barr-Smythe on his arm. He had chosen her deliberately as a partner. He had made the fascinating discovery over the past days that one did not have to pay anything but the merest fraction of one’s attention to the girl. The occasional profound comment on what she said, such as “Really?” or “You amaze me, ma’am,” or a dozen other such phrases was quite sufficient to launch her on the next phase of her monologue. An infrequent sidelong look down at her through half-closed eyelids would have her blushing and giggling every time, especially if one let one’s gaze stray to her lips for the merest moment. Such distraction would prompt her to lose her train of thought and begin a new line of conversation that kept her busy talking for another indefinite period of time.
While she babbled on at his side, Nicholas found that he could give almost the whole of his attention to the two men he had set himself to watch. This afternoon, of course, the task was somewhat relaxed. There was little chance that Lord Barton would suddenly break into a run and head for France while in the middle of conducting his house guests on a walk. And it was unlikely that Uppington would find a chance to molest Katherine while he walked with Lady Lacey away from the Abbey and Katherine was at the house with the ladies who were planning next week’s entertainment. However, watch he must. It was safer thus than it would be to relax when one thought all was safe. It was just at such times that there was often most danger.
The whole party stopped just before they reached the hill and the well-spaced trees on its slopes. Lord Barton’s bailiff was returning home from a difficult meeting with a disaffected tenant and paused to give his lordship a brief account of his visit. But as often happens on such occasions, a brief account lengthened into a sustained conversation, until Lady Lacey laughingly declared that she would have taken to her bed for a beauty sleep after luncheon if she had known that they were to stand for half an hour in open sunshine listening to talk about sheep and corn.
“The rest of us will walk on, Clive,” she said. “We will meet you at the top, where at least we may entertain ourselves with a view. Ah, Sir Harry. You have two sturdy arms, my dear sir. Allow me to share you with Miss Barr-Smythe. Indeed, you are altogether too handsome a man to be monopolized by one lady.” She smiled at the pair.
Nicholas had no choice but to bow his head graciously and mouth platitudes about how honored he was to have a lovely lady for each arm. But his mind registered with dismay the reason why Lady Lacey had relinquished the arm she had leaned on since leaving the house. The Marquess of Uppington was deep in interested conversation with Lord Barton and his bailiff. Nicholas was even more alarmed to note that the rest of the group was following him and his two ladies up the gradual slope that led soon to the steeper climb up the hill. He cast one appealing look in Charles Dalrymple’s direction, but that faithful friend had his head down to hear something that Angela Lacey was saying.
Well, Nicholas thought resignedly as he bent his sidelong look at Miss Barr-Smythe to start the giggling and the chattering in motion again, they would be out of his sight for a few minutes only. He could not watch them for twenty-four hours a da
y, after all. And Barton was not likely to disappear before the ball he himself had announced that morning.
They strolled in very leisurely fashion up the hill, the gradient being quite steep and the afternoon warm. Nicholas was relieved to hear the rumbling tones of Lord Barton’s voice somewhere behind him even before they reached the top. He relaxed again and continued to listen to Lady Lacey. Being a vastly more sensible lady than his other companion, she required most of one’s attention when she spoke. The three of them were the first to the top. They stood there for several minutes marveling at the magnificent view while the others gradually emerged from the trees and straggled up to them.
Perhaps ten minutes passed before it became quite obvious to Nicholas that now they were all gathered on the bare top of the hill and that Uppington was still absent. He looked frantically around him again. But he was right. Everyone else was present. Uppington was not.
“I see that the marquess has been put to shame,” he drawled. “He must be panting with exhaustion somewhere on the side of the hill.”
“No,” Lord Barton said. “He returned to the Abbey.”
“Ah, what a coward,” Lord Stoughton said. “And all the rest of us have made it to the top without one casualty.”
“He remembered an important letter that must be written before today’s mail coach leaves,” Lord Barton said. “He seemed quite worried about it. He sent his apologies, Barbara.”
“Oh, think nothing of it,” that lady called gaily. “I am enjoying the company of my present handsome escort even if I do have to share him.”
“Well, you should be accustomed to having a handsome escort, my love,” Sir Peregrine said with a smile in her direction.
Nicholas was feeling sick with panic and indecision. She was safe at the house, was she not? She would be with Lady Thelma and her aunt. Was it flowers they were going to plan? Invitations? It did not matter. She would be with them. She would be safe. It was foolish of him to worry quite this much. But he had to go and make sure. He would not rest until he saw that she was indeed safe. But how to get away? Feign a sudden illness? Remember that he too had urgent business back at the house? It just could not be done. But he would be away an hour or more if he waited for everyone to have had his fill of the view and a chance to recover breath after the climb. And the group strolled at a snail’s pace. There were two miles to cover between here and the Abbey.
He was just going to have to be thoroughly ill-mannered, he decided after a couple of agonized minutes. He could not afford to care what other people would think of him. Anyway, he had cultivated a character for Sir Harry that would make such behavior quite credible. He wandered with impatient slowness a little way down the hill, apparently admiring the view across the valley to where the Abbey stood and beyond to the hills on the other side. He strolled among the trees below the summit until he was hidden from view above. And then he broke into a run.
She was not at the house. The butler informed him of that when he entered the hallway. Neither was Lord Uppington.
No, Lord Uppington had not returned to the house. Had he not gone with the walking party?
Yes, Mrs. Mannering had stepped out quite a while ago. No, he had not seen which direction she took. Neither had the two footmen on duty in the hall.
Nicholas left the house again, feeling all the panic and frustration he had felt up on the hill when he had first known of Uppington’s disappearance. After a few moments of indecision he raced around the Abbey and set off at a run down the mile of grassland between the house and the lake.
The Marquess of Uppington had been somewhat more fortunate. He had met a gardener’s boy who had seen Mrs. Mannering set off down the driveway half an hour before. The marquess had followed in her footsteps five minutes later, on foot, though he had made a brief visit to the stables first.
Kate was on her way back up the driveway. Beneath the shade of the elm trees it was cool and quiet. But she would not have noticed the discomfort of the hot rays of the sun. She was smiling to herself and humming a tune. Her reticule was swinging from one hand.
What a glorious, glorious day. She had hoped and hoped, of course. But deep down she had not really expected it all to be so easy. She felt like laughing out loud to know that she was the one who had thought of it. And it was so simple and so obvious really. Nicholas had not thought of it, though he had set his mind to solving the mystery long before she had. It made perfect sense that his father would have had a traveling companion on his Grand Tour. And she had thought of it.
Josh had returned that morning and had hardly been able to contain his own excitement when she arrived. He had a letter for her from her distant cousin Lord Lindstrom. Perhaps it was an invitation to go and visit? Josh had been made welcome. He had been allowed to sit right in the kitchen and eat. He giggled with delight at the memory.
Kate had sat down right there in the lodge and opened the seal with shaking hands. She glanced to the signature. It really was from Lord Lindstrom and addressed to Nicholas Seyton. She had pretended that her own letter was from him. It was a good thing that none of the Pickerings seemed able to read.
And there it was inside, the information she needed. Oh, not quite as clear-cut as it might have been. But good enough. It should be good enough. Yes, Lord Lindstrom had traveled with Lord Stoughton for six months. And there had been a female at the start of their tour. A lady, too, though one whose family had fallen on hard times, he seemed to recall. Stoughton had talked about her a good deal for a few weeks after leaving her. Lord Lindstrom did not remember that the viscount had contacted her again, but of course they had not returned from Italy together. Yes, her name might have been Annette. Or Marie. Or something typically French.
It had happened while Lord Lindstrom was visiting relatives. They had recently been bereaved or he would have taken his friend with him. It had not seemed quite appropriate to take a stranger to visit them at such a time. Though as far as that went, they were quite genteel in manner and doubtless would have made him welcome. But Stoughton had stayed with an impoverished widow in a village close by. The girl—Annette or Marie or whatever her name was—might have been her daughter or niece. She lived there, anyway.
No, he could not recall the name of the village, though he had racked his brains for all of fifteen minutes trying to remember. Something typically French. But his relatives’ estate was the Hotel Beaumaris. It was between twenty and thirty miles north of Paris, a little off the main road.
That was really the sum of the information in the letter. There were missing details, most notably the name of the village where Annette had lived. And Lord Lindstrom had been unable to confirm beyond all doubt that this lady Lord Stoughton had met really was Nicholas’ mother. Apparently the viscount had been quite a ladies’ man and had possibly had more than one mistress during the months of his absence from England.
But Kate was convinced that she was on the right track. She had to be. And the missing village name was really quite a minor setback. It was close to the Hotel Beaumaris, wherever that was. It should be easy to find. Twenty to thirty miles north of Paris.
Now all she had to do was decide what to do with her information. Should she write to Nicholas immediately? It would give her great satisfaction to do so, to write a cold businesslike letter to him passing on information that might be of crucial importance to his future. She would enjoy imagining his discomfiture at remembering his shabby treatment of her. She would refuse to accept any sort of thanks or reward from him. She would return any token of his gratitude with contempt.
Or should she wait? Would it not be even more satisfactory to be able to give him more definite information? If she could find out the name of that village, perhaps? Or even beyond that, if she could write to that village to find out if Nicholas’ mother still lived there? How could that be done, though? Would she write to the mayor or the priest to ask if there was a female resident in her forties or thereabouts answering to the name of Annette?
Kate’s smile broadened at the absurd thought and she gave her reticule an extra twirl before resuming the song she had been humming without conscious thought.
And then she saw Lord Uppington.
Kate considered turning back to the lodge and running toward it with all the haste extreme fear could muster. She had not come very far. But she knew she would not have time to reach it before she was caught. He was not far in front of her. The winding of the driveway had denied her a long warning of his approach. And if she were to be caught anyway she would not humiliate herself by fleeing and showing fear. She unconsciously lifted her chin and walked on. The marquess continued to come toward her, a half-smile on his face, a riding whip tapping lightly against his Hessians.
“Good afternoon, my lord,” Kate said with a cool nod of her head as they drew close to each other.
“It is indeed, madam,” he replied, moving across the driveway before stopping, legs apart, directly in her path. “It is indeed.”
Kate abandoned her instinct to play ignorant. She stopped walking too, making no move to try to dodge around him. “I have nothing more to say to you, my lord,” she said. “I believe it would be consistent with your title and your profession of the name of gentleman to stand aside and let me pass. I have several times made it clear to you that your attentions are not welcome to me.”
“Yes, Kate,” he said, his eyes narrowing, the half-smile gone, “and I have finally taken you at your word. I shall make very sure this afternoon that my attentions are in no way welcome to you. After today, my fine lady, you will come to my bed or anywhere else I choose to summon you at the mere crooking of my finger.” The riding crop was tapping rhythmically against his boot.
Kate swallowed. “Do you not merely demean yourself to pursue a woman who has expressed only contempt for you?” she asked.
“No one . . .” he said, and paused for effect. “No one expresses contempt for the Marquess of Uppington, my dear, without living to regret it. Do please step off the path and through to the other side of the trees. I believe everyone from the house is accounted for, and visitors are not expected. But I have no wish to be interrupted on this occasion. You may not expect help from your beau, by the way. I left him escorting two ladies up the hill more than a mile from here.” He gestured to the trees at the side of the driveway with what appeared to be a perfectly courtly gesture.
