Slowly her trembling hands gathered his discarded shirt and vest, drawing them to her face. She inhaled deeply of their scent, the scent that was her Knight…the scent of hickory smoke, shaving soap, and leather. Still, through her tears she smiled at the remembrance of his parting words to her. “…lest you find this circumstance of my being your lover far from being a farce,” he had warned. Was it preposterous to dream of his having enjoyed kissing her?
A demon, he was! A scoundrel! An asinine ignoramus as well! To have thought he could touch the girl and remain in control of his desires for her—what fatal error had he made in his undertaking to help her? By giving into his want to taste of her kiss, he had jeopardized his entire purpose.
As he strode angrily toward the manor, he mumbled, rebuking, reprimanding himself for adding so seriously to the girl’s corruption. He shook his head, cursing under his breath. She’d thought she’d displeased him. In his entire life he had never experienced such pleasure! He thought briefly of Annastice, of his once thick infatuation for her. Never had Annastice’s kisses affected him so, caused him to wonder if he could leave her. But this girl…and he was a liar! Fontaine would loathe any and all liars…no matter what their reasons for deception.
Storming into the kitchen, he said nothing to Marta and Big William as they stood staring at him, eyebrows raised in astonishment at his lack of clothing.
“Keep her out of my reach for today, in the least of it!” he growled. “And bring me parchment, pen, and ink. I’ve a letter to write.”
“He’s one to be orderin’ us about like he was lord of the manor, he is,” Marta said to William once Knight had stormed out of the room.
William’s eyes narrowed. “He’s lost his footing, that one,” he muttered. “The young miss is itching him under his skin.”
Marta smiled, triumphantly nodding at William. “Let’s hope he can’t scratch it away too soon.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“It has not escaped me, Fontaine,” Lady Wetherton began as the coach rumbled toward Lord Greenville’s estate, “how much pleasure you tend to take in Knight’s attentions, of late.”
Fontaine remained outwardly calm even though her innards were a torrent of turmoil. She’d never expected her aunt would mention her supposed affair with Knight. Though she saw no possibility of the woman being able to question Knight’s fulfillment of his obligation after witnessing the scene in the greenhouse several days earlier, she assumed her aunt meant to play ignorant of it. Thus, Lady Wetherton’s remark as the coach drew near to Lord Greenville’s estate, where his annual spring ball was being held, unnerved Fontaine.
“What woman wouldn’t take pleasure in attention from such a man?” Fontaine managed.
Lady Wetherton raised one eyebrow. “True enough. Only…refrain from any flirtatious inclinations you might have toward him, my dear.” Then again revealing her true character she added, “At least, refrain from them in any public venue.” So…she had seen Knight’s moments with Fontaine at the greenhouse. What other reason would she have for such conversation?
Fontaine sighed and gazed out the coach window. Lord Greenville’s estate was in sight up ahead, and her stomach churned at the thought it.
“Men serve one of three purposes in life, Fontaine, dearest,” Lady Wetherton said. Fontaine rolled her eyes with irritation. She’d hoped her aunt had quitted the subject. “As a plaything, in the first. A way by which we, as the fairer gender, might entertain ourselves.”
“Aunt!” Fontaine scolded. She had no wish to be privy to her aunt’s opinions on the subject.
“Pray listen, niece…so that you may not be caught ignorant in matters of men,” Lady Wetherton said, adjusting a thick, black ringlet at her temple. Fontaine sighed, reconciled to enduring one of her aunt’s lectures.
“In the second, they are oft necessary as a means to avoiding poverty,” the lady continued. “Poverty should be avoided at any cost, Fontaine. For it is miserable beyond your ability to imagine misery.”
Fontaine thought for a moment that poverty might be a sort of heaven as opposed to marriage to Lord Greenville. The contemplation of heaven led her thoughts to Knight. She was glad it wasn’t raining, lest he be soaked to the skin while driving them to Lord Greenville’s gathering. She smiled, feeling safer in knowing he led the team, which now carried her to her destination.
“I’m glad to see you agree with me in that, at least,” Lady Wetherton said, misunderstanding Fontaine’s pleased smile. “And lastly, if a woman were inclined to bear children…and I suppose it is good that some are, else humanity would discontinue altogether. Therefore, they are admittedly necessary to that process as well.”
The coach entered the circle before the great oak doors of the Greenville manor, and Lady Wetherton concluded her lecture. “Thus, know that I find no fault with your dalliance where Knight is concerned, Fontaine. I only warn you, for you must protect your place in society…at least until such time as your place in society is firm, my dear.” Fontaine closed her eyes for a moment, sickened by her aunt’s selfish reasonings.
Knight opened the coach door, drew out the step, and offered his hand to Lady Wetherton. Once he’d assisted her in her exit of the conveyance, he held out his hand to Fontaine. She smiled and accepted, stepping from the coach.
Pausing, she looked up into the fire of Knight’s eyes before following her aunt into Lord Greenville’s manor. Since he’d kissed her in the greenhouse three days before, he’d seemed somewhat troubled and distant. Fontaine had sorely missed the brilliance of his smile, the warmth of his touch, his teasing manner. Further she’d desperately longed to have his kiss once more. And so she was encouraged when he smiled at her and winking pressed a small slip of parchment into her hand.
“Have a wonderful evening, milady…Miss Fontaine,” he said, nodding at Fontaine encouragingly.
“Thank you, Knight,” Fontaine told him, warmed by his undisturbed gaze.
“Yes, Knight. Thank you,” Lady Wetherton added. “Pray, Knight,” she said turning back to look at him then. “Do not stray too far, in the case I should weary and wish to return to the manor prematurely.”
“Yes, milady,” he said, with a respectful nod.
Fontaine could not find solitude quickly enough! She must see what was written on the parchment Knight had entrusted to her. After allowing one of Lord Greenville’s maids to take her cloak, she quickly unfolded the parchment, slowing her step.
“10:00 p.m. In the coach,” was all that was written upon it. Still it was enough to send her heart whirling into delirium at the prospect of such a secret meeting with Knight.
“Miss Fontaine,” Lord Greenville greeted as Fontaine entered the ballroom. “How lovely you look in that blue frilly frock.”
“Thank you, milord,” Fontaine said with a curtsy. She forced a smile as she studied the man for a moment. At sixty and three, he was uglier than most dead men, she mused. His head was bald, save a few wiry gray strands of hair, which poked up about his ears like dog’s whiskers. His lips were dry and red, and his tongue kept creeping out of his mouth to moisten them. Even as he bent to take her hand, she could smell the stench that was his breath. Mingled with the stench of his breath were the nauseating odors of wet woolens and old cats. There was something strange about a titled man who kept cats instead of dogs. Oh, Fontaine adored cats, but they seemed a lady’s pet rather than a lord’s. Even an old lord’s.
“Might I claim the first dance?” Lord Greenville asked.
Swallowing hard, Fontaine forced a smile and said, “Of course, Lord Greenville.”
“And I the second?”
Fontaine turned, and her smile became sincere as she beheld Mr. Dennis, her solicitor.
“Mr. Dennis!” she exclaimed. “What a delight to see you.”
“And you, Miss Pratina,” Mr. Dennis said, smiling at her and taking her hand. Mr. Dennis was, in contrast to Lord Greenville, a rather middle-aged man with somewhat too much thick brown hair and a pair of
round spectacles. As for his breath, the scent of it was indiscernible, a welcome difference to their host’s.
“Excuse me, sir,” a young, dark-haired maid said as she addressed Mr. Dennis. “This has just been delivered for you.”
“Oh, thank you,” Mr. Dennis said, accepting the item from the young woman. Fontaine noted it was a letter, conserved with red sealing wax, though she could not discern the design of the seal itself. “Pardon me, for a moment,” Mr. Dennis said, adjusting his spectacles and wandering away as he broke the seal of the letter
“Ah!” Lord Greenville said, taking Fontaine’s hand. “The musicians have begun. Our dance awaits, Miss Fontaine.” Fontaine again forced a friendly smile, determined to endure, for at the stroke of ten, she would be with Knight!
The hours did not pass quickly enough. With each new dance, each new polite conversation, Fontaine grew more impatient. The enormous clock on the ballroom wall appeared to be slow, for it seemed days before it struck ten at long last.
As the clock struck the hour, Fontaine excused herself from the dreary conversation being held by her aunt and Lord Greenville. Neglecting to call for her cloak, lest her aunt’s curiosity be stimulated, she hurried out the front doors of the manor and toward the bevy of coaches crowding the grounds.
It was terribly dark; still she found the coach swiftly, smiling as she saw Knight leaning up against it, waiting for her. As she approached, he strode to her, took her hand, and led her back to the conveyance.
“We’ll talk within,” he whispered, glancing about in a manner of conspiracy before helping her into the coach. Climbing in after her, he closed the door behind them. Fontaine could not help but smile at him, excited by whatever reason he found to summon her to him.
“Mr. Dennis should be here forthright,” he told her. Fontaine felt her smile fade. She’d secretly hoped his reasons for wishing her to join him in the coach were more personal.
“Mr. Dennis?” she asked, perplexed.
“Yes,” Knight answered. “I’ve been communicating with him for the past several days by way of written correspondence, and I’ve asked him to meet us here tonight.”
“But…why?” Fontaine still did not understand what business Knight had with her solicitor.
A triumphant smile spread across Knight’s face, however. “I’ve done it, miss,” he told her. “I’ve found a way to rescue you.”
A tiny spark of hope began to flicker in Fontaine’s bosom. “You have?” she said.
Knight nodded, reached out, and took her hands in his own. “I have,” he confirmed. “I considered everything you’ve told me about your father’s will, your aunt’s guardianship…you should’ve taken care to bring your cloak, Fontaine,” he said.
Fontaine shook her head, irritated he should cease in telling her of his plans merely for concern of her cloak. “It’s of no consequence. Have you…have you discovered something in the terms of the will? Something to force my aunt to quit me?”
Knight sighed. “Not necessarily,” he admitted. “However, I think the terms can be manipulated until such time as you are of the stated age to inherit and choose your own spouse.”
“How?” Fontaine asked.
At that moment, there came a knock on the coach door, and Knight inquired, “Yes?”
“It is Mr. Dennis,” came the solicitor’s response.
Knight opened the door and gestured that the man should enter. Mr. Dennis quirked one curious eyebrow and looked from Fontaine to Knight and back again as he stepped into the coach and closed the door behind him.
“Thank you for meeting with us, Mr. Dennis,” Knight said, offering the man his hand. “I am Knight.”
Fontaine noted the way Mr. Dennis’ eyes narrowed as he studied Knight for a moment. “Randall Dennis,” Mr. Dennis said. “It is good to finally meet you…face to face, sir.”
Mr. Dennis turned his attention to Fontaine then. “Let me assure you, Miss Pratina…my loyalty has always been to you. Dealing with your aunt was only forced upon me by necessity.”
“I know, Mr. Dennis,” Fontaine said smiling. “And I thank you for all you have done for me since my parents’ deaths.”
“As to the subject of…Mr. Knight’s proposal…I pause, naturally,” Mr. Dennis said.
“A wise man would,” Knight assured him.
“Still, I know the kind of woman Lady Wetherton is, and I doubt not that your good friend Mr. Knight is correct in his theories of her intentions. For she has been to see me this very week, asking to witness the will again, asking about laws of marriage and inheritance,” Mr. Dennis said. Fontaine frowned, felt panic begin to rise in her. “And…though it seems rather a bit extreme perhaps…I believe Mr. Knight’s plan, as it were…may be the only way to preserve your inheritance…and you, Miss Pratina.”
Mr. Dennis paused, removing several pieces of parchment from his coat pocket. “Therefore, it must needs be I obtain your signature on a few documents, miss…in that…”
“Perhaps, Mr. Dennis,” Fontaine interrupted. “Perhaps Mr. Knight would like to inform me as to his plan…the method by which he intends to preserve me.” Her eyes narrowed. How could a solicitor so well-known for his ironclad knowledge of the law and unmatched loyalty be so easily swayed by a coachman? “And,” she added, “I beg you, Mr. Dennis…what cause have you to entrust my welfare so completely into the hands of a man you have never before met?”
Knight felt an admiring grin spread across his face. He was pleased Fontaine would question her solicitor in such a manner, for these were odd circumstances, indeed. He allowed his gaze to linger on the berry of her lips and could feel the rogue in him rising.
Mr. Dennis did not pause in his response. “I have made many inquiries into…Mr. Knight’s past and character. Likewise I have been in communication with those who endeavor to help him to help you. His connections are…very impressive and without blemish.”
“You trust Knight then?” Fontaine asked. Her own feelings, her trust in Knight were one thing, but she was quite surprised he had won over Mr. Dennis with such apparent ease.
“I do, Miss Pratina,” Mr. Dennis answered. “Else I would not be here now.”
“Mr. Dennis will play a part of his own,” Knight interjected. “It will not be me who will be solely responsible for hiding you away.”
So he did mean to spirit her away, to hide her. Fontaine’s heart was aflutter, delighted by his willingness to help her with such desperate measures.
“Hide me where?” Fontaine asked. “And how will hiding me stop Aunt Wetherton’s plans exactly? Of course, I will not physically be here…therefore, I suppose she will be unable to force me to marry. Still…”
“In truth, the entirety of it is reliant on interpretation of an article in your father’s will, Miss Pratina,” Mr. Dennis said. “I dared not bring it with me here tonight, but you may remember the exact wording of the marriage stipulation.”
“I’m afraid I do not, Mr. Dennis,” Fontaine admitted.
“It reads thus: ‘In the matter of the marriage of our daughter, Fontaine Pratina, upon becoming Lady Wetherton’s ward; before said ward reaches nineteen years, Lady Carileena Wetherton, whilst in the company of said ward, may choose of suitable and titled men, one worthy of being wed to said ward. Further, said ward must conform to such a match.’” Mr. Dennis paused then continued, “My interpretation, and being the current, elected executor of your father’s will, the interpretation is mine to deduce, this particular specification causes me to state that if in fact Lady Wetherton is not in your company, she cannot force you to marry. This would leave you free to choose a husband once you reach the specified age…or before.”
“Or before?” Fontaine asked, still stunned by Mr. Dennis’ revelation.
“Yes,” he said. “For the will further states, ‘In the matter of the marriage of our daughter, Fontaine Pratina, upon becoming Lady Wetherton’s ward; before said ward reaches the age of nineteen, said ward may marry only with the permission and
consent of Lady Wetherton, assuming Lady Wetherton is capable of consent to the marriage. If Lady Wetherton is, for any legitimate reason, unable to provide consent, said ward may assent to her own marriage whereupon Lady Wetherton’s guardianship of said ward is thus ended.’”
“Do you mean to say, all this time, I have had my choice of husband before me?” Fontaine asked. Anger was swelling in her throat. Why had Mr. Dennis not said something sooner?
“In truth, Miss Pratina,” Mr. Dennis began, “You were but fifteen when your parents died. If you’ll remember, these specifications seemed less pressing…at the time. Similarly, the stipulation, ‘any legitimate reason’…in truth, Miss Pratina, your aunt could construe your running away, as it were, as far less than a legitimate reason, thereby evoking the article in the will stripping you of your inheritance completely.”
“What do you mean?” Fontaine asked. Why would her parents include any such article in their will, which would strip her of her inheritance as punishment for marrying whomever she wished?
“My supposition is they wanted to ensure you wouldn’t scuttle off with the first coachman who caught your fancy, miss,” Knight said, winking at her.
“Exactly,” Mr. Dennis confirmed. “As you know, I did not draw up your father’s will, Miss Pratina. However, my father did, and he was a great one, unfortunately, for making certain an heir remembered to marry appropriately.”
“Your capability to marry a man of your own choosing before your nineteenth birthday is not relevant, in any case,” Knight said. “I simply intend to remove you from your aunt’s presence, thus preventing her from exercising the rights of the first article on marriage in your father’s will.”
The Rogue Knight Page 8
