Chapter Fifteen
The friendship which had begun with a not-quite-by-chance encounter in a modiste’s shop had quickly deepened. First, there had been the irrepressible giggles at the play no one else in the audience seemed to enjoy. Then came the dressing room consultations—always gravely significant between ladies of like mind. And sometime between the balls and the ices and the long afternoon they all got hopelessly lost in the Hampton maze, Katherine found herself confiding the secret everyone in London already knew, but no one would acknowledge—the Marquess of Bromton and his new bride had not spoken for days.
Although, she did not betray Bromton’s confidence, she did explain that she’d been won in a bet, wooed under false pretense, and, somehow, in the midst of this whirlwind courtship, she had fallen in love.
“And he told you he loved you, too?” Katerina asked.
“Yes,” she replied.
Philippa clucked. “Then why has he disappeared?”
“I don’t know why he disappeared,” she replied. Which wasn’t completely honest. He’d told her he could never be worthy. He’d told her that he must release her in order to save her. But his logic made no sense. “I keep reliving our last afternoon together, searching for something I could have said or done that would have kept him from leaving.”
She unstrung every moment in her heart, from the slow removal of her glove to his frenzied climax to the moment he’d locked the door. One image stood out from the rest—the agonized look he’d cast over his shoulder, while his white knuckles had gripped the frame of the door. A look of pleading. A look of despair.
She could think of nothing that could staunch that kind of guilt.
Only he could choose to fight, to change, to win.
Clarissa’s foot tapping abruptly stopped. “We are asking Katherine the wrong question.”
“What question should we ask?” Katerina supplied.
“Katherine,” Clarissa said, “do you want Lord Bromton back?”
Yes. Her heart’s answer was immediate. Visceral. If he returned—preferably on his knees—she would make every effort to find and restore the magic they’d shared.
“I never expected to regain my place in Society,” she answered slowly. “With your help, I’ve exceeded my most hopeful expectations.”
“But you don’t look at all happy,” Philippa replied.
“I know,” Katherine swallowed. “It’s just not…” She swallowed again. “I wish…”
Clarissa’s expression grew soft. “It’s not a triumph without Bromton.”
Katherine nodded.
Katerina looked away, her eyes overbright.
“I believe you have your answer,” Clarissa replied. “Love.” She shrugged as if to say, There’s nothing you can do about the infirmity.
Philippa frowned. “We cannot even set about making him properly jealous, as my brother has appointed himself your protective spaniel.”
Katerina chuckled at the image.
“I am not sure jealousy is the way to proceed,” Katherine replied.
“Well,” Clarissa replied, “I was certain that flaunting our friendship all over town would—”
“Clarissa!” Katherine exclaimed.
Clarissa flashed her a guilty glance. “Did you honestly think we were unaware of your troubles?”
Katherine reluctantly shook her head no.
“And who knows better than I do that the marquess is proud enough to cut off his nose to spite his face.”
“Brummell intends to come to my soiree tonight,” Philippa said thoughtfully. “If there were some way we could let Bromton know…”
“Yes,” Clarissa snapped her fingers. “Bromton loathes a scandal. We just have to find a way to get word, and he’d come running to your side, if only to prevent a misstep.”
Katherine shook her head no. “I appreciate your help, but stratagems are what landed me in this quandary in the first place.” She sighed. “I wish Bromton were here, but I cannot force him to be other than he is.”
“An imperious wretch?” Philippa suggested.
“A thick-headed fool,” Katerina answered.
A husband too guilt-ridden to come back to his wife.
“Well,” Clarissa sighed, “no stratagems. But that doesn’t mean we cannot have a plan. You can still look devastatingly gorgeous as you dance the night away. How about that green dress the modiste delivered?”
“And whatever else we do,” Phillipa said, “we must force my spaniel brother to sit.”
…
All four ladies danced a quadrille each before they had exhausted Lord Farring. The proceeds of their bet went to Mrs. VanHeldt—Katherine and Clarissa had been sure his stamina would give way after two, while his sister had graciously granted him three. Mrs. VanHeldt guided him out to the balcony, throwing Clarissa and Katherine a wink.
“There is something there,” Clarissa said.
“Aren’t she and Ra—”
Clarissa shrugged. “It would be highly inappropriate of me to ask, don’t you think?
They both smirked.
“Katerina can take care of herself,” Clarissa said. “Do you see him anywhere?”
There was no need to specify who Clarissa meant by him. They’d assigned a particular tone to the Marquess of Bromton, one that Katherine felt blended just the right amount of derision, frustration, and, for her part, maddening need. Although she suspected she’d be able to feel Bromton’s presence, Katherine’s gaze skipped through the ballroom, just to be sure.
Once again, he had not come.
She opened her fan. Concealing her lips with an indolent flutter, she leaned toward Lady Clarissa.
“There appears to be a flaw in your plan,” she said under her breath.
“Flaw,” Clarissa scoffed. “What flaw?”
“I am feeling less and less like dancing.”
“Oh,” Clarissa said airily, “that flaw. I refuse to admit defeat. The night is young.” She tapped her own fan against her cheek. “It’s a wonder he hasn’t figured out his wrong. Men can be so disappointingly obtuse.” She flashed Katherine a glance. “Take, for instance, your brother.”
Katherine shrugged. “Well, of course, Percy is obtuse.”
Clarissa broke into a wide grin. “Percy?”
Katherine cut her a glance. “Percival William Henry, to be exact.”
“Does he like being called Percy?”
“Absolutely not,” Katherine replied.
Clarissa bounced, glanced to Katherine, and then hastily restored her dignified pose. “I look forward to Lord Markham’s return.” She whipped open her fan. “Hearts, indeed,” she added under her breath.
Katherine assessed her new friend and then decided not to inquire about the nature of any friendship she had developed with Markham. Instead, she adjusted the train on her dress. The impression she’d had at the modiste had been correct; her dress was magnificent, and it had caused a stir.
“I look absurd,” Katherine whispered.
“On the contrary,” Clarissa replied, “you’ve received more than one matronly glare.”
“I only noticed Lady Merriweather.” Katherine winced. “I—I knew her son.”
Clarissa made a dismissive noise. “I am well aware you were betrothed to Lord Cartwright. As is everyone else present. And everyone present is equally aware that Lord and Lady Merriweather haven’t an ounce of good humor between them. No one blames you, there.”
“No one but Brummell.”
Clarissa grimaced. “Brummell makes a thousand quips a day. No one can keep them straight anymore. He’s been challenged to duels countless times, and he only accepted once.”
“What happened?” Katherine asked.
“The other man never showed.” Clarissa resumed fluttering her fan. “No, my dear, the matrons are glaring at you because you look splendid, and you are making them mad with envy.”
Katherine arched a brow. She couldn’t imagine anyone being envious of her position—a bride without a husband.
Clarissa glanced over Katherine’s shoulder and snapped her fan closed. “Speaking of the devil…”
“Bromton?” Katherine asked.
“No, Brummell,” Clarissa replied. “Turn slowly, dear. And hold up your chin.”
Katherine had prepared to see him once again, practicing at least ten different responses, ranging from cold appraisal, to gracious condescension. None of them seemed adequate to the moment.
Brummell was older, of course. The years had served only to increase his allure. He was, quite simply, breathtaking. Although how he had managed to be still while his valet had arranged the frothing beneath his chin, Katherine had no idea. The tie in his cravat was frighteningly complex.
Lady Darlington tilted her head toward her, and his gaze moved slowly across the room until his eyes rested on Katherine. He turned back to Lady Darlington, touched his fingers to his heart, and said something that made her laugh. Then, he kissed the lady’s fingers, swiveled on his heel, and strode purposefully in Katherine’s direction.
“What should I do?” Katherine whispered.
“Whatever you wish to do,” Clarissa answered. “Only whatever you do, do with conviction.”
To cut him would only serve to remind others of her past. But to offer him her hand? Would that not be accepting what he did?
“What would the Marchioness of Bromton do?” Clarissa asked.
Katherine heard Bromton’s voice as if he stood by her side. The valet’s son will one day get his due.
She decided to be gracious, willfully stepping aside, allowing Brummell to make his own bed. Besides, there was only one man whose opinion mattered, even if he was, as Clarissa said, disappointingly obtuse.
“Lady Clarissa,” Brummell greeted.
“Mr. Brummell,” Clarissa replied. “Lady Bromton, would you permit me to introduce Mr. Brummell?”
Katherine held out a steady hand. “We’ve met, I believe.”
“Ah yes,” Brummell said with a half smile. “Your absence has been keenly felt. I do hope we will be seeing more of you this Season.”
“How kind,” Katherine responded. “So you shall.”
“Capital.” Brummell’s reply echoed through a suddenly silent room. He turned to the side and raised his quizzing glass. “Come. This is too delicious.”
“Him,” Clarissa whispered in the appropriate tone.
Katherine ceased to care about the elaborately dressed dandy. She ceased to care about anyone at all. Anyone, except her husband, who was making his way across the ballroom with a loose stride, as if he had released a weight that had long held him hindered. A few steps behind him was a woman. And following her were a dozen or more people unlike any she’d ever encountered.
Giles stopped an arms-length away, his red-rimmed eyes narrowing as if she were the only one present in the room.
His clothes could only be described as an eyesore. His hair was in disarray. And the line of his chin marred by days-old stubble.
He looked shockingly unkept—and endearingly hers.
“You once asked me what I esteem,” he said.
Her heart flopped. “You replied, ‘honor.’”
“Ask me again,” he said.
She held his gaze, and the arrogant peer who had so infuriated her fell away like battle-worn armor. Beneath, she saw a boy—a child raised to shoulder the burden of hundreds of lives, raised to duty without love. A child alone. Brave but lost. Alone but reaching.
Ah, Giles. She wet her lips. “What do you esteem, Lord Bromton?”
“I esteem courage. I esteem humor. I esteem goodwill,” he visibly swallowed, “and I esteem kindness.”
Her vision blurred. She blinked away the tear.
“Ask me why,” he urged.
“Why?” she asked.
“I esteem those things, because you embody them,” he grasped her hand, “and you make me wish to embody them as well.”
Lady Clarissa sighed.
Katherine shook her head no. “Not always. I once believed pious propriety meant perfection—”
“God forbid.” Brummell’s murmur elicited a round of titters.
“What do you believe now?” Giles asked.
“Perfection is a myth,” she finished.
“No,” Giles answered. “It cannot be. I’ve found it in you.”
“This is most unusual,” Lady Merriweather said, loudly enough for the whole room to hear.
“What do you expect?” Lord Merriweather replied. “Scandal begets scandal.”
“Careful, Lord Merriweather,” Giles said, “If you insult my lady, I will require a remedy.”
“I merely pointed out—”
Giles turned sharply.
Lord Merriweather stepped back. “I intended no insult, Lady Bromton.”
“No insult was taken,” she replied, returning her gaze to Giles. “You are causing a scandal.”
“No.” He sunk to his knees. “Now, I am causing a scandal.”
More than one lady in the room echoed Clarissa’s sigh.
“I wish to ask a most essential question,” he said.
She bit back a smile. “We are already married, my lord.”
“I know. I am here,” he said with utter solemnity, “to ask you to play billiards with me.”
For a moment, she just stared. Then, she started to laugh. “Yes,” she said with a hiccup. “I will play billiards with you.”
“And only me?”
She joined him in his kneel. “And only you.”
The corners of his eyes crinkled.
“I knew you were strong enough to wrestle fate,” she said.
His lips brushed hers, and then, his hand cupped the back of her neck. There, before all of his Tory friends, the Marquess of Bromton became a scandal.
“Ten minutes!” Lord Farring exclaimed. “I leave the two of you alone for ten minutes.”
“Lord Farring,” Mrs. VanHeldt interrupted, “I do believe that is her husband.”
“Well, thank God,” Farring replied. “I am exhausted.”
Katherine opened her eyes. “Giles,” she whispered, “who are these people?”
Giles grinned, a wide, boyish grin. “Representatives of the demimonde you so dearly wished to meet.”
“You didn’t.” She choked on a laugh.
Lord Merriweather and his wife departed with a great deal of noise.
Farring tsked. “Looks as if you’ll have to take a place at the Whig table.”
“I will be going my own way from now on.” Bromton helped Katherine rise. “Lady Bromton, may I introduce my mother, Mrs. Blackwood?”
Katherine glanced back and forth between mother and son and then held out her hand. “I cannot tell you how delighted I am to meet you.”
A sheen sparkled in the older lady’s eyes. “Thank you for returning my son.”
…
Katherine and Giles giggled as they tumbled into Giles’s carriage
“Was that,” Giles kissed his wife, “insincere and clumsy?”
“That”—she returned his kiss—“was glorious.”
“You aren’t sorry I caused a scandal?”
“I would have cautioned you against such a display,” she said primly. Then, she grinned. “But after tonight, no one is ever going to mention the unmarriageable maiden again.”
“That dress is every bit as lovely as I imagined.” He groaned, barely in control. “Lud, you look ravishing.”
“Looked, past tense,” she sighed. “The fichu is crushed.”
“Nothing,” he replied, “that cannot be fixed.”
“I adore the dress,” she said. “You have excellent taste.”
“Of course I do,” he replied with his old arrogance. Then, his face softened. He brushed aside her hair and placed a light kiss on her mouth. “I adore you.”
“Are you certain?”
He nodded, slowly. “I am, even though I didn’t believe in love.”
“And now?”
“And now I do.” He traced a line down her cheek. “I am sorry, hellion. I have been such a prideful ass.”
Her eyes stung. “You hurt me when you left.”
“I know,” he replied. “But I—I was trying not to hurt you anymore.”
He’d chosen the one explanation that could melt her heart. “What made you change your mind?”
“I couldn’t live another moment without you. I had to take a chance.”
Her eyes searched his. “You weren’t certain how I would respond.”
“You would have been right to box my ears,” he replied, gathering her into his arm. “I’m delighted you are foolish enough to give me another chance.”
“Now that you have me,” she snuggled beneath his chin, “what do you intend to do with me?”
“I intend,” he ran his fingers up and down her neck, “to relieve you of everything but those stockings. I intend to arrange you just so on the bed. And then, I intend to take you at least three times before we fall into exhausted slumber.”
“A marquess must have whatever a marquess wants,” she answered with a satisfied sigh.
“A marquess is due nothing,” Giles answered. “But I am lucky enough to have everything I could want.”