Chapter Ten
Kate rose somewhat later than normal the following day. Having instructed Little to arrange a late breakfast for her return, she paused by the door.
“How was your evening?” she asked.
The question was unusual enough to drop Little’s jaw, though she recovered quickly. “Very pleasant, my lady. Drake is a good man and makes me laugh. Though he’s younger than me.”
“Does that matter?” Kate asked lightly. “Especially if he makes you laugh.”
“Lord Vernon don’t make you laugh anymore,” Little blurted.
Kate wasn’t sure he ever had. She couldn’t remember any more why she’d picked him above the others clamoring for her attention. Perhaps she’d seen something of his brother in him.
“He came again last night,” Little added. “I told him you were out and sent him away.”
“He talked one of the staff into letting him back in when we were both out,” Kate said grimly. “But I don’t believe he’ll repeat the offence. You might make it known that I’ll see to the dismissal of anyone who misuses a key to these rooms again.”
“I know just who to speak to,” Little said with relish.
Kate left her to it, and set off for her planned morning ride.
As soon as she stepped out of the hotel, she saw one of the men who’d attacked her. He lurked in the doorway across the road, watching her between the people and carts and horses who passed along the road. A quick glance showed another burly man emerging from the coffee house. She’d seen him before, imagined he was following her, though he didn’t look like one of the original four attackers.
She was glad she’d instructed Peter to bring Snow to the hotel. The groom rode Gladiator. Between him and her pistol, she imagined she was safe. In any case, it wasn’t in her nature to give in. Peter boosted her into the saddle and she gathered in the reins, turning the horse, and setting off up the street so that she walked right by her attacker. She made sure she caught his eye, which fell almost immediately, although he didn’t move away. With luck, it would frighten him off, knowing she could report him to the authorities. Perhaps she should, and to the devil with everyone gossiping here, too.
Although she kept her eyes peeled, and might have seen one of the other attackers in a side street, she refused to look behind her.
“Peter, is anyone following us?” she asked the groom instead.
“Couple of leery looking coves. But we’ll lose ’em soon enough. They’re only on foot.”
Breaking into open country and giving the horses their heads felt like a massive relief. She rode up beyond Braithwaite Castle to admire the fine view over the rolling hills and the sea. She wondered if Lady Braithwaite would have received her now, were she in residence. Probably not, since she’d crossed the invisible line from discrete misbehavior to getting caught.
Refusing to feel sorry for herself, Kate thought she might like to paint the scene before her. She’d bring her easel up here one day.
She rode on just a little farther, before turning Snow’s head back toward Blackhaven. She was just wondering whether she could return along the beach from the castle, when a familiar figure rode into view.
Lord Vernon, who’d clearly spotted her from the road, cantered to intercept her.
“Well met, Kate!” he called cheerfully.
Kate nodded distantly.
“Is this Braithwaite’s pile, then?”
Again, she nodded. Vernon turned his horse beside her and spoke over his shoulder to Peter. “Off you go.”
“Peter is staying,” Kate snapped irritably. “And you will oblige me by not giving orders to my servants.”
“Have it your way,” Vernon said, clearly miffed. “I just thought you might prefer to have our discussion in private.”
“I don’t prefer to discuss anything with you. I prefer, in fact, to ride alone. Good morning.”
He reached out, hastily catching Snow’s bridle when she would have urged the horse into a gallop. “Kate. We need to talk about babies.”
Kate, who’d raised her whip in fury and was about to whack it down on his arm, paused in something like shock.
She lowered her arm. “Get off, Vernon. You’re upsetting Snow. I find that a very odd topic for you. Or me. I know nothing of infants.”
“And what if you’re having one? What if you are enceinte?”
She stared at him. “Then a few months after the birth I will be in a better position to discuss babies.”
“You’re being obtuse.”
“One of us is. I have nothing to say to you.”
“If you’re carrying a child, you must marry me.”
“Must I?” she said dangerously.
“Of course, you must. No one will believe it’s Crowmore’s, so it will need the protection of my name. Besides, a child needs a father.”
Kate sighed. “And you stand rather in need of my money. Controlling the Crowmore fortune would no doubt be a useful bonus, though it’s not as much as you might think.”
Vernon flushed, and she laughed, knowing she’d hit the nail on the head.
“I won’t deny I’m in a pickle,” he managed with some dignity. “But that has no bearing on my offer. My father will bail me out eventually—when he dies if not before. You know I adore you, Kate. We belonged to each other long before your husband died.”
“No, we didn’t, Vernon,” she said tiredly. “We used each other, for amusement and fashion, and now it’s over. You must marry one day for your family, and I will never remarry. Let us part as friends, or have nothing more to do with each other.”
“Kate, please,” he said urgently. “Let me give you this protection.”
His expression was a trifle desperate as he grasped her seriousness, but more than that, there was a hint of genuine anxiety in his gaze. He was Grant’s brother, a pale echo; but surely there was something of him there—whatever it was that had attracted her to him in the first place.
“Protection?” she repeated. Where was everyone when she truly needed protection from her husband?
Vernon swiped off his hat and dragged his hand through his hair. “I don’t trust Dickie Crowmore.” He clapped the hat back on his head. “He’s a nasty piece of work. And he truly needs the money. Frankly, he makes me look like a miser—or at least like a responsible gentleman. Dickie needs the Crowmore fortune and he really ain’t going to be pleased if you produce an heir. Marry me and he can always insist the child is mine. After all, old Crowmore gave you no children in eight years of marriage.”
Kate sensed her father’s influence here, for Vernon knew only too well that she wouldn’t be producing his child. The world knew she rarely entered the same house as her husband, and yet she’d done so a week before he died. To see if he really was ill. Gossip had spoken of a reconciliation, though in fact, she’d barely stayed half an hour and most of that had been seeing to the servants.
She regarded Vernon dispassionately. “It’s all muddled up in you, isn’t it? Self-interest and doing the right thing. You’re not really a bad man. But I don’t love you. And I won’t marry you for any reason.”
She urged Snow to a gallop, leaving Vernon to follow or not as he pleased.
*
Later in the day, after stopping at the pump room to take the waters and listen to the town gossip, Kate allowed herself to call in Cliff Crescent.
The door was opened by a large, ferocious looking individual who, on hearing her name, grunted and said, “They’re in the cellar, m’lady. This way.”
A quick glance showed Kate that no other more respectable servants lurked in the hallway. Nor did any of the family, although she could hear the baby crying somewhere in the bowels of the house. In any other establishment, being invited into the cellar by such a man would have sent her backing out of the front door again, especially given her circumstances. And yet here, in Gillie’s house, she blithely followed the villainous old soldier down the stairs and preceded him through the door he unlocked for her.
At once voices and laughter greeted her. She made her way through the barrels of no doubt smuggled wine and brandy toward the “bedchamber”, listening to the voices of Gillie, Grant, and Cornelius. It all seemed to be lighthearted and amusing and yet Kate felt a tightening in her chest that amounted to pain. Or fear. That Gillie would win Grant, too.
She brushed the stupid thought away. In her heart, she welcomed the happiness Wickenden had found with Gillie. As for Grant, she had no reason and less business to be jealous. Whatever his past, he would not now indulge in affaires. It would be marriage or nothing. And Kate would never marry. They had no future together.
Still, knowing all that, her heart beat like a rabbit’s as she advanced and turned the corner.
Cornelius was sitting up in his makeshift bed, looking little the worse for wear. Grant, fully dressed, sat on his own bed, smiling at Gillie’s last words. His gaze lifted and found her, and his smile broadened, dazzling her as he rose and bowed.
“Lady Crowmore.”
What was the matter with her, that one smile could reduce her to this? A mere jelly of longing and gladness. Fortunately, Gillie and Cornelius’s greetings distracted her and she sat beside Gillie on Grant’s bed, while Grant sprawled across Cornelius’s.
“The town is outraged on your behalf,” Kate told Grant, stripping off her gloves. “At least, most of it is. There are a few doubters who insist the soldiers must have got their information from somewhere and that there is no smoke without fire. But the majority believe you innocent and want the soldiers who tried to arrest you court martialed and shot. Rumor says Major Doverton is furious with the officer who arrested you in Captain Muir’s home, but that may not be true.”
“Sounds like you’ve made an impression on the good people of Blackhaven,” Cornelius said, apparently amused. “How gullible!”
“Well, they still want you captured, drowned, or shot,” Kate reported. “I’m not sure whether that makes them gullible or not.”
“Neither am I,” Cornelius confessed.
“Would you like some tea?” Gillie asked civilly.
“Oh, no thank you—I feel I’m already drowning in Blackhaven water! I just dropped in to exchange news. I see that our patient is doing better.”
“He is, I think,” Gillie agreed. “But Mr. Grant is restless. I’ve suggested a walk on the beach, if he’s careful.”
“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Kate agreed.
“Perhaps you have time, now?” Grant said to her at once.
“Perhaps I do.” She hid the quickening of her heart in a drawl. “Gillie?”
“Oh no,” Gillie said at once. “I have promised Aunt Margaret to visit friends with her today.”
Grant lit the lantern from the lamp via a taper, and Kate walked beside him into the tunnel. She felt self-conscious, even though Gillie had shut the heavy door behind them.
“Is everything well with you?” he asked almost at once.
“I have not been attacked, if that’s what you mean,” she assured him. “Although there seem to be men all over the town following me, which is a trifle disconcerting.”
“Ah.” For once, his expression betrayed discomfort. “I’m afraid some of that is my fault. After the attack, I asked a few friends to look out for you.”
She narrowed her eyes. “From the coffee shop? Large, soldierly types?”
“For the most part.”
She didn’t know if she was more touched or annoyed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But I couldn’t let you be hurt, either.”
She scowled. “Everyone in the world isn’t your responsibility, you know.”
In the lantern’s pale light, his eyes seemed to glow, warm and exciting, scattering her spurt of anger. Then his eyelids fell, like curtains. “Perhaps it comes with the vocation.”
It deprived her of breath, like a sword through the heart.
“Just another lame duck,” she mocked, when she could speak. “How lowering to be just like everyone else in the end. Do you kiss me just to make me feel better?”
A sound like a groan spilled from him. He swung on her, pinning her to the cold, damp wall of the tunnel. “I kiss you to make you love me,” he ground out. “But I can’t, can I?”
His head swooped, blocking out the swinging lantern light as he crushed her lips beneath his. Her mouth opened wide under the force of it. His body flattened her to the wall and lust surged so quickly she moaned into his mouth. Pinioned by his hips and the fast-growing hardness between, she knew an instant of triumph and joy. And then it was over.
He stepped back so quickly she nearly sagged to the tunnel floor. Her knees trembled.
“Forgive me,” he said raggedly. “Did I hurt you?”
“Do you take me for a piece of porcelain?” she managed. “Or a sheltered girl just out of the schoolroom?”
“Don’t,” he begged. She thought his eyes were closed as he swung away from her. “Don’t make me like everyone else.”
She laughed, because it was just what she’d said moments before. She walked away from him down the passage, making sure her hips swayed, just in case he could still see her in the lantern light.
*
Grant wasn’t quite sure what had just happened. He knew he’d angered her by arranging her protection without her knowledge or permission, and he knew he’d hurt her somehow though he couldn’t quite remember what he’d said. Her idea that he kissed her from some selfless motivation had angered him, that he’d lost control of the situation and of himself. Utterly churned up and ashamed, he was terrified of losing more ground than he’d ever gained with her.
As her back vanished into the darkness, panic swamped him, that whatever between them was over, that he’d killed it.
The trouble was, she dazzled him. He didn’t really know her or properly understand her. Or she, him. He was different enough from her fashionable town flirts to intrigue her a little, but he had to face the fact that here at last was a situation, a person, that he couldn’t win by his usual combination of skill, perception, and perseverance.
Love was new to him and seemed to have addled his wits. His few fleeting forays into something higher than simple lust had not prepared him for this overwhelming emotion, or the mindboggling stupidity that seemed to go with it. But the truth was, he would die to save her one moment of pain.
And he knew pain was all his brother Vernon would bring her.
None of that meant she would love him, Tristram Grant, curate and coxcomb of Blackhaven. Probably ex-curate by now.
From instinct, he started down the passage after her. He would not sulk like a child, or stop looking after her. He needed to learn the humility he preached, and he acknowledged ruefully that she was just the woman to teach him.
By the time he reached the filtered sunshine of the cave, she was gone. Carefully, he peered out at the beach, which appeared to be empty until he emerged, and saw her walking along the edge of the waves, her shoes and stockings in her hands. She strode out with enthusiasm, perhaps assuaging her anger at him, perhaps just enjoying the sand between her toes.
He’d never felt so helpless in his life. And yet his heart warmed and ached, just at the sight of her.
He moved toward her, his heart full of things he wanted, needed to tell her. And then a burst of laughter interrupted his delusion, causing him to spin around. A couple of lads were running down the cliff path toward the beach. And he couldn’t be seen. He couldn’t rely on anyone else’s good will to hide himself and Cornelius. It was intolerable. He couldn’t run across the beach to her, let alone escort her home, protect her.
He backed away to the rocks, melted into the cave and began to think seriously about the best way forward for everyone.
*
Kate, having come to the conclusion that she had given the charming curate far too great a role in her life, decided to bend her mind to other matters. Particularly after he emerged from the cave and didn’t come to her. Admittedly, she’d stalked away back toward the town, but he didn’t follow or make any effort to stop her. Damn him. She was behaving like a petulant debutante with her first crush.
As she reached the road, the sight of a familiar, if panting, figure—one of the men who’d attacked her—brought her up short. She still had the pistol in her reticule, which she opened to be ready. But the man’s eyes darted in fury, and sure enough there was another watcher, one of Grant’s burly soldiers this time.
She hurried on into the busier part of town and back to the hotel. Here, she sent notes to the Smallwoods and to Gillie, inviting them to tea that afternoon. Then she spent a comfortable hour or two planning her dress for Mrs. Winslow’s ball. Admittedly, her mind tended to dwell on the dazzling affect her appearance would have upon the curate, and how she would toe him aside when he prostrated himself at her feet. But at least that made her feel better.
She then donned a particularly charming tea dress of flimsiest white India muslin embroidered with entwined red flowers, and went downstairs.
To her annoyance, Lord Vernon was lurking in the dining room. He sprang to his feet as soon as she walked in, although, fortunately, Kate caught sight of the Smallwoods and veered immediately toward them as though she hadn’t seen him.
Mrs. Smallwood greeted her loudly, and only moments later mortified her daughter further by leaping to her feet and calling, “Yoo-hoo! Lady Wickenden!”
Gillie, just entering the room, took it all in stride, but then she had apparently met the Smallwoods before, though under what circumstances remained a mystery.
“Am I late?” Gillie asked breathlessly, as if she’d run all the way.
“No, in perfect time,” Kate assured her. “We have ordered tea, scones, and cake. Is everything well?”
Gillie gave her a quick conspiratorial glance and nodded.
“I’m so glad you joined us, Lady Wickenden,” Mrs. Smallwood gushed. “For in truth, I wished to ask a favor.”
“Of course,” Gillie said at once, although an uneasy look entered her eyes. “If it is in my power.”
“I presume you are attending dear Mrs. Winslow’s ball on Saturday?”
“Why, yes, we do plan to go. All of us, even my stepmother.”
Mrs. Smallwood’s face fell. “Then you will have a full carriage,” she said in dismay.
“Mama,” Miss Smallwood murmured in an agony of embarrassment.
“Well, if I don’t ask, how will you attend?” her mother retorted. “The truth is, I was hoping to prevail upon you to chaperone Jenny for me. She so wishes to go and I cannot take her.”
Mrs. Smallwood’s eyes slewed around to Kate.
“I would not do, ma’am,” Kate assured her. “I am not a suitable chaperone for your daughter. To be frank, her reputation will barely survive tea in my company.”
“Kate!” Gillie admonished as the mother’s eyes grew round with something very like terror. “Lady Crowmore is joking you. In any case, I will be happy to take Jenny if she wishes, for we’ll need two carriages in any case.”
Instantly, Mrs. Smallwood was wreathed in smiles. “I was so hoping you would say that! After all, you do owe us for stealing Wickenden away from Jenny.”
Kate, who’d just lifted her teacup to her lips, almost choked. Hastily, she set her cup down again. “Well, that’s a story I don’t know,” she murmured.
Gillie shifted in her seat. “It wasn’t quite like that,” she muttered.
“It was nothing like that,” Jenny exclaimed. “Lord Wickenden was never anything but kind to me.”
“Exactly,” Mrs. Smallwood said with triumph. “But we don’t grudge dear Lady Wickenden her husband, for several gentlemen, much wealthier gentlemen than Wickenden, have since distinguished Jenny by their attentions. I believe I will have her married and off my hands before she is seventeen.”
Startled, Kate glanced at Jenny, who looked both mortified and hunted.
“I was married at seventeen to a wealthy man,” Kate drawled. “We all regret it. The most fashionable people now are not marrying off their daughters until twenty.”
“Twenty!” Mrs. Smallwood peered at her, appalled. “I believe you’re joking me again.”
“Not really,” Kate said. “If she were my daughter, I’d let her shine and have fun for a few years before the brilliant wedding.”
“But then there wouldn’t be a brilliant wedding,” Mrs. Smallwood objected. “She’d be on the shelf.”
“Forgive me, Gillie, but how old were you when you married Wickenden?” Kate drawled. “Two and twenty? Three and twenty? I believe he is counted a brilliant match.”
“Of course he is!” Mrs. Smallwood declaimed triumphantly. “Which is why she stole him from my Jenny.”
“Mama,” Jenny whispered, as if in real agony now. “People will hear! Please stop!”
“Well, there, I bear no grudges,” Mrs. Smallwood said with blatant untruth. “For I have other gentlemen in my sights.”
Kate’s original motive in inviting the Smallwoods to tea had been to wean Bernard Muir’s affections off herself and onto someone more suitable, at least in age—namely Miss Smallwood. But as Mrs. Smallwood continued to chatter away about all her daughters’ suitors and their respective incomes, Kate felt increasingly strongly that Jenny should not simply be shipped off to the highest bidder before she was even old enough to recognize love. Or lack of it.
It was fellow-feeling, of course. At seventeen, Kate had been given to a much older man for political alliance and settlements, a man who should never have been allowed control over a dog, let alone a wife. At least her parents had known Crowmore, though they might have cared too little about his habits and vices. Mrs. Smallwood appeared to know nothing about these suitors apart from their income. She resolved to speak to the older lady in private, warning caution and even offering assistance.
However, just as she leaned forward under cover of Gillie’s conversation with Jenny, Lord Vernon materialized at their table, bowing with his usual supreme elegance.
“Lady Crowmore,” he said formally, to show, no doubt, that he was on his best behavior. “May I join you?”
Kate was about to send him about his business in no uncertain terms, when a much better plan popped into her head. She could kill two birds with one stone and the risk was minimal.
“For five minutes,” she allowed, flippantly. “Before we banish you from our sight once more. Lady Wickenden, are you acquainted with Lord Vernon?”
“Good lord, are you Wickenden’s bride?” Vernon exclaimed, taking Gillie’s hand. “All London is agog to meet you, I assure you!”
Mrs. Smallwood sniffed, attracting Vernon’s attention.
“Mrs. and Miss Smallwood,” Kate murmured. “Ladies, Viscount Vernon.”
Mrs. Smallwood, who seemed to carry in her head the estates and incomes of the entire population of the country, regarded him with undisguised interest. Vernon’s affairs were shambolic due to his penchant for wine, horses, and gaming, but as the Earl of Boulton’s heir, he was due to inherit a considerable fortune along with the earldom.
“My lord, do sit here,” she gushed. “There is plenty space between myself and my daughter. We were just discussing the Winslows’ ball on Saturday. Does your lordship go?”
“I can’t say I’m acquainted with any Winslows,” Vernon excused.
“Mr. Winslow is the local squire,” Kate explained. “And I believe the ball is a much-anticipated social event.”
“Dear Lady Wickenden will be chaperoning my daughter.”
“Well, if you’re all going, I shall scrape an acquaintance somehow and beg an invitation,” Vernon said firmly, his gaze on Kate.
“I may not go,” Kate said perversely. “I haven’t decided yet. But you should beg Miss Smallwood for a dance right away. If her card is not already full, it soon will be.”
While Gillie glared at Kate, Vernon seemed to notice the young girl for the first time. Always one to appreciate beauty, he promptly begged for a dance. “Preferably a waltz, if they allow it here.”
Mrs. Smallwood began to denounce the waltz as improper, which Kate thought rich considering the intimacy she seemed happy enough to sell her daughter into. Vernon defended the dance in his lazy, good-natured manner.
“What are you doing?” Gillie hissed at Kate behind her hand. “You cannot throw Jenny to that man!”
“I won’t need to,” Kate said cynically. “Her mother will do it. He won’t seduce her, you know. He’s not that big a cad. But I thought his admiration might make Bernard sit up and take notice.”
Gillie leaned back in her chair and lowered her voice even further. “You’re using him to make my brother jealous of Jenny’s favor? I’m not sure I want him pursuing her! She is very good-natured, of course, but she is a trifle … fickle.”
“Well, so is Bernard,” Kate pointed out. “You’re right, of course, they are too young, but at least they’re both kind, decent people.” She didn’t say that Bernard could use the Smallwood money, being penniless on his own account. Or that marriage to Bernard would keep Jenny out of the clutches of wealthy lechers and other unsavory characters her mother seemed to have lined up for the post of husband to the Smallwood heiress. She could see Gillie already mulling it over in her mind, though she still looked doubtful.
“Don’t worry,” Kate said. “People rarely do what you plan for them! And I am a terrible matchmaker. I merely throw the opportunity out there.”
“But you hope also to keep both my brother and Lord Vernon from bothering you,” Gillie said shrewdly.
“Well I know you concur with at least one of those aims.”
“There is no way I can answer that without appearing to insult you,” Gillie observed at last.
“I shan’t hold it against you,” Kate drawled.
To her surprise, Gillie smiled at her. “Actually, I think you’re trying to do good things and look out for people. And I suspect you’re more likely to hold that observation against me.”
Kate laughed. “Not if you keep it to yourself. I have a reputation to maintain.”