Barbara Metzger (17 page)

“A lady?” she yelled, very much like a Billingsgate fishwife, but she did put down the basin, throwing the cloth in so only a little water spattered out onto the viscount’s chest. “What, now I am a lady, now that I have rich relatives? Now that you know my grandfather held a prestigious title? I never even met the man, for he disowned my mother before I was born. Those other important connections you mentioned would have seen me starve in the gutter rather than lift a hand to help. No, they do not care for me, and I do not care for them.”

“Fine, then we won’t invite them to the wedding.”

“There won’t be any wedding, you gudgeon, for I am still not your property to be disposed of to fit your misguided notions of honor and propriety.” She started pacing around the room. Courtney’s sore head started spinning as he tried to keep her in sight. And what a sight she was, in the too tight dress and a curtain of black hair streaming down her back like a midnight waterfall. He licked suddenly dry lips. Marrying her was not going to be quite the chore he thought. Convincing her might be, though. It might take a while, but the viscount was determined to do the honorable thing. “Please, Kitty, sit down so we can talk.”

“That’s Miss Partland, your lordship. I am a lady, remember? I always was a lady, and in my heart I still am a lady, noble connections or not, ruined reputation or not. I have done nothing to be ashamed of. On the contrary, I feel that my actions were undertaken for the best of reasons.”

“Of course they were. You had to eat. But in the eyes of society—”

“I did not play your prostitute for the money, my lord, although I’d be a fool to deny that it made the offer more palatable. And no, I did not enter into our bargain ignorant of the ways of the world. Your world. I knew precisely what would happen. What did happen, so you need not add that to your burden of guilt.”

“Then why did you agree, if not for the blunt?”

Kathlyn just shook her head. He really was a blind, buffle-headed fool. If Lord Chase couldn’t figure out that she’d gone along with his plan because she felt sorry for him, then she couldn’t tell him. She had to leave the man some pride; he had little enough else. She poured him a glass of lemonade from the pitcher by the bed. “No matter, things aren’t as bad as they seem. You’ve forgotten that it’s Kitty Parke whose reputation is ruined, not mine. That illustration might make my face too recognizable for me to set up shop in London, but my name won’t be on anyone’s lips. Kathlyn Partland can find a governess position in the North.”

“That might have been true when we began, my dear, but I’m afraid your real name is no longer such a secret, not with Bow Street sending its hounds sniffing around Nanny’s house.”

“Mr. Dimm?”

“And a spotty-faced youngster puffed up with his own consequence.”

“Nipperkin, oh dear.”

“And it seems that Nipper—ah, Ripken informed your aunt, Lady Bellamy, that you were in Town. I’m sorry, Miss Partland, but things really are as bad as they seem. Marriage is the only solution.”

“No, it’s not. I could go to Canada. Marriage to you is no solution at all, it’s another disaster. You don’t respect me, you don’t even like me half the time. And I am sorry, my lord, but I want more out of my marriage than you can offer.”

He sat up, then had to grab his head with both hands lest it fall off his shoulders. “Hell and damnation, I’m one of the wealthiest men in London. You’ll not do better. Miss Partland, for all your airs and graces.”

Kathlyn gathered up her meager belongings and stood for a moment by the shattered door, looking at him with regret. “You poor man, if you think money is the answer to everything.”

* * * *

The viscount commandeered Algie’s room, because it still had a lock. Algie could bunk with Woody or that tawdry blonde. Lord Chase did not care which. In the morning he commandeered their carriage. His two former friends could walk back to London, or fly. Lord Chase did not care which. Despite the raw, windy day, he sat up with the hired driver while Kathlyn rode inside to save what was left of her reputation. The viscount was suffering from concussion and inflammation of the lungs. He didn’t care which carried him off first, the devil take all females.

Inspector Dimm was waiting for them in Nanny’s parlor. Actually it looked to Courtney’s bleary eyes as if the oldster had never left, so comfortably situated did he seem.

Nanny almost cried when she saw their condition, shrieked, “My poor baby!” and rushed toward them—to enfold Miss Partland in her ample embrace. Courtney staggered unassisted to a chair near the fire while Nanny rambled on about a hot bath and warm clothes and a soothing tisane—for Miss Partland.

Inspector Dimm did manage to pour the viscount a glass of his own brandy, from the decanter on the mantel, before he asked Miss Partland if he might have a word or two with her when she was somewhat restored.

Kathlyn agreed, on her way up the stairs with Mrs. Dawson. “But I can tell you now that I have nothing new to say except that I am sorry I was nice to Mr. Miner, I’m sorry I was nice to his lordship, and I’ll never be nice to another man again!” Then she was gone.

Mr. Dimm tapped his pipe against the hearth and observed the sorry scrap of humanity sprawled on the sofa across from him. “See you did a fine job bringing the lady back all right and tight, Cap’n, and turning her up sweet. Heard you had a way with women, I did.”

Lord Chase just grunted at the sarcasm from the cushioned depths.

“Want some advice from a man what was married almost three decades?”

“No, thank you,” Courtney managed to croak out. “I’ve got the situation well in hand.”

“Heard that rumor, too.”

Chapter Eighteen

Winter had moved into Kathlyn’s heart. Not the biting kind of winter, but the drab, dreary, never-ending-cold sort. It would have taken too much spirit to argue with Nanny Dawson about leaving today, and too much energy to pack, so Kathlyn stayed on. What was one more day when she had a whole eternity to plan her future—amongst untamed savages and uncivilized colonials? She misdoubted any fur-togged trapper was perishing for her to come instruct his daughter on the pianoforte. She didn’t even feel like dealing with Meg’s boisterous children this morning, so Nanny left Kathlyn in the parlor, curled on the sofa, a blanket and Wolfie on her knees, with her book of sonnets.

She was wondering about those odd marks when Algie and Woody arrived to ask her to marry them.

“Not both, of course, but whichever you prefer. Didn’t seem right for us to decide.” Since neither had thought to marry for at least a decade, they’d drawn cards. There ensued an argument whether the winner won Miss Kitty or his freedom. Hence two bruised and bloodied suitors made their singular offer for her clench-fisted hand.

Icicles dripped from Kathlyn’s voice. “He sent you, didn’t he?”

No need to identify who. “Not at all. Kitty, ah, Miss Parke. Told us how things stood, is all. After that it was obvious. We do know the proper thing to do, don’t we, Woody?”

Woody nodded. Gentlemen, don’t you know. Our fault, bone-headed thing to do, snatching you away like we did. Need to make amends. ‘Sides, it won’t be all that bad. I ain’t half as stuffy as old Courtney, even if I do have less than half his blunt.”

“And half his looks,” Algie put in. “But Courtney can’t dance, and I’ve got all those sisters to ferry around to balls and things. You’ll have fun.”

Fun, being legshackled to one of the two worst widgeons she knew? She sat up straighter. “I do sincerely appreciate the offer, but—”

“ ‘Twould be an honor.”

There was little honorable about wedding either of these two reluctant gentlemen who were already punting on tick. “You cannot want to marry me, for you both have to find wealthy brides someday.”

Woody blinked his colorless lashes. “Rich chits ain’t as much fun.”

Kathlyn’s own eyes narrowed. “I see what it is, those horses I selected won and you think to make your fortune. That’s it, and his lordship’s prompting, isn’t it?”

Woody shook his head. “Those nags ran the way my own picks usually do, backward. And all Court said was you’d turned him down, not that we had to step into parson’s mousetrap in his stead. Ain’t that right, Algie?”

“ ‘Pon rep. ‘Sides, you’re a good sort of chit, Kitty, got bottom. My sisters would have had hysterics in the situation. You’ll make a fine wife for some man.”

“But not either of you.”

Kathlyn couldn’t help reflecting that her two callers looked a great deal happier leaving than they had arriving. She went back to her book.

Next to arrive was Inspector Dimm, wondering if Kathlyn had thought of anything concerning the missing jewels and warning her not to leave the house unattended in case the Miner Gang was still in the area. Since that was precisely what he’d said the night before, Kathlyn gave him directions to Meg’s house, where Mrs. Dawson was spending the day. Mr. Dimm also seemed cheered to be leaving Kathlyn’s company.

She had no sooner picked up her book when another knock came at the door. Wolfie didn’t bother barking anymore. Lord Chase stood there, his eyes watery, his nose red and swollen, his voice raspy, as he said, “We need to talk.”

“Yes, my lord, I believe we do.” She led him back to the parlor and this time offered him tea.

“Then you’ve been thinking about my offer?”

She waved that aside. “No, I’ve been thinking about your condition.”

“It’s merely a head cold, I’m sure. The gash seems to be healing, and the lump no longer resembles an ostrich egg.”

“No, no, not
that
condition. Your, ah, handicap.”

He looked at the teacup balanced on his sore leg and the cane resting beside him. “I’ll never win any races, but I do hope to be a creditable dancer again someday. Surely you aren’t basing your decision on that?”

“My decision is final, my lord, and you are being purposely obtuse. I am speaking of the reason behind our masquerade, as you very well know. I think it is reprehensible to mislead an unsuspecting female.”

Courtney set his teacup aside, no longer interested in having this conversation. He started to rise. “I believe I made it clear that my reasons were personal, none of your business.”

“Oh, do sit down, my lord. I trust that I am intelligent enough to figure it out.”

He sat all in a heap, trusting, nay, praying, that the other ladies of his acquaintance were as lacking in intelligence as he believed. Blast Miss Partland and her bluestocking mind. He picked up her book of Shakespearean sonnets and flipped through it idly, trying to conceal his inner turmoil.

“Is it permanent?”

The book slipped through his fingers. “Good grief, I hope not!”

“But you aren’t sure?”

“I swore my, ah, condition would end on my wedding night. I have been trying my best to keep to that promise.”

That wasn’t how Kathlyn understood such matters. One couldn’t simply will a broken leg away, or a palsied hand. This couldn’t be so dissimilar. The viscount was liable to be devastated. His
wife
was liable to be disconcerted, to say the least. Hoping to keep that poor female from such an unfortunate disappointment as a marriage in name only, without physical intimacy and without children, Kathlyn suggested, “Perhaps you should, ah, practice to be sure.”

If Kitty was saying what Courtney thought she was saying, someone should wash her mouth out with soap. “I thought well-bred females didn’t know about such things.”

“Of course not, but having read so much, and living in the country ... and then there was having to nurse Papa through his last illness. I suppose my education was a bit more liberal than you are used to in the ladies of your acquaintance.”

“Hah!” was all he said, then he blew his nose.

Kathlyn was standing buff to her resolve. “I do not approve of your unfeeling arrogance to some innocent female on her wedding night. How could you think to wait till then to give her such a shock?”

“I
do
know the mechanics. Miss Partland. And I also read, a great deal as it happens, for that’s one of the few pleasures I have allowed myself. The
Kama Sutra,
Oriental pillow books, French novels, there is a world of knowledge out there.” He was so angry, his shouts were rattling the teacups. “I sincerely believe I shall not embarrass myself, Miss Partland, nor disappoint that sweet young thing you are worrying about instead of your own misbegotten, misdirected, and miserable self!”

Kathlyn was dumbfounded. Could she have been so mistaken? Oh dear.

Lord Chase was on his feet now, furious. “I suppose I should thank you for rejecting my proposal, for by God, we would not suit. You’d be strangled and I’d be in prison. And thank you for turning back into the prickly hedgehog you used to be, for now I do not regret your refusal.”

But Kathlyn had not been listening to his diatribe. “You mean you’re not impo ... incapa ... unma ...” Her mouth could not form the words.

“Bloody hell, not by half!”

“But... but I let you kiss me! And hold me!”

“And you seemed to enjoy yourself well enough, so what’s the pother about now?”

“I thought I was safe, damn your black heart!”

“Of course you were safe, by Jupiter. What the deuce do you take me for, a ravening beast?”

“No, I took you for a eunuch, and you let me go on believing it, you dastard!” With that she tossed the cooled contents of her half-full teacup into his lap.

“Hell and damnation.”
He mopped at his buckskin breeches, muttering about lucky escapes, while Kathlyn fetched extra napkins.

“I do apologize, my lord, for my unseemly behavior,” she said, chagrined to be acting the fishwife while professing herself a lady, a gentlewoman.

The tea seemed to have cooled the viscount’s temper, too, for he was no longer shouting when he asked, “What the devil were you thinking?”

Kathlyn knew he didn’t mean about throwing the tea. Studying her slippers, she said, “I thought your war injuries were, ah, of the nature to preclude any physical intimacy.” All she heard back was a snort. “Well, what
was
I to think, my lord? You said you didn’t have a mistress and didn’t want a mistress. And you never offered me carte blanche, even when you admired me.”