Lord Devere's Ward (4 page)

“No,” he said. “We cannot bring her to you, cousin. But Carrothers can make inquiries and ensure she is safe.”

Kate was pacified and, after her guardian and his sister left the room, began to investigate her new quarters. They were everything she could want, on a par with her bedroom in Somerset.

After Kate washed, Bettina dressed her hair and brushed out the folds of Kate’s borrowed gown. Kate fervently wished for more clothes. She had no money, and only the one dress, plus two changes of underclothing borrowed from one of the maids in London, not enough at all. But that problem would have to wait for a solution. For now, it was enough that she was safe.

* * *

Kate made the acquaintance of Lady Penrose’s two oldest children at dinner. Pauline was a small dark creature; she had fourteen years. Louisa, eighteen and about to make her debut, was the kind of petite, elfin lass who always made tall Kate feel gangling and awkward. Louisa greatly resembled her mother, and Kate concluded the Honorable Louisa Penrose would contract an extremely advantageous marriage. Who could resist her blonde curls and laughing femininity?

Dinner with the six of them was full of lively chatter, and Kate recalled the amusing meals with her parents, her grandfather, and his dandified friends.

While the conversation was different, the same happy spirit reigned in the room. Her hostess gracefully controlled the discussion, steering the talk away from Cousin Kay’s experiences in India toward the fun they’d have outfitting Kate suitably for her sojourn in England. “For,” Lady Anna explained, embroidering freely upon the skeletal tale Quinn had created, “all of cousin Kay’s luggage has been lost, and we must purchase anew.” Anna winked at Kate.

“We have a wonderful seamstress,” said Louisa to Kate, between spoonfuls of turtle soup. “She comes right to the house for fittings and copies all the newest styles. I want to be all the crack when we go to Town. Mother,” she asked, “can Cousin Kay be all the crack, too?”

Kate laughed with the rest.

“Can two ladies at once be all the crack in London?” wondered Pauline. “Uncle Quinn, you’re a

‘Top of the Trees.’ You must know.”

“Pauline, from where did you hear that turn of phrase?” asked her father.

“From Jem, in the stable. He said Uncle Quinn’s horses were bang-up prime, too.”

“They are,” Kate said. “They’re a beautiful pair.”

“Sweet goers. Cost me a dace or two at Tatt’s, but it’s no matter. And yes, my little sprite, two ladies at once may be all the crack, and I predict our girls will be top of the trees as well.” Quinn lifted his glass and toasted the two of them. “To Cousin Kay and my niece Louisa, a pair destined to take London by storm!”

“Hear, hear!” Sir Pen laughed as he raised his glass.

“When do we travel to London?” asked Kate as the footman removed the soup plates.

“I go tomorrow,” said Quinn. “I must begin to see to a few of my affairs.” Raising his brows, he gave her his devilish grin.

“We travel to London for the Season in about two months, when the weather is warmer. That will give you time to rest, and to acquire your wardrobe.” Lady Anna smiled at Kate.

Kate was quite willing to rusticate until Louisa’s debut. She knew she would benefit from a rest in secure surroundings, as she did not look her best, given the strain of the last few weeks. But she still fretted. “Cousin, er, Quinn, I am concerned about the state of my finances. My, um, ready was lost with my…my other luggage.”

“Not to worry, Cousin Kay,” said Quinn. “You may draw upon your, er, family accounts at any time.

I will arrange it for you. In any event, your expenses are not extraordinary. You shan’t need court-dress or anything of that sort. Just day dresses, and perhaps one or two gowns suitable for excursions to the theatre and the like.”

“Oh, Mamma! Can’t I go to London also? Surely it would be unexceptional to attend a play, and I so wish to go.” Pauline appealed to her mother.

Anna frowned. “Your sister did not travel to Town at your age.”

“But I’ll be all bored here,” whined Pauline.

“Everyone exciting will be gone.”

Her father raised his brows. “Truly, daughter?” Pauline flushed and stuttered. “No, Father, I mean, I know you will be here, but you will be all involved with Harry and Charlie.”

“It is precisely this sort of social gaffe which keeps fourteen-year-olds at home,” observed Sir Pen.

“Perhaps she can go for a short while, just to attend the theatre,” said Lady Anna thoughtfully.

Pauline bounced in her seat with joy. “As long as no jumping up and down occurs,” Anna added, eyeing her lively child.

“Do you ride?” Louisa asked Kate.

“Yes, of course,” said Kate. “Is there a spare mount in your stable for me to borrow?”

“Yes, and we will have a habit sewn,” said Lady Anna.

“You’re very kind. I love riding above all things.”

“I think a navy or midnight blue, with her eyes,” said Louisa. “Oh! I can just see it, with a fine white feather curling over her bonnet.”

Pen laughed. “Are clothes all you think of, child?”

“Yes, quite. And why not, sir? In a few months these carefree days will be over, and I shall have to think of getting married.” Her small face clouded.

“Why so somber, niece?” asked Quinn. “Like you not the married state?”

“Well, you do not, as you have not wed,” answered Louisa pertly. “But I accept my lot in life.

Still, what if there is no one for me in London?” Kate smiled. “Your mirror must be faulty,” she said. Louisa stared, apparently surprised. Kate continued, “I predict you will struggle to choose between your suitors.”

“But never you mind,” spoke up Quinn. “I’ll ensure no rakes or triflers approach. Guard you like a lion!” He curled his fingers into claws.

Everyone laughed, including Kate. The Earl, with his large, brown eyes and lean frame, couldn’t have looked less leonine.

The Penroses apparently eschewed the custom of separating the genders after dinner when they dined informally in the country. Feeling too tired to linger over the savory, Kate begged leave to retire early from the assembled family.

Weary to her bones, she knew she’d finally achieved the safety she craved. As she lay in her bed, mulling over the events of the day, she basked in a sense of comfort and security she had not experienced since before the final illness and death of her grandfather. A new, happier chapter of her life had begun. She could count herself lucky.

The weeks at Badham Abbey had been a long period of bored discomfort punctuated by moments of startling fear. The news that her Uncle Herbert had written to her guardian to request her hand in marriage to Cousin Osborn had energized Kate. She had penned her own letter to Devere and attempted to send it through the solicitor. She now believed it to have been diverted—most likely stolen—by Herbert or Osborn.

When she had tried to leave the estate on horseback to ride to the nearest village, she’d found every gate leading out of the grounds chained and locked. Then, Herbert had learned of her aborted departure from a gossipy stable hand. That same night he’d locked her in the attic “Until you are more agreeable, my dear!” His unctuous voice still echoed in her mind. She shuddered, moving her legs restlessly in the soft linen sheets of the Penrose’s guest bed.

She blessed her hoydenish childhood, which had enabled her to escape from the abbey. Had she been a less athletic girl, she’d have been trapped in that cold tower until the Second Coming.

After her grief, anger and terror at the cards fortune had dealt her, help had come from a most unexpected quarter. Quinn Tyndale, the Earl of Devere. She smiled to herself at the memory of his image the first moment she saw him. Such a silly looking fellow, in his nightdress and cap! But he certainly had accomplished a great deal for her in only one day.

She admired the decisive way he had taken charge; however, she could not think his acts stemmed from pure motives. She had seen the odd, brooding way he looked at her. He had packed her off to the country as soon as he could get her away from his home in London.

She concluded she was an unwelcome,

unrequested responsibility. Quinn was a bachelor, evidently by choice. He could not desire the obligation of overseeing her until she attained the age of majority. Nor could Lady Anna and Sir Pen, kind though they might be, revel in her unexpected presence in their lives.

Yes, Kate would be pleased to go to London and included in appropriate diversions there. She’d marry quickly to relieve her guardian and his family of her charge.

Asleep, Kate dreamed:

She walked through the Great Hall of the old abbey, where portraits of her forebears hung. The paintings dated back centuries. Her ancestors seemed to speak to her from the paint and canvas, declaring that her transitory concerns would pass; in due course she would take her place, serenely looking forth at her descendants from her own gilded frame. She found these thoughts immensely calming. Most people felt that the Great Hall was a dusty, cold cavern of a room, but she loved it.

Carrying a branch of candles, Kate continued along the hall and stopped in front of a painting of a Tudor courtier. She drew in her breath as she gazed at the portrait of Robert Scoville, the first Earl of Badham. This dissolute gentleman had been a favorite of Henry VIII, who had endowed him with the peerage and the abbey during the Reformation.

A mere stripling, he wore a black doublet, stiffly embroidered with silver thread over plain dark hose and riding boots. He leaned on a bared sword, its point driven into the ground. His chestnut hair was tied neatly at his nape.

Kate cried out in the night as she recognized the pale, ghostly features as her own.

She sat bolt upright in the bed, gasping as she tried to control the wild beating of her heart. A candle guttered in its wax. Able to take stock of her surroundings, she realized where she was: safe in Penrose House, far away from chill environs of Badham Abbey.

Leaning back into the pillows, she closed her eyes and sought to fill her dreams with joyous memories: the happy laughter at last evening’s meal, the smile on the face of Anna’s tiny daughter as she ate her supper. Unbidden, the image of Quinn’s broad shoulders and elegant hands crept into her mind. She pushed the fantasy away, as it could only disturb, not soothe, and finally dropped back into sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Kate lay peacefully abed, watching sunlight slant through the lacy curtains at the window. Judging by the angle of the rays, she’d slept late.

Piping voices seeped faintly through the door.

“She can’t still be asleep, Harry. It’s already time for our elevenses.”

“Don’t be foolish. India is half the world away.

It’s the middle of the night there. She probably just went to bed.”

“If she’s still asleep,” the first little voice said doggedly, “we should check to see she’s feeling all the thing.”

After a pause, the second voice said, “If she’s sleeping, she’ll never know.”

The door creaked. Two round heads peered around the opening. Kate peeked at the boys through her eyelashes while they tiptoed in. As they approached her bed, she leaped up and roared like a tiger, flailing her arms in the air. “AARGH!” The boys shrieked in unison—an extremely satisfying sound—and fled for the door. Smiling, she lay back onto her pillows. Her day had begun in a delightful manner.

She reached for the bell pull. When Bettina appeared, Kate beamed at the maid. “Good morning, Bettina. How are you today?”

“Fine, thank you, Miss Kay. You’re yet abed?”

“I am about to arise. Where is the rest of the family?”

“The three youngest are at lessons in the schoolroom.”

Hah! thought Kate.

Bettina continued, “Miss Penrose is practicing the pianoforte. Miss Pauline is reading her Greek with the master in the library. Lady Anna is conferring with Cook. My Lord Devere awakened early and has departed for London.”

“Indeed? I was under the impression my cousin Quinn never arose early.”

“Quite, ma’am.” Bettina, a pleasant-faced woman in her middle thirties, went to a standing wardrobe and removed a dressing gown. She held the robe open for Kate. “It is all the talk below-stairs. My lord Devere has never before arrived without his valet and has never been known to rise before noon at the very earliest, not even for a day in the field.”

“Thank you.” Kate tied the belt around her waist.

“At what time is luncheon served?”

“One o’clock, ma’am. May I bring you

elevenses?”

“Yes, please. A cup of chocolate and a roll will suffice, and hot water for my wash.”

“Very good, ma’am.” Bettina withdrew.

Kate opened the curtains to look at the pleasant prospect. Below her, a wide balcony hemmed by a low balustrade divided the house from its surrounding gardens. Further in the distance, she could see rolling fields, perfect for a gallop. The sun glittered off a stream meandering through the meadows. Yes, the day had begun in a remarkably fine manner.

Her serenity was not marred by the absence of her guardian. A less practical girl might desire eligible Quinn to dance attendance upon her, but she preferred him at work in her interests in London.

Shivering, she remembered his odd, brooding countenance. What must he think of her, bursting into his room dressed in boy’s garb? Yes, it was best that he’d left Penrose House, for she had not the slightest wish to face that curious, penetrating gaze.

* * *

To Kate, living with the Penroses felt rather like slipping into a hipbath full of heated water. She conveyed her gratitude to her host and hostess at luncheon, a meal again attended by Lord and Lady Penrose, and the two eldest children.

“Stuff and nonsense!” said Lady Anna briskly.

“We’re delighted to have you.”

“Mamma, shall we go to Sevenoaks after luncheon?” Louisa asked. “I need a few ells of thread-lace to trim my old bonnet. We can visit the seamstress and select fabrics for cousin Kay while we’re there.”

Anna considered. “I am not sure Sevenoaks will have all we require. But it will be a start.” So after luncheon, the four females piled into the Penrose coach for the brief drive into nearby Sevenoaks. A charming town, Sevenoaks had an appealing Tudor ambience, boasting numerous half-timbered buildings and cobblestoned streets. The Penroses, who stood as the local squires, were well known there, and they were greeted with friendliness by the merchants with whom they dealt. Kate was introduced to all and sundry as “Cousin Kay Tyndale, come all the way from India!” The spurious Miss Tyndale was regaled by the most interesting gossip in the tea shop and plied with the sweetest cakes.