Regency Debutantes (45 page)

‘Ravensmede,’ he corrected.

Two spots of colour burned high in her cheeks. ‘Ravensmede,’ she repeated softly.

The corner of his mouth squinted up in a boyish gesture. ‘Then you’re hardly a schoolroom miss, and quite old enough to be considered suitable as a lady’s companion. That, coupled with my grandmother’s lineage, will ensure that no disadvantage attaches itself to your reputation.’

Her cheeks were glowing with all the subtlety of two blazing beacons. ‘I’m well aware that I’m considered to be left on the shelf, but that has no bearing on the concern that I’ve raised.’ The thump of her heart echoed throughout her body and she wished that she were anywhere but here, standing beside Lord Ravensmede, listening to him confirm his notion of her as an old maid.

He watched her closely. ‘That was not my meaning, Miss Marchant. I’m sure that there’s many a gentleman who would be only too happy to make you his wife.’

Kathryn swallowed her embarrassment well and attempted to force the conversation towards safer ground. ‘You mentioned your grandmother’s lineage?’ she said demurely, as if her face were not aflame.

That not-quite-serious expression was back on his face. ‘She’s the daughter of a duke, and the widow of one of the wealthiest earls in the country. If Grandmama is for you, Miss Marchant, no one will dare be against you.’

She digested this information in silence for some minutes.
It seemed that Lord Ravensmede had just removed the last of her reasons to refuse Lady Maybury’s request. ‘Then I hope I may prove useful in my new position.’ Quite deliberately she turned and walked slowly towards the staircase, throwing the words over her shoulder as she went. ‘When does Lady Maybury wish me to start?’

‘Immediately.’

She nodded once. ‘Then, I shall return first thing tomorrow morning.’

‘I fear you misunderstand me, Miss Marchant. My grandmother needs your assistance
now.’
His gaze held hers.

‘Very well. I’ll return to my uncle’s house to inform him of what has happened and pack up my clothes.’

‘There’s no need. I will dispatch a letter to Mr Marchant. Your clothes may be sent over later.’ There was a determination in his voice that she did not understand.

‘I cannot just leave for a drive in the park one afternoon and not return! It’s a preposterous suggestion!’

A hand on her shoulder spun her round, and she found herself imprisoned by his grip on her upper arms. ‘And what of your aunt and uncle, what of your cousin—is their treatment of you not equally preposterous?’ His eyes stared down into hers.

Her skin scorched beneath the touch of his hands. ‘I…I’ve never said so.’

‘You don’t need to.’

Surely he could not know? She had spoken to no one. Her heart was beating wildly within her chest. ‘I won’t renege on my agreement with Lady Maybury, if that’s what you’re afraid of.’

‘I know you would not hurt an old lady’s feelings, Kathryn.’

Her eyes widened at his use of her name.

‘Nevertheless, I cannot permit you to return alone to Green Street. As I said, I will write to Mr Marchant with a full explanation.’

His confident assertion pricked at her pride.
‘Cannot
permit?’
Her tone was incredulous. ‘I don’t think that it’s your place to say such a thing, Lord Ravensmede.’

The green eyes did not betray their surprise by as much as a flicker. ‘If you’re bent on such a journey, then I must insist on accompanying you. My grandmother is quite fatigued by the drive and subsequent incident with the child. Trailing her back across town is quite out of the question. Therefore, we should ready ourselves immediately, Miss Marchant, unless you would prefer to wait until it is dark…’

Kathryn knew very well what his lordship was saying. Arriving alone with Lord Ravensmede to take her leave of them, no matter Ravensmede’s assertions as to Lady Maybury’s influence, there could be no doubt what it would look like. Aunt Anna and Uncle Henry would have an apoplectic fit. She ground her teeth. ‘I have no need of your escort. I’m perfectly happy to go alone.’

‘No.’ The single word was decidedly emphatic.

‘Lord Ravensmede, you’re behaving most unreasonably.’

A dark eyebrow raised. ‘Are you so very eager to return there? Do they treat you so well that you’re loath to leave them?’ There was an undercurrent to his words that made her shiver.

‘It’s not so strange a request.’

‘You haven’t answered the question, Miss Marchant.’

There was silence.

‘It seems that you leave me little option, my lord. Write the letter if you must.’

And this time he did not chide her for the use of his title.

It had been several hours since a letter had been dispatched from the Viscount of Ravensmede to Mr Henry Marchant and still there had been no reply. Kathryn eyed the soft white cotton of the borrowed nightdress with some reticence. She was still uneasy about her sudden new-found position and the means by which it had been effected. Ravensmede’s refusal to allow her to return alone to Green Street worried her. Undoubtedly he was stubborn
and arrogant and used to getting his own way, but she had never thought him to be so downright unreasonable. It flew in the face of all she knew of him. But then she had to concede that her knowledge of Lord Ravensmede was remarkably scant. And he
had
made her a most indecent proposal in St James’s Park.

Her fingers reached out and lifted the garment to her lap. Lady Maybury had seemed to think nothing remarkable in her grandson’s overbearing attitude; indeed, the old lady appeared to positively encourage Ravensmede. She was still half-expecting Uncle Henry to come charging over, demanding to know what precisely was going on. But hadn’t her uncle always been too keen to court the favour of the aristocracy? If she knew Uncle Henry, he’d be carefully weighing up the best response to further advance his own schemes. She sighed just as a light knock sounded at the door and a young maid entered.

‘I’m Jean, miss. Come to help you undress for bed.’ She bobbed a little curtsy.

‘Thank you, Jean, but I’m used to dressing and undressing myself.’ Kathryn watched the crestfallen face and suddenly realised why. ‘Are you an abigail?’

The thin face flushed. ‘No, miss, I’m a chambermaid, but I’m a quick learner and …’ The maid waited to be dismissed.

‘Perhaps it would be nice not to have to struggle round to reach the buttons on this dress,’ Kathryn said with a smile. ‘Do you mind if I change my answer?’

‘Oh, no, miss, not at all.’ And Jean bounded across the bedchamber to begin work in the lofty realms of a lady’s maid. She started with the careful removal of Miss Marchant’s fichu, folding the worn length of material into a neat pile before turning to tackle the buttons of the faded blue afternoon dress. It was only then that the smile dropped from her face, replaced instead with a look of shock. The narrow brow wrinkled in consternation and the brown eyes rounded as two new pennies.

‘Is something wrong?’ Kathryn eyed the maid with some concern.

The gaze dropped to the floor and two small spots of colour mounted in the thin cheeks. ‘No, miss.’ She skirted round to release the back buttons that secured Miss Marchant’s dress, taking care not to meet the lady’s eyes. The dress, petticoats and stays were removed in a matter of minutes. ‘Shall I help you into your nightdress, miss, before brushing your hair?’ The slender hands strayed towards the folded nightdress.

‘No thank you, I can manage from here myself. Thank you, Jean, I shall see you in the morning.’

The maid bobbed a curtsy and almost ran from the room, leaving a rather puzzled Miss Marchant looking after her.

Still clad in her threadbare shift, Kathryn unpinned the heavy coil of her curls, sat down at the dressing table, and began to brush her hair using the silver-backed hairbrush from the set laid out on the mahogany surface. The golden glow from the fireplace illuminated the room, and the candle still sat where she had left it on the small table beside the bed. Her eyes glanced up to the oval looking-glass and froze. The brush ceased its action, hovered in mid-air and quickly resumed its position upon the dressing table. And all the while Kathryn’s gaze did not waver.

From the mirrored glass a pale thin figure stared back, a ghost of the woman she had once been. Her stomach tightened and sank at the sight. For there, in front of her very eyes, was the obvious reason for the maid’s strange behaviour. How could she have so easily forgotten? Reddened fingers reached up and cautiously traced the large purple black smudges adorning the skin around her collarbone, then shifted down to touch each and every one of the bruises peppering her thin arms. Beneath each eye was the faintest trace of shadow and her cheeks had about them a slight gauntness, lending her whole face a look of worn fatigue. Indeed, she looked little better than the poor child recovering in the bedchamber further along the passageway. Little Maggie, who had lain so still and cold on the ground in Hyde Park as to chase every thought from Kathryn’s head save for those concerned with the child’s welfare. Little Maggie, over whom Kathryn had so readily draped her fichu and spencer. And, by removing her fichu, she had unwittingly exposed her shame for all to see. Dear Lord! The bruises could not be missed. Not by Lady Maybury. And certainly not by Lord Ravensmede. So absorbed had she been in the accident and all that ensued that not once had she remembered the presence of those ugly telling bruises. A groan escaped her at her own ineptitude. She knew now why the Viscount had been so downright stubborn in his refusal to allow her to return to Green Street. He had seen the bruises and drawn his own conclusions.

Humiliation scalded her cheeks and caused an aching in her heart. Her fingers kneaded at the worn linen of her shift. But Kathryn did not cry, even though Ravensmede had viewed the shameful marks upon her body, even though she now knew herself to be an object of pity and curiosity. Jean’s eyes had been telling enough and she did not doubt that by tomorrow morning the story of her darned underclothing and smattering of bruises would be the main topic of conversation below stairs. Her chin jutted out as she held her head high. Let them talk. She had survived worse than a little tittle-tattle, much worse. Gossip would not touch her, as nothing had ever touched her since her father had placed the muzzle of a Manton in his mouth and pulled the trigger.

She had cried then, for days—or was it weeks? When the tears had finally stopped she had vowed they would never come again. That was when she had discovered the power of daydreams. Dreams that took her away from the pain of reality. Dreams that made life bearable. And the worse things got, the more Kathryn dreamed. Resolutely she raised the brush to the thick hank of chestnut hair curling over her shoulder and began slowly, steadily, to brush.

‘I like this toast. Is there more?’ Maggie demanded as she sat plumped up in the big bed. Sunshine shimmered on her
black locks, coating them with a blue sheen and bleaching her small elfin face white.

Kathryn laughed. ‘Of course, moppet, but first you have your ham and eggs to eat. Let’s see what room you have left when they’re gone.’

The brown pansy eyes widened in awe. ‘Ham
and
eggs
and
toast?’

‘Most definitely.’ Kathryn positioned the full plate on the child’s tray.

A large grin spread across Maggie’s face and soon she was too busy eating to manage more than the odd unintelligible word uttered through a mouthful of half-chewed food.

Kathryn sat in the chair beside the bed. Sipping the hot coffee chased away the thick-headed feeling that had troubled her since waking. The bed had been both warm and comfortable, a far cry from the hard, lumpy truckle bed in her room at Green Street. But she had slept poorly, tormented by worries, and nightmares from the past. Her escape from the bosom of Henry Marchant’s family was not likely to be that simple. She nibbled at the toast, finding that the previous week’s starvation rations had rendered her unable to eat much before her stomach protested its fullness. A crumb was displaced from the bodice of her blue muslin dress with the flick of a finger before she caught sight of Maggie’s little face looking at her with a rather guilty expression. ‘Is something wrong? You seem to have stopped eating?’

The black head shook in denial. The dark eyes peeped up through long lashes. ‘You ain’t got no eggs or ham. You can have some of mine if you want.’

Kathryn knew what it had cost the child to make such a generous offer. A child who was no doubt used to going hungry. ‘It’s very kind of you to offer, Maggie, but I’ve already eaten some eggs before I came to see you,’ she lied. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to eat them all yourself!’

Maggie wasted no time in complying. ‘Where’s the pa?’ she questioned between mouthfuls of egg.

The thought of Ravensmede in the role of a father brought a wry smile to Kathryn’s face. ‘Lord Ravensmede is probably still sleeping.’ She had no idea when he had returned, or, indeed, if he had returned at all. ‘He was out late last night and is bound to be very tired this morning.’

The gentleman in question chose this precise minute to make his entry. ‘Good morning, Miss Marchant, Miss Maggie.’

Maggie giggled, spluttering a piece of half-chewed ham down her chin.

Kathryn remedied the accident with a starched white napkin while returning the greeting. For someone who’d been up half the night, he was looking bright-eyed and refreshed.

‘The ma said you was in bed ‘cos you was out last night. But she was wrong, ‘cos you’re here.’ Maggie smiled up at the tall dark-haired man, not intimidated by his lordship in the slightest. ‘Where was you?’ she asked sweetly.

‘Maggie!’ Kathryn admonished. ‘You mustn’t ask Lord Ravensmede such questions.’ But her cheeks glowed and not just because the child had unwittingly revealed that the ‘ma’ had noticed his absence the previous evening.

Ravensmede sat himself down on the bed and tousled Maggie’s hair. ‘I was very busy, but now I’m back to check whether you’re eating up all of your breakfast.’

If the Viscount’s reputation was true, Kathryn had a very good idea exactly what Lord Ravensmede had been ‘very busy’ doing throughout the night. She sought to change the subject. ‘Maggie’s leg is much better this morning. Dr Porter will be pleased when he calls again this afternoon to decide whether she may go home.’