Regency Debutantes (59 page)

‘I don’t know what Lady Maybury has planned. As her companion it’s my duty to accompany her in whatever her wishes might be.’ She struggled to remove her fingers from Mr Silverton’s clasp and attempted to hurry up the stone stairs to the front door.

Mr Silverton matched her every step. ‘May I be so bold as to suggest that I call again tomorrow? We could perhaps drive further out into the country.’

‘No. I don’t think so, sir.’ Kathryn wished to spare Mr Silverton’s pride; had seen the effects of her cousin’s cruel words too many times not to feel some sympathy for the young man standing so hopefully beside her. ‘I believe Lady Maybury has already made arrangements for tomorrow.’

‘Then I shall call the following day.’ They were standing beside the heavy wooden door.

Kathryn made to press the bell, but not before his fingers plucked her hand to his lips. ‘No.’ She surreptitiously tried to pull away, while taking care not to create a scene. ‘I thank you for your kind invitation, and indeed I’ve enjoyed our pleasant drive today, but I cannot accompany you again any day this week.’ Mr Silverton’s grip was surprisingly strong.

‘Why ever not, Miss Marchant?’ The blue eyes held hers with rather too much intimacy than that with which she was comfortable. ‘Without you I shall fade as a flower deprived of sunlight.’ He pulled her closer.

‘Because she’ll be accompanying me,’ a deep voice drawled as the door swung open.

Kathryn had never been so relieved to see Nicholas. ‘Lord
Ravensmede,’ she uttered faintly, unsure of how much of the conversation he had overheard.

In one swift movement he had plucked Kathryn to stand behind him in the hall, leaving the golden-haired young man upon the step. ‘I bid you good day, Mr Silverton.’

Harry Silverton lingered only a moment longer, then, with a low and elaborate flourish of a bow, he was gone.

The door slammed in his wake.

‘Oh, Nicholas, thank you!’ Relief swamped Kathryn. She wrapped her arms around the Viscount’s body in a bear hug and pressed her cheek to the broad expanse of his chest. ‘I thought he would never go. He was so very insistent and I didn’t wish to be unkind.’ Freshly laundered linen, and soap, and bergamot tickled her nose. She relaxed against him. ‘I can only pray that he doesn’t mean to make me an offer!’

His hands touched to her back in a gentle gesture.

Her eyes were still closed, her body nestled into his.

Ravensmede stood very still. It seemed that even his breath had halted.

There was the sudden rattle of china and a footman carrying a heavily loaded tea tray appeared at the top of the staircase leading up from the kitchen.

Kathryn’s eyes sprung open, her body tensed for flight.

The footman did not look in the entwined couple’s direction once. He merely trotted across the hallway, tapped politely on the library door, and waited until a loud female voice bid him enter.

‘Thank you, Toby,’ said Lady Maybury. ‘I thought I heard a carriage outside. If Miss Marchant has returned, have her come through for tea.’

By the time the footman had reappeared to impart this message Kathryn was standing innocently by Lord Ravensmede’s side. Meekly she turned towards the library door.

‘Ah, Nick as well,’ said the dowager and raised an eyebrow. ‘You had best come in before the tea grows cold.’ Only once three cups of steaming tea had been delivered in the finest of
saucers did Lady Maybury continue between sips, ‘Why, my dear gel, has Mr Silverton overtaxed you?’ The faded green eyes peered sharply at her companion’s face. ‘I do declare that your colour appears unnaturally high and you seem to be a little out of breath.’ The dowager appealed to her grandson. ‘Am I not right, Nick? Pray do examine Kathryn’s visage.’

It was true that Kathryn had indeed appeared a trifle flushed upon entering the library, her embarrassment due to the realisation that she had just thrown her arms around Lord Ravensmede and her wholly inappropriate action had been witnessed by a footman, who was now guaranteed to delight in informing the whole of Ravensmede’s staff of what he had seen. Beneath the dowager’s blatant scrutiny the faint rose bloom intensified to a scarlet flame of colour. Had the dowager heard her words to Nicholas? Did she have any inclination of exactly what her companion had just done? Kathryn forced herself to meet the faded green gaze. There was nothing of shock or anger there, only a little sadness.

‘Grandmama, I’m sure Kathryn’s cheeks are flushed only from the fresh air.’

‘Perhaps,’ said Lady Maybury. ‘I’m all-agog to hear the news regarding her drive with Mr Silverton. Pray tell all, my dear.’

Kathryn took a fortifying gulp of tea. ‘We travelled along the coastal road in order to enjoy the views. They are indeed quite spectacular.’

‘How far along the coastal road?’ said the Viscount.

‘To a place named Rottingdean, whereupon we turned around and came back by the same route.’

Lady Maybury frowned. ‘I had thought Mr Silverton’s drive to be limited to the park.’

Kathryn did not want to cause trouble for the young man, but neither was she prepared to risk giving the impression that she liked him. ‘He thought that I would prefer the scenery along the coast.’

‘And did you agree to this change of plan?’ asked the dowager.

A pause. ‘No.’

‘Shall Mr Silverton be calling again?’ A white eyebrow raised in enquiry.

Ravensmede’s gaze slid to Kathryn’s.

‘No,’ she said, ‘I hope that he will not.’

The old lady sighed. ‘It is just as well.’

Kathryn’s eyes widened. ‘I thought—’

Lady Maybury leaned towards Kathryn. ‘I had high hopes for you and him. He seemed such a personable young man too. But that was before I learned where his family’s money comes from.’ She sniffed disapprovingly. ‘Slavery,’ she said succinctly.

Kathryn’s cup clanked back down against her saucer, and said quietly, ‘Then it is for the best that he will not be coming back.’

A silence followed.

‘You said the views along the coastal road are impressive,’ said Ravensmede.

‘Yes, they’re wonderfully scenic.’

‘In that case, why don’t we travel the route ourselves? We could spend the day on the beach, Cook can pack us a basket of food…and you can take your paintbox. Would tomorrow suit?’

Kathryn’s eyes lit up, and she smiled before waiting politely for Lady Maybury to deliver her verdict.

‘It’s certainly a splendid suggestion, but Kathryn and I will go alone. We’ve been monopolising you, Nicholas, and we should allow you to pursue your own interests for the day. You will grow bored with constantly escorting an old lady and her companion.’ She faced her grandson. ‘Is that not a better idea?’

Ravensmede returned his grandmother’s look in full. Something unspoken flashed between them, something slightly dangerous that conflicted with the smiles upon their faces.

Sensing the underlying current, Kathryn felt unease prickle between her shoulder blades.

‘A veritable genius.’ replied Lord Ravensmede. ‘Your concern for my welfare is admirable, Grandmama, but I am of a mind to enjoy the beach tomorrow too. You would not forbid my interest?’

Faded green eyes locked with bright green, in a battle of wills, and then the dowager inclined her head. ‘Not this time,’ she said.

Anna Marchant left the maid to close the gaping front door and hurried towards the parlour at the back of the house, pulling off her gloves and straw bonnet as she went. Just as she expected, she found her husband sitting comfortably spread out upon the sofa reading a newspaper. He glanced up briefly as she shut the door firmly behind her, then resumed his examination of the article in which he appeared engrossed.

‘You’re back sooner than I expected,’ said Mr Marchant without taking his eyes from the paper. ‘Did the visit not go well?’

‘The place is empty. A serving girl told me that Lady Maybury and her companion have gone to Brighthelmstone.’

‘So?’ Mr Marchant could barely keep the boredom from his voice.

‘With Lord Ravensmede.’

‘So?’ he said again.

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’ snapped Mrs Marchant. ‘Must I spell it out for you?’

Henry Marchant slowly lowered the newspaper from before his face and looked at his wife with an irritated expression. ‘Madam, I’m sure that is what you intend, so hurry up and be done with it.’

‘Lord Ravensmede has hired a house for them all in Brighthelmstone. He is living in the same premises as Kathryn!’

‘And his grandmother,’ pointed out Mr Marchant.

‘It’s all of a sham, I tell you. He’s taken Kathryn as his mistress under the guise of her being Lady Maybury’s companion.’

‘Nonsense! Eleanor Maybury wouldn’t risk her reputation with such a thing. And I doubt that even Ravensmede would drag his own grandmother into such a scheme. Besides, if Ravensmede wanted Kathryn as his mistress, he would have taken her by now, and as blatantly as he did all of the others.’

‘Whatever you say, the rumours are already starting, Henry!’
she snapped. ‘Think what they’ll do to Lottie. Where will her chances of a good match be then, when her cousin is publicly denounced as a slut?’

‘I’m sure you’re mistaken, Anna.’

‘There’s very much more danger than you realise.’ She thought fleetingly of Amanda White’s threat. ‘I’m sure that a trip to Brighthelmstone is in order.’

Mr Marchant’s eyes rolled up into his head. ‘I think you’re overreacting, my dear.’

‘You’ll see who is overreacting when your niece is the talk of the town and your own daughter’s chance of marriage is ruined because of it. Hasn’t Kathryn lived as part of this family for the past three years? Do you think I’ve learned nothing of the girl’s nature? I’ve said all along that she is a sly and wanton miss, and now I’m proved right. Will you let her destroy Lottie’s chance? Are you content to let your brother’s daughter ruin everything for your own flesh and blood? Mark my words, if one hint of this comes out before Lottie has made a match, then she’ll be on the shelf for ever!’ Mrs Marchant pressed a small lace handkerchief to her eye and gave a sniff.

With the weary resignation of a man who knew full well that his wife would give him no peace, Henry Marchant closed the newspaper, folded it in two and sat it upon his lap. ‘What do you wish to do?’

‘Fetch Kathryn back from Brighthelmstone. Have her live here with us.’

‘You dislike the girl immensely, Anna. Why do you want her back here?’

‘If she’s under our control, then we can limit any danger she might do. She’s safer where we can keep an eye on her.’ She made no mention of Mrs White and what the widow had insinuated. ‘For the sake of my daughter’s future I’m prepared to suffer Kathryn’s presence.’

Mr Marchant digested his wife’s words. ‘Kathryn is now
four and twenty. We cannot force her to come back with us. The last time I saw her she seemed determined in her role as Lady Maybury’s companion. And I don’t suppose she can have too fond a remembrance of this house.’

‘Why should she should think of us with anything less than gratitude? Had it not been for this family Kathryn would have ended up in the gutter. However, I concede that she always was a selfish, addle-brained miss, and perhaps that has biased her memory,’ said Mrs Marchant. ‘That’s why I have a plan.’ For the first time since entering the parlour she smiled. ‘You need not worry, Henry. A little family trip to partake of the sea air and Kathryn will return with us to Green Street.’ Her smile broadened. ‘And then she’ll be sorry, very sorry indeed, for all the trouble that she’s caused.’

The day was fine and warm with a pleasant sea breeze. They had encamped on the beach at a secluded spot not far removed from the town of Worthing, and enjoyed a tasty lunch from the depths of the hamper. Lady Maybury, having battled valiantly against the combined effects of fatigue, heat and a full stomach, lost the struggle and finally succumbed to sleep beneath the shade of her parasol.

Kathryn sat on a small stool placed upon the sand. The wooden drawing board was balanced on her thighs, and she stared completely entranced by the vast expanse of sea that stretched before her.

‘Do you mind if I watch while you paint?’ Ravensmede sat down beside the slight figure that seemed dwarfed beneath the drawing board. He could not see her face beneath that hideous monstrosity of a bonnet. Momentarily he wondered why she was still insistently wearing the mud-brown hat; he knew full well that his grandmother had been doggedly trying to add to her companion’s wardrobe piece by piece.

She turned then and looked up. ‘I don’t mind, but I warn you that it shall not take long before you grow deeply and thoroughly
bored.’ The small pink mouth curved in a tantalising smile. An errant curl fluttered across her cheek.

She was teasing him! One dark eyebrow arched wryly. ‘Perhaps. I’ve never watched an artist at work. This will be a new experience for me.’

‘Then I hope it will be an enjoyable one.’ She fixed her paper into place and, after checking the sharpness of her pencil, began to sketch.

‘I thought you meant to paint the scene.’

‘Yes. But I’ll draw it out first in pencil so that I may rectify any mistakes I make. Only when I’m happy that I have the proportions correct will I begin to paint.’ All the while her hand moved swiftly, lightly against the paper, her gaze flickering constantly between the sea and the white patch of paper.

Ravensmede’s gaze flitted from the view to the paper to the fine bones of the woman’s face. She was clearly intent on her task, her gaze never wandering once. There was an openness about her expression, as if she had let fall the careful guard of politeness. This was the Kathryn that he’d witnessed humming behind the tree in St James’s Park, who had gazed unseeing at a blackened fireplace in her aunt’s house, and smiled when he touched his fingers to her cheek. It was the first time she’d knowingly let him witness her escape, to wherever it was she went when she looked so faraway. He could see the same look in her eye, as if she were present in body only and her mind somewhere else altogether. ‘You must have had a very good drawing master!’ The faint marks on the paper were beginning to take shape.

A laugh that caught on the wind was carried out to sea. ‘I taught myself! Anyone can sketch if they practise enough, and believe me I practised!’ Still her gaze moved methodically between the lapping water and the white page. Her eyes were narrowed and her face crinkled against the sun. ‘Have you tried your hand at it?’