Regency Debutantes (64 page)

‘Please send my uncle my best wishes that he recovers his good health as soon as possible.’

‘Of course,’ nodded Mrs Marchant, then paused before she added, ‘Mr Marchant would benefit from your visit, Kathryn, that is, if you can find the time to see him. I believe it would make a difference to him.’

‘I—I’m not sure—’

But before she could say what she would have, Anna Marchant interrupted, ‘I haven’t always treated you fairly, Kathryn, and for that I beg your forgiveness. Only now do I see things in a different light.’

The two women looked at one another, before Kathryn nodded and gave a small smile. ‘If you tell me where you are staying, then I will visit my uncle.’ So shocked was she by the news of her uncle’s illness and the drastic change in her aunt that Kathryn failed to notice the gentleman until he stood directly by her side…rather closer than was seemly.

‘Sorry to interrupt, Miss Marchant…’ and he bowed ‘…but it’s imperative that I speak with you on a matter of privacy.’

‘Mr Silverton!’ She could not keep the shock from her voice. The last time she had seen Harry Silverton he was being carried in a drunken stupor out of the drawing room of the rented house on The Steyne and into Lord Ravensmede’s carriage. An image of a blood-soaked Nicholas flashed into her mind, and fear flickered. Both Aunt Anna and Lottie were looking at Mr Silverton
with expressions of curiosity. Kathryn deliberately edged herself away from the young man’s proximity, while making the necessary introductions. ‘Aunt Anna, Lottie, this is Mr Silverton, whose family are enjoying the summer in Brighthelmstone. Mr Silverton, this is my aunt, Mrs Marchant, and my cousin, Miss Lottie Marchant.’

Mrs Marchant’s devoirs went unnoticed as Lottie stepped forward into Harry Silverton’s line of vision. ‘Miss Lottie,’ he said with awe, and stared at Lottie as if she was an apparition. ‘Is this an angel I see before me?’ And before the stunned Lottie could reply, he plucked her hand into his and placed upon it a reverential kiss.

Kathryn looked from Harry Silverton’s stunned visage to her cousin’s flushed excited one. Lottie was ogling right back at Mr Silverton.

Mrs Marchant cleared her throat. ‘We must be going, Lottie, come along.’

‘But I’ve only just arrived,’ protested Mr Silverton, ‘and not yet had the pleasure of dancing with the beautiful Miss Lottie.’

Lottie’s lips moved to a pout. ‘Mama, we are scarcely here.’

Kathryn had no wish to speak to Silverton, especially knowing all that he had done to Nicholas, but she was wise enough to realise that the young man could be dangerous. It would be better to hear what he proposed to say over the matter. ‘You wished to speak to me, Mr Silverton?’

Harry Silverton blinked like a man struggling to free himself from a drugged daze. ‘Did I? It’s of no matter, now.’ He bestowed his most charming smile upon Lottie, and held out his hand for her dance card. ‘May I hope to secure a dance with you, Miss Lottie?’

Kathryn could see quite clearly the way that things were progressing, especially after her aunt learned of the Silverton family’s wealth. She was, therefore, considerably relieved when the Reverend Mr Andrews, carrying two glasses of lemonade, finally found his way back to her. And even more
relieved when that same gentleman informed her that Lady Maybury had developed a headache and wanted to leave the assembly rooms.

During the journey home in the carriage Kathryn thought about her uncle’s ill health, and the change in her aunt’s manner. She thought about the sudden and rather overt attraction between Mr Silverton and Cousin Lottie. But most of all she thought about Nicholas Maybury, and of what had happened between them on his bed that very afternoon.

In the days following Nicholas and Kathryn’s illicit tryst not one opportunity presented itself for them to speak together privately. Lady Maybury guarded her companion with all the tenacity of a terrier. Naps were forgotten. The independent old lady vanished. Her temper did not. She developed a need to have Kathryn with her at all times, from breakfast time to dinner. The very night of their return from the assembly rooms, she developed a nocturnal fear that necessitated Kathryn moving into Lady Maybury’s bedchamber to keep her company. Matters grew even worse the next morning when Kathryn asked for leave to visit her uncle. The dowager embarked on what amounted to an inquisition over Uncle Henry’s illness and Aunt Anna’s invitation—and then claimed that she could not spare her companion even for half an hour. Every evening there were dances and trips to the theatre—all very public affairs—all with Ravensmede very much consigned to the background if her ladyship consented to his company at all.

In a way Kathryn was thankful to the old woman. She both desired and dreaded the time when she would be alone with Nicholas. She loved him, knew now that she could deny neither him nor herself. It was just a matter of time. Lady Maybury’s tactics were only deferring the inevitable. Kathryn had her suspicions as to how much the dowager knew, loved the old lady all the more for trying to protect her poor companion.

Nausea rose at the thought of what becoming Nicholas’s mistress would mean: a slap in the face to Lady Maybury for all that she had done to help Kathryn, and the loss of her own good name. No matter how hard they tried to keep the affair hidden, it would come out—such secrets always did. And what about when he tired of her, when he found some other woman to fill her place? The thought churned cold in her stomach. She was a fool a hundred times over, a fool caught between the devil and a high place…with little idea of how to solve her quandary.

Within the drawing room of the rented townhouse in Brighthelmstone Mrs Marchant was pacing with a great deal of excitement. ‘You’re certain, Henry, that Mr Silverton means to ask her?’

‘Yes, he asked my permission to pay suit to Lottie. The boy is clearly besotted with her and wants to marry her.’

‘Very good. Lottie will be married before either of us thought,’ purred his wife. Her blue eyes narrowed and her slash of a smile broadened. ‘I like Mr Silverton immensely. He has such very interesting tales to tell…particularly concerning our niece and Lord Ravensmede.’

Mr Marchant worried at his chins. ‘There is an indecent haste about the affair. Mr Silverton is talking as if he means to marry Lottie tomorrow. They have only known each other a matter of days!’

His wife delivered him a withering look. ‘What’s to know? Harry Silverton is an only son; he has two sisters, and his parents are elderly. He stands to inherit his father’s chain of coffee houses and sugar plantation in the West Indies. Not only that, but he’s currently worth fifteen thousand a year, and will receive a large and fashionable new townhouse in Bristol as part of his wedding gift from the old man.’

‘But he’s trade, and I thought you wanted better for Lottie; a baronet at least, you said.’

‘Bah, half the aristocracy have pockets to let. Fifteen thousand. And think what he stands to inherit.’

Mr Marchant nodded in agreement. ‘I concede it to be a fortune.’

‘Although I should prefer Lottie’s wedding to be a grand affair, I would not want to stand in the way of true love.’

Her husband rolled his eyes.

‘And there would be other advantages to them marrying sooner rather than later.’

‘I see none,’ said Mr Marchant somewhat sourly, ‘other than the cost to my pocket.’

‘There is the little matter of Kathryn. Have you forgotten about her?’

‘The chance would be a fine thing,’ he muttered beneath his breath, then spoke out loud, ‘What difference can Lottie’s marriage make to Kathryn?’

Mrs Marchant cheeks grew rather red from excitement. ‘Why, if Lottie has already caught herself a husband, and we distance ourselves from Kathryn, then any damage that attaches itself to her reputation will not affect us.’

‘She is still our niece.’

‘We will publicly disown her. And with Lottie safely wed and sent to Bristol, then what harm can Kathryn do us?’

‘Then I can cease this pathetic charade of illness in an attempt to lure the girl here?’

‘Yes.’ Anna Marchant beamed. ‘We no longer need coax the little trollop back to London with us.’ That had only been to please Amanda White and that woman had just been rendered powerless. She laughed aloud at the good fortune Harry Silverton had brought them.

‘Hallelujah,’ said Mr Marchant with sarcasm.

‘You must concentrate on persuading Mr Silverton to London. He needs to visit Doctors’ Commons as soon as possible—and come to Green Street with a special licence in his pocket. If we play our cards right, we should have Lottie married by next week. And then I can turn my attentions to Kathryn. I’ll send her a note today telling of your unexpected
recovery and that we have to leave Brighthelmstone. Do you know that I actually had to apologise to the little bitch the other day? How I’m longing to make her suffer for that. She’s made her bed, and now I mean to make sure that she damn well lies in it. By the time I’ve finished, Kathryn Marchant will wish that she’d never been born.’

Less than a fortnight later and Lady Maybury was proving to be as demanding as ever. The two women sat at the breakfast table, the dowager consuming a second helping of ham and eggs, Kathryn sipping her coffee and reading aloud from the notices in
The Times.
Of Ravensmede there was no sign. Kathryn was trying hard to keep her thoughts from his possible whereabouts when one particular marriage announcement caught her attention. Her words faltered. The coffee cup stilled its motion halfway to her mouth.

Lady Maybury glanced up from her plate. ‘Pray continue with the next one. I want to see if Mrs Pearsall’s granddaughter’s marriage to young Fox is in there.’

With exaggerated care Kathryn set the coffee cup down upon the table. There was the tiniest of pauses, and then she started to read again. ‘On Friday June 25, at her father’s house in Green Street, by the Reverend J. Blundell, Charlotte, only daughter of Mr and Mrs Henry Marchant of London, to Mr Harold Silverton, only son of Mr and Mrs James Silverton of Bristol.’ Lottie had married Harry Silverton!

‘Good gad!’ exclaimed Lady Maybury. ‘I thought they only met at that wretched dance the other week.’

‘They did, but it was immediately apparent that their interests were captured.’

‘Well, never you mind, Kathryn. He’s a nincompoop. Showed his true colours when he came round here, brandishing that pistol in m’face. You’ll catch better than him. Mark my words.’

‘I don’t understand.’ Kathryn’s brow rumpled in perplexity. ‘Aunt Anna was different the last time we spoke. She seemed
changed: softer, kinder somehow. She wanted to put the past behind us, to start anew. And then when she sent that letter telling of my uncle’s sudden recovery and their intended return to London, she made no mention of Mr Silverton. I thought…’ She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’

‘You thought what? That your aunt would at least inform you of your cousin’s wedding?’

‘I should know her better than that,’ said Kathryn.

‘So you should. A leopard doesn’t change its spots,’ replied the dowager, giving Kathryn a strange little look. ‘What a surprise that your aunt was up to organising a wedding so soon after Mr Marchant’s recent illness. But then the speed of your poor dear uncle’s recovery was truly miraculous. Such a shame I couldn’t spare you to visit him…’ She raised her eyebrows with just the faintest suggestion of cynicism, before turning her attention once more to her breakfast plate. ‘Now read the rest of the announcements before m’eggs grow cold.’

The first leg of the journey back to London was, as Kathryn expected, both slow and tedious. There was little conversation between the ladies as Lady Maybury managed to sleep almost continuously with no regard for the jolting of the carriage. Despite his recent injury Lord Ravensmede accompanied the carriage on horseback, the thud of his horse’s hooves never far away.

He watched her pale face at the carriage window.

She studied the dark figure that rode so close by.

Green eyes met grey, again and again, binding the man and his woman together, promising what was to come.

She worried as to his arm, and that he should be riding.

He worried as to why she should look so anxious when he meant to claim her for his own.

Mile after mile. So close as to almost touch, so near as to almost whisper. Yet they could do nothing. By the time the coach entered into the yard of the King’s Arms at Horley
Common, the tension between them was unbearable. The party was shown to their bedchambers, given some little time to refresh their travel-stained selves, then the landlord showed them to a private parlour and dinner was served.

At the first opportunity Ravensmede addressed himself to Kathryn, ‘How did you find the first part of your journey?’

‘Comfortable, thank you, my lord.’

‘Don’t lie,’ interrupted the dowager between mouthfuls of salmon and boiled potatoes. ‘It was damnably uncomfortable. It was all I could do to manage the briefest of naps. You really must have that carriage seen to, Nick.’

‘I will do so upon our arrival in town,’ he replied.

A silence descended upon the little group.

Kathryn poked at the small mound of potatoes on her plate, and tried not to look at Nicholas. She could feel the burn of his gaze upon her, could feel her face colour beneath his scrutiny. Surely the dowager would notice if he continued to stare so? She sought to distract her employer. ‘My lady, how do you find the fish? Is it to your taste?’

Lady Maybury shovelled a large portion of the salmon steak into her mouth before replying. ‘I’m afraid to say that it’s barely edible. When one’s appetite is as fragile as mine, it’s important that only the best quality of food be consumed.’ A large swig of wine passed her lips. ‘The potatoes are hard, the pie is lacking in flavour and the soup is too poor to comment upon. I’m forced to nibble upon a meagre portion to sustain my strength.’ The shrewd pale eyes swept over Kathryn’s barely touched food. ‘You would be wise to do the same, my dear, for our journey tomorrow will be as long as today and you heard what the landlord said of the weather.’

‘It’s going to rain,’ supplied her companion quietly, and ate a little more of the pie.