The Viscount Needs a Wife (10 page)

He was waiting for her to say more.

“Marcus's family are the only ones who've ever called me Kathryn,” she said as briskly as she could. “Perhaps Lady Cateril was like your father and hoped that a more sober name would make me a more sober person. Don't think too badly of her. When she first met me, I was a silly seventeen-year-old.”

“That's generous of you.” Simple words, but something in his eyes and in his tone made her wonder if he shared her sensual thoughts and lurking doubts. He couldn't be unaware of tomorrow night.

“Were you silly at seventeen?” she asked. “It's hard to imagine.”

“I expect I was. Are you wondering how old I am? Twenty-nine.”

She'd thought him older because of his cool reserve. He couldn't maintain that in bed. Could he? “Perhaps
you do have something of philosopher about you,” she said, “but who was Aristides?”

“A statesman and general, sometimes called the Just.”

“Not bad attributes to seek to give a child.”

“No, but if we have a son, I'd favor a simpler name. So, we marry as planned tomorrow?”

This was the moment. The point of no return. But hot or cool, there was no reasonable alternative. “We do,” she said.

“Good. The sooner the dowager realizes she can't prevent your arrival, the better.”

“Especially as she still hopes you'll marry her granddaughter.” She was pleased to surprise him. “Isabella came here to warn me of your cruel deception, armed with a sapphire betrothal ring.”

Even better, he was speechless.

“I was encouraged to run from the shame of it,” she added, “like the more foolish sort of heroine in a novel.”

“They do both read those kinds of books.”

“So do I, but I don't take them as a pattern card for behavior. I prefer the heroines who fight brigands with swords.”

Perhaps he smiled. “I'm beginning to understand that you do. Tell me exactly what happened.”

When she finished, he did smile. It was cool, but the first clear smile she'd seen on him. “Isabella is going to be very annoyed by your betrothal ring,” he said.

“I don't have one.”

“That's another reason for this visit. Rather last-minute, I know, but I thought you should have one before we wed.” He came to her and took something out of his pocket.

After a moment, Kitty found words. “That's a rather large diamond.”

“I confess to strategy. No one seeing it will think this a paltry affair.”

“In particular the dowager? As you say, it knocks Isabella's little sapphire to flinders.”

She realized he was waiting to put it on her finger, and that she was still wearing her wedding ring. She rose, trying to remove it, but she hadn't ever removed it. She had to lick her finger and even then she only just managed to wriggle it off.

He touched the groove as if it were a wound, but then slid on the diamond ring.

“A perfect fit,” she said.

“I'm a good judge of such things.”

She glanced up. “I suspect you're good at many things.”

She meant it innocently, but awareness flared. They'd touched at last, and now they stood close together, looking into each other's eyes. He raised her left hand and kissed her knuckle near the ring. It brought him even closer, and she caught his scent. A male scent, but a different one.

Suddenly she wanted to kiss him. And more. She'd thought such fires well banked, but new fuel had been put on the embers. She was hungry for intimacy and ached to do more, much more, here, now, in the parsonage parlor.

He released her hand and moved away. Because he'd sensed her improper desires?

“Have you provided yourself with a lady's maid?” he asked.

“What?” It took Kitty a moment to make sense of his question and find coherence. “Should I have? I suppose I should. I've never had one.”

“Not during your marriage?”

“I used the housemaid when I needed help. I'm sorry.”

“No matter, for I thought of it. I asked my grandmother to send a suitable woman to Gloucester. I collected Miss Oldswick from there, and she's ready to move with you to
the Abbey tomorrow. For now, she's resting in the Abbot's Arms.”

“That sounds rather . . .”

His lips twitched. “We can hope she's enjoying it. You don't approve of my hiring her? You'd rather arrive at the Abbey without?”

“I'm sure it's ungracious of me, but I'm not accustomed to having my life so managed.”

“And you resented your shackles at Cateril Manor. Miss Oldswick is my aunt's lady's maid, and so she's only on loan, but I can send her back to Lancashire if you wish. However, you could need allies in the Abbey, and she will be firmly on your side.”

“Ah, I see. In that spirit, I thank you.” She found it comforting that they could talk plainly of practical matters. “Why is the dowager so determined to be hostile, when it can do her no good?”

“It is not in her nature to give up on a goal. She plotted the union with Isabella because it would leave control of the Abbey in her hands, but mostly to preserve her bloodline there.”

“One of the oldest baronies in England.”

“I see you heard. But sunk quite low. When she married the fourth viscount, the Godyson family was in genteel, obscure poverty. She built her new grandeur by force of will and made Beauchamp Abbey a seat worthy of a great lord. She expected it to be the beginning of a long line of rich and titled Godyson-Braydons.”

“Then her son and grandson died and you came, simply Braydon and without a drop of Godyson blood. But once we're married, she has to see the battle's lost.”

“We can hope so, but I expect further sorties, and you'll be in the front line. Old women can be tougher and more vicious than many think, yet can't be opposed by men with brute force. I've seen men battered bloody
by old harridans without feeling able to raise a hand. Are you deterred?”

“Not at all. I might relish a brisk encounter or two. I'm not suited to idleness.”

“As husband, I approve.”

“That might depend on where I direct my actions.” Kitty hadn't intended a challenge, but she heard how it sounded. She let it lie.

A brow twitched, but he didn't make an issue of it. “The settlements were well thought of. I've increased the jointure and left the document with Whitehall. He'll bring it here tomorrow for us to sign and have witnessed before the ceremony. Is there anything else we should discuss?”

“I can't think of anything. Except what to call you. Dauntry is too daunting, and ‘my lord' too formal for everyday moments.”

“Why not Braydon? It's what I've been used to all my life, and how I still think of myself.”

“Braydon. Perhaps if your surname had been Godyson, you'd never have been a beau at all.”

“Beau Brummell is alliterative, yes, but there was Beau Nash. You don't think dandyism inborn?”

“I don't think of you as a dandy.”

“Why not?”

“What a question to pose so late in the day! I suppose I think of a dandy as a man obsessed by clothes and appearance to the exclusion of all else. Perhaps Beau Brummell was such a man, but are you?”

“No.”

“There you are, then.”

“There we are,” he agreed. “Is everything settled?”

Except my nerves.
“The time,” Kitty said. “Will ten o'clock suit?”

“Perfectly.”

After this discussion she had no reason to fear his
not being at the church, but she still didn't relish arriving in doubt. “We could walk there together,” she said.

He made no difficulty. “I'll present myself here at ten minutes to,” he said, and took his leave.

To the very second, I'm sure.

After he was gone, she considered the ring. Had he known the dowager and Isabella would try such a ploy? That suggested almost supernatural powers, but then she remembered his surprise. It was good to know he could be ruffled.

How would that go in bed?

Had she imagined the passions weaving around them, or the way he'd looked at her in that hot moment? In the past when men had looked at her like that, it had been a warning—to be cool, to be careful. Never to respond or encourage. Tomorrow it would be her duty to respond. And her pleasure . . .

Ruth came in and then stared. “My goodness!”

“Armor against the dowager.” Kitty held out her hand so Ruth could inspect the stone more closely.

“You're supposed to attack her with it?”

Kitty chuckled. “Only impress on her that our resolution is diamond hard.”

“Are you more at ease now? I know you've had doubts.”

“It's settled.”

Kitty wanted to mention the marriage bed, get Ruth's opinion. On what, though? It was a simple enough matter. Only it didn't feel simple.

“He'll make you a good husband?” Ruth asked, looking worried again.

“I think so,” Kitty said, because it was expected.

What would Ruth think if she'd said,
Something happened here, and it changes everything. But it shouldn't, because that's what marriage involves.
Yet in all her mental tussles over this decision, she'd neglected to consider the
physical. Perhaps she'd assumed their coolly arranged marriage would be platonic, at least for a while. And she'd not even known that his name was Plato.

She'd put that part of herself away since Marcus's death. In fact, since a year or more before his death, when all desire had left him. But at Dauntry's touch—his first touch, and the light kiss on her hand—all parts of her had remembered.

Tomorrow she would be in a marriage bed again, with a man's hot body joined to hers in sweaty pleasure.

But a different man.

Would it be different altogether?

Would she satisfy him?

“Come!” Ruth said. “We must settle the final details for your wedding day.”

Kitty went, telling herself that swiving was a straightforward business. Becoming a viscountess was likely to be much more challenging, and that was her destiny for the rest of her life.

T
he next morning, Miss Henrietta Oldswick—short, sturdy, gray haired, and bright eyed—arrived at the parsonage.

“Quite a little adventure,” she said in a comfortable Northern accent. “I'm happy to help out here for a while. Take me to your room, Mrs. Cateril, and we'll see what we have.”

That sounded like an inspection!

Kitty had already laid out the blue stripe gown on the bed, with the bonnet and gloves alongside. The aired-out clothing was piled around the room, and the two trunks stood open and empty.

“I'll see to all this and to its delivery to the Abbey, ma'am,” Miss Oldswick said. “Don't you worry about anything.” She spoke as if Kitty were a helpless child.

Kitty said, “Thank you,” but she'd hire a simpler servant in due course. She had no need of someone else to intimidate her. On the other hand, the confident Miss Oldswick could prove a big battalion in the war. “My gowns are mostly out-of-date,” Kitty apologized. “I've been in mourning for most of the past three years. First my parents, then my husband.”

“And then your husband's mother didn't like you to put off your blacks, ma'am. Yes, he said. Kind of you to comfort her.”

Kitty hadn't thought of it like that. It was too generous, but she wouldn't argue.

“You'll have much to learn, ma'am, and I'll be able to assist you there. And, of course, I'm to report to Lady Sophonisbe.”

“Who?”

“Didn't he say?” She tutted, but indulgently, as if Lord Dauntry, too, were a feeble child. “His grandmother, ma'am, Lady Sophonisbe Ecclestall. She'd have liked to attend his lordship's wedding, but she doesn't travel much these days and she's sensible of not intruding. Just thought I'd let you know I'll be a spy in the camp, but I'll be your ally in the wars.”

“Thank you,” Kitty said, not at all sure what to make of all this.

Lady
Sophonisbe must be the daughter of a duke, marquess, or earl. Miss Oldswick was clearly on comfortable terms with the great lady, but that raised the maid rather than diminishing the lady. Thank heavens Lady Sophonisbe hadn't come. One tricky dowager at a time.

All the same, Kitty could see how Miss Oldswick's comfortable assurance would enhance her own situation at the Abbey. Dropping names such as Lady Sophonisbe's wouldn't hurt, either.
Excellent strategy, my lord
.

Then Kitty recalled that Andrew had mentioned Lord Dauntry was distantly connected to a duke. Distantly! Quite possibly he was the great-grandson of one.

“Is there anything else, ma'am?” Miss Oldswick asked.

“How do you wish to be addressed?”

“Henry'll do between us, ma'am. That's what Miss Ecclestall calls me. I don't care for this calling female servants by their surname. Mannish, that's what it is, and there's nothing amiss with being womanish. Your hair is well arranged, ma'am.”

Kitty had surrendered to Ruth's insistence that she not wear a cap today.

“My friend Mrs. Lulworth is quite skilled.”

“So I see.” She looked at the bed. “This is your wedding gown?”

“Will it do?”

“As you say, ma'am, not in the latest style, but there's no shame in that, especially for a widow. In general, I'd say you're better suited by strong colors, but not for your wedding. Let's get you ready.”

Henry Oldswick set to work, dressing Kitty like a child.

“Your jewels, ma'am?” Henry asked at last.

Embarrassed, Kitty unlocked her trinket box and let the maid choose from the limited selection. Henry took a simple silver cross and chain.

“Not the pearls?” Kitty asked.

“I hope I don't offend, ma'am, but they're small and contrast unfavorably with the ring. I believe you should move the ring to your right hand for the ceremony.”

Kitty hadn't thought of that and did so, then rubbed at the mark beneath. Perhaps it would never entirely fade, but it did come from eight years of her life.

She turned to assess herself in the mirror. She didn't look her best, but her appearance was quiet and simple, which would be a good impression to start with. Would the Russian mantle spoil that? The deep blue, fur-lined cloak was hanging on a hook. Kitty took it down and draped it around her shoulders, then considered her appearance again. Her chin and nose were still too strong and her hair was red, but it was neatly arranged for now, and the blue cloak with the tawny fur did suit her.

“Is it too grand?” she asked. “In appearance, at least?” She was sure Henry knew the fur was cheap stuff.

“How could it be, ma'am?”

Of course, for a viscountess.

Ruth knocked and came in. “You look lovely. And that cloak is splendid.”

“And practical. It's very warm. You could have one.”

“A fur-lined cape for a parson's wife?” Ruth touched the fur that was turned out along the front edges. “Is this fox?”

Kitty chuckled. “Dyed rabbit fur. The lining's rabbit, too, so you could afford it. Here, try it on.”

Ruth did, but then gave it back. “Not suitable, not even in a sober color and economical. It looks extravagant, but that's the right impression for you.”

“There's a huge muff as well, also dyed rabbit.”

Ruth admired that as well, but then said, “Dauntry's here, and Mr. Whitehall.”

Silly to be startled and newly nervous.
They needed to sign the settlements and be off to the ceremony. Kitty put on the freshly trimmed bonnet. “Time to go, Sillikin.”

The dog stood, tail wagging with anticipation. She'd been lovingly combed to perfection and wore a blue ribbon over her collar, so she knew something exciting was about to happen.

Henry took Kitty's cloak, muff, and gloves and they all went down to the parlor. The solicitor was waiting with Braydon and Andrew, and the document was laid out on the table.

Today, Braydon undoubtedly suited the name Beau. Cream pantaloons, perfectly tailored brown coat, a waistcoat of cream and brown brocade just slightly woven through with gold thread, and perfect, pristine linen. Kitty had learned how to tie a neckcloth for Marcus and could manage some complex folds, but this design was new to her. Perhaps it was known in the ton as a Braydon. It was held in place with a glittering pale yellow stone that came close to the color of his hair.

This is the man his mistress knows.
Kitty pushed that
thought aside. Time to deal with it later. No, not to deal with. That was their agreement. She was to leave his Town life alone. If she couldn't do that, she mustn't go through with this.

She eyed the document, tempted to read it before she signed, but she'd read the draft and she didn't think any of these men would try to trick her. In any case, it would have to be a heinous change to make her retreat now.

She signed, and then Braydon did the same in a strong, flowing script. Ruth and Andrew witnessed it. That part was done, but they still weren't wed.

Kitty thanked the lawyer and went into the hall, where Henry stood ready. But the viscount took the cloak to put it around her shoulders. Silly to feel cherished by such a simple act of courtesy, but it was as if no man had ever assisted her before. Few had, she realized. Marcus had never been capable of doing so and she'd not encouraged his friends to, but that was no reason to be flustered.
Bridal nerves,
she decided as she pulled on her gloves. She'd be sane again soon, and could only hope Sillikin would be, too. She was going from person to person as if she could learn all from sniffing boots and shoes. At least she wasn't staring at anyone. Kitty took her muff from Henry but pushed it up her arm so she could put Sillikin on the leash, and then they all left the parsonage.

There was quite a bite in the air today, and a wind to make it sharper. Kitty was grateful for her cloak and that they had no great distance to walk. They did so two by two. Kitty had decided to give a nod to the idea of the groom waiting at the church by letting the men go first and following behind with Ruth. She was glad to have Lord Dauntry in sight. She still worried that this event might evaporate.

The Whitehalls were to attend the wedding, along with the local squire and his wife, Sir Richard and Lady Green.
The doctor, Lowell, who was a widower, would also be in attendance. They were the local dignitaries and were to come back to the parsonage for cake and wine.

No one from the Abbey would be there—unless Isabella stormed in to denounce the match. Perhaps Kitty should mention such a possibility to Dauntry, but then she decided he would have thought of it himself.

As they approached the church, she saw villagers gathered to watch, with the Misses Purslow in pride of place. They were the spinster daughters of the previous parson and a power in Beecham Dab. Unwise to neglect potential allies.

“We should invite the Misses Purslow in,” Kitty murmured to Ruth. Perhaps she was learning to be a chess player, too.

Ruth went over. Soon the two ladies, all aflutter, were coming to join their train.

“We had no idea,” one said to Kitty, bright-eyed.

She'd have to remember which was Miss Martha and which Miss Mary. “I didn't wish to say anything too soon,” Kitty said modestly.

Ruth said, “My dear friend's late husband was a military man, you know, as was Lord Dauntry.”

Ruth had agreed to support the lie that far. The two ladies seemed to find it satisfying.

They progressed up the path and into the subdued light of the church porch. Sillikin was alert with anticipation of new experiences, but behaving perfectly. Dauntry and Andrew went inside, and the Misses Purslow followed. Kitty and Ruth waited, for Andrew would need to put on his surplice and prepare. Soon the verger came to nod that all was ready, and Kitty entered the church.

Ruth had been busy. Knots of ribbons decorated the altar, each set with a white silk flower. When Kitty arrived at the altar, she gave Sillikin's leash and her gloves and
muff to Ruth. She heard an “ooh” and “aah” from the Misses Purslow at sight of the ring.

A good move, my lord.

The ceremony was soon done. The vows were said and the golden band slid onto her finger. Andrew declared, “May your union be blessed, Lord and Lady Dauntry.”

Kitty's smile was spontaneous, summoned by surprise at actually being Lady anything. She thought she saw a trace of humor in Dauntry's eyes. For similar reasons, or laughter at her? They had so much to learn about each other. There would be surprises and disagreements, but they'd navigated the waters this far—to the point of no return.

Ruth was beaming. The Misses Purslow seemed in bliss over the romance of it all. Sillikin was looking between Kitty and Dauntry as if contemplating a stare. Kitty just managed not to tell her to stop. She remembered to put her diamond ring on top of the wedding band.

Marcus had given her a diamond ring, though with a much smaller stone. The stone had fallen out one day and never been found. Such tears she'd shed, but Marcus had been philosophical. She remembered him saying that they had each other and no need of a diamond to protect them. He'd wanted to replace the stone, but they'd had better uses for any money, so she'd sold the gold ring. He'd teased her, perhaps even complained, about her practicality.

How long ago had that been? Six years? What would happen if she lost this stone? Perhaps she'd not wear the ring every day.

When they emerged from the church, the villagers cheered.

Braydon murmured, “They must have heard that I've paid for a free cask of ale at the Abbot's Arms.”

Kitty chuckled, but she thought most of the villagers' goodwill was from the excitement of a noble wedding on
their doorstep, especially one connected to Beauchamp Abbey. They'd be hoping that in the future, the Braydon family would be more involved with matters here, providing charity, entertainment, and employment. If she had any say, they'd not be disappointed.

Braydon was prepared in another way. He pulled out a pouch and gave it to Mrs. Price, the shopkeeper. “Silver threepenny pieces, ma'am. If you'd be so kind, ensure that all the children under ten receive one in memory of this happy day. And then one for every household without such a child. Any remaining should go to Reverend Lulworth for benefit of the poor.”

Another cheer, and a clustering of children and parents.

Kitty thought back to her first marriage. There'd been cheers then and flowers, for it had been a summer wedding. Marcus had tossed pennies, leading to a mad scramble. Braydon's way was more orderly and efficient, but the mad scramble had been fun. Back then, many people must have had doubts at seeing such a young lady marrying a damaged man, yet that had been a love match. This was not, but no one here showed doubts of their future bliss.

How odd weddings could be.

Enough.
It was done.