The Viscount Needs a Wife (21 page)

So he had a cook in his Town rooms. That implied considerable space. “I'm sure he's not concerned that you have no experience of it.”

“I certainly hope so, milady. I'd be willing to learn, of course, but . . .”

But he won't be here much?
Kitty was surprised the
servants knew that. No wonder they seemed uncertain about which side to support.

“But it would be difficult,” Kitty supplied. “As long as Johns is here to prepare it, that will do, but have one of the kitchen servants learn from him in case. As you know, Lord Dauntry has many duties in Town, and in the New Year there'll be Parliament, but he will be here as much as he can be, and I will be here most of the time.”

“You won't be going to London with him, milady?”

Kitty wondered if people hearing that war is to be fought on their doorstep had the same frightened look. She was sorry for it, but the servants were going to have to choose their sides.

“Only occasionally,” she said. “There's so much to do here. What will we need to provide for the tenants' and servants' ball?”

Mrs. Northbrook still looked anxious, but she had some good ideas. In the end, Kitty could thank her warmly and hope they parted on reasonably good terms.

So far, so good. What next?

It was approaching noon and she was hungry, but it was time to deal with Isabella.
Two birds with one stone?
She braced herself and then went down to Braydon's study, annoyed to feel nervous about being with him again.

Her tone was probably too brisk as she asked, “Do you see any reason not to invite Isabella to eat lunch with us?”

“No, but what if she refuses?”

“It won't be a command. If she chooses to stay cloistered, so be it.”

“Forever?”

“I feel sure I can outwait her.”

“So do I.”

That sounded approving, and Kitty relaxed a little. “I wonder . . .” she said.

“What?”

“Perhaps she's caught in a trap similar to mine at Cateril Manor, tangled in the dowager's mourning like a fly in a spider's web. I'm sure she feels her losses as I felt mine, but is she mostly acting out of fear of upsetting her grandmother?”

“More likely out of fear of angering her.”

“You can't be sure of that. The dowager has been mother to her for ten years.”

“And a dominant figure in this house all her life. You might be right, but how to break such chains?”

“We can offer escapes.”

“By all means, but open doors don't always tempt a caged bird.”

“Because it's afraid. We'll have to overcome her fears.”

As I'll have to overcome mine.

Kitty left, considering whether her experiences with Marcus had caged her in some way. Was she afraid of breaking free of watchfulness and readiness for war?

She was who she was, however, and she couldn't bear to start bending and pretending in an attempt to placate an angry man.

She stuck to the matter in hand and sent Henry with a verbal invitation to Isabella. She was surprised, but pleased, when the girl accepted. Isabella would doubtless come with cannons at the ready, but Kitty hoped she'd soon have a better idea of how to sweeten the girl's mood.

K
itty made sure she was tidy and went down to the small dining room. She found Isabella already there, no longer wearing the ring. The girl was in the deepest mourning but also in the latest style.
So she is interested in fashion. That is a beginning.

Sillikin hurried to make friends.

Isabella stepped back, snapping, “Go away!”

Kitty picked up the dog. “She's not at all dangerous, I assure you.”

“But not suitable for a dining room.”

There was some justice in that. “If her presence upsets you . . .” Kitty summoned the footman from the hall and told him to take Sillikin to Henry.

When she turned back, Isabella said, “I understand you were raised in a shop, my lady. That must have been interesting.” Clearly “interesting” was not desirable. The girl had been sent here with prepared lines.

“It was,” Kitty said cheerfully. “There's always something to read in a bookshop, and when I was older, I acted as shop assistant at times, which was fun.”

“Fun?”

“I enjoyed helping people find the books they wanted, and writing the bill and taking the money. Of course, I didn't have to work long hours, as a real shop clerk might. And then I went to school. Have you attended school?”

“
I
had a governess.”

“I sometimes thought I would like that,” Kitty said, “and not have to go away, but I enjoyed being with other girls and the variety of subjects and activities. I assume you've learned music and dance?”

“I have been well educated in all regards, ma'am. I would have attended a ball this year if not for our tragic changes.”

Tragic changes; not losses.
Before Kitty could react to that, Braydon arrived, followed closely by servants bearing food.

“Do let's sit,” Kitty said. “I confess to being hungry.” Once they were settled and the servants had left, Kitty said, “We've been speaking of dances and balls, Dauntry. When Isabella's mourning is over we must arrange some—here or perhaps in London.” She dangled that as bait, but Isabella didn't twitch.

“Of course,” Braydon said. “And presentation at court.”

Isabella stayed silent, eating tiny morsels perhaps as a reproach to hearty appetites. Kitty reminded herself that the girl's father and brother had died. Her mourning wasn't false.

“We can do nothing as long as you're in your blacks,” she said to the girl. “But when you're in half mourning, we could host a small social gathering here. Don't you think, Dauntry? Perhaps a musical evening.”

“I don't see why not.”

“And if there were to be a little spontaneous country dancing, nothing more than a hop, Isabella could join in. I never had the advantage of such social events, but I believe that young ladies often do host parties to practice before going to London.”

Isabella spoke at last. “Grandmama would not approve.”

“She may not be here to be disturbed. She and I spoke of her moving to Bath.”

Isabella's jaw dropped. “She'll
never
leave the Abbey!”

“She might find she'd like a change,” Kitty said cheerfully, and ate more of the excellent pork pie. “Would you want to move with her?”

“No!” The girl's cheeks flushed. “I mean, this is my home.” She looked at Braydon. “You can't send me away. You can't!”

“Of course not,” he said. “Kitty meant that you are free to leave with your grandmother, if you wish.”

Kitty hid a smile as she poured more tea. He'd caught the idea.

“I don't,” Isabella said. But then she added, “And nor does Grandmama.”

“Wherever you choose to live,” Kitty said, “you'll be able to visit Town in due course, and perhaps Brighton as well.”

“Brighton?” Isabella did a good job of delivering it flatly, but the flicker of excitement in her eyes was a breach in the citadel.

“And eventually Almack's,” Kitty added carelessly. Young men spoke of the Almack's Assemblies as an arduous duty, but for a young lady, attendance was heaven. She asked Braydon, “Will Isabella have the entrée there?”

“Of course, though whether she'll wish to go, I don't know. Your large portion could attract fortune hunters, Isabella.”

“But true admirers as well,” Kitty said, playing along. “She'll have her pick—earls, marquesses, and even dukes.”

“I may not like such attention,” Isabella said, but her eyes were fixed on her plate.

“It will be as you wish,” Braydon said, “but at the least you must be presented at a drawing room.” He looked at Kitty. “So, of course, must you.”

“Me!” She looked at Isabella. “I'll have to take lessons with you.”

Isabella looked up then. “I have already been well instructed,” she said, and rose. “Please excuse me.”

She went to the door, but at the last minute turned and sank into the sort of deep curtsy required at court, then rose again with impeccable smoothness and a triumphant glint in her eye. Then she left.

The saucy minx.
But Kitty liked her better for it, and she saw Braydon did, too. That hadn't been rehearsed.

Isabella had left the door ajar. Was she hovering in hopes of hearing Kitty complain of her? How would she like being forgotten?

“I never thought of having to be presented at court,” Kitty said. “How will it be arranged?”

“Easily enough once the court recovers from mourning. A suitable lady will present you.”

“What suitable lady?”

“An excellent question. Not one of my sisters.”

“Are you so very at odds?”

“No, because we rarely meet, but they wouldn't add to your consequences, neither having a title. I could, I believe, summon a duchess or two.”

“A
duchess
?”

“They're not quite as rare as unicorns.”

But near enough. Being presented by a duchess would definitely add to her consequence, but it would also make her a center of attention and curiosity. Kitty had never expected to want anonymity, but the thought of being an object of attention before the critical eyes of the fashionable world turned her off her food.

She moved the talk to household matters, including food and the servants' ball, and only slowly realized they'd rediscovered their ease. He still knew things about her she'd rather he not know, and she'd revealed her warrior side, but they had both put all that aside. They'd worked
together smoothly in dealing with Isabella. This marriage could work, as long as she was careful.

As they finished the meal, Braydon asked if she'd object to his riding out on estate business.
Is he not as comfortable with our situation as I thought?
She pushed that worry down and gave him permission. They both rose. Then, instead of leaving, he tilted her chin and kissed her in that soft, warm, promising way.

This time she responded, as she should, but also as she wanted to. Whatever their problems, the desire was honest. She put her arms around him and kissed him back, unabashedly suggesting that he escape his burdens in another way. She thought she'd won, but then he gently put her away.

“I truly do have business to attend to, my dear. Until later.”

It was an excuse, but also a promise, one that left Kitty unable to settle to household duties. She collected Sillikin and went to Braydon's office, simply because it was so very much his, with his essence all around. She opened a book on the desk. It was all to do with yields of different crops. Riffling through the neat piles of papers seemed intrusive, so she decided to work on the loose papers in the cabinet as an excuse to stay there. She took down a box.

She found the simple task soothing. Take a paper from the box, read it, write the brief description and decide where to put it. She could easily denote some as ONI—of no interest—but as that wasn't an option, they went under NOI.

Scribbled names of horses, perhaps from a race meeting.

Bills for all kinds of small items—a cravat pin; garters; soap, in this case almond and rose. Rose soap wasn't usually a gentleman's choice.
For the dowager or Isabella?

Trite letters from acquaintances acknowledging a favor or offering one, or informing him of a meeting in Town. He seemed to be a member of a number of worthy organizations, but that was probably a requirement of the peerage. She came across nothing to suggest active involvement.

There was a bill for the repair of the leading on a window. It should go in the box for the appropriate property, but there was nothing to indicate which house. The tradesman's address was in Edgware, so it must be connected to the document she'd found before. Where had that letter been filed?

She made the note in the ledger, then put the bill on top of one of Braydon's piles of paper to catch his attention. It seemed the viscountcy owned some property in Edgware. It might be a similar case to the Beecham Dab almshouses, in danger of neglect.

Then she came across a letter from the dowager to her son, dated three years earlier. Kitty smoothed it, surprised that it had been carelessly stuffed somewhere.

The handwriting was ornate. The dowager wrote of estate matters and urged her son to return to the Abbey soon to deal with a rental issue. It was hard to detect any emotion. She mentioned the good health and educational progress of his two children, but without any sense of doting. She probably would think doting for her dotage.

Kitty went into the secretary's room. “Is there a special place for family correspondence, Worseley?”

“Yes, my lady. In the cabinet.” He went with her and took out a box from the bottom shelf. “This is for recent correspondence. Older letters are stored in the muniment room.”

“How long a period does this box cover?”

“Three years, ma'am.”

He returned to his office. Kitty considered the scant
contents of the box, sorely tempted to read the letters. That would be rudely intrusive, however, so she put the letter with the rest and noted the location in the ledger.

She put some more wood on the fire and returned to the muddle of paper, enjoying the simple room and the placid routine of the task. The bits and pieces built up a picture. The fifth viscount had been fussy about his boots and shoes but haphazard about his clothing. He'd certainly been no dandy. In fact, his concern over his footwear was all for comfort. Had he had bad feet?

“T
here's no need for you to be doing that.”

Sillikin leapt up and went over to Braydon, tail wagging. That was a great improvement, and Braydon hunkered down to stroke her, but he had a small wooden chest under one arm. More papers?

He had that glow that comes from fresh air and exercise, and she wanted to eat him.

“I needed a routine task,” she said as he rose, smoothly and easily. “Just as you, I suspect, needed exercise and open air.”

“Astute as always. Have you found hidden treasure?”

“Not unless you count the fifth viscount being very concerned about his feet and his thinning hair. I've come across bills for three different hair tonics.”

“I seem to remember others. I, on the other hand, have found treasure for you.” He put the chest on the desk. “I decided the dowager must still have the family jewels, so I faced the dragon and wrested them from her.”

“And lived to tell the tale!”

“She has an impressive safe and suggested she was the best custodian. There's a safe here as well, however. Remind me to show it to you.” He unlocked the chest and opened it. “I can't be sure this is all of it.”

Kitty didn't try to hide her excitement. She took out boxes and pouches and began to open them, finding
jewelry of all sorts in all stones, and a beautiful necklace of large pearls. She cradled it in her hands, but when she looked up she saw amusement.

“Who wouldn't be excited to explore a treasure chest?” she protested. “If I have to face the world as a viscountess, I'll have the chance of glittering as I ought.”

He picked up an emerald necklace and studied it. “Good stones, but ugly setting. We'll have it reset.” He picked up a diamond pin. “This needs cleaning. Probably most of it does. All the same . . .” He came round the desk and slid it into her hair. “Ice and fire.”

His look was admiring and his touch flowed heat down her spine, making her sway. She put a hand on his chest, hoping he felt as she did. That they could—

“Coffee,” he said.

“Coffee?”

But it was a warning. He must have already ordered it, for it arrived then, again with little cakes, but these were golden and glossy. Kitty sat, reminding herself that the night was not so very far away.

He poured and passed a cup to her. “Have you questions for me?”

He meant about the house, but she chose to take it another way.

“Tell me about your life before you became Lord Dauntry.”

He was surprised. “Including the army?”

She'd be interested, for it didn't seem his career had been commonplace, but it might be a difficult subject. “No, after you sold out. Was that soon after Waterloo?”

He relaxed back and sipped. “Late in 1815. I didn't intend to. I liked the life, all in all, and considered it my career, but as it became clear Napoleon was truly done for, the work became less appealing.”

“You enjoyed the fighting?”

“Does that offend?”

“No. I can't quite understand it, but I know it's common enough.”

“If I'd wanted armed combat, there are postings around the world where it's available, but I didn't fancy a life in Canada or India, and there are even worse places. The West Indies, for example, and the penal colonies of Australia. I'd no mind to be a jailor.”

“I've listened to men discuss the same options,” she said, enjoying her own coffee, feeling as relaxed as Sillikin, who was dozing by the fire. “In the same manner. After Waterloo, something seeped away—and left a swamp.”

“A good way of putting it. Most military officers need their profession, but I didn't. I had a modest inheritance from my father, and then an uncle left me a larger one. When another regiment was sent to keep the peace in Yorkshire, enforcing the Riot Act against desperate Englishmen, I sold out before I was entangled in a similar mess.” He poured himself more coffee. “I couldn't mend that situation by staying.”

“Of course not. And your concerns were justified. The dragoons were ordered to charge the gathering at Spa Fields last year. People could have been killed. It was outrageous.”

She expected him to share her disapproval, but he said, “You didn't read the handbills distributed before the meeting. I quote: ‘The whole country awaits the signal from London to fly to arms! Haste, haste to break open gunsmiths and other likely places to find arms! Run through all constables who touch a man of us. No rise of bread! No Regent! No Castlereagh! Off with their heads!'”

“Heavens! You know it by heart?”

“My very retentive memory.”

“It's horrible that people preached such violence. But the hardships are great.”

“It would be pleasant if life was black or white, but it rarely is. Try some baklava. It's sticky, but you're allowed to lick your fingers.”

She took a tiny square and nibbled. Crisp layers of thin pastry with honey, spices, and some sort of nut. “Have you introduced the dowager to this?”

“No.”

Clearly he saw it as sweetmeats before swine.

Kitty took another nibble and drank some coffee. They went together perfectly. “I'll end up fat.”

“Not if you eat only small pieces.” He'd finished his and sucked honey off his fingers and thumb.

Kitty realized that she'd licked her lips only when she saw the way he was watching her. She ate another nibble of cake; then she put down the remainder and moved her hand up to lick off the honey.

He leaned forward and captured her wrist. Watching her, he brought her hand to his mouth and sucked at one finger, his tongue swirling to clean off every trace of honey.

It wasn't night, but her body didn't seem to care. He moved on to the next finger, watching her, a smile deepening in his eyes. He knew what he was doing to her, and he, too, didn't care that it was still light outside. He drew her to her feet, still sucking at her finger, then drew it deeper and out. Kitty felt as if she were melting, deep, deep inside.

Here?

Why not? The floor was carpeted. . . .

At the sound of voices he moved apart.

After the briefest knock, Worseley came in. “A message, sir. Courier.”

Outwardly cool again, Braydon took the letter, broke the heavy seal, and read. “How very inconvenient,” he said. “I apologize, my dear, but I have to leave for London immediately.”

Kitty could have wailed a protest, but she could see
the issue was serious. “Of course. Is something terribly the matter?”

“Nothing that need concern you.” She thought he'd leave on that curt sentence, but he came over and kissed her hand. “It's a comfort that I can leave Beauchamp Abbey in your excellent care.”

With that, he was gone.

Kitty took out the diamond pin, feeling tragically noble. This was why he'd married her, but they'd been married for only a day, and she ached with desire. She put away the jewels and locked the box, but she didn't know where the safe was. She put it in Worseley's charge.

Should she supervise her husband's packing? She'd packed for Marcus before their annual visit to Cateril Manor, but Braydon and his valet could manage such things. She was fighting tears, which was ridiculous, but then suddenly it wasn't.

She hurried upstairs and found him in his bedroom, instructing his valet about what to pack in one small trunk.

“A word with you, my lord.”

His look was impatient, but he came with her into her bedroom and closed the door.

“I need to come with you.”

His lips tightened. “I dislike being blunt, Kitty, but your being here to take care of the Abbey was a key point of our negotiations, was it not?”

Kitty almost apologized and left, but she couldn't. “Yes, and I'll keep my part of the bargain, but not now. Consider—we've spent one night together. One! If you leave now, what will people think?”

“That I have urgent business?” But he grimaced in exasperation. “You're right, of course. Some will see disappointment or rejection. I'll be traveling without consideration for comfort.”

“I'll survive. I'll have to ask Henry whether she wants to come.”

He nodded and returned to his room. Kitty tugged the bell. By the time Henry arrived, Kitty had already laid shifts, drawers, and stockings on the bed, despite Sillikin running around, trying to understand what was happening. Perhaps the dog hoped they were returning to the parsonage.

She quickly explained to Henry. “What should I take for a few days in Town?”

“Something for all eventualities,” Henry said. “I'll make the selection.”

“Will you come?”

Kitty had meant to phrase it more generally, giving the older woman more option to refuse, but she wanted Henry with her. London she knew. Town was foreign territory and probably hostile.

“Of course, dear. I'm no delicate flower, and you'll need me.”

While Henry packed, Kitty invaded the dowager's parlor again. She found Isabella there, seated at a distance from the roaring fire, looking resentful. When Kitty informed the dowager that she and Braydon were going up to Town for a few days, the girl's sulky lips tightened. Kitty truly meant to do something for Isabella, and for a moment thought of taking her with them, but heaven knew what the summons involved. It would be folly.

“How will Beauchamp survive without you both?” the dowager asked with a smirk.

Kitty kept her composure. “The servants seem well trained, and I'm sure you will advise them as necessary, ma'am. I don't expect to be gone long.” That pinched her face. Kitty added, “We will certainly return by Christmas. There will be festive traditions to follow.”

“Yokels,” said the dowager.

“I don't know that one, ma'am. We must have the wassailers up to the house, however, and mummers if there are any hereabouts. A yule log and greenery about the place.”

Kitty saw a glint in Isabella's eyes, and though it pleased her, she knew she was taunting for the joy of it.

“Now I must make haste, ma'am. If there are any items you would like from Town, please send me a note before we leave.”

No note came from the dowager, but Kitty did receive one from Isabella, asking for some new novels.
Perhaps a slight breach in the citadel.