The Viscount Needs a Wife (9 page)

K
itty was rescued from bonnet trimming, at which she had little skill, by Sillikin's wanting a walk. She made it a long one, and they were both ready for a rest by the time she approached the front door of the parsonage. When she heard horses' hooves, she turned, alarmed that it would be Dauntry, catching her windblown and dusty again. Instead she saw a woman on a black horse, a mounted groom riding a yard or so behind. The woman was dressed entirely in black, and Kitty wondered if it might be the dowager Lady Dauntry, but then she saw that she was young.
Isabella?
She looked older than sixteen—erect, poised, and eying Kitty with haughty disdain.

The battle had come to her.

Kitty felt a flutter of panic, but despite the gloss, this was a girl and she was a woman of nearly twice her age and vastly more experience. She went forward, attempting bland amiability. “May I help you?”

“Are you Mrs. Cateril?”

“I am.”

The young woman gestured, and the groom dismounted and hurried to lift her down. Once down, she arranged her skirts and walked forward. “I am Isabella Godyson-Braydon.”

Kitty just managed not to express surprise at the
extended surname. Why had no one told her about that? And how, exactly, did an Honorable widow greet an aristocratic girl?

She dipped a very slight curtsy. “Good morning.”

Miss Godyson-Braydon merely inclined her head. Such petty battles didn't bother Kitty, but she was supposed to manage this girl?

Sillikin was staring, which wasn't at all surprising. If Dauntry was a marble box, his ward was a jet one. She was polished and perfect in every way, and Kitty was aware of being very much the opposite. However, she remembered that jet was a relatively soft stone.

“You've come to visit Mrs. Lulworth?” she asked.

“I've come to speak to you.”

“Then shall we go into the house, Miss Godyson-Braydon?”

“No. We have heard an odd rumor, Mrs. Cateril. That you are to marry Lord Dauntry.”

Kitty supposed word would have escaped. There was no way to deny it, despite an irrational wish to do so.

“I am, yes. On Wednesday.”

“Impossible. He is betrothed to me.”

Kitty couldn't help a laugh. “I doubt Lord Dauntry would have forgotten such a fact.”

The girl flushed but said, “You wear no ring. I do.” She pulled the black leather glove off her left hand to reveal a ring with a blue stone, presumably a sapphire.

Kitty was at a loss, stuck in this impossible situation, her heart fluttering with fledgling doubt. Could Dauntry be insane? But with deep certainty she knew that whatever else he was, he wasn't mad. Therefore, the girl must be lying.

“That is a lovely ring. But I have no reason to believe Lord Dauntry gave it to you. You're a child,” Kitty said calmly. “Why would he marry you?”

The girl didn't so much as blink. “For my dowry. It's very large, and if I take it out of the family, the viscountcy's fortunes will be sadly depleted.”

Kitty had to consider that. If the girl spoke the truth, Dauntry might be sensible to marry her. They weren't closely connected by blood. After the disastrous meeting in the lane, she'd been sure Dauntry would back out of the arrangement. Had he committed himself to her and then come to his senses? Then fled? That would be unbalanced, at the least, but then he was an ex-soldier. Who knew what chaos lay beneath?

“I fear,” the chit said, a glint of triumph in her eyes, “he may have played a game on you.”

Sillikin growled. It was so unusual, it snapped Kitty out of her paralysis. She quickly picked up her dog. “You speak nonsense.”

“Do I? Ask instead why he would marry
you
, ma'am. You have no beauty or style, nor any fortune. I also gather that you are barren.”

Kitty wished they were close enough for Sillikin to bite, because every word was horribly true. There was no reason for this marriage beyond some chilly convenience, and she'd been probing the puzzle for a week. The encounter in the lane had shown her to be not at all the bride he'd been promised. So he'd . . . what? Devised a cruel punishment? To build her hopes and then leave her at the altar, exposed to the sniggers of people surprised she'd ever thought to marry so unbelievably high? Had he assumed that she'd go around the village, boasting about it? Had he then returned to the Abbey and proposed marriage to Isabella?

She's his ward.

Is that even legal?

Her churning mind couldn't make sense of anything,
but her finger was bare, and that sapphire ring glinted as brightly as the girl's sharp blue eyes.

“I came to warn you,” Isabella said. “If you go to the church on Wednesday, you'll be left standing at the altar.”

Ah! So that is the plan. They think they can make me flee?
Kitty almost smiled at the thought, but kept a sober face. “You have given me much to think about, Miss Godyson-Braydon. I bid you good day.”

She turned and walked into the house, feeling the glare directed at her back. She walked faster, hoping it looked like panicked flight, then watched from the parlor window as the girl was helped by the groom to remount and rode away.

“What a paltry creature they must think me,” she said to Sillikin. “They have much to learn.” Brave words, but would anyone, even a sixteen-year-old girl, flaunt a false engagement ring? Logic was on Isabella's side, especially if she'd told the truth about having inherited most of the viscountcy's wealth.

What did Kitty have to offer? Nothing but convenience.

Dauntry had offered marriage, but then he'd run away.

With dismay, Kitty remembered Captain Jameston. He'd come home on furlough, visited a fellow officer's home in Kent, and met the man's sister. He'd made her promises but then hurriedly departed for the north. Later they'd heard he'd married a childhood friend there. It had almost led to a duel, but when the furor had been discussed in Moor Street, the other officers had seemed to understand. Plunged from battles and hardship into the sweet bosom of home, men's emotions weren't always stable or reliable. Men brave in war could be cowards in domestic complexities.

Kitty found it hard to see Dauntry as unstable or in
a cowardly panic, but she didn't know him at all. Even Ruth and Andrew didn't know him intimately, and Captain Jameston had seemed a rational man. She remembered Lord Cateril's implied warning. Did he know something about Dauntry that gave him doubts?

What on earth was she to do on Wednesday?

K
itty went through Tuesday like a sleepwalker, which could be because she'd had little sleep. Ruth put it down to bridal nerves and left her alone. Kitty longed for Dauntry to turn up and make all clear, one way or another.

Would he make no contact until the wedding? They hadn't even set a time for it. Was she just to go to church and hope he'd be there?

Definitely not. She wouldn't even put on her wedding bonnet until she was sure.

But even if he was ready to marry her, should she go through with it?

She'd once brushed aside the idea of marrying a madman as a minor thing, but on the eve of her wedding, it wasn't minor at all. She prayed he'd visit her before the wedding so she'd have another opportunity to assess him. After so many days, she distrusted what flimsy impressions she remembered.

Cold, distant, calculating . . .

The arrival of her possessions from Cateril Manor provided distraction. It might turn out to be pointless to have them, but unpacking and hanging out clothing to air gave her something to do. She had her books as well, and the various ornaments and mementoes of her life.

She sat to reread Marcus's letters from when he'd courted her. They were faded now, but his vitality and
adoration shone from the pages. They'd been different people then, still with hope. Then there were the gifts he'd given her over the years. He'd mostly given her small pieces of jewelry for her birthdays, but here was the china vase with a puppy on it that was very like Sillikin. Captain Edison had given her the puppy, and Marcus had been put out, but mostly because he hadn't thought of it. He must have asked a friend to seek out such a vase.

She smiled at the small model of the Parthenon made out of cork. There'd been a popular exhibition of much larger models of that sort, and Marcus had taken her to that. The promise of a working replica of a volcano had inspired him to a special effort. He'd hired a sedan chair for the journey, because it was a smoother ride than a coach over cobbles, and then a bath chair to go around the room. He'd claimed he was no more uncomfortable than sitting around at home, but even though the volcano had lived up to expectations, they'd rarely repeated the experiment. London was a treasure box of curiosities and amusements, but she'd experienced so very few of them.

She rewrapped the model and all the other bits and pieces. Whatever happened tomorrow, there was no point in putting them on display here.

She brought in the first load of freshened clothing and hung out some more. She had bright and becoming clothing again. None were up to the mark, but they raised her spirits, until she remembered that she'd not get to wear them as a governess or companion.

She'd start to wear them now, then. With the sun set and the candles lit, she changed into one of her favorites, a cherry red kerseymere gown with long sleeves and a high neck. It was quite plain except for a tapestry belt that had gold inset beads, but it hung beautifully. Marcus had said that with her hair, it made her look like a pagan warrior queen. That was how she wanted to feel.

Sukey was fastening the back when someone knocked at the front door. It could be a parishioner with a question or even an urgent summons, but it was just possible it was Lord Dauntry. Kitty sent Sukey away, checked herself in the mirror, and hurried to the top of the stairs to listen.

It was Dauntry!

Come to confirm their arrangement or cancel it in order to marry Isabella and her money?

Which did she want?

Ruth was saying, “Kitty received Lady Cateril's blessing, so all's well!”

“If you have the license,” Andrew said, emerging from his study.

Kitty waited, breath held, and then Dauntry passed over a piece of paper. Relief made her clutch the stair rail for support. He intended to go through with the marriage, and he seemed sane enough. And she had no other reasonable option.

Andrew read it. “I was unaware of your given names.”

“I assume it's essential that they be read in full at the service.”

“Afraid so.”

“What are they?” Ruth asked, trying to look. Andrew folded it.

Kitty realized she had to move. She descended the stairs. “Am I allowed to know?”

He looked up at her—and stared. Kitty couldn't help but smile. She'd not planned the effect, but it would seem he saw her much as Marcus had, and it would do no harm for him to know he was marrying a warrior. But did she see dismay at the prospect? Something had disturbed the cool sleekness.

As she reached the bottom of the stairs, he seemed to pull himself together. “I gather all is well?”

“Yes.”

Ruth said, “Into the parlor!”

Her brightness was a little forced, so Kitty wasn't imagining the strain. Clearly Dauntry had come here intending to go through with the marriage, but he was troubled by something. Had he come to confess that he'd foolishly engaged himself to Isabella as well?

“We'll drink a glass of wine to your happiness,” Ruth said, “and hear the latest London news.”

They were soon all settled with a glass of blackberry wine, but Sillikin had taken up a staring stance.

“To the happy couple and a happy future!” Andrew said, raising his glass.

Dauntry drank. So did Kitty, but she had to ask, “Is something amiss, sir?”

He grimaced slightly. “Word has reached the Abbey that we're to wed, and the dowager is already on the attack. She can do you no harm, but she'll stir storms if she can.”

Such as a false betrothal to Isabella? Or was he preparing a denial of a true one? “I can weather storms,” she said.

“So I gather.”

She stared at that. “So you gather?”

“In London I encountered some people who knew you there.” Heaven help her, what had he learned to create this guarded expression? “They praised your care for your husband when his injuries distressed him.”

“Ah. That's kind of them, but it's not hard to be patient when one loves.”
So why do you disapprove?

Ruth broke in again. “Town news! How are poor Prince Leopold and the Regent?”

“Both deeply distressed, as one can understand. It's expected that Prince Leopold will return to Germany soon.”

“Far from everything that must remind him of Charlotte.” Ruth sighed. “It's still hard to believe.”

“But there are other problems, I gather,” Andrew said.

Dauntry looked at Kitty as if expecting her to object to this discussion on their wedding eve, but what else were they to speak of? She was studying him for any hint of mental instability. At least Sillikin had relaxed and was lying by her feet.

“A general political and administrative disarray,” Dauntry said. “It's as if London has gone into the grave with the princess. One good aspect is that mourning has tamped down unrest, and those most opposed to the monarchy keep their feelings to themselves. A ballad singer trilling against the Regent was pelted with rotten fruit, when a month ago she would have been applauded. Her song even had a legitimate complaint.”

“What?” Andrew asked.

“Neglect of his duties. A ruler can't hide away, not even in grief. There are many matters hanging in abeyance. The only firm decision made so far is to put off the recall of Parliament until next year. That's largely for fear of someone raising the subject of the succession.”

“Oh, dear,” Ruth said, but then, relentlessly optimistic, she added, “I see one benefit—you won't have to go to London to take your seat in Parliament until then, Dauntry.” She stood. “Come, dear. We must leave the betrothed couple alone for a little while.”

In moments Kitty was enclosed with her husband-to-be, curtains drawn against the dark, with firelight and candlelight lending a deep intimacy. Now he seemed as cool and composed as before, and she became newly aware of how handsome he was and how elegant, not only in his clothing but in the way he sat, fingers lax on the stem of his glass.

Beau Braydon.

Beautiful . . .

“Lady Cateril approved without reservation?” he asked.

Kitty snapped out of distracting thoughts. Inappropriate thoughts, except that this beautiful, disturbing man was to share her bed tomorrow.

“She did,” she said, surprised to be able to speak normally.

“Your letter must have been eloquent.”

“I didn't think so.” She needed to have things absolutely clear. “You do still want to marry me?”

A reaction at last. Surprise. “I thought I'd made that clear.”

“Time changes things.”

“You've changed your mind?” he asked.

“No. But you seem uneasy, my lord.”

“You're an observant woman.” She didn't think he approved. “Returning to Beauchamp Abbey always puts me out of temper, but this time I became aware that I'll be bringing you into a difficult situation.”

With a jilted bride in residence? “I always knew that,” Kitty said.

“In theory only. To give an example, I found the furniture in your dressing room still full of your predecessor's clothing.”

That startled her. “The errant viscountess?”

“Yes. I'd ordered the rooms prepared, but only thought to check at the last moment.”

“Someone should be held at fault for that.”

“I made my displeasure clear to the housekeeper, but Mrs. Quiller's allegiance is to the dowager, so you can expect such petty annoyances.”

Kitty welcomed a practical subject. “Is there a reason I can't dismiss her?”

“None, apart from the business of replacing her and her husband, who is butler. You must wonder why I haven't done so.” He sipped at his wine and then put it aside.
Doubtless blackberry wine wasn't to his taste. “Firstly, this is the first blatant misdemeanor. Secondly, the Quillers are only one part of a web of annoyances. I have been waiting for a wife to see the way.”

“I see. I know my duties, my lord, but if I dismiss all the servants, life could be uncomfortable for a while.”

“No worse than other situations I've known. Do as you please.”

“Do you truly mean that?”

“I always mean what I say. Finding replacements won't be difficult. Many seek employment these days. I had a particular reason for this visit. You must be in as strong a position as possible. Thus we need a story to account for the speed of our union.”

“Your need of a helpmate won't do?”

“I suggest a little more than that. Would you object to us having met in the past?”

“A lie?” Instinctively, she did object, but perhaps it was necessary. “A white one, I suppose. But when? I went from school into marriage at seventeen, and from marriage into seclusion at Cateril Manor.”

“I gather you kept open house for military officers.”

“My husband and I did,” she said, not liking his tone.

“My apologies. Of course that was what I meant. I had the impression that some of the men who visited your home see themselves as friends.”

Kitty sat up straighter. “The impression from where? Have you been bandying my name around Town, sir?”

He raised a hand. “I mentioned your name in a military club, but in no way disrespectfully, I assure you. I learned of your husband's hospitality, and it provides a way in which we could have met.”

Kitty still didn't like his behavior. “You're not suggesting a liaison, are you? That would dishonor Marcus and me.”

“Of course not. Only that we could have met and liked one another. Your hospitality is fondly remembered.”

She still detected criticism. “Marcus enjoyed the company. All I did was provide what refreshments we could.”

“And an ear for those troubled and advice for the lovelorn.”

“Who said that?” she demanded. “I merely smiled and nodded.”

“Sometimes that's a generous gift. Will anyone question it if we say I visited your rooms a time or two and admired you?”

Another chess move. That's all it was. Kitty tamped down annoyance and gave his question careful thought. “I can't see how. The guests changed all the time.”

“Then when I learned that you were a friend of Ruth Lulworth's, I arranged for you to visit here, and matters took their natural course.”

“I can't ask Ruth and Andrew to lie.”

“As long as they don't insist on the absolute truth, it should do. We won't volunteer our story, and if we have to use it, we'll keep it as vague as possible. The main point is that we are consistent.”

“You seem practiced at deception, my lord.”

“My work in the army wasn't always direct.”

What was it, then?
She didn't voice her question, for she might not like the answer. Had he been a spy? Most soldiers thought that dishonorable work, even though they benefitted from anything learned.

“Will you object to my calling you Kitty in private?”

The rather blunt change of subject confirmed that he'd been up to something shady, but it shouldn't affect their future. “Not at all,” she said, “but what am I to call you? What are your Christian names?”

“Not to be used,” he said, but then shook his head.
“They'll be read out tomorrow. My father believed that names could shape destinies. Plato Aristides.”

Kitty couldn't help a smile. “Poor lad!”

“No wonder you touched young men's hearts. Fortunately, at school, boys are addressed by their surnames.”

“And now?”

“I'm known as Dauntry.”

“That seems somewhat formal for our private moments.” Her words suddenly had extra layers of meaning. Marriage. Privacy.
Intimacy.
She bent down to scoop up Sillikin. “Thank you for not wanting to use Kathryn.”

“You dislike it?”

“It was never used as I grew up.” She was struggling to pull her mind away from an increasing awareness of him—of the body that would join with her in the marriage bed. Of those fine hands on her skin, on her breasts.