Always a Temptress (15 page)

“Dolores.”

Joshua blinked. “Pardon?”

Harry turned surprised eyes on Kate. “What?”

She gave a false smile. “I thought you knew. My name is
Dolores
 Catherine Anne. Did you sign it that way on the license?”

Everybody looked around. “No.”

Kate wasn’t sure if she was excited or disappointed. “Does that mean we can void the whole thing?”

Joshua smiled. “Sorry. We got most of it right. It will stand.”

“Your first name is Dolores?” Harry asked Kate, not looking nearly as amused as Joshua. “Your father named you ‘sorrow’?”

“Yes, well, he was distraught. After all, I’d just killed his wife.”

“Not!” Bea cried.

Kate smiled for her friend. “Of course I did. I didn’t intend to, of course. But it seems that even then I insisted on having my way. I wanted to be born, whether she was up to it or not.”

“Probably a discussion for another time,” Grace said from where she sat.

Kate smiled gratefully at her friend. “Yes, indeed,” she said, casting a quick look at Harry. “‘If ’twere done, then ’twere well it be done quickly.’”

Harry only stood straighter. Everybody else turned back to the reverend.

“Repeat after me, then,” he said. “I, Henry Phillip Bryce, take you, Dolores Catherine Anne…”

She made it all the way through the service, even holding still as Harry slipped a beautiful gold filigree ring on her finger.
Fine
, she kept thinking.
We’re finished. I can escape now.

Of course it couldn’t be that easy. Joshua had barely finished the service with the quite depressing admonition that whatsoever God united could never be separated when Kate heard Bea stir behind her.

No. Oh, no, Bea
, she thought, turning on her friend.
Not now.

But Bea’s eyes were closed. And before Kate could protest, Bea began to sing.

The room fell into stunned silence. Joshua sucked in a gasp at the ethereal sound of Bea’s voice, filling the room. Ian’s jaw dropped. Maurice sobbed. The minute Kate recognized Bea’s choice, she closed her own eyes. Oh, God. It only wanted this. Of all the songs she could have chosen, it had to be Thomas Moore’s “From This Hour the Pledge Is Given.” The next time she saw the ubiquitous Moore, she would box his ears. Especially for the last bit.

The last note drifted off and silence returned, profound, almost stricken. By the front window, Mudge had tears streaming down his face. Kate could hear Maurice blow his nose. And poor Bea, hearing it, opened her eyes and looked around, anxious. What could Kate do? Emotion clogging her throat, she pulled her friend into her arms.

“What would I ever do without you?” she whispered, holding her tight. “I should have had you sing at my first wedding.”

Bea let loose a watery laugh. “‘Down Among the Dead Men,’” she said.

Kate gave her another squeeze and laughed back. “Much more appropriate.”

She was trembly and nauseous, she was so exhausted. Frozen with shock; liquid with relief. She had not another gram of strength.

“Well then,” she said with a bright smile. “Thank you all for your help. I know you’ll agree with me when I say thank God it’s all over. Now, I believe I’m for a nap.”

Unfortunately, no one moved.

“You haven’t told her?” she heard from behind her.

She turned to see that Drake had stepped into the room.

“Told her
what
?” she asked sharply.

The scowl on Harry’s face sent Kate’s stomach dropping. “I haven’t had a chance to get her alone,” he said.

Kate felt the ground slipping away beneath her. Good Christ, what more could possibly go wrong? “Thank you, everyone, for coming to my wedding,” she said, her eyes on Harry. “Now, if you’d give Harry and me a few moments together.”

Her staff well knew that tone of voice and fled as if the ceiling were about to collapse. Harry’s friends, correctly interpreting the migration, followed. Only Bea and Grace had the courage to stay. And Drake, who approached carrying a brace of official-looking documents in his hand.

“Congratulations, Kate,” he greeted her with a kiss to the cheek. “I’m sorry I missed the ceremony.”

Kate backed away, her attention on the papers. “You seem to have been busy.”

“A friend alerted me to some covert activity down at the Chancery Court.” He lifted the papers. “Your brother has been busy. And your stepson.”

She blinked, certain she was in the midst of a nightmare. “My stepson?
Oswald?
”

“Drake sent a message just before the ceremony,” Harry said, taking Kate’s hand.

If she’d had more sense, she would have shaken him off. “What do you have to tell me, Harry?”

He gave an uncomfortable cough. “It’s not.”

“What?”

“Finished.”

He actually looked to Grace, as if she would help him. Grace crossed her arms and kept her silence. Finally setting down his shako, he took up Kate’s other hand, as if it would help her understand.

“The license isn’t enough,” he said, sounding as if he were announcing a death. “Nor the ceremony.”

It took her three tries to get the words out. “What are you saying, Harry?”

It was Drake who answered. “Your brother and stepson have both filed to have you named incompetent to administer your estate,” he said holding up one of the writs.

Kate shook her head. “Didn’t we just put an end to that problem?”

Drake held up the other writ. “Your brother has charged you and Harry both with fraud. He claims the marriage is nothing more than Harry’s attempt to get your money.”

“He certainly didn’t waste time.” Shaking her head, she sighed. “What do we do?”

Drake shrugged. “You convince the world that you and Harry are completely besotted with each other.”

A
ll Kate could think was that there should have been thunderstorms after all. Maybe if she’d had a portent, she could have anticipated the disaster.

“I sincerely hope, Marcus,” she said, her voice trembling unpardonably, “that this is a result of your reading too many gothic novels. If so, I have to tell you that I expected better from you.” She turned to her suspiciously silent husband. “You knew about this?”

“Not all of it. I’ve been more focused on the direct threats to you.”

She stared at him. “There are more of those, too?”

“No. Just Axman Billy. Nothing you need worry about.”

Kate fought a sudden rage. “Worry? Of course I’m not worried. Grace, can you think of a reason I should worry?”

Grace, who had been poisoned while all the men around them had told her she needn’t worry, was wise enough to stay silent.

It was enough that Harry flushed. “I’m handling it, Kate. You need to focus on this threat from your family.”

“But you’re leaving,” Kate protested. “You’ve waited ten years to go.”

“The world will still be there in a month.”

“Harry and I have taken measures to protect your wealth,” Drake assured her.

Another jolt. Her wealth. Not her wealth anymore. Harry hadn’t given her time to consider that, and here she stood irrevocably married. “And quite a nice estate it is,” she said, unable to keep a bitter note from her voice. “You forgot to ask, Harry, but you’ve done very well for yourself today.”

Harry waved off her claim. “I don’t want your money. But your family is another matter.”

“They’ve resubmitted to Chancery to have you declared incompetent on the basis of your marriage to Harry,” Drake said.

Kate felt herself blanch. “Then why in blazes did we waste our time on this farce?”

Harry glared. “Because it isn’t a farce. All we have to do is prove that this marriage is real to stop them in their tracks. If we can do that, the petitions are moot.”

“The only way to prove that is to invite the Almack’s patronesses into our bedroom, Harry.” She glared right back, feeling panicked and cornered. “And even I am not willing to go that far.”

“You need not be that…thorough,” Drake said with the suspicion of a smile. “Merely look charmingly in love in public and speak as if this were a long-term thing.”

As if it were as simple as that. Kate fought to mount some kind of argument, but she felt as if she were barely treading water, her brain sluggish and thick. “Are you sure? I mean, even for the pleasure of ruining me, I can’t see Oswald and Edwin working together.”

“Eastcourt,” Bea blurted out, wringing her hands.

That one word took the strength from Kate’s knees, leaving her sitting on a side chair. “Eastcourt. Of course.” Swamped by dread, she rubbed at her temple. “Edwin will do anything to get it back. Even deal with Oswald.” She laughed, the sound bleak. “He must have had a seizure when he realized that it’s now in your hands instead.”

Her beloved Eastcourt. All her hard work and commitment and…yes, dash it, love. For naught. How absurdly funny that the one compensation she’d received for six years of hell should now be the noose that could well choke her.

“I told you,” Harry snapped. “I want nothing from you.”

Why, thank you
, she thought, standing. A woman couldn’t hope for a better testimonial on her wedding day. “It doesn’t matter,” she retorted. “You have it. With all the benefits and problems. Enjoy it, Harry.”

She saw his face and braced for a punch. He didn’t move, though. “Do you really think I want to take control of you?” he demanded. “Are you mad? I should be in bloody
Paris
right now, sketching the Tuileries and drinking champagne! Not being nanny to a spoiled child who is more afraid of what’s going to be taken from her than what danger her friends and her nation are in!”

She would not cry. She would
not
. He would never understand, no matter how hard she tried to explain. He would never have something taken away simply because he was a man. “Well,” she quietly said. “Thank you for the clarification. It saves me time fretting over how you see this marriage.” Brushing down her skirts, she assumed a position of dignity. “On the off chance it will make a difference, you and I will become more devoted than Abelard and Heloise. At least until I buy your ticket for the Dover-to-Calais packet. Now then, I hate to act the spoiled child, but I have need of a lie-down.”

At least he looked chagrined. “Good,” he said with a stiff nod. “Drake and I will take care of things down here.”

She stopped dead and sighed. “Take care of
what
things?”

“Security. We’re replacing your staff with ours so that we have reliable protection for the short time we’re here, and then we’re trying to figure out where we’re going to put you to keep you safe once we’ve established our undying love.”

For a long moment, she just stood there. Then, looking from Harry to a suspiciously quiet Drake where he still stood in the doorway, she shook her head. “No,” she said, breathless with this latest betrayal. “You’re not.”

Now Harry looked bemused. “Not what?”

“Not any of it, certainly not replace my staff with strangers.”

He tried to smile. “Do you still consider Mudge a stranger?”

She pulled herself up to full duchess height. Her head had begun to hurt; a small knife had begun to dig into her right temple. “This is my house, Harry. You aren’t allowed to just come in and take over. You certainly aren’t going to lock me up again without my permission.”

“But it’s not,” he retorted. “Your house. It’s mine now. Not only that, it’s my job to keep you safe, and I’ll do whatever I must to do that.”

She felt as if he’d struck her. No, she would have preferred it if he had. Of course. How could she have forgotten so soon? He was making a mockery of the control she’d fought so hard for. And now he was sweeping her last vestige of self-reliance out like unwanted trash.

“I may have signed away all my rights,” she warned, her voice growing ragged, “but if you act without my knowledge and consent, I will make you pay for it. And you know I can, Harry.” She was trembling, seething. “You know I can.”

“He only wants to keep you safe,” Drake said.

“Shut up, Marcus,” they both said at once, never looking away from each other.

“Whatever you think of me,” she told Harry, “you will not insult my staff who fought alongside you by shoving them aside. And you
damn
well won’t insult me by doing the same.”

Harry shot Drake a quick look, but Drake just smiled. Shoving his hand through his hair, Harry shook his head. “Don’t you understand yet? There are people who want to lock you up, and people who want to kill you. And they’re not even the same people. You can’t know who to trust!”

She laughed, feeling more frightened by the minute. “You truly think I can’t trust Finney or Maurice or George? Don’t be an ass, Harry.”

“Fine,” he snapped. “Stay. Share every opinion you have. But after that, leave me to do the job I was asked to do.”

From that moment Harry did exactly what Kate most feared. He took charge. It wasn’t an overt thing. He didn’t thump his fist or swing a riding crop as Murther had, but as he gathered her staff and his in the main salon to instruct them on the new security measures, there could be no question that Harry had led men into battle. He was quick, he was organized, and he was, in his quiet way, ruthless.

After making it a point to participate in the meeting, Kate sat by his side and tried to convince herself that she was maintaining her authority. Increasingly, though, she was beset by a sense of loss. Nothing physical had changed. The walls of her salon were still hung in light green silk; the furniture was still Chinese Chippendale, with its gold cushions and the wood carved into delicate tracery; her walls hung in the Constables and Canalettos she so loved. Her staff kept an eye on her, as if reassuring themselves, and Thrasher sat cross-legged by her feet, just in case she needed him.

She wondered, though, how soon Harry would begin to change it all. First a chair removed because it cluttered up the room, the paintings changed for his own, or the morning room taken for an office. The tulips on the estate forsaken for rye, familiar faces replaced for strange, until finally she didn’t fit into her own life again, nothing familiar left to her but frustration and fear.

Her bankers would no longer meet with her. Her estate manager would bring his problems to Harry. Her staff would turn to him for instruction and ask his preference. And Harry, naturally, would assume responsibility. He would take care of her. He would take care of everything, not even realizing that he was robbing her of the only thing she’d ever wanted. Control over her own life.

And once he’d done that, he would leave for his life around the world. And return without notice, only to start the cycle over again. She couldn’t bear living like that.

As if she heard everything in Kate’s head, Bea reached over and held her hand. Kate gave the gnarled fingers a gentle squeeze and smiled for her friend. Her head was beginning to feel as if it would split in two. The world around her had taken on a watery tone, as if she were listening to what went on from the bottom of a lake. She needed to be alone. She needed to walk through her house, to mark out her haven as if she could protect it, a cat marking a fence to warn the rest away.

Only the cat she wanted to warn away was now her husband.

“Is that acceptable to you, Kate?”

She looked up, blinking. “Pardon?”

Her entire staff was watching her. Harry, his lecture evidently ended, stood four-square before the fireplace, hands behind his back, head forward just a bit, as if it would help him ram his way through opposition. It exhausted Kate just to look at him.

“My arrangements,” he said, looking strained. “Are they acceptable?”

She gave a careful nod. “Yes, thank you.” At least he’d kept her staff in place. “I’m certain we will be revisiting them when necessary, of course.
Malum
est concilium quad matori no potest
.” It is a bad plan that cannot be changed.

He sighed. “Kate…”

It seemed to take every ounce of her strength, but she rose to her feet. “Thank you for including me in your planning session. Now that we’re finished, I believe it is finally time for me to see my bed.”

Everyone stood as Grace and Bea followed to their feet. Thrasher jumped up as if he’d been spring-loaded, his elbow out for her hand like a swell. It was all Kate could do to maintain her poise. She was so very tired, and her hands were shaking again. With a final nod to the assembled staff, she set her hand on Thrasher’s arm and followed Bea and Grace from the room.

She knew Harry was following her, probably just to make sure she was all right. It didn’t make her feel any better. Even so, when she reached the staircase, she stopped. Whether she wanted to or not, there was one more thing she had to do.

“Harry?”

He strode up and bent over her. “Yes?”

It took every ounce of remaining poise, but she looked up to see the concern writ large on his face. And she smiled. “You truly did save me. Thank you.”

He looked surprised, but he smiled. “It was my pleasure.”

It wasn’t the fact that Harry raised her hand to kiss it that almost broke Kate’s composure. It was that briefly he looked as sad and lost as she felt. And there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

Grace Hilliard owed her life to Lady Kate Seaton. At least, that was the way she thought of it. After the battle of Waterloo, Kate had taken her in, helped bury her father, treat the wounded, and prepare for her new life. Kate had never pressed or smothered or insisted on Grace’s gratitude. She had even stood by Grace during the short, turbulent weeks of Grace’s marriage.

Grace wanted so much for Kate, and she thought Harry Lidge could well be the man to offer it. Grace had known Harry most of her life. He was brave and loyal and funny and kindhearted to little girls. But he had never gotten along with Kate, and Kate had ever been vocal in her disdain of him.

Grace wished with all her heart that her two dearest friends could have liked each other. But she, more than most, knew that wishes like that were pointless. You could only deal with reality. And the reality was that two people who detested each other had just married. And the only support Grace could give was to help Kate make her way up to bed.

“I am only allowing you lot to make me look vaporish because it will increase Harry’s guilt,” Kate said in a small voice, her eyes closed as they mounted the stairs.

“Excellent thinking,” Grace said, seeing that Harry hadn’t moved. “He looks stricken.”

Kate gave an infinitesimal nod. “Then I am content.”

What Kate looked, Grace thought, was pulled to the point of snapping. It seemed to Grace an upending of the natural order that Kate should need help. She was a force of nature, not a self-indulgent society queen.

When they reached Kate’s suite, Thrasher took up a position outside, as if expecting Axman Billy to follow them up the stairs. Grace followed Bea and Kate inside, all the way into Kate’s bedroom, where they helped her disrobe. Bea was an able conspirator in getting Kate to bed, communicating with expressions rather than words. Bivens, Kate’s abigail, took one look at her white-faced mistress and took off for the kitchen to brew one of Bea’s tisanes, leaving Grace behind. Grace was surprised. It had always been one of Kate’s little idiosyncrasies that Bivens was the only person allowed to breach the bedroom door.

It was when Grace was helping undress Kate that she understood why. They were slipping off Kate’s petticoats when Bea shot Grace a warning look. Grace quirked an eyebrow in question. Then she turned back to Kate and saw what Bea had meant.

Grace had seen enough violence in the years she had followed the drum with her father, much of it against women. But when she helped slip off Kate’s chemise, she exposed scars so obscene she almost cried out in rage. How could anyone treat Kate so?