Regency Debutantes (37 page)

‘You could not!’ she exclaimed, but there was a definite echo of fear in her voice.

‘My wealth and power are considerable. And everybody has a price. You of all people should know that, Amanda.’

She paled and took a few steps back.

He slipped his watch from his pocket and glanced down at the face. ‘Time’s up, Mrs White. What is it to be?’

She cleared her throat. ‘I’ll accept the money.’

‘Bravo.’ He looked at her a little longer with that same lazy expression. ‘Might I be so bold as to suggest that you would
benefit from a sojourn in the country. A few weeks away from the heat of the town…’

‘I’ll think about it,’ she ground out from between gritted teeth.

‘Please do,’ he said as if they were having the politest of conversations.

They stared at one another with barely concealed dislike across the small distance.

‘Good evening, my lord.’

She turned and was gone, leaving Ravensmede to ponder on what he had just done to one of London’s most coveted women…and all for the sake of Miss Kathryn Marchant.

K
athryn sat composedly watching her cousin being whirled around the dance floor by a young gentleman whose features bore a startling resemblance to a horse. On the other side of Lottie’s empty chair Mrs Marchant was chatting to Mrs Brown, the tinkle of her laughter ringing out into the ballroom.

Kathryn concentrated on the music and tried to disguise her mounting worry. As the minutes ticked slowly by without a sign of either Lord Ravensmede or Mrs White, she began to hope that they had left the ball. But that would mean only one thing, and, despite everything, it was not a pleasing thought. She heard again the echo of his parting words:
We shall continue our study in astronomy another time.
Surely he did not think…But hadn’t she given him every reason to believe so? So caught up in her remembrances was she that she did not at first notice the arrival of the beautiful woman accompanying Lady Spey. Only the overpowering scent of roses alerted her.

‘Mrs Marchant, may I present Mrs White, who is a friend of mine.’

Kathryn senses reeled.
No!

‘Mrs Marchant!’ the husky voice gushed. ‘How very pleased I am to meet you. I’ve heard only good things about you.’

‘Mrs White, the pleasure is mine.’ Mrs Marchant puffed out her chest in a self-important manner.

The widow turned to view Kathryn. ‘And this must be your—’

‘Niece,’ supplied Mrs Marchant in a rush.

‘Ah,’ Mrs White uttered softly, ‘this must then be Miss Kathryn Marchant.’ She sauntered closer and inclined a regal head. And never once did her pale ice eyes leave Kathryn’s face. ‘Such a delight.’

‘Mrs White.’ Kathryn bobbed a curtsy and forced her face to a mask of politeness. For the briefest of moments her eyes met the scrutiny, and held. Amanda White’s sly smile widened.

‘Please say that you won’t object to my being seated with you, my dear Mrs Marchant.’ It was not so much a question as an assumption. Amanda sat down with a show of elegance and proceeded to monopolise Mrs Marchant.

Kathryn sat rigid. Perspiration prickled beneath her arms. The length of her back had adhered to the grey silk of her dress. Even her palms were cold and clammy. And still she waited, while Mrs White played her cat-and-mouse game. Each time those pale eyes slanted her way, each time that husky voice lowered conspiratorially to utter,
My dear Mrs Marchant,
Kathryn’s heart lurched. Every nerve in her body was stretched taut, vibrating with expectation.

‘But Kathryn—’ the widow broke off to pat Kathryn’s cold white hand ‘—you don’t mind if I call you that, do you?’ and without waiting for an answer rushed on, ‘You look so pale. Are you ill?’

Kathryn licked the dryness from her lips. ‘I’m quite well, thank you.’ And all the while she wanted to scream,
Tell her, if that’s what you mean to do, and be done with it.

But Mrs White had no intention of ending her game, not when her humiliation still burned so painfully. Ravensmede might have bought her silence, but Kathryn was ignorant of the fact. The widow fully intended to exact a measure of revenge
upon the girl for the remainder of the evening. A slow, delicious torture, and one that would not leave Ravensmede unaffected. Amanda White relished the prospect. She drew Kathryn a malevolent smile and turned her attention back to Anna Marchant.

Kathryn’s overstretched nerves began to fray.

‘That woman has the cheek of the devil.’

Cadmount followed Ravensmede’s focus and smiled lazily. ‘The Winsome Widow White, I perceive. I thought you and the lady had reached an arrangement?’

Lord Ravensmede bestowed a withering look upon his friend. ‘Not the kind of arrangement that you think. Matters have altered.’

‘What are you not telling of the Winsome Widow?’ Cadmount studied his friend for a moment. When no answer was forthcoming, he added, ‘Or rather, should I ask which new face has captured your interest?’

Ravensmede lifted one haughty eyebrow.

‘I know you too well, my friend.’ Cadmount chuckled. ‘You don’t fool me for an instant.’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Come on, let’s head to Brooks’s. I’ve a mind to enjoy a turn at the tables and a drink or two. This place is so full of blasted chits and tabbies as to wear a man’s soul.’

Ravensmede smiled at that, but his eyes soon drifted back to where Kathryn Marchant sat drained and rigid. Her chestnut hair was scraped back in a chignon from which the escaped curls still hung defiantly. Despite the pallor of her cheeks her back was straight and her head held up. She was afraid, but she was fighting it with courage. And courage was something that Lord Ravensmede had ever respected.

He thought of the harangue he had interrupted between pampered Miss Lottie Marchant and her cousin; thought too of how hard Lottie had tried to portray Kathryn as her servant. He remembered the feel of Kathryn’s lips beneath his, and how
slender her body was within his arms. Just the memory brought a stirring in his nether regions. Finally he allowed his thoughts to turn to Amanda White. The widow was no fool; she was unlikely to jeopardise the little agreement they had just reached. But a warning shot wouldn’t go amiss. As he stood there, beneath the bright glow of the chandeliers, surrounded by the crowd and the melodic strains of the band, he knew just what to do.

Cadmount’s perceptive gaze lit upon Kathryn. He decided to test his theory. ‘Drab little chit.’

Ravensmede glanced up.

‘Miss Marchant’s cousin. The one she would have us believe is her servant.’

Ravensmede donned a slightly amused expression. ‘Only to those with a less discerning eye. The only drab thing about Miss Kathryn Marchant is her dress. Clothing is easily replaced.’

‘It’s like that, then? I’m impressed. One would hardly have guessed it from the look she gave you earlier this evening. Were you a military man, you would surely have made Commander-in-Chief for your ability to claim victory from the most hopeless of situations.’ Cadmount widened his eyes in feigned surprise and tried not to appear smug.

Ravensmede resumed his watch. ‘You’re making assumptions, dear boy.’

‘Afraid it’s what I must do if you won’t spill the beans, old man.’ Cadmount looked at the awkward little group. Their tension was palpable even across the room. ‘It’s rather interesting that the Winsome Widow is so friendly with Mrs Marchant. Didn’t think they’d get on. Wonder what she’s up to?’

‘Baiting Miss Marchant, I should guess.’ As if to confirm Ravensmede’s words, Mrs White’s gaze flitted to meet his. The widow looked pointedly at Miss Marchant, then back to the Viscount before delivering a nasty smile.

None of it was missed by Cadmount. ‘Now what could the very respectable Miss Marchant have done to so upset the widow?’ he mused, and looked speculatively at his friend.

The flicker of a smile crossed the Viscount’s face. He said nothing.

‘Care to enlighten me?’

‘No.’ Ravensmede didn’t even look round. ‘What do you know of her?’

‘The Winsome Widow?’ Cadmount’s forehead wrinkled in mock puzzlement.

One dark brow raised in sarcastic denial. ‘I was referring to Miss Marchant, as well you know.’

Cadmount scratched at the dark blond of his curls, sniffed knowingly and reeled off the information. ‘Family lost their money in some confounded investment venture that went awry. Poor as church mice. Father shot himself little over three years past, the mother and sister died about eight or nine years ago; Miss Marchant must have been little more than a child at the time. Henry Marchant is the father’s brother. The girl’s lived with his family ever since. Have it from the best sources that she’s little more than a domestic in that household. Anna Marchant doesn’t take to her too well. That’s as much as I know.’

‘Caddie, I’m the one who’s impressed. Should you wish to purchase another commission, consider military intelligence. Undoubtedly you’d go far.’

They laughed.

Then Cadmount said knowingly, ‘So Brooks’s will have to wait?’

‘For now.’

Cadmount picked distractedly at his nails and deliberately yawned. ‘Shouldn’t take too long, damned chit looks as if she’s about to keel over any minute now.’

The corner of Ravensmede’s mouth twitched. ‘Not if I have anything to do with it. How are your dance steps these days?’

They shared a look of mutual understanding. No need for further explanation between old friends.

‘It’ll cost you a bottle of your finest brandy.’

‘Done!’

‘You do know that you’ll be delivering a monumental snub to the widow, don’t you? I mean, the whole town is aware that she’s been chasing you for months and what do you do? Head straight in the direction of the good lady and ask the plainest chit in the room, who just happens to be sitting by her side, to waltz. No denying that it don’t look too good for Mrs White.’

‘How very perceptive of you, Caddie,’ drawled Ravensmede. ‘Mrs White will soon learn the wisdom of good advice, and her departure from London might suddenly seem rather more urgent.’

The pair set off at a sedentary saunter in their deep-blue fitted tail-coats.

‘Now to really set the cat amidst the pigeons!’ Cadmount said under his breath. ‘I hope the chit’s worth it, my friend, I sincerely do.’

‘It’s so unusual to meet a young lady with an interest in astronomy, don’t you agree?’ Mrs White’s voice grated against Kathryn’s ear. ‘I was just telling your aunt, it’s such a curious trait to observe in a female.’

Kathryn gritted her teeth and looked round. The widow was enjoying herself immensely. Beyond the gleam of Amanda White’s dark curls Aunt Anna’s face was scowling in perplexity. It was time that things came to a head. Temptation beckoned. ‘Perhaps, but I understand it to be a most enjoyable pastime.’ She was relieved to hear that her voice held no trace of fear. Indeed it was positively calm. The words acted, as Kathryn knew they would, as a burr to Mrs White.

The lady’s face contorted to a sour grimace before she recollected herself. ‘For those of a certain set. Hardly a fitting activity for a young lady. Wouldn’t you say, Mrs Marchant?’

Aunt Anna might not have understood to what Mrs White was alluding, but she definitely detected an underlying current of dislike aimed at her niece. She smiled and shifted a little closer to the widow. ‘Completely, Mrs White. Please do call me Anna.’

‘Thank you, Anna. And you must call me Amanda.’

The two women smiled in unity.

‘There is a rather delicate matter which I’m not fully at liberty to discuss.’ Mrs White held her fan over her mouth. ‘You must think me foolish not to know how to proceed, but, with your valuable experience of raising such a beautiful daughter, and then your great kindness in inviting your niece into your home as a member of your family, there’s no one better I can think to ask.’

Anna Marchant patted her hair and tried not to look superior. ‘I’ve always tried to set an example. Lottie has just to make a match and my job will be complete.’

‘Miss Marchant…that is, Miss
Lottie
Marchant, will have no lack of interest from
suitable
gentlemen.’ Mrs White shot a glance at Kathryn. ‘She’s a credit to her mother,’ she said. ‘Which is why I must ask for your help on behalf of a friend whose charge has just been discovered to have behaved in a most improper manner with a gentleman. I declare the guardian to be quite distraught.’

‘Is the girl known to me?’ Mrs Marchant’s curiosity got the better of her.

Mrs White nodded her beautiful ebony head. ‘Most definitely. But do not press me to tell you. I’m sworn to secrecy.’ She batted her fan, then added, ‘It does so prey upon my mind. I’m in such a quandary as to what to do for the best. Will you trust me as I trust you, dearest Anna?’

‘Of course, Amanda.’

‘In that case I feel I may speak of it to you.’

Ruined. Cast out, penniless and in shame. There would be little hope for the future. Kathryn waited for the life-changing words. Stared at the floor, wishing it would open up and swallow her whole, and waited. Waited, and waited some more. And then she heard them.

‘Miss Marchant, may I enquire whether your card is marked for this dance?’ The deep timbre of the voice sent a shiver
down Kathryn’s spine. She looked up into the moss green eyes of Lord Ravensmede.

‘I’m afraid I don’t have a dance card. I’m here as a companion to my cousin.’

‘Then I’ll take it that you’re free to accompany me on to the floor.’ And with that he took one of her hands in his and pulled. Glancing over at the two older women, he inclined his head. ‘Always a pleasure, ladies.’

Kathryn had only the briefest moment to revel in the slack-jawed gawking expressions of her aunt and Mrs White before she found herself clamped firmly in Lord Ravensmede’s arms and waltzing across to the other side of the room. It all happened with such speed that she did not know whether to laugh or cry. The former won.

Lord Ravensmede raised a wry eyebrow. ‘My dancing is a source of amusement?’

‘Not at all.’ The vestige of a smile remained upon her face. ‘I was merely thinking that your timing is impeccable, my lord. Mrs White is on the brink of revealing all to my aunt. The question is whether she’ll await my return before she delivers her denouement.’