Regency Debutantes (49 page)

‘Why not?’ He helped himself to some snuff and snapped the lid shut again.

Golden flames leapt high in the hearth, causing the logs to crackle and spit. The two men sat in comfortable silence, Cadmount knowing when he had pushed far enough, Ravensmede brooding on the growing fascination that he felt for Kathryn Marchant.

‘Read me the last verse again,’ Lady Maybury instructed.

Kathryn glanced up at the dowager’s smiling countenance and then, lowering her eyes once more to the book, began to read.

‘No poet is quite as lyrical as Mr Wordsworth, and no lady reads poetry quite so well as you, my dear gel. You have a wonderful voice.’

Kathryn blushed at Lady Maybury’s generous praise and lowered the book to her lap. ‘Thank you, my lady. My father always liked to hear my sister and me reading, and we did so most nights in the parlour. Poems, essays, novels, anything would do, even the newspaper. Papa would listen as if he had never heard anything so interesting in all the day.’ She paused and smiled, before adding quietly, ‘They’re happy memories.’ She did not think of the bad ones.

‘And did you read to your aunt and uncle when you came to London?’ the old lady asked.

The rich brown curls swayed as she slowly shook her head. ‘Oh, no, Uncle Henry reads the
Morning Post
and Aunt Anna does not much care for reading at all.’

‘And the cousin? What did you say her name was—Lettie?’ The ancient tone had sharpened imperceptibly.

‘Lottie. I’m afraid my cousin finds reading rather irksome. She’s of a more musical disposition, being very fond of singing and with a voice that’s lovely to hear.’ Kathryn carefully turned
the page in the book nestled upon her lap. ‘Indeed, my aunt is holding a musical evening very soon at which Lottie will be singing to Mr Dalton’s piano accompaniment. Lottie has been practising for weeks.’

Lady Maybury showed not the slightest interest. ‘I’ve just remembered our appointment with Madame Dupont. Come, we had best ready ourselves. She’s rather high in the instep for a dressmaker, but I’ve never patronised anyone else in the last thirty years. Her designs are very much to my liking.’

Thus it was that, precisely two hours later, Kathryn and Lady Maybury came to be sitting within the tiny backroom of Madame Dupont’s elegant establishment in highly fashionable Bond Street.

‘But, my lady, it is such a colour as to bring out the fire in your eyes. A dark green silk will make the gown, damask is not at all right for this style.’ The tall thin woman with the severe white chignon spoke passionately in an accent that still held the lilt of her Gallic origins. ‘Most definitely
non!’
She shook her head defiantly.

For the first time since their meeting Kathryn saw Lady Maybury capitulate. ‘Very well, Marie. I’ll allow you to have your way in this one respect. A small turban in green and black should go very well, don’t you think?’

‘Indeed, my lady, very well indeed. And I shall add a few small ebony plumes as the finishing touch, yes?’

‘Yes. Now that’s enough for me at present, Marie. My companion Miss Marchant requires an evening dress for the same event. And we had better have a couple of afternoon dresses and another evening dress while we’re at it.’ Lady Maybury’s small veined hand was pushing Kathryn forward in no uncertain terms.

Her companion, on the other hand, had very different ideas. ‘My lady, it’s really not necessary, I have a very serviceable evening gown and several other dresses too. I must insist that there is no need for anything more.’ Kathryn thought of the few
outmoded shabby dresses that had arrived in her old trunk from Green Street. She thought too of the six shillings hidden at the bottom of the trunk, next to the small battered bible that had belonged to her mother. The sum of her worldly savings would not suffice to pay for one of Madame Dupont’s gowns, let alone four. ‘Thank you for thinking of me,’ she added hastily lest Lady Maybury think her rude.

The dressmaker’s dark eyes swung back to the dowager.

‘Kathryn,’ Lady Maybury began, and Kathryn recognised it as her most autocratic tone. ‘It is in the role of my companion that you require several new items of clothing. The choice is mine as is the reckoning of the account.’ There was definitely more than a hint of the same imperious tone Kathryn had witnessed in the old lady’s grandson.

Kathryn’s cheeks flushed at the barely veiled implication. Lady Maybury did not care to be seen in the company of someone dressed so poorly. It was also evident that the dowager knew something of her companion’s meagre means and thus felt compelled to pay for the clothing. Kathryn could not dispute that her dresses were probably of a state to cause her employer some degree of embarrassment, but she was also very aware of the pride that was lodged stubbornly in her throat. ‘Thank you, my lady, but, kind as your offer is, you must know that I cannot possibly accept it. I will pay for the dresses myself.’ The defiant little chin thrust up as she waited for Lady Maybury’s reaction.

‘Very well, my dear. It seems that you have your mind set over the matter.’

With a calm demeanour Kathryn nodded her gratitude and turned to face the dressmaker. She would worry over how to obtain the money later, when she knew the full sum owing.

If Lady Maybury felt any irritation towards her companion’s insistence she hid it well and thus, at the end of the afternoon, they finally departed Madame Dupont’s on very good terms with the promise of two completed evening gowns for the following week, and the rest to follow later.

The days passed with an easiness and speed that Kathryn had not experienced for many a year. Life with Lady Maybury was pleasant indeed. The old lady could be demanding in the extreme, but she was also kind, interesting and in possession of a rather wicked sense of humour, as her companion quickly discovered. Even Lord Ravensmede’s visits to his grandparent failed to blight Kathryn’s growing happiness. From the time of his arrival until his eventual departure she kept herself busily employed in tasks well away from the drawing room where Lady Maybury entertained. There was, after all, no point is jeopardising the harmonious existence into which she had fallen within the dowager’s rented townhouse.

As Kathryn found contentment in her new life, her daydreaming diminished. There were still times when, in her mind, she was the sole recipient of a certain nobleman’s heart—a nobleman who did not want her as his mistress, but as his wife and the mother of his children. But this time, she kept the tall, handsome Viscount strictly confined to her dreams. Kathryn had learned her lesson well. Neither Lord Ravensmede, nor anyone else for that matter, would be allowed to ruin the chance she now had for happiness.

Warm golden sunlight spilled across the deep rosewood table in the parlour of the house in Green Street, highlighting a patch of dust that had escaped the maid’s cloth and beeswax. Under ordinary circumstances such an omission would have been enough to earn the poor girl a clout round the ear and a thorough tongue lashing from the lady of the house. But, fortunately for the maid, matters within the Marchant household that afternoon were anything but ordinary. For Anna Marchant, sitting alone and bolt upright in the comfortable armchair beside the unlit fireplace, was reading the contents of a letter that had just been delivered by the letter carrier. A small gasp erupted into the emptiness of the room. The colour drained from
her complexion. Her mouth gaped liked a landed fish. ‘No!’ she whispered aloud. ‘It cannot be…’ She smoothed the paper out upon her lap and then, grasping the sheet so tightly that her nails dug into her palms, made to read the small, neatly formed script once more.

By the time Mrs Marchant finished reading her mouth was quite dry and her heart rate had kicked to a canter. What on earth had that little bitch Kathryn been up to? Making a fool of the family that had saved her from destitution on the streets, if Amanda White’s insinuations were to be believed. Mrs Marchant folded the letter up and went to hide it in a safe place, all the while musing on why she disliked Kathryn so very much. The deed was done: Kathryn was already installed in the dowager’s house in Upper Grosvenor Street. Nothing in Mrs White’s letter could undo that, not without serving the entire Marchant family up to the gossipmongers. And that was something that could not be risked. A sneer contorted her mouth, and her eyes were filled with spite. Anna Marchant had no intention of meekly awaiting the return of the widow to discover just what was going on with Kathryn, no intention at all.

Kathryn stared at her reflection in disbelief. She tried to speak, her mouth even shaped to say the words, but none were forthcoming. Her delicately shaped eyebrows rose and fell expressively and when still she could not speak she whirled around and in three steps had gathered Lady Maybury into a spontaneous embrace.

‘I take it you’re pleased with Madame Dupont’s creation!’ chuckled the old lady.

Kathryn finally found her tongue. ‘Indeed, my lady, it’s quite the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. When I look in the mirror I see a stranger looking back at me. I’m nothing like myself!’ A slender hand patted the dowager’s arm once more. ‘Thank you for allowing me to repay your loan with such reasonable terms.’ As Lady Maybury’s companion she was not entitled to a wage as such, but her ladyship had insisted on
giving her a generous sum, all of which would now be consumed in paying for the outfit in which she was now attired.

‘You are very welcome, child.’ Lady Maybury smiled. ‘I do believe Marie was right when she insisted upon this colour. It complements your eyes.’ Her head perched to one side in contemplation. “Yes, Kathryn, you shall do very well.’ One snowy eyebrow arched, mimicking the gesture so often used by her grandson. ‘Very well indeed.’

For once in her life, Kathryn Marchant thought that perhaps that might just be true. The dress was of a sheer violet silk, highwaisted and cut so that the skirt draped enticingly to the floor with the merest suggestion of the curves hidden beneath. With a low décolletage it revealed rather more of Kathryn’s other assets than she was used to, but her bruises were gone; when she suggested the addition of her fichu, Lady Maybury snorted and turned a more-than-querulous eye in her direction.

‘There’s no need for any such thing.’

Sprinkled liberally over the bodice were the tiniest cream pearls, which led the eye down to the broad cream satin ribbon that adorned Kathryn’s waist as well as the edge of her short puffed sleeves. On her hands she wore an elegant new pair of cream gloves that reached up and over her arms to past her elbows. Her neck was bare save for the few chestnut tendrils that nestled about it. The mass of her curls had been gathered up high on the back of her head and fixed in place with pins and cream-and-violet coloured ribbons. A matching cream shawl and reticule completed the elegant ensemble. Little wonder that she scarcely recognised the woman looking back at her from the dressing mirror. Suddenly aware that she had been entirely absorbed in her own appearance, Kathryn turned to the dowager, who was resplendent in the forest green silk. ‘You look lovely, my lady. Madame Dupont has truly worked her magic here tonight. We shall be quite the finest dressed ladies at Lady Cooper’s ball.’

‘I never doubted it for a moment,’ said her ladyship in reply.

The ballroom was glowing with the light of a multitude of candles balanced in four enormous crystal chandeliers. Lady Cooper’s affair was proving to be quite a success judging from the mass of people squashed within the confines of her ballroom. Kathryn and Lady Maybury had been fortuitous in finding seats close by the floor-length windows, which were opened in an attempt to remedy the stifling heat. Mrs Lee and Lady Hadstone soon arrived to monopolise the dowager’s attention, leaving Kathryn to watch the proceedings upon the dance floor and around its periphery. She sipped her lemonade and enjoyed her contemplation.
The oppressive heat of the ballroom vanished, the air grew cool and sweet, scented with the freshness of grass and earth and blue sky. Instead of the press of sweat-drenched bodies were spacious marble chequered floor tiles and a flood of sunlight. Across the floor stood one large figure, immaculate in full evening dress, his green eyes light like tender young leaves, smiling his heartrending smile…for her alone.

‘Kathryn!’ The dowager’s hand touched to her arm, and the spell was broken.