Sandra Madden (11 page)

"Lady Judith!" Edmund exclaimed. " 'Tis an unexpected pleasure to greet you."

Unexpected, aye,
thought Kate.
Pleasure? Nay, nay.

One glance pronounced Judith Witherspoon a proper lady. Attired in the first of fashion, her heavy popinjay blue damask gown featured a stiff ruff that forced the lady's chin to a height that could only be described as unnatural and haughty in the extreme. Wearing a farthingale that spread her skirts as wide as her shoulders, the lady appeared stretched in different directions.

Despite her costume, Lady Judith remained small in stature. The plume of her small velvet hat barely reached Edmund's chest. She stood rigidly, as if fearing the many gold chains, pendants, and broaches adorning her person would fall away with the slightest movement. Or perhaps they weighed her down so that she could not move.

For Lord Stamford's sake, Kate hoped the lady possessed a heavenly countenance and the smile of an angel, that beneath her heavy crepe veil, Judith did not hide the face of a frog.

Kate bit down on her lip, intending to inflict a measure of pain upon herself for having such a mean-spirited thought. Lady Witherspoon came from an aristocratic family. Her blood might run cold, but it was noble.

Lady Cordelia had told Kate that the Witherspoon family was a powerful force throughout Britain. Edmund would be fortunate to win the lady's hand, for her family would provide needed allies in Parliament and court.

But alas, Kate feared her childhood friend might pay the price for allies by spending the rest of his life in regret.

She clamped down on her lip a bit more forcefully.

Lord Stamford withdrew a muckinder and dabbed at beads of sweat on his brow. An odd condition on a mild, overcast afternoon. Kate wondered if he'd taken ill. But before she could ask, Edmund recovered.

With eyes only for Judith, the corners of his mouth turned up in the warm, heart-fluttering grin that made Kate's insides ache. 'Twas the sort of smile that made a woman feel as if she were the center of his world, the only woman in his life. And it was aimed at Judith Witherspoon.

Edmund's great charm poured forth in glowing words as he complemented Lady Judith on looking so lovely. More than once, he declared his pleasure upon meeting by chance.

Kate thought she would gag.

"You have not introduced your companion, Lord Stamford,"

Lady Judith squeaked like a mouse when she spoke. She sounded more child than woman.

Kate bit down on her lip once again, this time drawing blood.

"Lady Judith, I am pleased to present Mistress Kate Beadle, a long-time acquaintance just arrived from the country. She is Aunt Cordelia's gentlewoman."

To her credit, Lady Judith did not ask why Lady Cordelia's gentlewoman was attending the theater with the Earl of Stamford. Nevertheless, feeling the frosty glare from eyes she could not see, Kate dipped into a polite curtsy.

"A country miss," Judith squeaked.

And proud to be,
Kate added silently.

Stretching her neck to gain added height over the little woman, Kate greeted Edmund's lady. "Pray, Lady Witherspoon, I am honored."

"Is Lord Stamford entertaining you well?"

"Lord Stamford is a most excellent host," Kate said.

Lady Witherspoon turned abruptly to Edmund. "Did you approve of the Shakespeare play?"

" 'Twas an interesting tale, full of humor."

"I prefer his dramas." Judith addressed only Edmund. To Kate's great annoyance, she no longer existed for the lady.

"Shakespeare's dramas are exceptional," Edmund agreed.

Kate made a great show of clearing her throat as a vocal reminder of her presence.

"I do not understand why he takes this new direction," Judith complained, ignoring her.

Edmund turned up his palms. "Who among us can readily understand an artist?"

"Perhaps Master Shakespeare desired the challenge," Kate put in. " Tis far more difficult to make an audience laugh than to make one cry."

She heard a pin drop in the silence.

"But 'tis only my opinion," she added.

Edmund took Lady Judith's hand. "A thousand pardons, but I must hurry Kate back to my aunt, who treasures Mistress Beadle's companionship." His lips grazed the back of the lady's gloved hand.

A stone turned in the pit of Kate's stomach.

"I say, Lady Judith, have you plans for the morrow?"

"Nay, I do not believe so."

"May I prevail upon you to join a small supper party. My aunt wishes to meet you during her stay in London."

"Aye. I should like to meet your aunt, as well."

Kate groaned inwardly before realizing that she could not escape the gathering, which increased with each new person Edmund encountered. She had only just met Lady Witherspoon, and could come to no fair opinion. Kate's
feeling
that the lady was a shrew meant little. And one Edmund most likely did not share.

In Kate's opinion, no woman would ever be fine enough for Edmund. But he did require an heir, and since Kate could neither marry him nor provide him with a son, she should lend her support and encourage him in his romantic pursuits.

Edmund swept to a low bow before the lady. "Until the morrow."

The veiled head bobbed.

 
* * * *

In recalling the unexpected meeting with Lady Judith, Edmund realized he had not drawn a complete breath the entire time. He'd worried what the two women might say to each other. He feared Kate might blurt whatever was on her mind, as she was wont to do. Instead, Edmund found her silence even more disquieting. He dared not ask her what she thought of his intended bride. Some sixth sense warned him against it.

The first time they were alone together, Edmund expected that Lady Judith would question him further about Kate. Ergo, he must avoid being alone with her. Conversation between him and Judith proved difficult enough, as they had little in common.

When Kate and Judith stood beside each other, even with Kate dressed in common garb, it was plain to all that they were as unlike as a peach and a pit. Kate being the peach, Judith the pit.

Edmund immediately chastised himself for having such thoughts. 'Twas an unfair comparison and one that should not be made.

Lady Judith had been raised in the accepted manner, her ideas and education influenced by her parents and peers. Further, the lady could hardly be set down for her average appearance. Most women of Edmund's acquaintance did not possess Kate's willowy height, nor her golden eyes and high, regal cheekbones.

He approached his aunt's chamber with resolve. He required the old woman's help, but he was late for his appointment with her. He hoped she hadn't imbibed too much sack while waiting.

Edmund had no trouble filling his time since his Aunt Cordelia and Kate had arrived in London. Once he'd participated in every game, even those he did not particularly enjoy, to fill his time. Now, he had little time to play his favorite sports and hone his skills. Where previously he found himself late for appointments because the play lasted longer than expected, of late, his tardiness resulted from a heavy schedule. The demands of his aunt, sister, and Kate kept a man well occupied. On second thought, Kate made no demands. He offered his services to her.

With arrangements to make for tomorrow's entertainment following dinner, he hardly had a moment to visit with his aunt, but Edmund considered his business urgent. Seated on a bench beneath a window in her solar, Lady Cordelia squinted as she embroidered.

"By your leave—

"Edmund!" She smiled up a him, blinking her hazel orbs as she adjusted from the light of the window to the dimmer light where he stood. The blinking gave her an expression of profound bewilderment.

Despite Lady Cordelia's endless ills, Edmund was fond of the old woman. He strode to her side. "How do you feel today, Aunt?"

"I am much improved. The physician I visited this morning prescribed saffron and a diet of eggs eaten two at a time, four times a day. I believe I feel better just contemplating my new diet."

"I am pleased more than I can say, Aunt."

"You are late. You promised to attend me midmorning"

"Begging your pardon but I was detained through no fault of my own."

"You are never at fault."

"Perhaps occasionally," he admitted, with a grin and a wink.

The old woman chuckled and wagged her head. "I shall forgive you. Once more."

"Where is Kate?" he asked, looking around the chamber as if she might pop out from behind a pillar.

"She is in the garden planting something. She said the garden was sorely neglected and she must set it as right as she can before we return to Rose Hall."

"She speaks the truth, I fear. ‘Tis a tangle."

Cordelia raised her hand to her throat, the way she often did in an attempt to cover her three doughy chins. "Why have you let the Stamford House garden go to weed, Edmund?"

"I have no excuse, Aunt," he admitted with a shrug and a sheepish smile, "but an unpardonable lack of interest. Since I have no one to walk with in the garden, I rarely go there. In fact, roses, lilies, ivy, and apple trees are never uppermost in my mind."

"What is uppermost in your mind? Marriage, by chance?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Pray God!" Her round eyes grew rounder, "Your life will have purpose!"

Not quite the purpose she thought.

"Aunt Cordelia, I wish to find Kate a proper husband."

"Kate?" the old woman repeated, blinking rapidly, leaving no doubt about her confusion.

"Yes. And I believe my task would be less difficult if she were clothed in the first of fashion."

"Methinks Kate needs no help from you, Edmund. She is quite beautiful. I doubt men of her class even notice the girl's attire."

Edmund shook his head and took up pacing the small chamber, clasping his hands behind his back. "We cannot take the chance. I shall provide the funds for her wardrobe, but I should like you to take matters in hand at once. We will be having guests on the morrow and Kate should look her best."

Aunt Cordelia inclined her head, and a faded curl escaped her cap, falling askew on her milky-white brow. "Why do you take such an interest, eh?"

"Kate deserves a provident match and a life of ease. What opportunities has she had thus far in life? She was abandoned to be raised by a gardener and his wife."

"But she has been blessed with a fair face and many talents. When Kate strokes my temples, the pain flies a—"

"Dear Aunt, Kate was my childhood friend, and I would arrange a proper marriage for her. The village parson with an overbite will not do."

"I have told her as much."

"With Kate's intelligence and wit she might capture a..."

Edmund paused in his pacing, letting his thoughts go. A peer of the realm? A knight? Hardly. He must find her a husband within societal limits. A barrister would do quite nicely. A far better choice than the limner. An experienced matchmaker would have realized at once.

"Go on, Edmund."

"She might catch the eye of my barrister, James Moore, who will be among our guests tomorrow eve."

Cordelia inclined her head, blinking into space.

Watching her, Edmund vaguely wondered if the new spectacles he'd heard of might lessen his aunt's incessant blinking.

"Will you help?" he pressed. "You have an eye for color and style much like the queen, herself," he coaxed.

His aunt lifted the silver goblet by her side and sipped. "Perhaps something of mine could be made over by the morrow, eh? And I shall order additional gowns made especially for Kate."

Edmund strode to his aunt's side and planted a kiss on her forehead. "I shall be eternally grateful."

"Grateful enough to plan a marriage of your own?"

"Aye. The moment Kate is betrothed." He started toward the door but stopped suddenly. "By your leave, Aunt, let this be our secret. I shouldn't want Kate to know that I am arranging a marriage for her. She might not appreciate our efforts. As a girl she possessed a rare and terrible independent streak."

Cordelia held a finger over her lips. "Say no more. But I shall immediately require a seamstress and several of your serving maids who are familiar with a needle. And Kate, of course."

"I shall fetch her myself."

* * * *

Edmund made his way to the garden with purpose to his stride. Until recently his sole objective had been pursuit of the sporting life. One day he bowled, the next he might play tennis with his friend, the Viscount of Lavingham, Christopher Carew. At least once a week he took up his longbow.

He'd also wiled away the time with visits to his mistress until she married several months ago. He'd been adrift without a woman since then, and reluctant to court Judith Witherspoon.

For most of his youth Edmund had looked forward to becoming master of Rose Hall. He'd become the Earl of Stamford by default.

He met his obligations at court and Parliament, but 'twas not the country life he was born to. Edmund meant to farm, feed the masses, and provide work for the country folks. He dreamed of raising a family and teaching his son to fish in the same stream he had as a boy... fishing with Kate.

But an earl did not farm. He left the running of his estate to his steward. An earl counseled the queen and made laws to benefit his country. With Reggie's unexpected demise, Edmund's dream ended.

He found solace in sport.

To make up for the lack of attention during his childhood, Edmund required the approval and love of all those around him. It did not take him long to discover that winning at sports competitions rewarded him with a shower of admiration. Winning became all-important. He could not expect the unconditional love bestowed upon him by his hound, Percy. God's blood, he missed Percy!

Patches of weeds grew in the small garden behind Edmund's town house. The bleak, barren branches of a dying cherry tree reached for the sky. A gravel path wound beneath two apple trees at one end of the garden to a pair of cherry trees at the opposite end—one living, one dying. Amid the neglected flower beds several stone benches provided resting spots. In the center of the garden sat a lovely marble fountain filled with dried leaves.