The Blue Devil (The Regency Matchmaker Series) (21 page)

My Dear Kitty,

I have need to speak with you on a matter of some importance late this evening. I will send a carriage for you.

—A

She showed the letter to Lady Marchman, who said only, “You must go where the carriage takes you.”

Kathryn nodded and went silently to her chamber, but her thoughts were not silent at all. God’s teeth! What was Auntie up to now? She hadn’t yet found the diary. For Kathryn, the afternoon passed with nearly painful slowness.

FOR NIGEL, THE afternoon flashed by with painful swiftness. He had not found what he was looking for inside the school. Of course, it didn’t help that he didn’t know what he was looking for. Neither did it help that Miss Davidson had been peeping in through the library window, the tiresome vixen. She was worse than Jane! Though he did not think she had seen him, he had been forced to abandon his search. Confound Jeremy! He was supposed to have been keeping the young ladies busy.

When Lady Marchman came home, Nigel endured a stern lecture in her library on the almost-but-not-quite impropriety of Jeremy and Nigel having been almost-but-not-quite alone with Kitty and Jane. It was acceptable in a very public place such as the park, she told him, with their tigers in attendance, but being alone at the school was not the thing, and she hinted that Mr. Scott and the marquis might both be barred from the school altogether.

Her attitude turned about when Nigel hinted that Jeremy was courting Miss Davidson in earnest.

Nigel found himself wishing it were an outright lie.

Lady Marchman was all smiles then, agreeing easily to allowing Kitty to attend Jane’s entertainment on the morrow—with the provision that she send Mary Gant as chaperon, of course.

As he left Lady Marchman’s, he passed a closed coach a few doors down. Giving the barest nod as he passed, Nigel acknowledged the lone occupant, for he knew Jeremy was inside, watching. Good. The younger man would keep watch on the comings and goings while Nigel left to see to the details of Jane’s ball—as long as his young friend’s attention stayed focused on his duty to his country instead of on Kitty’s decolletage, Nigel thought sourly.

Nigel made a low sound in his throat. As long as the wretch did nothing to stand in the way of the investigation, his interest in Kitty was none of Nigel’s concern.

Nigel knew he should be well satisfied. Everything was going just as he’d designed it should. He knew he should be in better spirits than he was, but by the time he got home, he was in a worse mood than ever. Upon arriving home, he waved off the maid’s offer of tea and sat down instead at his desk with a snifter of brandy and a salver full of the day’s post. Scanning the cards and letters, he found a largish envelope addressed in a lavish, scrawling hand with scarlet ink.

Ophelia Palin.

Nigel’s eyes widened, and he opened that envelope first. He was invited to another masqued ball—to be held tonight, with fewer than twenty-four hours’ notice, which was outrageous. But then, Ophelia Palin was known for her unpredictability, he supposed. He turned the card over and stared at the note written on the back:

Pardon the short notice, my boy, but if you attend, I shall give you what you seek.

Nigel stared at the invitation for a few moments before going upstairs to catch a couple of hours of sleep. He had not slept more than a few hours in the last several days, and it looked like he wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight, either. Bounding upstairs, he shouted an order to his valet and then dove into his bed.

THE HIRED COACH arrived at Baroness Marchman’s School for Young Ladies at precisely eleven. The driver handed Kathryn inside and then he handed her a small envelope before he slammed the door shut, climbed up top and whistled to his horses. The coach lurched forward.

Immediately, Kathryn opened the envelope, but there was not enough light inside the coach by which to read the card inside. Kathryn moved the curtain aside to make use of the coach lamps but found that the coachman had covered them both with dark red cloth. There was not enough light to see the road, let alone enough to read.

“Driver,” she called up to him, “there is no moon, and it is quite dark. Why have you blocked out the lamplight?”

“I alus do on nights this dark, miss,” he called down, “otherwise, the shadows spook me ’orses. Not to worry, though, Pattycake and Puddin’ knows the way. They’ve walked these streets so much they know ’em by smell, they does.” He laughed reassuringly, and Kathryn thought no more of it as she held the card very close to the weak red glow of the lamp.

“
She will meet you. Do not be alarmed.
” it read simply.

She who?

She found out as soon as the coach rolled to a stop in Grosvenor Square. It wasn’t the driver who yanked the door open, but Lydia—and she was dressed as Cleopatra!

“Hello, Miss St. David!” Cleopatra chirruped. “I am Lydia Northam, and I am so pleased to make your acquaintance!”

“Auntie told you my name?”

“Oh, yes!”

“Ah,” Kathryn managed. “W—what else did she tell you?”

“She told me you are her niece and that you are to attend her ball tonight.”

“What ball?”

“What ball? You do not know? Hm!” Lydia mused. “How strange. It is the talk of all London. Giving a second masque so soon after the first, and on less than a week’s notice—unheard of! But then your Great-aunt is not the most conventional of hostesses, begging your pardon.”

Kathryn barely nodded, and Lydia prattled on. “I waited here outside for you to arrive because I desperately wanted to thank you personally for what you did for me.” She dipped her head shyly. “It was very good of you, and I swear I will find some way to repay your kindness.”

“Nonsense.” Kathryn found her voice. “I—I only did what any right-thinking person would have done in our situation. But I am very glad to meet you in any case, for I wanted to ask you what you have been telling people about our acquaintance.”

“As little as I can help. Which is not difficult as there is not much to tell!” She laughed. “Now then, let us take you upstairs. Your fairy costume is waiting in my chamber, and—”

“I am not attending the ball.”

“Oh? But you are here. Why ever not?”

“Several reasons. Not the least of which is that Blackshire knows it was I in that bedchamber. Or at least he knows the fairy queen was there, and he does not know her—
my!
—name. Yet. And I intend to keep it that way!”

“Why? Do you not fancy him?”

“Fancy him! After how he treated you, how could I?”

Lydia bit her lip and said nothing.

“I must not appear in my fairy costume.”

Lydia wrinkled her brow. “I know! I am staying with Ophelia for the evening since my uncle is out of town and my duenna was called to a sick cousin’s bedside. You can come secretly to my chamber and we shall concoct a costume the marquis will never recognize you in.”

“Your offer is kind,” Kathryn said, “but truly, I would feel more comfortable returning”—she almost said, “to the school”—”returning home. I find I am not feeling well. Driver,” she said to the man who had come down from his box and opened the door. He was trying to look as though he couldn’t hear everything that was being said.

“Please take me back immediately,” Kathryn addressed him.

“I can’t do that, miss.”

“Why not?”

“Because,” he answered, “she as give me the fare to bring you ’ere says I wasn’t to take you back.” He looked uncomfortable and added, “No matter what you says, miss. Sorry.”

“You shall have five guineas if you take me back now.”

He shrugged. “I’m real sorry, miss, an’ to be sure I’d love to help you out, but I can’t. The old lady paid me more than that.”

“Very well,” she said, flashing a look at Lydia, who had not spoken a word during this remarkable exchange, “then I shall just have to sit here in your coach until you change your mind. For I do not wish to be delivered to this address, and I am not going to climb down.”

A pained expression grew on the man’s face. “Beggin’ your pardon, miss, but the old lady, she told me that if’n I had to carry you inside like a sack of potatoes, that’s what I was to do.” He frowned apologetically. “She gave me five guineas, miss, an’ she’ll give me five more tomorrow if’n I delivers the goods—that’s you, miss. I’m sorry, but I got me six little one at ’ome an’ one on the way.”

Why was Auntie so determined Kathryn should attend tonight’s masque? There could be only one reason. Blackshire! She thought to pair her off with him, no doubt.

Kathryn sighed. “You win.” She shot a look up at Palin House and climbed down out of the coach.

The driver smiled and climbed back up to his box. “Thank you, miss.” With a flick of the reins, he was off. It was early yet, and the ball was barely underway. The square, while crowded, wasn’t exactly a crush, and the two young women stood in front of Palin House largely unnoticed.

Kathryn touched Lydia’s sleeve. She still had no intention of attending the ball. She would simply enter by the back stairs as she had on her first night in London, go to her room, and write Auntie a note explaining the circumstances. Before now, she had deliberately neglected to tell Auntie that Blackshire was installed at Lady Marchman’s School for Young Ladies. It was a complication she simply hadn’t needed to introduce to the situation, especially considering Auntie’s hare-brained ambitions for Kathryn in that direction.

“I will not be attending the ball,” Kathryn reaffirmed, “but since I did not anticipate having to hire another coach, I find myself with no funds. It seems you have the opportunity to ‘repay my kindness’ sooner than you expected. Would you direct your coachman to take me home?”

“I should like that above all things.”

“Good.”

“But I cannot.”

“Not so good. Why not?”

“My duenna took the carriage to her cousin’s home, so I have no transport to offer you.”

Kathryn rubbed the bridge of her nose. “John,” she muttered. “I shall have to go in search of John.”

“Your parents’ man?”

“He was employed by them for many years, yes. But he is his own person now.”

“Either way, I am afraid he will be of no help to you. Your parents did not wish to attend the ball tonight—”

“No surprise.”

“—so Mr. Robertson is escorting them to the opera.”

“Oh dear!”

“But I believe I can yet be of assistance. You can wait in my chamber upstairs until I can summon you a coach. I shall loan you some of my pin money for your fare home.”

Kathryn sighed her relief and thanked Lydia profusely as they made their way up the dark back stairs and down a long hallway where, upon passing a footman, Lydia pulled from her reticule a folded piece of paper. The servant looked at it and scurried off.

Kathryn gave her a quizzical look, which Lydia ignored.

“Here we are! My chamber.”

“My own bedchamber is just over there,” Kathryn pointed out. “I will wait there for—”

“No!” Lydia interrupted her. “Ah . . . no. You will be safer here in my chamber.” She opened the door. “I am a very light sleeper, and your aunt ordered that I be given this wing to myself and that no servant should enter it from evensong to noon unless I specifically request them. So no one will discover you here.” Locking the door behind them, she lit a single wax candle. Even with the candle’s glow, the room was very dark. Even if there had been any moonlight to cast a watery shadow, the heavy curtains were closed, and there was no fire in the hearth. She could barely make out a bed a wardrobe, a chair, a dressing table. There on the dressing table was Kathryn’s fairy costume, wings, wand, and all.

SUDDENLY KATHRYN FELT uneasy. Lydia seemed a little too eager to have Kathryn in her chamber and not her own. She’d directed her there three times now. And why was her fairy costume in Lydia’s room rather than in her own?

“What was in the note you gave to that footman?” Kathryn asked. “And how could you already have it written?”

Lydia’s laughter trilled through the darkness. “Oh. That. I carry a half-dozen such missives with me at all times. How do you think I keep my old duenna at bay?
‘Dear Cousin,’”
she recited, “
’I have ripped my dress and a maid is exacting repairs. I shall be absent from the ballroom above a half hour.’
” She coughed. “
’Dear Cousin, I have lost my brooch. Dear Cousin, I have stained my gown.’
The poor woman must believe I am the most clumsy girl in England.
”

“But why make up those stories at all?”

“La, Kathryn, you are a country mouse, aren’t you? I tell tales to keep my duenna—your aunt, this time—from discovering what I am really doing while I am supposed to be having my dress mended, of course.”

“Of course,” Kathryn murmured.

“Did you not wonder how I was able to lure Blackshire upstairs without my duenna being any the wiser?”

“L—lure him?” Kathryn stammered. “
You lured him
?”

Lydia laughed again. “Heavens, yes! I am but seventeen. You do not imagine the Marquis of Blackshire would arrange a tryst with a girl of my age, do you? Of course not,” she answered her own question. “I wanted him to kiss me, and I took matters into my own hands. I gave him one of my notes. It said I was in trouble and needed his help. I knew he would follow me.” She held her palm up before her like a shield. “Oh, I know. It was foolish of me to imagine he would succumb to temptation and kiss me. If he had, he would have had to declare for me, of course.”

Sure he would
, Kathryn thought,
and I am Julius Caesar
.

Lydia sniffed. “But Blackshire, the dratted gentleman, did not even touch me.”

“But your hair, your dress . . . and I heard the bed—”

“I ripped my dress to give him access and threw myself over the counterpane.”

Kathryn gasped, but Lydia only laughed. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I say. If my plan had worked, I could have been his marchioness by now. As it was, I gained only a ripped dress and lost nought but a little of my dignity.”