The Disdainful Marquis (8 page)

“But there is a thing that I have to discuss with you.” She hesitated. This was difficult, although she had spent the better part of yesterday preparing herself for the interview.

“You see, Your Grace, there is the matter of my”—Catherine swallowed—“wages.”

It did not sound so terrible once it was out, so Catherine rushed on, “I have been with you since October, and there have been certain expenses I have been forced to make. Expenses of a personal nature,” she hurried on, so as not to seem grasping or ungrateful for her food and pleasant housing, and not wishing to go into particulars, since most of her money had gone to laces and trimmings to alter her wardrobe.

“And as this is my first position, I did not think to ask originally as to when I would be paid. I do,” she went on with painful honesty, “realize that Your Grace has seen to my every comfort here, but Christmas is upon us, and so I wondered if I could ask that the wages I have already earned, only those, be given to me so that I might send a few things home before I depart.”

It was so difficult, Catherine thought, to talk about money. And so very foolish to feel like a greedy, grasping creature when one was only asking for what one had earned. But there it was, it was unseemly for a female to discuss money. Perhaps that was why it was so unseemly for a female to be actually employed.

The duchess looked hard at her for a moment, squinting her eyes to get a better look, which was something she seldom did, preferring on the whole to see the world in her usual pleasant myopic blurred focus.

“I usually pay my companions quarterly,” the duchess intoned, suddenly on her high ropes, and making Catherine quake at her own stupidity in not having discussed the matter on her initial interview to save herself this present embarrassment.

“But,” the duchess said, with a sly little grin, “I understand your predicament. You're probably used to much more ready in your pocket. I have kept your wings clipped since you came here, haven't I? But that's only because I wanted to spring you as a surprise when we got to France. Watch their eyes bug out when they saw you. No use to having rumors spoil the treat beforehand. So you're feeling pinched because I've kept you from your usual source of income, eh?”

Catherine had not a clue as to what the duchess was getting at, but then suddenly realized that she must mean that Arthur and Jane weren't there to provide for her as they usually did. Since that was true enough, too humiliatingly true, Catherine felt her face flush in embarrassment.

“Well, don't fret. You've been a good gel, and there's a treat for you. I'll give you the first two months' wages now and you can go on a spree with them. But once we get to France, that won't be a problem, will it?”

Catherine could think of no heavy expenses she could incur when she began her travels. Pourboires for servants could be taken from her pocket with no stress, since she didn't intend to spend every penny the duchess gave her now. So she nodded in happy agreement.

“Thought not,” the duchess answered. “But mind, I told Rose and I told Violet. I don't want to know about it. Do your duty to me first and be discreet about the rest, and we'll rub on well enough.”

There was no reason, certainly, Catherine thought, to bother the duchess with the small matters of tipping foreign servants, so she agreed again.

“We'll get you your wages now,” the duchess said, ringing for Gracie to get her her cash box, “and I suppose you'll want the same arrangements Rose and Violet did. I'll be your banker on our trip, and when it's over I'll hand it all over to you in a lump sum, or you can have it quarterly. It'll be like an extra cash bonus whenever you get it.” The duchess chuckled. “Money in the bank.”

Catherine took the money that the duchess handed to her, too grateful to count it. It seemed like a great deal, and even more, as it was the first money she ever earned by herself. And as far as the total sum of money being an extra bonus, it would be far, far more than that to her. The duchess, she thought gratefully, could have no idea of how penny pinched she really was. At the thought of the independence of spirit that the lump sum would buy her—the freedom to choose whether to work again for some other woman, or to take her earnings and pay Arthur and Jane back some small portion of what they had given her so that she could live with them again with ease and spirit—Catherine smiled with pure joy.

“Money's a great thing. Ain't it?” the duchess crowed, seeing the girl's rapturous face.

“It is, ma'am,” Catherine sighed. “It is indeed.”

“Get on with it, then,” the duchess said, at first amused, but now bored with the chit's obvious greed. She immediately went back to chivying Gracie again about the whereabouts of her favorite feathered bonnet.

Catherine was as careful as a new mother with her firstborn child as she decided how to spend her wages. This time she had drawn Annie, a sharp little kitchen maid, as female escort. Annie was as distant and silent with Catherine as the others of her position. But Catherine had gotten used to the peculiar notions of status that prevailed in the duchess's household.

After hours of searching in the shops as carefully as a master chef searching for a perfect cut of meat, Catherine selected a warm but exquisitely made colorful shawl for Jane and a set of six beautiful enameled buttons for Arthur. Both presents were practical enough to please their sense of propriety, but extravagantly styled enough to be kept as personal treasures. And, best of all, both were small enough to be sent without incurring the world's expense on her shoulders. She was sure that Griddon could be asked to parcel them up for her, and that he would know how to go about posting them safely. For Catherine had never had to send a package to anyone before, never being far enough from home or knowing anyone far enough away.

To be sure, she thought, frowning slightly as she made her way back home, setting Annie to wonder if Her Grace's fine trollop had seen her wink at the butcher's boy, Jane's papa had lived far away and traveled further. But there was never any question of anyone posting anything to him, as he had never left a forwarding address.

Her own father, that dimly remembered handsome blue-eyed dark-haired man, had died when she was six. Mama had gone on alone, till she had met Jane's papa. He had been a slight, blond, elegant, and altogether charming widower. And Mama's heart had gone out to the outwardly blithe man with his little motherless, sober blond girl, only twelve to her own orphan's seven years. And if it had not, Catherine thought wryly, he would have pirated it anyway. For he was a persuasive man. Merry and laughing, charming and light spirited, he had invaded their house and swept Mama away with him. But only so far as the vicar's.

For after they were married, he had soon grown bored with Mama and two little girls, as he had grown bored with
everything
that he had encountered in his life. Soon he was charming and delightful only to his drinking cronies, and soon after that, having found a safe harbor for his little girl—say that much at least for him—he was gone altogether, off on his own journeys. In search, he had said, of his fortune.

And he had left Mama with Jane and Catherine both to raise as best she could on what little her first husband had left her. When they had heard of his own death a few years ago, somewhere in Ireland, his own daughter had not even shed a tear. Small wonder, then, that Jane had not looked for a handsome, dashing stranger to carry her off, after a childhood full of a handsome dashing father who had carried her everywhere and then abandoned her. When prim and proper Arthur had stepped out from behind the counter at his shop to ask to keep company with her, she had accepted with alacrity. And though Catherine had not known Jane's father too long or too well, she too was wary of gentlemen with easy smiles and pleasing graces. Not, she reminded herself, that she was much in the way of meeting such gentlemen, or any gentlemen at all, these days.

Catherine quickened her pace, as the wind was beginning to bite fiercely, and the pavements at last communicated their chill through the bottom of her handsome kid slippers. She had been out shopping far longer than she had ever planned, and she was anxious to get back and get her parcels seen to, so that she could dream of Jane and Arthur's pleased expressions when they saw the bounty she had sent.

She was so intent upon her thoughts that she did not see him till he was almost abreast of her, although Annie had seen him coming from far down the street.

He tipped his hat, which he wore at a rakish angle, to Annie, and as she tittered, he swept it off altogether with a flourish as Catherine raised her eyes to him.

“Good day to you, little one,” he said pleasantly enough.

Although she had never acknowledged his greetings before, Catherine knew it would be quite rude to simply pass him by and cut him dead. He was a neighbor to the duchess, and the duchess seemed to hold him in some awe. So Catherine reluctantly inclined her head in greeting. His words had been innocuous enough, but she had seen the same amused gleam in his eyes.

“All ready for your little trip?” he inquired politely.

“Yes. Thank you. Quite ready,” Catherine answered, wishing he would end this interview, for she was not at all sure, all things considered, that it was proper for her to be speaking with him.

“Yes,” he drawled, seeing her impatience and hesitation, “you'd best be hurrying home, little ladybird. Your house may well be afire. Reinforcements have arrived.”

At Catherine's puzzled glance upward at him, something in his aspect changed, and he reluctantly withdrew his gaze from her clear blue eyes.

He replaced his hat jauntily and added, “You'd best see to your bonnets, child. The competition bids to be fierce this year.” And again he nodded and went on down the street, leaving Catherine with the usual mixture of feelings of chagrin and confusion, and Annie pink with pleasure at having been noticed by such a fine gentleman.

Catherine gave her coat to the footman and saw Griddon coming toward her. She began to explain about her parcels and how she wanted them sent, when he cut her off gently, “Her Grace has been asking for you. She's in the study. With a visitor.”

Catherine flushed with guilt, thinking of how on the one day that she was wanted, she was out. She reached the door and tapped lightly upon it.

“Come in,” the duchess called.

There was a woman sitting at the desk opposite the duchess. A magnificent woman. Her red hair was a tumble of curls, pulled back with a simple green ribbon. Her figure was full and imposing and her green walking dress was afroth with lace and frogs and knots. Her eyes were large and brown, with the darkest, longest lashes Catherine had ever seen. Her lips were full and very red and pouting, and she had, as she looked at Catherine, something of the imperious expression the duchess herself affected.

“Look who's here,” the duchess said wryly. “Look who the cat's brought back. It's dear Violet. And she's consented to come with me on my little jaunterings.”

“Go now.” The duchess waved at Catherine. “I just wanted dear Violet to get an eyeful of you and see how indispensable her services were. She and I have some business to iron out. I'll call you later. Go now.” She waved again, as Catherine stood there, staring like a ninny at the magnificent lady who made her feel all of two years old.

At last Catherine nodded and fled up the stairs.

Once in her room, she shut the door quickly, laid down her parcels with unsteady hands, and pulled the curtains closed. She was reacting, she told herself a few moments later, when she got her thoughts under control, just like a two-year-old who has seen a stranger who's frightened her. Why don't you, she scourged herself, go and creep under the bed while you're at it, to make the picture complete?

After a few moments, she had herself adequately under control again, and her face was very sad when she at last met her eyes in the mirror. “So be it,” she thought resignedly. “You cannot really lose something you have not had.” And, in all honesty, she had not been the duchess's companion yet, and she had not, she reasoned, lost a position she had never actually filled. “At least,” she told herself, with a little of her usual good humor, “there's very little packing to do,” as she saw all her new suitcases neatly arow in the corner of the room, ready for departure.

*

“So,” the duchess said, smiling hugely, “what do you think of your little replacement, Violet?”

“Quite the ingenue,” Violet answered in her high reedy voice, “but I don't think she's up to snuff.”

“She's a stunning little baggage and you know it,” the duchess went on, quite pleased with the agitation in her erstwhile companion's face.

“I should think you'd want to travel with a female that knows her way about. A responsible sort of companion. That little tart looks like she's still on mother's milk. She'll land herself in the suds before you know it, or pack it all in for some layabout's promises before you even reach Paris,” Violet said in the thin little voice that had been her downfall in the theater. For although the gentlemen had cheered every time she swept across the stage, no one past the middle rows had ever heard a line.

The duchess acknowledged the hit with a shrug. “Perhaps, but you'd be there to show her the ropes, wouldn't you, dear Violet?”