The Viscount Needs a Wife (4 page)

“Is it too bright? I hadn't realized until the journey how many people are still wearing somber colors.”

“I know, and I hear it's worse in London. Very bright colors are looked at askance everywhere. Andrew and I think it's gone beyond reason, but what to do? The blue is quiet enough, and this russet brown, too.” But then she sniffed. “Camphor?”

“I hoped that would fade. They've been stored away.”

“Do you mean you've been wearing half mourning all this time?”

There'd never been hope of keeping secrets from Ruth. “It seemed easier. I'll spread them around the room to air.”

“Better to hang them out—and most of the rest. The smell has spread.”

“Foolish of me.”

Ruth rolled her eyes, but Kitty hadn't been as foolish as Ruth thought. She couldn't have aired the colorful clothes before she packed them or Lady Cateril would have heard of it.

“There's an hour or two of daylight left and a breeze.” Ruth lifted out an armful of clothing. “Come along.”

Kitty grabbed the rest of the clothing, called Sillikin, and followed downstairs, feeling both happier and more anxious. It was wonderful to be with Ruth again, but the only way to hold on to that was to present the perfect appearance to Viscount Dauntry—definitely without the pungent odor of camphor!

T
hey passed through a cheerfully busy kitchen, and Ruth introduced her to the two women and the lad there. But then Sillikin saw a cat and trotted over to a new friend. The cat hissed, and Sillikin escaped under the table, tangling in the cook's feet. The woman yelled and waved a chopping knife.

Kitty dumped her burden on top of the one in Ruth's arms and went to her knees, coaxing the dog to come out to her. The kitchen lad scrambled under the table and brought Sillikin out, caught in the act of eating a dropped piece of meat.

“Bad dog!” Kitty scolded as she stood up with Sillikin firmly in her arms, knowing she was hot-faced and hair was escaping her cap. It was as well no one here would be asked to give her a reference as a suitable viscountess.

She apologized and hurried to catch up with Ruth. “You're going to spoil everything!” she scolded. The spaniel showed no sign of contrition.

“Round here!” Ruth called.

Kitty walked round the house and through a gate in a hedge to find a grassy area crossed by laundry lines. The area was edged on one side by a waist-high lavender hedge, over which sheets could be spread in the best weather to gather the fragrance as they dried.

“She's usually better behaved,” Kitty said as she closed
the gate behind her. “But she's been cooped up in the coach for most of the past two days.” And in Cateril Manor for so much longer. Perhaps Sillikin was feeling the same giddy relief as she was.

Ruth had draped the clothing over one line and was pegging the first garment in place on another. “You can let her run about in here. The hedge is dense and the gates are closed.”

There was a second gate into the lane that ran beside the parsonage. As Ruth said, it was closed, so Kitty let Sillikin free. Once she was sure the dog was content with snuffling around the area, she helped with the pegging.

The sun was low in the sky and a breeze flapped the clothing on the line, but after her misadventure in the kitchen, the crisp air was welcome. The embarrassing moment hadn't been her fault, but she must avoid any more, especially where Lord Dauntry might hear about them. She paused to tuck hair back under her cap and then pegged her blue linsey-woolsey gown securely to the line. This was a good time to learn more.

“You wrote that Lord Dauntry is fashionable. My brighter gowns are years old.”

“He's not expecting a peacock of fashion.”

“What is he expecting? What did you tell him?”

Ruth pinned the green. “I can't remember exactly. That you're a widow aged twenty-seven. That you'd run your household in London for many years.”

“Mere rooms,” Kitty protested.

“But your own establishment. I tried to give the impression that you were sound in body and mind.”

“An effort, was it?”

Ruth chuckled. “I sometimes wonder about the mind bit. I don't forget you persuading me to slip out of school to visit a fair.”

“Nor do I,” Kitty said as she pegged out a shift. “We fled back to the school in terror.”

“You did it again the next year.”

“And you refused. Very wisely, I'm sure.”

“But that's when you met Marcus.”

“Yes,” Kitty said.

She'd repeated the adventure simply to prove to herself that she wasn't afraid, but she hadn't intended to stay long. When she'd seen the scarred and wounded man leaning against a low wall, however, crutch propped beside him, she'd felt his despondence. She'd asked if she could help him in some way. He'd smiled and she'd seen the vibrant man beneath, so she'd kept him company for a little while.

Older and wiser now, she could see all the ways that adventure could have been disastrous, but Marcus had never been that sort of wretch. They'd talked of trivialities, but the bond had been forged. He'd responded to her interest, and she'd fallen in love with the vision of herself as ministering angel to the wounded hero.

He'd been in Leamington to take the spa waters and consult with a doctor there. The school servants were easy to bribe, so they'd exchanged messages and even managed occasional meetings until he'd left. A month later, it had been time for Kitty to leave school. Marcus had turned up in Coventry to court her in traditional form. Not long afterward, they'd married in her parish church amid orange blossom, tossed wheat, and smiles.

“Sad memories?” Ruth asked.

“Just memories. What did you tell Lord Dauntry about my appearance?”

“I don't think he asked.”

“That doesn't mean it won't matter.”

“There's nothing wrong with your appearance.”

“I've never been a beauty.”

“If only beauties married, the world would be an odd place.”

“Those without beauty or fortune often stay single. Don't look at me like that. You wanted me to be practical.”

“And honest,” Ruth said. “Whenever we schoolgirls encountered young gentlemen, they were attracted to your charm.”

Charm?
Kitty pondered that as she pegged out a pair of drawers. She'd forgotten those times, but perhaps Ruth was right. Swains had been drawn to Ruth's prettiness, but Kitty had never been neglected. Marcus had been attracted to her for more than her compassion for a wounded soldier, and his army friends had sometimes flirted with her.

Sometimes too much.

Marcus had liked her to be his hostess and been proud of her popularity, but sometimes and unpredictably, he'd take objection to one man's attentions. He'd even tried to duel with one of them. After that, she'd tried to deflect attention. When she thought back, it seemed it had become less necessary as she'd aged. Ruth was remembering a past nearly a decade old, not the way Kitty was today.

She moved to a new line to hang out her russet gown. Perhaps she'd wear that for her interview. It was the most sober color of her premourning gowns and it had long sleeves and a high neck. Unfortunately, it was trimmed with braid in a military style. That had been the fashion four years ago, but it wasn't popular in peacetime.

She told herself Lord Dauntry wasn't seeking high style. He wanted a sensible woman to manage his household. The brown could be just the thing. If not, it would have to be gray or fawn. The violet silk was an evening dress, and both the green and the blue too frivolous.

She picked up a pair of stockings, but then looked around. “Sillikin? Sillikin?”

She slung the stockings back on the line and hunted around the open area and along the hedge. Both gates were still closed. “Sillikin! Come, girl!”

She heard a bark, but it was at a distance. Over the lavender hedge she saw her dog, hindquarters wriggling in joy at her escape. “How did you get there, you bad dog? Come back.”

Then Kitty saw that there were cows in the field. They were all at a distance at the moment, but that could change.

She ran to the gate that led into the lane and saw a small gap where the hedge met it. It hardly seemed big enough, but a bit of fur was caught on one twig. She opened the gate, calling back, “She escaped this way. She's not a country dog. She could get into trouble!” She ran into the lane, and Ruth joined her there.

“Call her. She should come.”

“Sillikin! Come!” Beyond the wide barred gate into the field, the dog turned but stayed where she was, wagging her tail, inviting Kitty to the game. The cows were turning their heads to look.

“Devil take you,” Kitty muttered, and then reminded herself to watch her tongue around Ruth. “I'll go and get her.”

“I'll help.”

But from the house came a call. “Mistress!”

“What now?” Ruth asked.

“Go. I can manage this.”

Ruth helped Kitty to open the gate a little way. “Are you sure you'll be all right?”

“I'm not afraid of a few cows.”

“She should be better trained, you know. She'll have to behave herself in the country.”

“I know. She's never wandered during walks at Cateril, and in London I mostly kept her on a leash when we went out. Go. I'll manage.”

Ruth hurried back to the house, and Kitty slipped through the gate, keeping an eye on the brown cows. She'd said she wasn't afraid of them, but that was true only if they kept their distance. She'd grown up in towns and then lived mostly in London. During her time at Cateril Manor she'd never ventured far from the gardens on her walks.

The ground was trampled to mud around the gate, so she picked her way along the drier edge, where some grass survived. Even so, she could feel dampness seeping through her jean half boots. She'd seen no need to wear her sturdier leather ones for travel.

“Pestilential creature,” she muttered at the dog, who remained out of reach, in cheerful expectation of play.

Just in time, Kitty avoided some cow dung, but that had her continuing to employ some of Marcus's more colorful language as she navigated the field, holding up her skirts. Now three cows were watching her as they chewed. One took a few steps toward her. Sillikin danced farther away.

She had an idea. Despite what Ruth thought, Sillikin had been well trained and did usually obey a clear command.

“Sit!” she told her sharply.

Surprised but obedient, Sillikin sat. Kitty hurried over, but just as she reached for the dog, Sillikin looked past her and shot off toward the gate. Kitty turned and saw the attraction was a horse and rider.

They'd lived near the unfashionable side of Hyde Park, and Kitty had sometimes walked Sillikin there. That area was popular with men wanting a vigorous ride, so they'd often encountered Marcus's friends on horseback and always received a welcome. Now, ears flapping, the dog was lolloping over to greet new friends. But this was a stranger on a rangy gray horse that was sidling and staring with white-rimmed eyes at the little monster.

“Sillikin!” Kitty screamed, racing after. “Sit!”

The dog skidded to a halt and obeyed, but only feet from the horse, which was trying to rear, despite its rider's control.

Kitty dashed closer, grabbed her dog, and backed away. “My apologies, sir. She's overexcited.”

“I'd say you were, woman. There was no need to screech.”

Cold eyed, blond, and fashionable enough for a London park. Kitty
knew,
and here she was, in unbecoming gray, a complete mess head to toe, clutching an unruly dog who clearly hadn't avoided all the dung.

“Yes. No. I'm sorry, sir!”

With that, she fled down the lane instead of back into the parsonage gardens, as if she could somehow deceive him as to her identity. Perhaps Viscount Dauntry wouldn't connect a hoyden in a field with the sensible widowed friend of the parson's wife.

When she'd turned a corner, however, she collapsed against a low stone wall. It didn't matter. As soon as he saw her again, he'd know. He'd never believe she could control his household, and even less that she could be a suitable viscountess. Ruth had been right to worry. Within an hour of arrival she'd ruined everything.

She pushed despondently through the gate and followed a path through graves to the parsonage, too depressed even to castigate the pungent dog. It seemed that Sillikin's obedience had caused her to sit straight down in some dung, and she had more on her paws. Kitty couldn't take her into the house like this, so she paused in the garden to try to clean off as much muck as possible with handfuls of grass. The dog's coat was long, however, and grass didn't make much impression.

“Wretched beast. I might as well clean you off with my brown gown, for all the good it's going to do me now.”

Ruth came out. “Is she all right?”

“Safe but filthy.”

“The small washtub,” Ruth said. She left and returned to fill it with water from the pump. “I'll get some soap and rags.”

Kitty put Sillikin in the water and kept her there. “Yes, I know you don't like it, but perhaps this will teach you a lesson, milady. You know better than to run off like that.”

Suddenly contrite as well as miserable, the dog licked her hand and whined.

“Very well, but you've ruined everything. We'll end up back in Cateril Manor, trapped under a dismal cloud forever.”

Unheard, Ruth had returned. “Is it as bad as that?”

Oh, Lord.
Kitty took the pot of coarse soap and began to wash Sillikin in the cold water. “Marcus's mother hasn't regained her spirits, so she doesn't want to think I have.”

“That must be difficult.”

“It is.”

“What will she say when you remarry?”

“I don't know,” Kitty said.

And now we'll never know.

Ruth went back into the house, and Kitty continued to clean the dog. She should have told Ruth the marriage would never happen, but she hated to shatter hope as much as she hated the prospect of returning to Cateril Manor.