The Viscount Needs a Wife (7 page)

“That's what he said. Is he always so impenetrable?”

“Do you not like him?” Ruth asked, dismayed. “If so, you mustn't marry him.”

“I don't know how I feel toward him. As you put it, he's unobjectionable. I can't express any reasonable objection, but . . .”

“You have doubts?”

A legion of them, but Ruth was clearly close to tears at the thought of the plan falling through.

“I'll write the letter,” Kitty said.

“This is a very odd way to go about a marriage.”

“This marriage has been odd from the start.”

Ruth patted her hand. “A week will give you time to get to know him better.”

“Exactly my thought.”

Kitty went to her room, trying to assemble the right words. She didn't want to wound Marcus's mother any more than she already had, but she rebelled at any notion of asking permission. She sat and took out a sheet of paper, suddenly seeing the way. She needed her clothing and possessions sent here. The reason, the marriage, would be almost incidental information.

She uncapped the inkwell, dipped her pen, and began careful sentences. When it was finished, she read it over, then folded and sealed it.
There. Committed.

She looked up and through the window saw Lord Dauntry talking to Andrew near the stables. His simple clothing did indeed look Town fine next to Andrew's cheerfully rumpled style.

Sleek.

Polished.

Marble.

Deep instincts wanted to throw the letter on the fire.

As if to prevent that, Sillikin came over to paw at her skirt.

“We have no other chance at a comfortable life, do we?” Kitty said. “And I'm not committed yet. Not until the vows are said. By then I'll be more settled in my mind. He is interesting, Sillikin. Cool and smooth as marble, but there's more beneath. I'm sure of that. The question is what lies beneath—good or bad?”

*   *   *

Braydon encountered Andrew Lulworth near the stables.

“Should I wish you happy?” Lulworth asked.

“The bird is not yet in hand,” Braydon replied. “Mrs. Cateril is to write to her mother-in-law.”

“Why?”

“To inform her. The woman seems unbalanced by grief.”

“The loss of a child is never forgotten.”

“Will her daughter-in-law's remarriage kill her?”

“I've never known such a case. Consider old Lady Dauntry. A devoted mother who was deeply distressed by her son's death, along with that of her grandson. She was almost mad with it for a time, I understand, but she resumed her life within a month.”

“And the running of the estate. Has she always done that?”

“Probably. Certainly as long as we've been here. The fifth viscount was often away. Parliament, hunting, shooting, and such.”

Ivor was grazing in the paddock, but came at a call. Dauntry set about saddling the horse himself.

Lulworth came to help. “How is the dowager taking your authority? You've never said.”

“With outward sorrow and inner bile.”

“Then how's she going to react to your wife?”

“I dread to think.”

“I don't detect the shivers.”

“I've faced worse.”

“And won, I'm sure. Ruth's flying in alt at the thought of her dearest friend so close.”

“Flying is a perilous business,” Dauntry warned.

“Not for birds.”

“None of us have wings.”

“Taking refuge behind precision? My wife is anticipating high delight.”

“Which might also lead to a tumble.”

“It won't break her heart,” Lulworth said. “Do you have one?”

Braydon took a breath. “If we squabble, you'll make a liar of me. I'm not heartless and I do have nerves. In arranging this marriage, I'm engaging in more of a blind chance than I'm accustomed to. But as always, I draw up a strategy to win.”

K
itty put her letter in the hall to go off with other correspondence, then returned to her room to consider what to wear for her next meeting with Dauntry. They'd come to an agreement, but he could still back out.

Might he come for dinner? She'd wear the violet silk this evening, just in case. Tomorrow the blue linsey-woolsey, but by then he'd have seen most of what she had with her. She should have brought more. If Lady Cateril sent her belongings it would probably be by cart, and that could take the week. She laughed, shaking her head. For nearly two years she'd thought little of clothes other than the desire to move out of mourning, and here she was, in such a fuss. Dauntry wasn't going to reject her now because her wardrobe wasn't sufficiently varied.

The engagement to marry had happened so quickly, however, and now it felt insubstantial and slippery, as if it could slither away with any wrong move.

It is settled,
she told herself.

Nothing will change.

Which meant she must plan for her wedding.

What to wear for that?

The village would turn out to watch any wedding, but especially if they heard the local magnate was involved. She wasn't the right sort of bride for a viscount, but she must look right.
The green print, the russet, or the blue stripe?

And what bonnet? She'd brought only two. One was the plain black and the other gray. That could be trimmed with something brighter to match the blue or the green. With the brown dress, it would have to be the black.

Oh, she hated to be in such a fiddle. She'd never been quite sure of style or what suited her, but in London she'd had an excellent dressmaker to advise her. Janet Saunders's premises had been in the next street and she mainly did simple work, but she'd been capable of anything. Together they'd contrived to stretch Kitty's money to provide a couple of stylish gowns a year, and Janet had firmly steered her away from disasters.

At school Ruth had been her advisor. Kitty smiled at the memory of once desperately wanting lace-trimmed pink. She went to consult with Ruth and found her checking her inventory of medicines in the aromatic stillroom.

“You make your own? I always bought what I needed.”

“London ways,” Ruth said. “Didn't you help at the manor?”

“What Lady Cateril has surrendered is done by Sarah. I suppose I could have pushed harder to take part, but I confess this sort of household management has never appealed to me.”

“As well you're going to be a great lady, then, but I think even peeresses manage their stillrooms. You'd better learn. You can start by writing my notes.”

Kitty hadn't thought ahead to the actual running of a country house and it dismayed her, but she could do anything if she put her mind to it. She sat at the table with the book and the pen and wrote as dictated.

When Ruth had completed her inventory of potions, Kitty said, “I must have Dauntry take me to the Abbey, so I'll have an idea of how the place is managed.”

“That's a good idea.”

“What's it like?”

“The Abbey?” Ruth said, moving on to shelves of glass jars holding leaves and powders. “I've been there only once. When I arrived here as a bride, I was taken to be presented.”

“Heavens! As at court?”

“That seemed to be the idea. Lord Dauntry was pleasant enough—the previous one, of course. The dowager was gracious, but she sat as if enthroned. She is a Godyson, you know. The oldest barony in the country.”

“Makes a point of that, does she?”

“Always. That visit was far too master-to-servant for my taste.”

“Do they not invite you to entertainments?”

“They only ever entertain the aristocracy.”

“Being a Godyson, you know.”

Ruth chuckled, but then bit her lip. “We shouldn't be cruel.”

“You started it. I've met people like that. Quite tiresome. Don't most country seats have traditional events when the lordly mingle with lesser people? Cateril Manor had some. Harvesttime, Christmas, Twelfth Night, May Day.”

“Not while we've been here. Note that I'm low on woodruff. I'll see if anyone has an abundance. I gather the dowager used to go to London for long periods when younger. She was a lady-in-waiting to the queen.”

“My goodness.”

“Exactly. Far above our touch. Now she's troubled by an aging hip and doesn't travel.”

“Don't highborn friends visit?”

“Rarely. That might be because of Lady Dauntry.”

“She's haughty with them as well?” Kitty asked.

“Probably, but I meant the fifth viscount's wife. She ran off with an actor.”

Kitty paused, pen in hand. “No!”

“Yes. Write what I said about fleabane before you forget. I shouldn't gossip, but you need to know. It was long before I came here—Isabella was young and her brother an infant—but off she went. From servants' stories, she was constantly squabbling with the dowager and raging at her husband for not taking her side.”

“So she ran away. Good for her.”

“Kitty! She ran off into adultery or bigamy and abandoned her children.”

“She probably had no other choice.”

“Nonsense. Bryony root.”

Kitty wrote it down, considering the story. “Are you saying I'm going to face the same challenges?”

“Probably, but I can assure you of one thing—Dauntry will take your side. He'd like the dowager out of there.”

“Then why hasn't he moved her?”

“Anyone would hesitate to evict a grieving mother and grandmother from the place where she's lived for forty years.”

“She expects to stay there forever?” Kitty asked in dismay.

“So it would seem. You knew part of his reason for marrying is to have someone to manage his female relatives.”

“I hadn't quite grasped the extent of it.” Kitty put down the pen. “Yet that's not reason enough for this rush to the altar. I don't understand him, Ruth. Our encounter in the lane has to have exploded any idea he had of my being a pillar of stability. It wasn't my fault. . . .”

“It never is.”

“Ruth!”

“I'm sorry, but you must confess you've never been the most conformable woman.”

“So why is Lord Dauntry continuing with his plan, and why the urgency?”

Ruth leaned back against the shelves. “Perhaps he decided an unconformable woman would be a good match for the dowager.”

“Is that possible?”

“If it came to skirmishes, I'd place my bet on you.”

“Gambling? Horrors!”

“Oh, you. I can see Dauntry thinking that way.”

“So can I. Choosing the piece to play. All life is a chessboard to him. I can see that already. And I can tolerate it, as long as I'm the queen.”

“With him the powerless king?”

“Oh no. As I said, he's the chess player.”

“He's simply a beleaguered man, Kitty.”

They took up their work again, but it left time to think. Kitty had met beleaguered men, and Dauntry was beleaguered in much the same way as Wellington at Waterloo. He was planning for victory, no matter what the cost.

She'd know better what that might cost her after a week of encounters.

*   *   *

The next day she received a note from Dauntry and rushed off to find Ruth, who was scattering seed for the chickens. “He's gone to Town!”

“What?” Ruth turned to her. “Why?”

“He doesn't say. Of course. Merely that he's obliged to go up to Town for a few days, but will return by Wednesday.” Kitty shook the letter. “He's avoiding me. What doesn't he want me to learn? And he's avoiding taking me to the Abbey. What is it? Bowshamp or Beecham?”

Ruth looked bewildered. “Bowshamp. He probably does have important matters in London. He's traveled there a time or two.”

“Is his mistress so irresistible?”

“What mistress?”

“What else takes him to Town?”

“I don't know, but you always knew London was part of the bargain.”

“Your reasonableness is unreasonable! He was to go to Town
after
the marriage. I was depending on this week to learn more about him.” A hen pecked at Kitty's shoe, and she jumped backward. “Stop that!”

Ruth continued to feed the demanding poultry. Kitty kept watch on the beady-eyed birds. “I could visit the Abbey without him.”

“I wouldn't.”

“Why not? Are you too trying to hide something?”

“Of course not. But it would start your time there on the wrong foot. He must formally introduce you to his family and household.”

Ruth was right, but Kitty didn't like it. “This is extremely frustrating.”

Ruth shook out the last of the grain and turned back toward the house. “Would anything you learned there change your mind?”

“I assume he doesn't turn into a monster at night.”

“And how would you discover that before the wedding?”

“Anticipate the wedding. After all, I'm not a virgin.”

“Kitty!” But Ruth was laughing. “I wonder if Dauntry knows what he's getting.”

“As well as I know what I'm getting in him. That makes me think. Marriage settlements.”

“What?”

“We never spoke of them, but I'll have them, providing plenty of pin money, so I'll have some independence. Isn't there a solicitor in the village?”

“Mr. Whitehall, yes. But Dauntry might object to your dealing with such things in his absence.”

“He obtained a marriage license without my say-so.”

“Did he? Oh, dear. Talk to Andrew first.”

Ruth was looking worried again, so Kitty said, “Of course, but I don't see why he'd object.”

Andrew didn't. “I should have thought of it. We can have Whitehall draw them up, and Dauntry can review them when he returns.”

Kitty relaxed a little. Settlements would give her some financial independence and provide for her in the case of her husband's death.

All the same, Dauntry's running off to London was a bad sign.

What did he seek to hide until after the knot was tied?

*   *   *

Lord Cateril considered the letter that had arrived that morning. Viscount Dauntry presented a good case for his need of Kathryn as his wife, laying out logical arguments like a lawyer. The postbag had also brought a letter for his wife from Kathryn. He'd thought nothing of it and sent it to her, but now he went to the parlor in trepidation.

She was sitting by the fire, the letter open in her hands, but staring at the flames.

“Is Kathryn enjoying her visit to her friend?” he asked.

She turned to him, seeming puzzled rather than distressed. “I believe so, but . . . She wants to marry again.”

“Truly?” She seemed calm about it. He sat nearby, hoping for the best. Before he could find the right words, she burst out, “How
could
she?”

“She's a young woman, my dear. With her life ahead of her.”

“But to replace Marcus!”

“Never in her heart, my dear. Never that. But perhaps she needs a purpose in life.”

“That's what she says”—she rattled the paper—“but if so, I'll find her a position. As a companion. Not this . . . this
sacrilege
. I shall write to tell her so—”

He put out a hand to stop her rising. “Sarah, my dear, think about this. What sensible woman would seek employment when she could be a wife? Unless the man she has in mind is too low for her.”

“Low! She claims to have an offer from a viscount! Perhaps she's deranged.”

He sighed. Did all deranged people fail to see it in themselves?

“A viscount?” he said mildly. “Odd goings-on, to be sure, but I'm sure Marcus's wife is worthy of any peer of the realm.”

He'd just used a sentence from Lord Dauntry's letter and suspected it had been planted there, but it had an effect.

“Of course she is. But how could it have come about? She's not been gone a week.”

More arguments from the letter came to mind. “Its being so sudden argues against any unseemly passion, don't you think? Does Kathryn say how they met?”

“Viscount Dauntry's seat lies close to Beecham Dabittot, and he was acquainted with Reverend Lulworth in the past. She met him at the parsonage. But for him to make approaches to a woman in mourning!”

“It's well over a year since Marcus died, my dear. I believe Lord Dauntry has recently come into the title. There was something in the newspapers about it, because the search for the heir took some time.”

“Then he has no business seeking a wife in a hurry.”

“On the contrary. I have the impression that he is the last of the line. It is his duty to try to beget an heir.”

“An heir!” His wife pressed her black-edged
handkerchief to her face. “When she never bore poor Marcus a child.”

Lord Cateril wasn't entirely sure Marcus had been able. It was not a matter he could have asked about. “Does Kathryn say why he's chosen her?” he asked.

“Only that he needs a helpmeet and finds that she fits his needs. He's mad, too.”

“Perhaps not, dear. Kathryn was a good wife, and I'm sure Marcus's afflictions didn't always make him easy.” He pulled out another argument from Lord Dauntry's letter. “Would Marcus have wanted his Kitty to live a half-life here when she could be useful elsewhere?”

He hoped his wife would see that the words applied to her as well, but she didn't seem to note it. “I can't bear her replacing him, Edward. I can't bear it. It would be as if he died again.”

“Dead is dead, Sarah!” He instantly regretted the sharp words, for she looked so stricken, but he wanted his wife back. There'd been an argument in the letter that he hesitated to use, but he had to try. “Are you not perhaps expecting Kathryn to bury herself with Marcus, as the poor widows in India are expected to throw themselves onto the funeral pyre?” In better times they'd read about the practice of suttee, and Sarah had been horrified.