Читать книгу Regency Vows - Kasey Michaels, Alison DeLaine - Страница 23

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“I DON’T CARE where you put them,” she told Dodd the next morning, surveying the gilt-and-floral tangle piling up in the entrance hall. “Just so long as they’re loaded into the cart within the hour and returned to the seller.”

“Of course, your ladyship.” He cast an uncertain eye over her outfit as two servants carried yet another flamboyant chair from the sitting room into the entry.

She cocked her head and looked him in the eye, satisfied when he looked away. No, she had not changed her clothes. No, she had not slept. Yes, she was taking charge of the household.

She may not know how to sparkle like Mama, or how to win support like Papa always had, but she knew how to command a ship, and this could not be much different.

Another servant carried a small chair from the sitting room. “Put it there,” she ordered, pointing to an empty space by the door. “Where is the old set?” she asked Dodd.

“The attic, your ladyship.”

“Have it brought down.”

He inclined his head. “As you wish.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Is there something you wish to say to me, Dodd?”

His brows shot up. “Not at all, your ladyship.”

“I make it my policy that my crew—my staff—may speak freely.”

“Your ladyship is too kind. Now if your ladyship will excuse me, I shall see that the old sitting suite is brought down posthaste.” He paused. “One never knows when your ladyship might receive callers.” His eye strayed briefly to her trousers.

“Thank you for enlightening me,” she snapped. “And if you repeat ‘your ladyship’ once more, I shall mete out consequences no other lady would dream of.”

His lips thinned, but he acquiesced with a stiff bow and turned to do as he’d been ordered. Resistance was nothing she couldn’t handle. Even sweet old Dodd would follow her direction or find himself seeking new employment.

She started up the stairs. Phil would be here within the hour with a dressmaker. Dodd would be happy about that, at least.

But upstairs in the guest apartment, she discovered that Millicent had not waited for the dressmaker.

“There’s a wardrobe full of gowns in my dressing room,” Millicent told her. “This one fits well enough.” It didn’t, and it was ugly. Katherine specifically remembered leaving the blue-and-beige gown behind because it wasn’t fit for the Continent.

Anne, sitting next to Millicent on the couch, made a face. “It smells awful, Mama.”

“Like moths and mildew,” Katherine said. “For God’s sake, Millie, go put on your other one. We’ll all be measured for new gowns as soon as Phil arrives with the modiste.”

“I don’t need a new gown,” Millie said. “There are plenty in that wardrobe I can remake.”

“I don’t like London, Mama,” Anne said plaintively. “I want to go back to the ship.”

Katherine crouched in front of Anne and touched her cheek. “You’ve only been here one night, sweetling. You will love London—I promise.”

Her false cheer did not fool Anne. “I don’t think I will, Mama.” She sighed and leaned against Millicent.

“I shall begin remaking one of the gowns today,” Millie said a little crossly. “I shan’t need many.”

“You will not gad about London in my childhood clothes,” Katherine said. “I don’t want to hear anything more about it.” She went to the writing desk, dipped her pen and signed her name to the last letter she’d written. She glanced up in time to see Millie’s mouth tighten, but she hadn’t the patience to do anything but ignore it. She folded the paper, let a small blob of bloodred sealing wax pool onto it and pressed Papa’s seal into the wax.

“Will I be gadding about London, Mama?” Anne asked tiredly.

When she lifted the seal, the Dunscore coat of arms stared up at her.

When you are countess of Dunscore, Katie, you’ll fly her crest from these ramparts, and the ancients will honor it from their tombs.

She turned abruptly from the desk and went to Anne. “You—” she tapped Anne’s nose “—will be learning music and dance and poetry and all the things a young lady needs to know.”

A tutor. Katherine returned to the desk and added to the list. Yes, Anne would need a tutor.

After answering a barrage of questions about music and dance and poetry and all the things a young lady needs to know, Katherine went to check on the progress of clearing the Holliswells’ things from the rooms they’d occupied.

Millie followed her into the hallway, where servants scurried back and forth carrying boxes downstairs. “Lady Dunscore,” Millie said from behind her, “when are you going to decide about my position?”

Katherine stopped. Turned. “Do not ever call me that again.”

“Then pray, what shall I call you?”

Katherine closed the distance between them, keeping her voice low. “Nothing has changed, Millicent. Not one bloody thing. I will not have you in my employ—you are a member of my household, not a servant.”

“I was a member of your crew,” Millicent whispered sharply. “I am not a member of your household. I’d been a governess when I met you, and thanks to you I have little choice but to be a governess again. I’d only hoped to be a governess to Anne and not to some child whose father has wandering hands.”

“You don’t need to be anyone’s governess. As soon as I’ve secured Dunscore, we’ll go to Scotland. You’ll love Dunscore, Millie. It’s right on the sea. You can hear the waves—”

“I could have heard them on Malta, as well.”

Always, always it came back to Malta and that damned surgical school. “I was not about to leave you alone on Malta with no protection but a disguise.”

Millie’s brown eyes flashed. “A bloody effective disguise, and there would have been no reason for anyone to suspect the truth at all. I would be perfectly content to spend the rest of my life dressed as a man. Even now I could have been attending lectures on anatomy and physiology, but no. I’m here in London—the last place I ever wished to be—and soon you’ll be so busy with masquerades and theater boxes you won’t care about the sound of the waves.”

“That’s untrue.” Millicent’s words struck like a knife and twisted hard. She would not forget who she was. Not ever. “Disagree with my decisions if you wish, but I will not tolerate disrespect here any more than aboard my ship. Now. Phil will be here soon with the modiste, so you’d best change out of that smelly old gown or I have no doubt Phil will have something to say about it that you won’t like.”

* * *

AT 9:45, A NOTE arrived from Papa’s solicitor agreeing to pay a visit that afternoon.

At 9:50, Dodd came to the drawing room carrying a card on a silver tray, turning his nose as though he offered a piece of manure. “A hack from the Spectator, your ladyship.”

Katherine tore the card in half and tossed the pieces onto the tray. “If he returns, plant his head on a pike by the doorstep.”

At 9:55, she went to check the progress in Papa’s rooms, where a servant was taking the last of Holliswell’s toiletries from the dressing table.

It was harder than she’d expected to see Papa’s rooms again. “Are any of my father’s things still here?”

The servant’s startled gaze hopped from her head to her cutlass to her feet. “Nothing, your...er, your ladyship. His lordship’s clothes were packed away into the attic. Everything here belongs to Mr. Holliswell.”

Only thanks to Dunscore’s coin, no doubt, which meant she should bloody well pack all of his things away in the attic and let him find the means to replace it all. Which she absolutely would if it wouldn’t create more trouble than it was worth. She stalked through the room and opened the wardrobe, the drawers, the chest at the foot of the bed that Papa had always kept locked. It wasn’t locked now, but there was nothing inside.

Katherine left the room, letting the boots that had served her so well on board the Possession thump soundly on the polished wood floors. The reality that Papa was gone dragged at her like the fiercest undertow and had her clawing for breath. But there wasn’t time to compose herself, because Miss Holliswell’s companion waited for her in the hallway.

“Your ladyship.” It was a statement, not a question.

Katherine somehow found the means to speak. “Miss Bunsby.”

“I would like to request a moment of your time.” She was direct—too direct, with shrewd, cornflower eyes in a face pretty enough to exclude her from most positions as a paid companion. Few young ladies would welcome such competition. Even her horrid puce gown didn’t hide her beauty.

“A moment is all I have, Miss Bunsby, and I’ll save you the trouble of explaining yourself. Your services will no longer be needed. I do not know whether the Holliswells will wish to keep you on, given their change of circumstances, but I will pay you whatever wages you’re due and offer you my carriage to go to the Holliswells’ new accommodations if you wish.” She’d checked first thing this morning to make sure she had a carriage and horses. In fact, there were two—the coach with Dunscore’s insignia, and a smaller, newer carriage Holliswell had apparently purchased for his own use on Dunscore’s credit.

“I do not wish,” Miss Bunsby said flatly.

Katherine narrowed her eyes. “Then you may take your wages and be on your way. Whatever gowns the Holliswells gave you, you may keep.” Judging from the shade of this one, nobody else would want them anyhow. “I expect you out within the hour.”

“I wish to speak with you about employment.”

“I do not need a companion.”

“But you need an upstairs maid. You let Polly go this morning.”

“And you think impudence will convince me you are suited to the job?” A ruckus from the entrance hall drifted up the staircase and down the hallway, heralding Phil’s arrival. “You may tell Mr. Holliswell when you see him that he will not succeed in planting spies in my household. You are dismissed.”

Miss Bunsby’s hands fisted at her sides. “I am not Mr. Holliswell’s spy. I simply—”

“Never fear, Katherine,” Phil called up the staircase cheerfully, “you shall be properly outfitted for London in no time.” A parade of footmen hurried up the stairs with more boxes and bolts of fabric than a ship unlivering on the docks. Katherine left Miss Bunsby standing there and went to meet Phil, who was resplendent in a sunset-colored brocade gown that revealed an intricately embroidered gold petticoat and stomacher. At her side, a dark-haired woman in a stunning gown of pale blue ruched silk surveyed the activity from behind the cooling breeze of a painted fan.

Together, the two of them presented a portrait of everything Katherine couldn’t imagine being.

It was an easy guess who the visitor was. Katherine took her time walking down the stairs, knowing it would give full effect to the outfit Dodd disapproved of so heartily.

“All of London is abuzz with news of your ousting the Holliswells,” Phil declared as Katherine came down. “Although honestly, Katherine, a bit of discretion might have been more the thing.”

“If he wanted discretion, he should not have trespassed in my house.” At that, Phil’s companion’s lips twitched.

Finally reaching the base of the stairs, Katherine looked her straight in the eye. “You must be Captain Warre’s sister.” The woman’s deep green eyes had confirmed it already.

“You magnificent woman,” she declared, taking Katherine’s hands in her own. She air-kissed Katherine’s cheeks. “I owe you my very happiness for rescuing my brother. I do hope you’ll forgive the intrusion. I insisted Philomena allow me to accompany her no matter how improper it may be. I want to help you any way I can.”

A desperate, awful hope leaped in her breast, and she struggled not to let it show. “You are too kind, Lady Ramsey.” Perhaps she would not strangle Phil, after all.

Captain Warre’s sister made a face and waved away the formality. “Don’t be ridiculous. You will call me Honoria or face the consequences.” She glanced at Katherine’s hip with a mischievous smile. “Although I suspect your ability to mete out consequences far surpasses mine. I confess to being completely in awe—I am ready at this moment to swear an oath of loyalty, don an eye patch and sail away with you to pillage and plunder in some exotic land.”

Good God. “Your brother might have something to say about that.”

“James? La, he has something to say about everything! But I adore him, and as far as I’m concerned he can do no wrong.”

The new hope dimmed.

“We’ve brought Madame Bouchard,” Phil announced. “She’s the best there is. And it’s a good thing, too, because Lady Carroll’s always-magnificent garden party is tomorrow night.”

“You’ve arrived just in time,” Honoria said.

“All the best people attend, and it will be the perfect place for you to make your grand debut.”

Honoria nodded. “I’ve already spoken to Lady Carroll. You and my brother should receive your invitations this morning.”

“But you’ll need the most fabulous gown ever created,” Phil said decisively, “and you’ll need it by tomorrow afternoon at the latest.”

Simultaneously, the pair assessed Katherine from head to toe. “It’s almost a shame to replace that outfit with something ordinary,” Honoria sighed.

At that moment, a tiny woman who could only be Madame Bouchard swept through the door behind a final wave of textiles. She took one look at Katherine and pressed a hand to her forehead. “Abominable!” she muttered. “Simplement incroyable!”

An unwise retort leaped to her tongue, but she bit it back. It was impossible to be an effective captain without a skilled boatswain, and it would be impossible to earn London’s favor without magnificent gowns.

“I think you look positively exotic,” Honoria confessed, and smiled wickedly. “James must have been undone with disapproval when he met you.”

Phil’s lips twitched. “Oh, is that what it was. I rather thought—”

“I have the impression your brother is undone with disapproval over any number of things,” Katherine said crossly, even as she watched in the glass while Madame Bouchard sorted through a pile of gowns that were already under construction. The last time she’d stood for a London dressmaker, she’d been fifteen and more than a little frightened about her debut. That same worry snaked in now, and nearly for the same reasons.

Honoria laughed. “La, you’ve pinned it precisely! Poor James.”

“Oh,” Phil said, “I don’t know that ‘poor James’ is exactly—”

“Bold colors for your complexion,” Madame Bouchard declared, circling Katherine and eyeing her critically. “Dark. I have just the thing!” She clapped, and a maid appeared at her side. “Lucy, find the dark red silk.”

“Dark red silk!” Honoria exclaimed. “You swore to me last week you had no such thing.”

Madame Bouchard regarded her with disdain. “Do you wish your skin to look like boiled fish?”

“Impertinent woman,” Honoria muttered.

“You’re going to look magnificent,” Phil said to Katherine. “There won’t be a man in London who will be able to keep his eyes off you,” she said meaningfully.

“Phil...”

“Phil?” Honoria chimed in. “Is that what they called you at sea? I love it. I only wish I had a masculine nickname, but what’s to be done with ‘Honoria’?”

Phil thought for a moment. “Horry?”

“Ugh! Leave it to you to think of that.” Honoria gave her a swat on the arm. “I haven’t charged a fee for my favors yet, you minx. But tell me, Katherine—may I call you Katherine?—it would seem our dear friend Phil has let the cat out of the bag. Could it be there is more between you and my brother than a dramatic rescue?”

* * *

AFTER TWO HOURS of fitting and pinning and tugging and draping and pulling, Katherine was ready to commit a dramatic mass murder as a result of Phil’s and Honoria’s relentless prodding and prying.

The whirlwind that was London picked up speed throughout the morning. While Katherine was being fitted into a dark green creation that threatened to push her breasts entirely free, an invitation arrived to dine with a Viscount and Lady Hathaway. Phil advised a polite refusal. While Madame Bouchard had her bundled into midnight-blue watered silk, Dodd came to inform her that Holliswell’s men had arrived but that he had not let them in and had instead sent them away with the rest of their boxed possessions. And while Madame Bouchard’s apprentice tried to pin together a downright-indecent copper creation, the solicitor arrived.

“So there is nothing I can do,” Katherine said half an hour later, pacing back and forth behind Papa’s desk in the library, dressed once again in her familiar tunic and trousers.

Mr. Allen watched her through keen, brown eyes that hadn’t aged a day in nearly eleven years. His wig sat perfectly straight, and his gaze was unnervingly steady. “Not of a legal nature, no. If they decide to hold another hearing on the matter, I can do my best to argue your case. Your father was the most well-liked Scottish representative member,” he added. “Very highly respected. His loss came as a blow to many. The bill may well fail, even under...these particular circumstances.”

These particular circumstances. Those, of course, included her tragic fall into shame and her subsequent rise to power and wealth, which, if she’d been a man, would have opened doors—not closed them. “It would seem my acquaintance with Captain Warre truly is my best hope.”

“Tactless as it may sound, his misfortune became your good luck. Had you returned without such a feather in your cap, so to speak, the picture would be very bleak indeed.”

“The picture is bleak now,” she snapped.

“Lord Croston is very powerful. Highly acclaimed.”

Lord Croston. Captain Warre. That she should need him, be dependent on his goodwill, was terrifying—never mind her plan to use him for exactly this purpose. Using him and needing him were two very different things.

“There is, I suppose, one other option,” Mr. Allen said.

Her heart leaped. “What is it?”

“You could marry.”

“Marry!”

“A strategic alliance. Doubtful the Lords would attaint you then, as they’d be unlikely to take another man’s rightful property. If you’ll forgive me, as highly esteemed as your father was and as vast as your estates are, it should be a simple matter to find an acquaintance of your father’s who’s willing.”

Her mind rejected the idea the way her body might reject a bit of rancid meat. “Absolutely not. Marriage is out of the question.” Even as she said it, Captain Warre’s face rose in her mind. “As you said, Father was well loved. Odds are against the bill passing.” The ball of rage and fear in her stomach testified otherwise. “And now that I’m here, I can work to curry favor among society.” To exploit her connection with Captain Warre, in other words.

“You can,” Mr. Allen said, too reasonably.

“I’ll not marry a stranger for convenience’s sake—someone who cares nothing for me, or worse, for Anne.”

“I was thinking Lord Deal might be an agreeable possibility. He is hardly a stranger.”

Lord Deal. Her memory conjured up a kindly old face and a ready smile. “He would be Father’s age. At least.”

Mr. Allen shrugged. “There are plenty of well-situated young dowagers who might tell you that’s not such a terrible thing.”

Good God. It was a sickening plan. She could never go through with it. Would never need to. Would she?

“Marriage is not the answer,” she said sternly. “At least, not until it becomes clear the only way to keep Dunscore is to take a husband.” And if that day ever came...well, she would marry an ancient bachelor with no backbone and learn how to administer hemlock.

She stared at Mr. Allen, and he observed her passively in return.

Just then, Dodd appeared in the doorway with a note on his silver tray. She met him halfway across the room. “Thank you.” She tore through the seal and quickly read the contents. “Speak of the devil,” she said to Mr. Allen, and read aloud.

“Your return to Britain brings me much joy. Of course, I will do all I can for you in your dear father’s memory. You must do me the honor of attending an intimate gathering at my home this evening—my annual Musicale and Confectionery Extravaganza. Indeed, this will be perfect.

Yours, etc.—”

She looked at Mr. Allen. “Perfect?”

He smiled behind steepled hands. “I daresay I am inclined to agree.”