Читать книгу The Arrangement - Lyn Stone - Страница 13

Chapter Five

Strong sunlight and the smell of coffee greeted Kathryn when she woke. She blinked and rubbed her eyes, groaning as her corset bit into her rib cage.

She was in Pip’s room. Or at least the one she had assigned him when she saw the pigsty he usually occupied. The covers lay tangled half about her, half on the floor. Otherwise, the place looked much as it had the last time she was in it. The dust was more evident, and the furnishings seemed a bit more faded than she recalled. How in the world had she gotten here?

Searching her memory, Kathryn vaguely remembered strong arms beneath her, the shifting movements of being carried like a child. She lay back and sighed. So Pip was looking after her. The future didn’t look half so bleak as she had expected it would this morning.

Once she had her money, she would restore his home and make it livable. Maybe even as beautiful as it had been in its glory days. And she would give him a life of comfort and ease. Her Pip would have no worries at all other than what note to play next. Her Pip. Nathan. She remembered the name Jon had written on the marriage certificate, but she could never think of Pip as Nathan. He probably wouldn’t answer to that name, anyway.

So what if Pip wasn’t her ideal husband? Not likely she would ever have found the man she’d envisioned anyway. She had imagined a somewhat older fellow. Handsome, naturally. Virile and experienced, worldly, sure of himself, the master of all situations. And rich. Well, now she didn’t require a rich man. Love had never been on her wish list. She’d seen what love did to her father when he lost it. She wasn’t even certain what love meant; passion, supposedly, coupled with obsession. She would gladly settle for a different, safer kind of affection with Pip.

She couldn’t deny that she felt a strong physical attraction to her brother-in-law, Chadwick. But then, she had experienced a stirring toward Pip that proved nearly as strong. The failing was one she’d have to combat until she got over it. Desire might be new and unsettling, but she could deal with it until she got used to the near proximity of two extremely handsome men. Once they became familiar in a family setting, she would surely come to think of both in .a sisterly way.

They could live a pleasant life here at Timberoak. Jon would come periodically, of course, to get the music Pip wrote. They would make him welcome and be a real family. Even old Grandy might fit in, once Kathryn set her straight about showing Pip the respect he was due. Just because a childhood accident had stolen some of his reason, that gave the woman no call to grump at him the way she did. Everything would work out beautifully. Kathryn meant to see that it did. They were all her responsibility now.

She listened to the steady thump of footsteps on the stairs and the firm knock at her bedroom door. “Come in,” she called, fully expecting Pip.

“Good morning, Kathryn,” Jon said as he entered. “You slept well, I trust?”

Kathryn shifted uncomfortably in her wrinkled riding habit. He looked too wonderfully decadent, still in his evening clothes. Powder lay thick on his face, its pallor interrupted only by his dark brows and lashes, and the natural color of his expressive mouth. Most of his dark, wavy hair had escaped from its scarlet thong, as though the wind had pulled it free. Was he just coming in from last evening’s affair at the Turkingtons’ or leaving for another? The night had passed, but she had no idea what time of day it was.

Or did he never allow anyone to see him without this ridiculous mask of his? One would think he was hiding something. Scars, perhaps? La, men could be more vain than women!

His appearance ought to have set her teeth on edge, and in a way it did just that. It was as though he were daring anyone to challenge his eccentricity. He wore his trappings like a badge. Kathryn stifled a sudden urge to rip away the pretense and discover the real man underneath. She supposed most women felt that way, and that it was precisely what Jon intended.

“You have a performance today?” she asked, assuming the coolest voice she could manage.

He handed her a mug of steaming coffee. “Actually, no. I thought we might go into the city and announce the marriage.”

“And collect the money,” she said acerbically.

“Yes.”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?” At least he had the grace to look embarrassed.

Kathryn shrugged, took a sip of the over-sweetened brew, and shivered with disgust before she answered. “I told you I can’t have it until I’m twenty-five.”

“But you said a husband would make all the difference. You said...”

Kathryn saw where this was going. “I said no such thing. I still can’t get the money until my twenty-fifth birthday. Nor can anyone else. Why do you think my uncle waited this long? If I could have collected merely by taking a husband, I’d be long married by now, with my brain pickled in laudanum syrup. You’ll just have to wait along with me, I’m afraid.” She finished the coffee in two swallows and winced again at the sugary taste.

Even under the pallor of his powder, Kathryn imagined, Jon looked ashen. He just stood there wearing one of Pip’s blank expressions. Odd, aside from their hair color, she hadn’t realized just how close their resemblance was until now. She had a strange urge to reassure him, the same urge she usually felt toward his brother. “Don’t worry, Jon. My birthday’s in two months.”

“You’ll be twenty-five?” he asked, visibly shaking off whatever troubled him. “I’d thought you much younger.”

“Thank you. The blush is off, though.” She flashed him a quick grin. “At least I’m no longer an old maid.”

His eyes registered surprise at her sally, and then resignation. “No, no, I suppose not.” He stepped back toward the doorway, stumbling a bit on the edge of the rug. “Well, then... Well, I’ll be off to town. If you don’t need anything else, that is.”

“Where is Pip today?” she asked as she stood up and placed her coffee mug on the bedside table.

“Uh...he goes down to the lake most mornings. Sometimes the woods. Look, Kathryn, I have to leave now.”

“Wait awhile, if you’re going into the city. I’d like you to take a message to my uncle. Even if I can’t collect the money yet, I’d like to make at least one announcement.”

He shook his head and looked eager to be on his way. “I’m afraid I haven’t time to wait.”

“Oh, I promise you it will be short and to the point,” she assured him.

When he stood back, she preceded him down the stairs and into the ballroom. Amid the scatter of music sheets, she located a blank page and sat down on the floor to write.

Dear Uncle, On Tuesday night, the fifth of September, I was married to Mr. Nathan Lyham. We are residing at his country house until my birthday. Your niece, Kathryn

Jon peered over her shoulder until she had finished. He cleared his throat and rocked back on his heels when she looked up. “Is that all?”

“It ought to do the trick. His plans are definitely foiled. Will you post it for me?” She folded it in thirds and handed it up.

“I shall have it delivered. Will he come looking for you, do you think?”

Kathryn laughed as she took his hand to get up from the floor. “He won’t know where to look, now will he?”

Jon crouched and picked up the little harp Pip had played the night before. He stuffed her letter in his pocket and tucked the harp under his arm as he rose.

“Won’t Pip mind if you take away one of his ladies?” she asked.

“He will weep buckets, Kathryn, but there’s no help for it.” The look on his face was pure grief. She knew then that he felt the same affinity for the instrument that Pip did.

Kathryn took his free hand in hers. “You will sell it? Are we really so desperate for funds, Jon?”

He squeezed his eyes shut and blew out a long breath through his nose. “Everything will come right, Kathryn. Not to worry.”

Then he shifted the harp to a more comfortable position and offered her a rather forced smile. “Leave Pip to his own devices today. He’ll wander for a while and then return late this evening to work in here. Food’s in the pie safe and there’s fruit in the orchard out back. Make yourself at home.”

Kathryn followed to the back door and watched him stride across the yard. “Anything else I should know?” she called out.

He turned and walked backward as he answered. “The cat’s name is Dagnabbit, and he bites. So does Grandy. Have a care!” Then he laughed and disappeared into the stables.

Kathryn felt deserted, but she also felt rather adventurous. Never since she was a child had she been quite so free and left to her own inclinations. She could do whatever she wanted!

After wolfing a few slices of bacon and a handful of biscuits, she washed it all down with the remains of Jon’s ale. Next thing, Kathryn thought, was to get rid of the corset.

The freedom of it all went right to her head, and she laughed aloud as she ran up the stairs. Married life was wonderful already, Kathryn thought, even without the money!

A midafternoon message caused a crisis at the Wainwright town house.

Rupert Wainwright crushed the letter from Kathryn into a wad and threw it into the grate. “The little fool! She’s gone and got herself wed!” He raked his hand through what was left of his graying hair and scratched his bushy side-whiskers.

“That’s it, then,” Randall Nelson said, slumping his gangly frame down on the horsehair settee.

“You limp-wristed nodcock! You’re giving her up? Just like that?” Rupert threw up his hands, wondering whether he had chosen the right man after all. He needed Kathryn wed to someone malleable enough to go along with the scheme. And someone stupid enough to share the wealth. Pity the lad didn’t have more gumption, though, when it came to overcoming obstacles.

“What we have to do is find the bastard she married and get rid of him!” Wainwright settled himself behind his scarred oak desk and pounded a fist on the blotter. “Now then, think hard, boy. Do you know any Lyhams? Unusual name. Can’t be many of ’em. Check the census records first. The fellow has to be from here in town, or she’d never have met him, eh?”

Nelson’s gray eyes widened and his head came up with a start. “You mean to kill the man, sir?”

Rupert snorted with disgust. “You have a better idea?”

Nelson winced. “I hadn’t thought to do murder, Roop.”

“How else can we pull this off? You think she’ll simply divorce him and fall in your lap for the asking? We’ll have to make it look an accident, of course.”

Nelson stared out the window, saying nothing.

Rupert nodded and breathed out a gusty sigh. “Shame we can’t just do away with her. Wouldn’t get anything that way, though. Charities would get it all. Damn that brother of mine!”

He noticed Nelson’s brooding silence. “What is it?” Then louder. “What is it, man? I know that look! You’re hiding something from me, I can tell. Let’s have it.”

“I knew a Lyham once. Was up at school with him. Eton, when we were just lads.” He shook his head. “Couldn’t be the same one.”

“And why not? Well, spit it out.” Rupert wanted to cuff him, but he held off. No sense in alienating his only hope.

“Name wasn’t Nathan. Edward, I believe we called him. Surname was Chapton, or something like that.” Nelson nodded, satisfied he’d remembered correctly. Yes, I believe it was Edward Chapton, or perhaps Chudwyn.”

Rupert threw up his hands again and rolled his eyes. “Well, if his given name wasn’t Nathan and his last name wasn’t Lyham, what’s the bloody point, man?”

Nelson folded his hands and returned Rupert’s glare. “Lyham was his title, Roop. The fellow was a lord. Father was an earl, I believe. Left school when the old man died.”

“Christ’s nails! An earl?” Rupert’s voice dropped to a whisper. “The gel’s gone and got herself an earl?”

“No, no. I told you this fellow’s name wasn’t Nathan. And besides that, wouldn’t Kathryn have thrown the man’s title at you if he had one? That would make her a countess, and I doubt very much if she’d forget to mention that.”

Rupert thought for a moment. Randall was right for a change. The lad hadn’t much in the way of fortitude, but he had a head on his shoulders. A fine-looking head it was, too. Rupert had been banking heavily on Nelson’s good looks to snag Kathryn’s attention. Bugger that idea now; they would simply have to resort to elimination and force.

“You find out, boy. I want to know who this rascal Lyham is by week’s end. Get on it first thing in the morning. Better yet, tonight. Ask around, check the peerage books just in case. Hire a detective, whatever it takes. We have to know who we’re dealing with and get rid of him before the girl turns twenty-five.”

Very late that evening, Jon stopped in the village and stabled Imp with the smithy, Ike Noblett. He then trudged through the woods to Grandy’s cottage, where he left his suit and the small case containing the wig, mirror and stage paint. After scrubbing himself in the lake, he donned the rough work pants he had brought with him. His heart had gone out of the charade, but he had little choice but to continue now that he was in it up to his neck.

The chilly night air revived him a little, but nothing could restore the bit of his soul he had left with his harp at Graythorne Antiquities. With a huge dose of luck, he might retrieve her someday, but that would rest with fate and the whims of Ned Bunrich.

He approached the house and noticed candles flickering in the ballroom windows. Had Kathryn waited up? “Halloo th’ house!” he called, so that he wouldn’t frighten her.

“Pip! Where have you been? It’s so late!” She caught his arm and shook it gently. “I was worried about you.”

Jon patted her hand and fought the urge to raise it to his lips. There was a stupid thought. He had always hated kissing hands. Pretending attentiveness. Watching women simper. But Kathryn’s hands were so small and so soothing, even when she was berating him for being late.

“Hungry,” he mumbled. And not just for food, he thought.

She sighed and pulled him toward the kitchen, where she had obviously been sitting. One of the chairs stood out of place. Usually they all did. Someone had scraped away his huge mound of candle wax from the center of the table and replaced it with a dish holding a fat new taper.

Kathryn nudged him to sit. “There’s a bit of the bacon from this morning. Your Grandy brought a tin of biscuits, and I cooked some of the apples I picked out back.”

Jon looked around while she gathered the food on a chipped plate. The whole room seemed different. The floor had a near shine to it. The cobwebs had disappeared, and the window glass reflected the light clearly. He didn’t recall ever seeing it do that. “It’s clean!” he exclaimed.