Читать книгу The Lady Who Broke the Rules - Marguerite Kaye - Страница 11

His valet brought the note with his shaving water, proffering the folded sheet of thick paper on a sliver tray. Virgil knew who it was from the moment he saw it, though he couldn’t have said how. Had he been expecting it? Hoping for it? His name was written in a clear hand utterly bereft of flourishes, starkly legible. A man’s hand, he would have taken it for, under other circumstances. His valet was not taken in either though, judging from the curious looks he was casting at him via the mirror over the dressing stand.

‘I’ll shave myself, Watson,’ Virgil said, deliberately catching the man’s eye. Though he would have preferred to break the seal in private, he would not lower himself to the subterfuge of sending the valet away, nor indeed would he grant the note the importance such an act would imply.

I was perfectly serious. I wish you would do me the honour of paying a visit to Castonbury. We have much in common, and I am most eager to further our acquaintance. I leave at ten. I have sent a note ahead warning them to expect us, and arranged for your man to travel separately with my maid and the baggage. From what Polly has told me of him, he will have an entertaining journey! K.

Virgil smiled. Practical, blunt and wry, and leaving him with very little option but to accept. It was as well he had already resolved to go, for he made a point of never allowing himself to be coerced. Reading it again, he could picture the sparkle in her eyes as she wrote that last sentence.

‘A change of plan, sir?’

From the supercilious look on his face, Watson already knew the contents of the letter. How the hell? In the way that all servants knew, Virgil supposed. It had been the same on the plantation. Knowledge was power; he shouldn’t judge the man for that. He folded the note and placed it in the pocket of his silk dressing gown. ‘I take it you’ve been speaking to Lady Kate’s maid?’

Lathering his face, Virgil watched out of the corner of his eye as his valet debated between honesty and what seemed to be the English servant’s custom of pretended ignorance. He was relieved when the man plumped for the truth. ‘Miss Fisher did mention that Her Ladyship had invited you to Castonbury,’ the man admitted grudgingly.

‘And did Miss Fisher happen to share her views as to my likely reception there?’

Watson blanched. ‘Miss Fisher had a— She was—The truth is, sir, that Miss Fisher is not short of opinions,’ he said grimly. ‘I cannot imagine how Lady Katherine came by such a female, nor indeed how such a female survives in a ducal household.’

‘Like her mistress, I believe she is rather unconventional,’ Virgil replied. ‘Prepare yourself, Watson, for you will be sharing the baggage coach with her.’

‘You mean we are going to Castonbury? You wish me to accompany you? I was under the impression that you were journeying north alone.’

Judging from the look in his valet’s eye, the invitation was even more of an honour than Virgil had surmised. ‘Do you wish to return to London?’

‘No indeed, sir. I would not dream of leaving you to the ministrations of another,’ Watson declared.

‘Nothing better to do with your time, eh?’

Watson drew himself up. ‘If I have fallen short of your expectations …’

‘Don’t be an idiot, you know perfectly well that you’ve been keeping me right. I don’t like to be waited on, but it seems I must be, and you do it very well, so if you wish to continue with me in the short term …’

‘I do indeed, sir.’

‘Then get packing. I must make my farewells to my host.’

Kate swept down the stairs with her gloves and whip in her hand, trying to ignore the fact that her heart was fluttering in a quite ridiculous manner for one of her age. It was simply that she was interested in Virgil Jackson, that was all. There was a lot to find interesting in him. It was nothing, nothing at all, to do with the fact that he was an attractive man.

Just as the fact that she had spent much longer than usual dressing had nothing to do with wanting to look her best. As she very well knew, even at her best, she could never aspire to beauty, though it had to be said that this particular shade of blue was becoming, and the rather military cut of her riding habit, with its silver braiding and snugly fitting jacket, draped well on her slim form. Kate made a face, chastising herself. What mattered was that she was pleased with her appearance, she reminded herself. What did not matter was what Virgil Jackson thought.

Except, as she turned the corner to the last flight of stairs and saw that he was waiting for her in the tiled hall, dressed in a plain black coat with a grey waistcoat, buckskins and top boots polished to a gleam, and she noticed that his eyes lingered on her as she made her way towards him, she found that she did care. Chiding herself for it, she couldn’t help the tiniest flush of pleasure at seeing that he liked what he saw any more than she could deny that she liked what she saw too. Very much.

She held out her hand. To her surprise, he bent low over it, pressing a kiss on her knuckles. His lips were warm. The touch was fleeting, but it was enough to set her pulses skittering. In the bright light of the early-autumn sunshine streaming through the fanlight above the door, his skin gleamed. His eyes were more amber than brown. The way he looked at her warmed her, as if he saw something in her that no one else could see. ‘I’m so glad you decided to accept my invitation,’ she said brusquely, for it was embarrassing enough, this girlish reaction, without letting him see it.

‘I could not pass up the opportunity to visit this school of yours.’

It was most foolish of her to be disappointed, for what else was there between them save such business? Kate smiled brightly. ‘I’m glad.’

Virgil frowned. ‘Yes, but I’m not so sure that your family will be as enthusiastic. It is one thing to test barriers, as you said last night, but another to force an uninvited guest on people who, frankly, may not be very happy to receive me.’

‘You are invited, for I invited you.’

‘Did you tell them— The note you sent—how did you describe me?’

‘As a man of great wealth and extraordinary influence, a business associate of Josiah with a fascinating history.’

She had not mentioned the one salient fact that he was sure would have been the first to occur to almost anyone else. ‘You don’t think,’ Virgil asked tentatively, ‘that it would have been safer to warn them about my heritage?’

‘Why should I? I look at you and I see a man who has achieved what very few others have. You are rich and powerful and you have succeeded against overwhelming odds which also makes you fascinating. Why should I tell them the colour of your skin any more than I should inform them the colour of your hair, or whether you are fat or scrawny.’ Or attractive. Really extraordinarily attractive. Which, she should remember, was quite irrelevant. ‘Besides,’ Kate said disparagingly, ‘why encourage them to judge you before they have even met you?’

Virgil drew himself up. ‘I don’t give a damn—begging your pardon—about what your family think of me. I was more concerned about what they’d think of you.’

‘My family can think no worse of me than they already do. They are perfectly well aware of my support for the abolition laws, and I am perfectly capable of defending myself, if that is what you are concerned about,’ Kate said with a toss of her head. ‘I’ve had practice enough, God knows.’

‘I don’t doubt that. I suspect you take pride in being a rule-breaker.’

‘Not at all,’ Kate said, ‘you misunderstand me. Breaking rules, even unjust rules, is far more painful than unquestioning obedience. I wish I did not have to be a rule-breaker, as you call me. Life would be so much more pleasant if what one believed and what was expected of one coincided more often.’

She looked quite wistful and Virgil found himself at a loss, for it seemed that they were speaking about two different things. He could, however, agree with the sentiment. ‘I know exactly what you mean.’

Kate nodded, touching his sleeve in a gesture of sympathy he was already beginning to associate with her. ‘Our cases are hardly comparable. There are a good deal of rules which ought to be broken, no matter how painful.’

She would not have said so if she knew the price he had paid for his disobedience. No matter how unconventional she was, she would likely condemn him for it, and quite rightly so. Virgil rolled his shoulders as if the familiar burden of guilt were a tangible weight he carried. ‘I play by my own rules,’ he answered, more to remind himself of that fact than in response to what she had said. He could see his remark confused her, but the crump of carriage wheels on the gravel kept him from saying more, and then the Wedgwoods’ groom appeared at the front door and informed them that the gig awaited Her Ladyship’s convenience.

Kate pulled on her driving gloves. ‘I hope you don’t mind the cold, but I drive myself. I hate to be cooped up in a carriage.’

‘That’s fine by me.’ Virgil pulled on the greatcoat his valet had insisted that he would require, having been forewarned that Her Ladyship scorned the closed carriage in which any other lady of her rank would have been expected to travel. With extreme reluctance, he donned the beaver tricorn hat which Watson had also insisted upon. Hats and gloves were items of gentleman’s apparel to which Virgil had never managed to become accustomed.

Kate leapt nimbly into the carriage in a flutter of lacy petticoats at odds with the masculine cut of her dress, and took up the reins. The gig rocked under Virgil’s weight as he climbed in beside her. His knee brushed her skirts. The caped shoulder of his driving coat fluttered against the braiding on her jacket. The air smelt of leaves and moss, with that sharpness to it that was distinctively English. As she urged the horse into a trot, she smiled. ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ she said impulsively.

Virgil laughed, and for once spoke his mind without thinking. ‘That makes two of us,’ he said.

They had left Maer village behind, and were heading eastwards along a country lane at a steady pace. The morning was bright but cool, the sun shining weakly in the pale blue sky. The blackberries which grew so prolifically in the hedgerows were past their best now. The leaves on the trees had turned from gold and amber to brown, curled and crisped by the change in the temperature, ready to float down at the merest hint of a breeze. In the distance, a bell clanged as a herd of sheep made their way across a field.

‘I was about to ask you last night, before the lemon syllabub separated us, how you came by your education,’ Kate said. ‘I realised later that I must have sounded quite the malcontent, complaining about my lack of formal schooling when it was likely that you’d had none at all—as a child, I mean.’

‘I never went to school, not when I was a slave, nor when Malcolm Jackson freed me either.’

‘Jackson is the man who brought you to Boston?’

‘Bought me at auction, and brought me to Boston. There’s no need to dance around the subject. I was a slave. I was sold. Malcolm Jackson paid for me in gold and set me free.’

‘You took his name.’

‘That man placed a lot of trust in me, it was the least I could do. Besides, the only other name I had belonged to the man who sold me. It was no hardship to give that up.’

‘And this Jackson, he gave you an education?’

Virgil smiled. ‘I gave myself an education. Malcolm Jackson gave me a job at his factory and a place to live. He let me have books, and when I was done with his, I found more, and plenty of ideas, too, at the African Meeting House in the city. I studied hard every night and I worked hard every day so that within a year there wasn’t a job at that factory I couldn’t turn my hand to. Sometimes I had just two or three hours’ sleep, but I didn’t need any more. I discovered I had a head for figures. I found I had a mind for business, too, which is more than poor Malcolm Jackson had. He was leaking money, he was being taken for a ride by just about everyone he did a deal with, and he was missing so many opportunities that it was criminal to watch.’

Virgil had shifted in his seat as he talked, so that his knee brushed against her skirt. He was more animated than she had yet seen him. His eyes glowed. He had cast his hat onto the floor, and tugged repeatedly at his neck cloth as he spoke. The finicky valet he had mentioned had obviously tied it tighter than he was used to. He had already admitted that he could not tie such a fancy knot himself. It was endearing, though Kate took care not to let him know she thought so, judging quite rightly that he would have been horrified. ‘I assume there came a time when you could no longer stand by and watch things going wrong,’ she said.

‘I would have interfered eventually, but I didn’t have to. Malcolm Jackson didn’t have the hardest business head but he wasn’t a fool. He could see what was happening, and he could see I knew what to do about it. He was getting old, and he was getting tired and he had learned to trust me. In a year I’d doubled our turnover and he made me a partner. Another year, and we had just about cornered the new market for cheap, practical stoneware.’

‘Was that your idea?’

‘One of them.’

‘And not too many more years later you are one of the wealthiest men in America. This deal with Josiah, is that going to allow you to corner another new market?’

‘I wouldn’t be doing it otherwise,’ Virgil said with a grin.

‘But you have other businesses than—what do you call it, stoneware?’

‘I sure do. I have real estate—that’s property, to you English. Homes to rent to the freed men coming north that are fit for human habitation. Rooming houses that aren’t flea pits. I have some interest in retail—shops to sell what we make at the factories. And some other investments too. As I said, I have a head for business.’

‘It must be a very ruthless one, to have achieved so much in such a relatively short time, with the odds stacked against you to boot. Your ambition knows no bounds. Tell me, do you still exist on two or three hours’ sleep a night?’

‘I prefer not to waste time sleeping if there’s something better I can be doing.’

Kate pursed her lips, her brows drawing together in a deep frown. ‘But why? Why not enjoy your success? Forgive me, but you sound almost like a man obsessed. What more can you possibly want? Aren’t you wealthy enough?’

‘I don’t care about being rich.’

Alerted by the change in his tone, Kate glanced sideways. The light had gone from his eyes. What had she said? ‘You’re so used to working twenty hours a day that you can’t stop, is that it?’ she ventured, trying to make a joke of it.

‘I’m not interested in money, Lady Kate. I’m interested in what money can buy.’

He had shifted in his seat again, to look straight ahead. His expression seemed to have hardened.

Kate’s brow cleared. ‘Oh, you mean schools? Your model village?’

He meant reparation, but it was the same thing. ‘Power,’ Virgil said. ‘The power to change.’

Kate nodded. ‘Yes. If I felt I could have that, I think I’d manage on two or three hours’ sleep a night too. Do you ever wish you could go back? To the plantation, I mean, to show them what you have become.’

He realised, from the casual way she slipped the question in, that this was the subject which interested her most. ‘No.’ It was baldly stated, making it clear, Virgil trusted, that neither did he ever discuss it. He could sense her eyeing him, calculating whether to press him or not.

‘I’m surprised,’ she said cautiously. ‘Were I in your position, I think I’d want to rub their noses in it a bit.’

‘There’s other ways of payback.’ This time, Virgil was relieved to see that she recognised the note of finality in his voice. He never talked about that part of his past, never consciously thought about it, for to do so would be to admit the tide of guilt he had spent the past eleven years holding back. It was one thing to talk around his history, quite another to paint its picture and admit to the pain which he had worked so hard to ignore. Yet there could be no denying that her choice of silence made him contrarily wish she had questioned him more.

The miles wore on. At the border between Staffordshire and Derbyshire they stopped at a village tavern, taking bread and the crumbling white local cheese on a bench outside. It was chilly, but there was no private parlour, and neither Kate nor Virgil wished to endure the curious eyes of the locals in the tap room who had greeted their appearance with a stunned silence.

As they continued on into Derbyshire the scenery changed. The land became softly undulating, the higher, rolling hills of the Peaks casting shadows over the valleys through which they drove. It seemed wetter and greener here. The limestone villages huddled into the creases and folds of the hills, or stretched out along the banks of the fast-flowing rivers such as the Dove, which they followed for some time, where the water mills turned.

It was beautiful, though incredibly isolated, each hamlet seeming to exist in its own world, unconnected and self-contained, Virgil thought. ‘Why aren’t you married, Lady Kate?’

The question startled her, for her hands jerked on the reins, pulling the horse to a walk. ‘Why do you ask?’

Why? He hadn’t realised, but now he thought about it he saw that her remarks over dinner last night had been niggling at him. He could not reconcile what she’d said of herself with the little he knew of her. ‘You said you were a social pariah, though I saw no evidence of it.’

‘Josiah’s guests are my friends but they are not what my father would consider high society. Were you to see me in that milieu you would have evidence aplenty.’

The horse took advantage of her lapse in attention to stop and crop at the grass verge. Virgil took the reins and looped them round the brake. ‘Why? I know I joked about you being a revolutionary, but …’

‘Oh, it is naught to do with that. I have always been outspoken, but the daughter of the influential Duke of Rothermere, you understand, is given rather more latitude than, say, a mere Miss Montague.’ Her voice dripped sarcasm. She threw her head back and glared at him, her eyes dark and bleak, the colour of a winter sea. ‘The fact is, I am a jilt.’

Virgil searched her face for some sign that she was joking, but could find no trace in her stern expression. ‘That’s it? You changed your mind about getting married?’

‘A mere two weeks before the ceremony, and the engagement was of very long standing. I had known Anthony all my life. I did not quite leave him at the altar, but I may as well have, according to my aunt.’

The husky tones of her voice were clipped. There was hurt buried deep there. Had she loved this Anthony? Virgil didn’t like to think so. ‘What made you change your mind so late in the day?’

‘We didn’t suit.’

‘But …’

‘I know what you’re going to say, if I knew him so well why did it take me so long to change my mind? I knew him as a friend of the family. I thought we would suit, and when I tried to think of him as a husband I found I could not.’

The anger in her voice was raw, fresh. ‘How long ago did this happen?’ Virgil asked.

‘Five years.’

‘Did you love him?’ He should not have asked such a deeply personal question. He could not understand why he had done so, for he was usually at pains to keep any conversation, especially with a woman, in neutral channels. But he knew all about the pain of loss.

He covered her tightly clasped hands with one of his own, but Kate shook him off. ‘Don’t feel sorry for me, there is no need. I am not wearing the willow for Lord Anthony Featherstone.’

Rebuffed and baffled, Virgil said nothing. All his instincts told him to drop the subject, which was obviously extremely sensitive and extremely painful, but there was something in her voice, in the way she had closed herself off, that he recognised and could not ignore. She was hurt and determined not to show it. He gently unfolded her fingers and took one of her hands between his. ‘Then tell me,’ he said. ‘What happened?’

She hesitated. He could see the words of refusal forming, but for some reason she swallowed them. ‘Do you really want to know?’

When he nodded, she took a deep breath. ‘Anthony was—is—the son of one of my father’s close friends. His family has a bloodline which can be traced back to the Norman Conquest, according to my father. Our betrothal was the result of a bargain struck by our parents when I was still in my cradle. What you have to understand is that as far as my father is concerned, my only value is in making the best marriage which can be arranged. I knew from a very early age that I was destined to marry Anthony, and since I had not met any other man I preferred after almost two full Seasons, I agreed. Anthony was far from repulsive,’ Kate said, determined to be scrupulously fair. ‘In fact, he was considered to be something of a beau.’

‘But you were not in love with him?’

‘I have never been in love with anyone. I doubt it is in my nature to feel so strongly, and in any case, love has nothing at all to do with marriage. At least, not for a Montague. People of our sort make alliances, not love matches,’ she said bitterly.

Falling in love was the one thing Virgil had been free to do. He had loved Millie. He would have married Millie. Were there other forms of chains he didn’t understand? Duty had weighed heavily with Lady Kate. It was not a comparison she would dream of making, but he made it. ‘So you agreed to the marriage because it was what your family wished, even though you were not sure?’

‘I wasn’t unsure, it would be unfair to say that. I was resigned. No, it was not even that. I simply didn’t question it, I suppose.’

Virgil smiled. ‘I find that hard to believe. You seem to question everything.’

‘As I said, life would be less painful if I did not. Would that I had questioned this match earlier. Or had the strength of will to say no when I knew what—knew my own mind better.’

‘What about your mother?’

‘Mama died when I was a child. My Aunt Wilhelmina is her sister, and she was most—most anxious for the match to take place. Even more so than my father, in the end. When I tried to discuss my reservations about Anthony she—she did not— She said that I …’

Her hand curled into a fist within his clasp. Her jaw clenched, her eyes were bright with tears. This was obviously the source of her hurt, or one of them. Virgil felt a momentary spasm of anger at the unknown aunt.

‘And the duke?’

Kate laughed bitterly. ‘My father’s word is law. He made the match. As far as he was concerned, there was no question of my changing my mind, whatever the circumstances.’

‘And yet you did change your mind?’

‘I had to.’

I had to. It was a curious choice of phrase, Virgil thought, but the tightness in her voice, the way she held herself, as if she was afraid she might shatter, and the sheen of tears which he was fairly certain she would be mortified to shed, made him cautious. ‘So you called it off?’

She nodded. ‘My aunt said that I would be ruined, and she was right. Papa refused to put the notice in the paper. He left it to Anthony to do so. “Lord Anthony Featherstone wishes it to be known that his betrothal to the Honourable Lady Katherine …” You can imagine how that looked.’

What Virgil found extraordinary was that such an act could have led society to ostracise her, but he had discovered that there was much he found inexplicable about the English. He supposed it was something to do with her family’s status, and the fact of the date having been set. ‘But your father, your aunt, they are surely reconciled to your decision now, after five years?’

Kate gave another of those bitter little laughs. ‘You’d think so, but you see, I have refused to do penance in the only possible way by making any other sort of match. Though, of course, my situation must have reduced my expectations significantly,’ she said in a voice which left Virgil in no doubt she was quoting her aunt, ‘my blood and my dowry were still sufficient to tempt a few ambitious suitors. However, I may be foolish but I am not stupid. I have no intention of repeating my mistake. I am resolved never to marry.’

‘That is what you meant when you said you have put yourself beyond the pale?’

‘Did I?’ She smiled faintly. ‘Yes, that is what I meant. So you see, as far as His Grace and my aunt are concerned, I am a failure.’

She had said more than enough to make Virgil despise the duke, though it was the aunt, who had signally failed to support her as a mother should, towards whom he directed his anger. All his reservations about the effect of his presence in the ducal residence fled. He very much hoped he would throw them all into disarray. He could now perfectly understand Lady Kate’s desire to defy them. ‘I don’t think you are a failure, far from it,’ Virgil said. ‘To stand up for yourself in the face of such opposition took real courage. I think you are extraordinary.’

‘Do you?’

She had been staring down at her feet, but his words made her look up, and the vulnerability he saw there pierced Virgil’s defences. ‘Yes, I do,’ he said softly. Pushing back the leather cuff of her driving glove, he pressed a kiss on the inside of her wrist. ‘You really are quite extraordinary.’

He meant merely to show her that he understood. That he admired her. That he had not judged her as her family had. A token gesture of solidarity, that’s what he intended. But when his lips touched the delicate skin his intentions changed. Her scent, the taste of her, turned his empathy into desire.

She stilled, her eyes fixed on his when he looked up, wide, startled, but she made no move to pull away. A pulse fluttered at her neck. Entranced, Virgil could not resist touching it. The diamond drops in her ears glinted in the sunlight. He pressed his lips to her skin. It was cold and smooth. She breathed in sharply, but did not pull away. ‘Extraordinary,’ Virgil repeated softly. The air was still, save for the contented sound of the horse champing on the grass by the wayside. There was no one else in sight. He shifted on the narrow bench, his knees pressing into her thigh. Still she didn’t move. Her scent, flowery and already imprinted on his mind, made him think of summer meadows. His heart was beating in time to that fluttering pulse of hers. ‘Kate,’ he said, thinking that her name suited her precisely.

Admiration leached into wanting. He covered her mouth with his own, pausing just a second lest she protest. She did not. Her lips were so soft. She tasted of peaches or apricots or strawberries, sweet and lush. He slipped his arm around her back and pulled her closer. So long it had been since he had kissed a woman. His other hand he used to push back her hat and his mouth shaped hers so easily, so naturally, that he forgot to think about whether he could remember what to do, and sank into her kiss as if he had been waiting to do so from the moment they met.

Kate closed her eyes. Such a gentle touch he had. And the look in his eyes, as if he could see the feelings she kept parcelled up deep inside her. His mouth was warm. His kiss made her feel as if the sun had strengthened. His lips moved over hers slowly, tasting her, seeming to want nothing but to savour her. It made her skin tingle. It made her want. Just want. The purity of it gave her a pang. The simplicity of it, the ease of it, as if their mouths were made for each other, made her wonder. The gentleness made her want to cry.

But as she reached up to touch his hair, as she nestled closer, as she sank into the sensual haze of his kiss, Virgil pulled away. ‘I guess I should apologise for that.’

Kate blinked and touched her fingers to her lips. He sounded singularly unrepentant. She ought to be insulted, but in fact this realisation was pleasing. ‘Mr Jackson …’

‘I wish you would call me Virgil. Hardly anyone does.’

It was a relief to see that he looked slightly dazed, because that was exactly how Kate felt. Or was it dazzled? Were kisses supposed to make you feel like that? Not in her experience. ‘Virgil,’ she said. ‘I like it. Your name, I mean. I like your name.’ And his kisses. She didn’t want him to think she didn’t like his kisses, but she couldn’t very well tell him that. She fanned her cheeks.

Virgil took her hand, stroking the pulse at her wrist with his thumb. ‘I haven’t wanted to kiss anyone in a long time.’

‘Then that makes two of us,’ Kate said with a husky little laugh. His touch was making her even hotter. ‘How long?’

‘Not since Anthony.’ Had she ever wanted to kiss Anthony? She must have done, else she would not have … ‘What about you?’

Virgil shrugged. ‘A while.’

‘Days? Weeks? Months?’ Kate persisted. ‘Years?’ she squeaked, disbelievingly.

‘A while.’

He dropped her hand, moving away from her, as far as the gig’s limited seating allowed. She wanted to probe, but she knew better than to do so. Whatever a while was, it was surprising. Astonishing that a man as attractive, as assured, as Virgil had kissed no one. Though not as astounding as the fact that he had kissed her! She wanted to know why. Or did she? Perhaps ignorance in this case truly was bliss. Kate untangled the reins from the brake. ‘I hope it was worth the wait,’ she said, resorting to her customary glibness.

‘Have we much further to go?’ Virgil asked some time later.

Kate shook her head. ‘We’ve been on Montague land for the past couple of miles. The farmers here are all my father’s tenants.’

‘Good God, I didn’t realise he owned so much.’

‘Well, it’s not really my father but the dukedom. The land is all entailed, so he can’t sell it, and he can’t bequeath it to anyone other than Jam—I mean, Giles. Giles is the heir. Or at least he is at the moment. That may well all be about to change.’

‘How so?’

Kate grimaced. ‘It’s complicated. I should have told you. I’ve invited you into a hornet’s nest, but I so wanted you to come with me. I didn’t really think about it last night, but—oh, God, the truth is that we’re actually in a bit of a mess,’ she said. ‘Are you angry?’

‘How can I be, when I don’t know what you’re talking about?’

‘Yes. Of course. Sorry. Well, it seems that my brother Jamie took a wife in Spain just before he—he died. We knew nothing about it until a few months ago, when my father received a letter from the woman demanding that we do right by her son who is, she claims, Jamie’s heir. You can imagine the uproar that caused. My brother Giles suspects the whole thing is an elaborate fraud but Ross—he is my cousin—met the woman, and seemed fairly convinced by her. So now Giles, who is the heir at the moment but might not really be the heir, has sent my brother Harry—who is the next in line to Giles but of course is further out if this child … well, anyway, Harry is off to Spain to see what he can discover, and in the meantime my father, who is most anxious to detach his grandson from what he has called the scheming wretch, has insisted that they both come to Castonbury.’ Kate drew a breath and laughed at Virgil’s expression. ‘I told you, it’s complicated.’

‘Extremely,’ Virgil said, amused by her method of recounting the tale, dismayed by its content.

‘The reason I had to come home today is because Giles has demanded a sort of family counsel of war.’

‘And knowing all this, you still insisted I accompany you! Surely your time will be quite taken up with these matters, and my presence in the midst of it all can only be an inconvenience at best.’

Kate slowed the horse down as they rounded a bend in the lane, pulling the gig to a halt at a large wooden gate. ‘You are angry. I’m sorry, I ought to have told you sooner, but I so wanted you to come to Castonbury and I was afraid that you would not, and that is the truth.’ She transferred the reins to one hand, placing her other on Virgil’s sleeve. ‘I’m glad that you’re here.’

He covered her hand with his, and smiled crookedly down at her. ‘Thank you, but I think perhaps I should not make it such a long visit.’

‘We’ll see,’ Kate said, deciding wisely not to push her luck. ‘Now, look over there.’ She pointed her whip. ‘That is Castonbury Park.’

The field by which they had stopped was on a rise, looking down on the house. Behind them, the trees which bordered the lane through which they had been driving would provide a pleasant perspective. The house itself was perfectly symmetrical with matching wings set to the east and west. In the centre of the building, a domed roof gave it a distinctive appearance, more like a classical Roman villa or place of worship than a family home. Though it was difficult to see the detail at this distance, it looked as if the architect had been an admirer of the classical style, for there were pediments and pillars, the rustic stonework of the ground floor giving way to the smooth finish on the piano nobile, from which a grand staircase curved down to the neatly manicured lawns. He had expected something flamboyantly grand, but the perfect proportions were so beautiful that he could not but admire them.

‘What do you think?’ Kate asked.

‘It’s not what I thought it would be. I thought the home of a duke would be more … showy.’

She gave a gurgle of laughter. ‘Just wait. There is gilt and gold aplenty in the state rooms.’ She urged the tired horse into motion once more. ‘The prettiest part of the grounds is to the north, which is where the main lodge is. The smaller one you can see leads to the Dower House. And through those woods there is a path to the village, where Lily, Giles’s betrothed, lives in the vicarage.’

‘Let me make sure I have this right. Giles is your eldest brother now, and you are next in age?’

‘No, I come after Harry. Ned was next after me,’ Kate said, ignoring the familiar lurch in her stomach as she spoke Ned’s name, ‘and then there is my sister, Phaedra, who is twenty, four years younger than me. Since my spectacular failure to make a good marriage, all my father’s hopes are pinned on Phaedra making her debut next Season but I suspect they are misplaced, for though my sister has the potential to be quite dangerously attractive, she has very little interest in anything but horses, and none at all in either parties or clothes, much to my aunt’s despair. My Aunt Wilhelmina,’ Kate explained, seeing Virgil’s puzzled look, ‘is a widow, my mother’s sister and has been at Castonbury since Mama died. Oh, and then there is my cousin Colonel Ross Montague, the one who has met Jamie’s wife. He also grew up at Castonbury with his sister, Araminta, but she is lately married. And Ross has returned to India … and very possibly ran off with his sister’s maid! And that,’ Kate said, laughing, ‘concludes the current history of the Montagues. I can see from your face that we have signally failed to live up to your expectations, and I haven’t told you half the skeletons we have in our closet, believe me. Why Papa thinks himself superior, I have no idea.’

‘Nor indeed have I,’ Virgil replied, wondering what the devil he’d let himself in for, but unable to resist returning her smile, all the same.