Barbara Metzger (19 page)

* * * *

So he wasn’t a blessed monk after all, Adelina fumed, glaring at the latest
on dits
column from a reporter who had been in Epsom for the races. That dastard. Not the reporter, the scoundrel who’d fed her a bushel of hog swill so he could weasel out of their betrothal.

Adelina could have been a viscountess, damn his eyes. She hurled a china shepherdess across the room.

“What, my love, did you drop something?” her husband asked. Her old, scaly-skinned, foul-breathed maggot of a minor lordling husband. A china milkmaid followed her sister to porcelain purgatory. If not for that craven Courtney and his garish girlfriend, Adelina could have been a duchess someday.

* * * *

The Duke of Caswell rubbed his gnarled hands in glee. Why, this was a new lease on life, news to warm the cockles of an old man’s heart. His heir, his only grandson, actually had some wild oats to sow.

His Grace treated himself to a glass of port to celebrate, doctor’s orders be damned. Maybe he’d even toddle off to Town and take a look at Chase’s high flyer for himself. Any female enticing enough to light a fire under that prig Courtney ought to be able to breathe some life into Caswell’s fading embers. He’d give the boy a run for his money, see if he didn’t.

* * * *

Courtney’s nose was running, his head was stuffed, and his temper was as frayed as the skin on his knuckles. He didn’t want to check on his gelding’s foreleg; he didn’t want to meet with his solicitor; he didn’t want to sit at his blasted club and listen to the gossip. He dashed well knew he
was
the latest gossip. Thunderation, how did this happen to him? All he’d done was bring some pitiful waif in out of the cold. He’d have done as much for any stray. Now his name took up a whole page in White’s betting book, and he had to go quiet the rumors—or bash a few more heads together.

What he wanted to do was stay at home nursing his cold, his manly pride, and a grudge against independent-thinking females. By George, he did know what was best for the chit.

And just possibly what was best for him, too.

* * * *

And Kathlyn Partland, the focus of more interest than she’d known her entire life? She was upstairs at Nanny’s, nursing a broken heart.

Chapter Twenty

No snow, no rain, no fog—and no excuse not to leave London. Soon ‘twould be the season of new growth, and Kathlyn had to start her new life. So far she couldn’t decide if she wanted to speak to land agents about a school in the far north of England, or booking agents about passage to the Colonies. The only decision she’d managed to make was an easy one: she had to leave. Lord Chase could stop feeling so conscience-stricken, Nanny could stop muttering about fools who couldn’t see the noses on their faces, and Kathlyn could stop wishing for the moon. She had to leave shortly, too, before she lied herself into believing that the moon was in reach.

Someone else couldn’t wait for spring’s resurgence. Meg’s baby decided to arrive a month ahead of schedule, cold weather or no. The midwife predicted a difficult birth. Nanny was frantic, Meg’s children were distraught. Kathlyn couldn’t think of her own problems at a time like this. She couldn’t think of leaving while she was so needed.

The screaming, crying, and wailing were something fierce—and that was just Meg’s husband, Jonathan.

“Send for Master Courtney,” Nanny directed. “He’ll get the ninny calmed down.”

“What, Lord Chase? You cannot mean the viscount to be here at a time like this,” Kathlyn said with pleading in her voice. “Meg wouldn’t want to see his lordship.” What Kathlyn meant was, she didn’t want to see him.

“Gammon, they’re like brother and sister. Raised on the same mother’s milk, weren’t they? He’d ought to be here, and Jonathan needs the diversion. And the children adore him, of course. Their godfather, don’t you know.”

His toplofty lordship standing godfather to two bank clerk’s babes? Kathlyn wasn’t even surprised anymore at anything she learned about the man. She was wondering if she should send Lizzie with the message—Little George could accompany her—or try to find a boy in the street to carry Nanny’s request

“I’ll send Nipperkin. Give the sprig something to do.” Inspector Dimm had invited himself along to Meg’s, saying he’d been through so many birthings, he could likely stand in for the midwife. “Had to once, in an emergency. Might be handy to have around.”

Kathlyn allowed as though he might be, if only to keep Jonathan from drinking alone. But what was Ripken doing in the neighborhood? Inspector Dimm had become a fixture at Nanny’s, but Ripken had been least in sight, which pleased Kathlyn as much as her private suspicions concerning the inspector’s presence. She simply couldn’t like the brash young Runner, remembering how he’d accused her of any number of nefarious deeds. “I thought your assistant was off looking for Mr. Miner’s associates.”

Dimm needed to polish his spectacles. “Well, I thought it might be a good idea for him to keep an eye out around here, in case the gang still thinks Harry told you something.”

“Bosh, they couldn’t still believe that poppycock, not after all this time.”

They could, if Inspector Dimm told them. He’d spread the word in the coffee shops and at Bow Street that he wasn’t convinced of the female’s innocence, just couldn’t prove her guilt. And he’d gone to the park a few times, taking his sweet roll and a sack of peanuts. Sure enough, that dark-haired widow in the heavy veil came to sit beside him. He noted that she didn’t have any peanuts with her.

“Why, Inspector Dimm, what a surprise. I thought you’d left town.”

“No, ma’am. Working hard to crack the case I’m working on. That jewel theft, don’t you know.”

“Did you solve it, then?”

“No, but I’m close. I’ll have my hands on those sparklers and the reward money within the sennight.”

“Oh, then you know where they are?”

“No, but I know who does.”

* * * *

Now Dimm couldn’t quite meet Miss Partland’s eyes as he told her she was right, that there was likely nothing to worry about except seeing Meg’s baby birthed. Ripken just had nothing better to do.

That’s what he told the viscount, too, when his lordship appeared. Courtney was pleased that extra measures were being taken to protect Miss Partland’s safety, even if they were unnecessary. One Runner was a precaution, two were a superfluity, except that Ripken knew how to play whist. Playing for pennies, they managed to keep Jonathan’s mind occupied for the next day and night. Courtney even could ignore Miss Partland’s presence for an entire hour at a stretch, when she wasn’t bustling in and out of Meg’s bedchamber or fussing over the children.

Approximately two eternities later they heard a tiny wail. Kathlyn came out and announced, “Jonathan, you have another son. A beautiful, tiny boy. Meg is tired, but the midwife promises she’ll make a good recovery.”

Some time later, during which the men toasted the new arrival, his clever mother, the midwife, the king, and the Duke of Wellington, among others, they were all permitted in to see Meg and her son.

Jonathan sat next to Meg on the bed, his daughter in his arms so she could see the new baby. The older boy sat on Meg’s other side, exclaiming over the infant’s minuscule fingers and toes. Nanny was beaming, wiping tears of happiness from her eyes, and Inspector Dimm was patting her on the shoulder. “I told you there was nothing to it.” Ripken had declined the invitation to the birthing room, turning so red in the face that his spotted complexion didn’t show, for once.

After hugs and congratulations, Kathlyn and Courtney both moved to the doorway, to give the family more space. Together they gazed back fondly at the scene.

So much love shone in the room, so much joy and contentment, that their stares became almost envious. This is what I want, Kathlyn thought, this kind of love.

This is what I want in my marriage, Courtney thought, this kind of love.

Suddenly aware of how close they stood, and embarrassed that the other might guess their thoughts, the viscount and Kathlyn sprang apart, she to fix tea, and Courtney to help Ripken pack away the cards and the deal table.

* * * *

Meg was recovering, but slowly. Kathlyn felt she couldn’t leave yet, not with Jonathan back to work at the bank and Nanny taking charge of the fussy infant so Meg could get some rest. The other children tried to help, but they needed attention, too, and someone to play with them. Their lessons were more crucial now also, especially for Meg’s older boy, Philip, because the viscount had offered to send the bright child to school next year if he passed the entrance examinations.

Kathlyn was happy enough to spend her free hours refurbishing her wardrobe again, this time trying to make the viscount’s purchases less stylish, more suitable for a spinster lady seeking employment than for a strumpet. She filled in a neckline here and removed some trimming there. There was nothing she could do—or wanted to do, truth be told—about the rich fabrics, the silks and sheer muslins, except learn to knit shawls with Nanny’s instructions. Other times she read aloud to Nanny and Meg, from the Minerva Press novels they both clucked their tongues over, and begged for more. They weren’t interested in Shakespeare at all, although Kathlyn toted her book of sonnets around in her cloak pocket just in case.

Lord Chase stayed away for the most part, to Kathlyn’s relief. She thought he was being thoughtful of her feelings and the awkwardness that had come between them. He thought he looked absurd with a head cold, with his nose all red and swollen, so he waited to feel better, and for a slightly warmer day.

“A drive in the park?
How delightful. The children will love it.”

Courtney didn’t recall inviting the children, but he wasn’t to be outmaneuvered. Two loaves of bread and an admonition to Philip to watch his sister saw them happily feeding the ducks along the Serpentine, in sight but out of hearing.

“You truly like children, Miss Partland.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Why, yes, I do, especially these two. I noticed you are quite fond of them yourself, although I do recall that you turned down Meg’s offer to hold the new baby.”

“I still have a touch of the cold, don’t you know,” he said, excusing his cowardice. That infant was the smallest, most fragile-looking bit of humanity he’d ever seen. And it cried. He cleared his throat. “Ahem. What I am trying to get at is that I can give you children, you know.”

Oh dear, was he never going to forget her horrid misconception? She’d have a permanent blush. “My lord, I do understand that if one can, ah, fulfill one’s marital duties, then babies are the natural outcome. Contrary to your estimations of my innocence or intelligence, I did not think that children were found under cabbage leaves!”

“That wasn’t what I meant, dash it.” Thunderation, now he’d gotten her riled up again, although with Miss Partland that was no rare occurrence. Stalling, Courtney tightened his muffler around his neck. “Are you warm enough?”

The one garment she wouldn’t alter, wouldn’t regret, was the fur-lined blue pelisse. “Yes, thank you, my lord, quite warm.”

“Deuce take it, do you think we can dispense with the ‘my lords’ and ‘misses’? Please, I beg you to make free with Courtney, Chase, or Choate, whichever you prefer. Given the nature of our relationship, titles are absurd.”

“Given the nature of our relationship—noble employer, former employee—titles are a necessity, my lord,” Kathlyn countered, but she did relent and say, “You may call me Kitty, however, for people would think it odd if you did not.”

“It only suits you when you smile,” he mumbled into his muffler.

“Pardon? Perhaps we should return home now, if you are still ailing. You wouldn’t want your throat to turn putrid.”

As putrid as his mood had been the last week. “Botheration, Kath—Kitty, I’m trying to ask you to consider my offer again. I know we’ve been round Robin’s barn about your reputation and my obligation to restore it, and you cannot be blind to the material advantages I can provide:money, property, social standing. I know you’re not mercenary—did I mention there were four houses and the hunting box?—or mad to acquire a title, although I don’t know another woman who wouldn’t sell her soul to be a duchess one day. For that matter, I don’t know another man who can promise fidelity with such sincerity. That’s all been said, though. I thought I’d try a new tack.”

“And I thought we’d agreed to consider the discussion closed.” Kathlyn turned toward the carriage, but he took her arm and headed back to the waterside.

“A good soldier knows when to retreat to fight another day. But truly. Kitty, I believe that once you’ve considered all the advantages, you’ll come to my way of thinking.” To Courtney’s thinking, this stubborn wench did not belong out of his sight, much less out of his life. He’d been wanting to get married. He’d been wanting to end his self-imposed restraint, and by Jupiter, he’d been wanting this particular female with every fiber of his being.

He couldn’t come out and say that he dreamed of touching her every night, that he wanted to worship every inch of her perfect body, that he wanted to lose himself in her silky tenderness. She’d run screaming to New South Wales, which was what he’d be doing soon if she didn’t agree to marry him.

“So I thought I’d remind you about the children, your own children, not some runny-nosed school-yard brats.”

“What, and your progeny wouldn’t have runny noses?” she asked, pointedly staring at his own slightly patrician prominence.

Courtney pulled out a handkerchief. “Of course not, they’ll be perfect angels.” He could visualize dark-haired cherubs playing at her skirts.

Kathlyn pictured a little boy with golden ringlets—and a red nose. No, she would not let him do this, this melting of her resolve. Snow might give way to thawing temperatures, but the ice fortress around her heart had to be made of sterner stuff.

Courtney Chase was everything a woman could want in a husband: a good provider, a doting parent, a devoted partner. He was, in fact and in misfortune, the only man Kathlyn could want for a husband. He wasn’t haughty and arrogant; he was honorable and ethical, a man she would gladly trust with her life—but not her heart. He’d do his damnedest to see her wed to him because his honor demanded it—but not his heart.