Cecilia Grant - [Blackshear Family 03] (14 page)

“Y
OU
’
RE OF
age.” Kate could tell Mama was piqued when she spoke in clipped, unmodulated syllables. “If you came to us and said you’d had an offer and meant to marry, we could not prevent the match, regardless our opinion of the man involved. I think the same rule must apply in the question of your taking a position.” No hint of tension showed in her face, nor in her posture, nor in the grip of her fingers on the saucer holding her teacup. “Your father and I can express our reservations on the arrangement—and I assure you we will—but in the end I believe the decision must be yours.”

Kate rested her hands on the arms of her chair and let her fingers tighten. A histrionic parent might have been easier to face, or else one who made a great show of her mild temper in hopes of inducing filial guilt—but Mama, for all her thespian experience, scorned such indulgences. No matter how she might be angered or offended, she consulted Reason above all else, and this, naturally, made a Westbrook child feel that much more reprehensible for having offended or angered her. “I’m not decided on taking a position. Only on going to some parties, if I may, and seeing to what sort of people I’m
introduced.” Better to leave out the part about charming a duke, for now.

“I don’t understand, Kate.” Papa leaned on the back of Mama’s chair, as he always liked to do when they were all in the parlor together. All the guests had gone save for Mr. Blackshear, who was turning pages for Bea at the pianoforte. “You know what your Westbrook relations are. They made wrong, unjust judgments on your mother’s character based solely on the fact of her having been on the stage, and they’ve chosen to sustain that insult to her for twenty-three years. Why would you court the notice of such people?”

She frowned down at her right hand, relaxing the fingers and tightening them again.
No, I don’t know them, not at all. Because you’ve never told us anything about them beyond how unjust they were to Mama. And that’s not the entirety of who they are. If it were, you wouldn’t have kept those letters
.

And I court their notice because I cannot afford your kind of pride. None of your daughters can
. Beyond the piano, Rose sat on the sofa, her teeth absently worrying her lower lip as she worked at her embroidery frame. She hadn’t reported any more pranks since the day of the knotted silks, but perhaps that was only the sign of a stauncher secrecy.

Kate willed her spine stiffer. “I wish our Westbrook relations could have been so fair-minded as to see that a woman might be an actress and still be a lady of virtue. Their failure to do so indicates, to me, not malice or ill will but a want of imagination. A want of the courage that would allow them to slip the rigid grasp of convention and think for themselves.”
And they are family
. She didn’t know how to even begin to speak of Lord Harringdon and the dowager.

“Even if I were to concede that point, again I should have to ask what could compel you to seek a connection
with them.” Father, as always, was warming to the debate. “I’d hoped we had raised you to prize fair-mindedness, imagination, and independent thought above the purely superficial sort of consequence Lord and Lady Harringdon represent.”

“Are you speaking of Lady Harringdon?” Viola swiveled to look over the back of the sofa where she sat and put aside her book. She’d shown very little interest in the descriptions of Harringdon House that were all Kate had disclosed of yesterday’s call. Here, clearly, was a more promising subject. “What has she done; offered to nod at you when you pass on the street if you will repudiate our mother?”

And now every Westbrook in the room was privy to the conversation. Mr. Blackshear as well: he glanced over, his brow impressing itself with sympathetic concern. At least it looked like sympathetic concern; she would take it for that, and fortify her resolve with the idea of an understanding ally near at hand.

“She never asked me to repudiate anyone.” She brought her attention back to her parents. “I sent her notes of congratulation on such occasions as seemed appropriate, and she invited me to call, and I think she’d like to do a service for our family. And so she’s offered to bring me to some parties and introduce me to some of her acquaintance, that I can see what it would be like to be a lady’s companion and decide whether such a position would suit me.” That wasn’t quite true. But if she said she was allowing Lady Harringdon to believe she’d made up her mind to take a companion post, she’d never be permitted to go.

“Companion? Good Lord.” Vi folded her arms atop the sofa’s back and rested her chin on one wrist, apparently settling in to watch the rest of this debased spectacle. “Mind you, I don’t suppose a lady who takes a post as a companion really gives up much more of her
autonomy than does a lady who marries. Where a wife has the advantage in consequence, the companion at least retains the integrity of her person.”

This was what came of too little emphasis on narrow conventions, and too much encouragement given to imagination and independent thought: a daughter who felt free to spout off in mixed company about bodily integrity.

“I don’t intend to give up any autonomy.” Kate could feel a blush creeping from her cheeks to the tips of her ears. Studiously she kept her glance from the pianoforte. “As I said, I’m only accompanying my aunt to some social occasions. I’m not obliged to any more than that.”

“What are these social occasions?” Mama’s delicate brows drew a fraction of an inch nearer each other. “I’m not easy with the idea of your going into strange company—people whose names I’m sure I wouldn’t even recognize—with a chaperone about whom we really know nothing at all.”

“I wouldn’t be doing anything that would require the services of a chaperone. I expect I would be at Lady Harringdon’s side constantly. And the social occasions would be mostly private balls and card parties, all given by respectable people. I’m to go with her to a rout on Tuesday, if I might, at the home of that same Lord and Lady Astley whom we spoke about when Mr. Blackshear last came to dinner.”

“Astley?” Mr. Blackshear still had one hand on the music book, though his attention had all gone this way. “Lord Barclay’s brother and his wife, do you mean?”

She nodded. “It won’t be a very large party. Just the marchioness and some of her friends. I’m sure they’re all as respectable as can be.”
And Mama said the decision was mine
. She thought those words but didn’t speak them. She still had hope of gaining her point on more reasonable terms.

“Ah. I didn’t realize there was to be a party.” Mr. Blackshear looked at her parents. “I’ll be there that same evening, meeting with Barclay. He invited me informally, so I didn’t grasp the exact nature of the event.”

“Indeed.” Papa stepped away from Mama’s chair. “Blackshear, will you grant me a word?” Mr. Blackshear left the piano, and a moment later both men were gone from the room.

“
That
can be nothing good.” Viola twisted round and went back to her book. “If Mr. Blackshear knows his own interest he’ll decline to be involved.”

Decline to be involved in what, though? Kate watched the door through which the two men had gone, and wondered what Papa could possibly have in mind.

“I
DON
’
T LIKE
to ask this of you.” Westbrook stood with his arms folded. They’d gone only to the end of the hall farthest from the parlor, so he must have had a brief conversation in mind. “I trust you won’t hesitate to refuse, if it’s too great an imposition.”

Nick folded his arms, too. He had a fair idea of what was coming.

“The fact is I don’t trust Lady Harringdon with my daughter’s safety. I’ve been to ton parties, recall. Having grown up in that world, I can say with authority that
sir
or
lord
in front of a man’s name is no guarantee of gentlemanly behavior. Unscrupulous men find great sport in preying on young girls of humbler station. And I fear a girl like my Kate, unworldly and dazzled by the trappings of high society, could be vulnerable to such predation.”

“Of course. I’d be concerned, too, if I were her father.” The words felt disingenuous. What had he been thinking, encouraging her to go and set her lures for a
duke? He ought to have had Westbrook’s perspective in mind.

“I don’t want to forbid her going to this party. To be honest, I have hope that once she’s seen the inside of a ballroom, and the sort of people one finds there, she’ll begin to see it all falls a little short of what she’s built up in her fancies.”

Nick wouldn’t hold his breath on that hope. But far be it from him to say so.

“Neither I nor Mrs. Westbrook, I’m sure, can countenance her going with only a stranger—as my brother’s wife has been these twenty-three years—for protection. But if I knew there was a friend there, one as trustworthy as you, to keep watch of her, that would put a different complexion on things.” He inclined his head, a mute apology for making this request.

There could be no question of saying
no
, and for that, Nick had only himself to blame. Little as he liked the idea of a rout, loath as he was to assume responsibility for Miss Westbrook, he was the one who’d goaded her into pursuing this scheme. He must be the one to see her safely through this one evening, at least. He owed her father that much.

“I’ll keep watch of her.” Unfurling in his stomach was a faint misapprehension: he might well live to regret this promise. But there was nothing to be done about that now. “I’ll see what impressions I can form of the countess, too, that you’ll have a better idea of whether she’s a fit chaperone. Only send me word of what time she and her party plan to arrive, and you may trust her welfare to me.”

T
HREE NIGHTS
later he was at Cranbourne House, picking his way through the finely dressed, overperfumed ranks in search of Lord Barclay and regretting, just a
little, that he’d promised to stay for the whole of this affair.

Miss Westbrook and the countess had come in a short while earlier. They’d taken seats among the matrons and wallflowers at one side of the room. She was in sublime looks, more so even than usual, and when she spied him and sent a smile his way he felt a pang of sorrow that he couldn’t stroll over and wish her a good evening, let alone invite her to dance.

But an acknowledged acquaintance with him would do her no favors with Lady Harringdon—even if the Blackshear scandal should happen to have been beneath the countess’s notice, the fact remained that he was the undistinguished second son of an untitled gentleman—so he restricted himself to keeping a surreptitious eye on the pair. And when several minutes passed without sign of any unscrupulous gentleman undertaking to approach her, he decided he could relax his vigilance long enough to locate the baron. The crowd was tolerable, and he ought to be able to glance through and around the forest of humanity to catch sight of her when he wished.

The
size
of the crowd was tolerable, rather. Of the crowd itself he could make no such assurance.

“Excuse me,” he said, as he prodded his way past a knot of people who’d planted themselves in his path. He’d never liked this way of spending time, and since the business with Will, parties among fashionable strangers had become a downright torturous prospect.

Not that he had many invitations. In the past he’d gone mostly to gatherings hosted by a brother or sister, and there’d been none of that kind since spring of last year. Andrew and his wife, and Kitty and her husband, didn’t care to see all their invitations politely declined.

The knot of people loosened to let him by. A lady in a feathered headpiece glanced over her shoulder at him,
then leaned toward another lady and said something behind her fan.

She didn’t know him. There was absolutely no reason she would. Still, he could never see such a response without imagining every unpleasant thing that might be whispered behind that fan.
Look there; do you remember when I told you of that family whose youngest son came back from the war so deranged that he … Yes, a courtesan, as I live and breathe, and the family could not prevent it … Oh, I’d never show my face at a party if my brother did such a thing.…

Nonsense. He gave his head a quick shake to scatter those fancies. Even if the lady was such a zealous gossip as to be acquainted with Will’s story, without Nick’s name having been announced—he’d managed to escape that ceremony by explaining to the butler that he’d come for an appointment with Lord Barclay rather than as one of the revelers—she would have no reason to connect that story with him. She was probably only remarking on the lackluster arrangement of his cravat, if she was speaking of him at all.

And that was quite enough time given to contemplating the thoughts of a feather-headed stranger. Let her speak on what subject she wished. There was only one person at this gathering whose good opinion could be of any professional consequence to him. That person, therefore, would be the one on whom he’d concentrate all—

“Blackshear! Good Lord.” The speaker stepped away from another conversation, eyes bright with curiosity, grin slicing across the aristocratic planes of his face. “Are you here of your own volition, or were you drugged and left on the doorstep?”