Elizabeth Mansfield (29 page)

“But
why
?” Cassie jumped up in agitation and began to pace about, the flounce of her morning gown swishing about her ankles. “The Suffolk lands would not have brought enough to pay you and the debts on Highlands as well.”

Chivers gaped at his daughter in astonishment. He hadn’t been able to interest her in financial matters in twenty years of trying, but Kittridge had done it in five months. “How do you know that?” he demanded.

“Robert explained it to me. Don’t tell me he sold Highlands, too! It would break his heart!”

“No. It seems ’e procured a loan from some other source. A duke, I think.”

“It must be Bedford,” Cassie surmised, sighing in relief. “The Duke of Bedford likes Robert’s ideas about raising sheep. But why is Robert doing all this, Papa? He can’t be thinking that the return of the money will free him to marry again. Doesn’t he know that the solicitors told you that nullifying our marriage would be impossible?”

Chivers shrugged. “I don’t know what ’e knows. I don’t know what ’is motive is. All I know is that the fellow appeared at my door and plunked down a bank note for the entire amount.
‘Tell Cassie
,’ was all ’e said.”

“Tell C-Cassie?” She stared at her father openmouthed. “He said
that
?”

“That’s what I’m tellin’ ye. What do ye think ’e meant by it?”

“I don’t know,” she said, but her eyes widened and her cheeks turned bright red.

“If ye don’t know,” her father snapped, “then why’re ye blushin’?”

“I don’t know,” she insisted, suddenly turning and crossing quickly to the door. “All I know is that you shouldn’t have taken the bank note. You made an agreement, and the money is rightfully his.”

“Is it my fault the cod’s ’ead wouldn’t take it back?” he asked in irritation, following her out of the room just in time to see her flounce disappearing round the turning of the stair. “What was I to do? Tear the damned note up?” he shouted up the stairs. “And where are ye runnin’ off to?”

“Nowhere, Papa.” Her voice floated down to him from the upper floor, sounding cheerier than it had since she’d come home. “I just thought I’d better change my dress.”

Less than an hour later, Lord Kittridge appeared on the Chivers’ doorstep. Eames, as soon as he saw who it was, signalled for Miss Penicuick to come to his aid. She stepped up to the doorway. “Here again, are you, my lord?” she asked, blocking the door.

“Yes, here I am,” his lordship said to the housekeeper pleasantly. “May I ask if Mr. Chivers has come home from the city this morning?”

Miss Penicuick looked surprised by the question. “Yes, he has, but he’s gone back to his office.”

“Good. Now, Miss Penny, one more question. Are your instructions to inform me that her ladyship is not at home still in effect?”

“Yes, my lord. Still in effect.”

“Then I’m sorry to have to take liberties, ma’am,” Kittridge said, “but it’s a matter of necessity.” He placed his two hands on her waist and lifted her bodily out of his way.

“Now see here, my lord,” Eames said, stepping into the breach, “you can’t shoulder your way in like—”

“Yes, I can,” Kittridge said, fixing a threatening eye on the butler. “I’m very handy with my fives. Would you like a taste of them?”

“No, my lord,” the butler mumbled, stepping away hastily and holding Miss Penicuick back, too.

Kittridge crossed the hallway in three strides. “Where is she?” he asked over his shoulder.

“In her room,” Miss Penicuick said in tearful surrender.

“And her room is—?”

“Upstairs,” the butler admitted, giving Miss Penicuick a helpless shrug. “Second door on the left.”

Kittridge mounted the stairs two at a time. When he found the door, he didn’t bother to knock. He merely burst in, startling his bride into emitting a small scream. “Robert!” she gasped, turning red.

She was sitting at a small writing table near the window, looking utterly delicious in a light blue gown with a deep lace ruffle at the neck. Her unruly hair was tied back with a blue ribbon, and the sun behind her head lit her curls with such delightful glimmers of gold that he almost didn’t notice her attempt to cover something on her table with her hand. “Well, my dear, I’m here,” he said, crossing the room to her. “If your father gave you my message, I imagine you were expecting me.”

“I was not expecting you at all,” she lied.

“Really? And I thought that pretty blue ribbon was for my benefit. What a disappointment. But tell me, my love, what is that paper you’re trying so hard to hide from me.”

“Nothing,” she said, shifting nervously in her chair. “It’s nothing.”

He made an abrupt dive for it and snatched it from her hand. When he saw what it was, his face lit with a broad grin. “My love letter!” he exclaimed. “However did you find it?”

“Miss Penny picked up the pieces,” she admitted, “and I … pasted them together.”

He pulled her to her feet and into his arms. “But I thought you didn’t believe my declarations of love.”

She hid her face in his chest. “I wanted to b-believe them,” she said in a small voice. “And I believe them now.”

“Of course you do,” he laughed, lifting her chin. “Any girl would believe a man’s declaration if he backed his word with forty thousand pounds.”

“It was a grand, but much too expensive gesture, Robert,” she said softly. “Let Papa tear up the note.”

“Not on your life. We shall do very well without it. Without that blasted dowry, we can embark on a proper marriage, based on those ‘newfangled ideas of love and romance’ that your father says you so adamantly believe in. The truth is that I believe in them, too.”

“But … do you truly love me, Robert? In spite of having to give up Elinor because of me?”

“Elinor?” he asked. “I don’t remember any Elinor. I haven’t really remembered her since the night you and I went hunting for the Rossiter ghost. And if you doubt me, I have some irrefutable proof to offer.” And he lifted her high on his chest and kissed her so soundly that she grew dizzy in his arms.

She wound her arms tightly round his neck and surrendered to the long-postponed joy of indulging in a completely unreserved embrace. No longer did she have to hold back. The result was so breathtaking for them both that they had to pause and recover themselves before indulging in a second, and then a third. By the time he let her go, all they could do was gaze at each other besotted with joy. “When did you first know you loved me?” he asked, smoothing back the wild curls from her forehead tenderly. “Was it when I stood up for you against Eunice?”

“Oh, no,” she confessed shyly. “It was long, long before. Before you even knew my name.”

He held her off and stared down at her with eyes narrowed. “How can that be?” he asked dubiously.

She wrapped her arms about his chest and hid her face in his shoulder. “It was when you stood up for me at the linendraper’s, remember?” she whispered. “I’ve loved you ever since.”

He expelled a long breath. So
that
was why she’d married him! It had nothing to do with being a viscountess or making her way in society. He tightened his hold on her and pressed his lips to her hair. “I
don’t
deserve you,” he murmured. “But I promise you, my love, that I will never again make you sorry you married me.”

It was a long while before Robert remembered the main purpose of this invasion of her room. “Get your wrap, my love, and let’s be off. We’re going back to Highlands right now.”

“Oh, but I can’t!” she exclaimed. “Not so soon. I must prepare Papa, and make arrangements, and pack my things, and order some furnishings for the drawing room, and have a fitting for my gown for
Eunice’s wedding, and—”

“That’s just what I expected,” he said in disgust. “Do you realize, Lady Kittridge, that we’ve been married five months and have not yet had a honeymoon? Any sane person would agree that five months is the outside of enough. That’s why I took an oath that I would not go back to Lincolnshire without you. So will you or nill you, you are coming home with me
now
!” And without giving her a moment to object, he lifted her off her feet and threw her over his shoulder.

She gasped for breath as he clambered down the stairs. “Robert, have you gone mad?” she cried. “Put me down!”

“I will, my love,” he promised, “as soon as you’re safely locked inside the carriage.”

But Miss Penicuick, who’d been standing at the bottom of the stairs wringing her hands ever since his lordship had burst in, began to scream. “What are you
doing
?” she cried. “Someone,
help
! My Cassie is being
abducted
!”

“Out of my way!” Kittridge ordered, brushing by the hysterical housekeeper.

“Cassie, my dearest!” Miss Penicuick shrieked. “What shall I
do
?”

Cassie gave her a cheery wave as Kittridge carried her out the door. “Nothing, Miss Penny. Everything’s fine, really. Lovely, in fact.”

Miss Penicuick, breast heaving in dismay, followed them to the door. “But where are you
going
? And
what
shall I say to your
father
?”

Kittridge, having arrived at the carriage door, set Cassie on her feet. “Tell him that we’ve gone to consummate our bargain,” he said, grinning down at his bride.

“Oh, Robert, hush!” the blushing Cassie ordered, putting a hand over his mouth. She looked up at Miss Penicuick and waved again. “Good-bye, Miss Penny. Just tell Papa that I’ve gone back to Lincolnshire. That message will be quite enough.”

Chapter One

“I think Mama is going to faint again,” remarked Augusta from her position at the keyhole.

“Oh, Gussie, not again!” responded her older sister Prudence in tones of deep disgust. “Get away from the door and let me see.”

“It’s
my
turn,” whined Clara, the youngest by several years. “I haven’t had
one chance
to peek. You both have been positively piggish about that keyhole ever since Letty and Aunt Millicent came home and locked themselves up in there with Mama!”

The accusation, though totally ignored by the two older girls, was quite true. Gussie and Prue had taken alternate turns at the keyhole for the past half hour, pushing aside the fourteen-year-old Clara heartlessly and ignoring her persistent questions as if she did not exist. Indeed, the entire morning had not been a good one for Clara. The day had begun with a message from their governess, Miss Dorrimore, to the effect that she intended to remain in bed to nurse her cold and that the girls were to spend the morning working on their French declensions. The older girls, ignoring these instructions, had spent most of the morning poring over the fashion plates in a treasured copy of
La Belle Assemblée.
Clara, not yet old enough to be concerned with modish gowns and the art of hairdressing, had threatened to report her sisters’ transgressions to the indisposed Miss Dorrimore. Her sisters had responded with threats and jibes of such malignity that Clara had been reduced to tears. In the midst of this contretemps, they’d heard the sound of a carriage pulling up at their front door. They’d rushed to the window in time to see the door of their aunt Millicent’s impressively ancient equipage open to discharge their eldest sister, Letitia. Letty looked woebegone and red-eyed, and Gussie and Prue had exchanged looks of surprise. The surprise soon turned to consternation, for Letty had been followed out of the carriage by their aunt Millicent whose customary cold, forbidding features were so distorted with suppressed anger as to make her ordinarily stern expression seem positively beneficent in comparison.

“Something’s gone wrong,” Prue had remarked, in sepulchral tones. “She must have botched it somehow.”

“Oh, no!” Gussie had moaned. “It can’t be! Prue, didn’t you tell me that Lord Denham was
certain
to make an offer?”

“Yes, it
was
certain. I overheard Aunt Millicent telling Mama all about it. Lady Denham assured her that her son Roger was ready to take a wife, and Letty was the girl they wanted.”

“You
overheard
all that? Ha!” sneered the put-upon Clara. “
Eavesdropped,
more likely.”

“And who’s eavesdropping now, may I ask?” Gussie had asked quellingly. “This conversation is not meant for the ears of
children,
if you please. So take yourself off to your bedroom or the nursery or somewhere out-of-the-way.”

“Listen to you, Miss Augusta High-and-mighty Glendenning! Just because you’re sixteen, don’t think you can queen it over me!” Clara had declared bravely, sticking out her chin in defiance.

“Stop squabbling,” Prue had demanded with all the authority of her seventeen years in her voice. “Letty is in some sort of fix, and we ought to find a way to help her, not stand here brangling.” With a
toss of her red-gold curls, she’d turned quickly to the door and run to the landing. The two younger girls had followed hastily behind, and the three had peered over the banister to the floor below. They were barely in time to see Mama, the epitome of confused alarm, following Letty and Aunt Millicent into the small sitting room and shutting the door behind her.

Prue had lost no time in getting to the door and kneeling down with her eye at the keyhole. Gussie had cupped her hand to her ear and pressed it against the door. And thus it had been ever since, the two of them changing places periodically and pushing poor Clara aside whenever she attempted to come close to the door.

Gussie now surrendered her place at the keyhole to Prue, who reported promptly that Aunt Millicent was holding a bottle of vinaigrette to Mama’s nose. “Can you hear anything?” Gussie asked impatiently.

“No,” Prue muttered, “but they’ve not permitted Letty even to take off her bonnet and pelisse. She’s just sitting there, staring at the floor. Aunt Millicent appears to be furious with her. But I don’t see
why!
Is it
her
fault that Lord Denham didn’t come up to scratch?”