Scandal's Child (2 page)

Kat had always been the leader; the consequence of arriving in the world five minutes ahead of John Charles, Lord Thistlewait, heir to Thistlewait Hall, Thistlewait Manor, and the Grange.

What to do about this coil? Kat rapidly rejected the idea of confronting her godmother or Mariah with Jacko’s latest wild flight. Somehow she would have to prevent this.

The tall clock in the hallway chimed the hour, and Kat looked up, surprised to realize it was really still quite early. Early enough for her to save the day.

Rising slowly to her feet, Kat brushed a hand across her brow and theatrically tottered toward Lady Sefton’s major domo, who stood at rigid attention in the entryway.

“Please call my carriage and relay the message to Lady Tutwilliger that I have developed a headache and returned home,” Kat said breathlessly.

He was solicitation itself; it was all Kat could do to keep him from fetching her godmother immediately to her side. By the time she was safely leaning against the squabs of the carriage, there truly was a naggy ache behind her eyes.

Lady Tutwilliger’s butler, Westley, so far forgot himself upon finding her alone on the doorstep that he paled.

“Miss Kathryn! I do trust nothing’s amiss,” he gasped.

So much for the slight hope that the servants did not realize how tenuous was the Thistlewait hold on a successful Season.

“No, Westley, I simply returned with an unfortunate headache.” She sighed deeply, forcing herself to walk ever so slowly toward the stairs. “Please inform my maid I shall not need her until late tomorrow morning. I do not want to be disturbed.”

“As you wish, Miss.” He bowed, and Kat felt remorse at the true concern on his face and in his voice.

Nevertheless, the moment she was around the first turn in the upper hall, and out of sight, she gathered up the folds of her skirt in one hand and raced toward the room Jacko used upon his too infrequent stays at Tutwilliger House.

Kat had nearly obtained her goal when a door opened; Hannah Hamilton, holding aloft a single candle, stepped into the hallway.

“Kathryn, my dear child! What is wrong?” In the dim light, Hannah’s face was ghostlike as if she were badly frightened.

Swaying to a sudden stop, Kat smiled weakly. “Dear Hannah, I am so sorry if I gave you a start. I have simply returned with a headache. All I need is a nice long sleep.”

“But, dear, your room is not down this hall,” Hannah breathed, her forehead wrinkling into several worried lines.

“Yes, but … but I was in Jacko’s room earlier and left a book of poems … I … I thought perhaps I would read before retiring,” Kat finished triumphantly, surprised at how quickly she could come up with the white lie.

“But, Kathryn, reading will surely not improve your headache.” Hannah’s worry dissolved into the glazed look that came over her whenever she realized she might be in the midst of a conflict.

“I assure you I shall be quite all right tomorrow, Hannah,” Kat said softly and yawned conspicuously. “Perhaps you should make an early night of it yourself.”

“Yes, perhaps you are right.” Yawning delicately, Hannah backed into her room. “I suddenly feel the need for a rest myself. Good night, dear.”

As soon as the door shut Kat looked quickly both ways down the hall to make sure no one else was about before she bolted into Jacko’s room and locked the door behind her.

Everything she needed was right there.

“Here, Saville, try this brandy. Quite good stuff,” his new acquaintance, John Thistlewait, slurred, and slid a glass across the table.

Jules tipped the brandy down his throat, its warmth spreading in languorous fingers through his body. He nodded. “Excellent, Thistlewait. Now, I really should make an early night. I’m for the coast at dawn.”

“Damn it, Count, just getting to be friends! Impressed with your knowledge of pugilism.” The young lord gave him a roguishly dimpled smile. “Penny and Percy ain’t no company tonight. They’re otherwise occupied.”

He was correct, his friends were both fawning over the serving wench. Mr. Gladstone Pennington, cravat twisted beneath his right ear, looked ready to pass out, but Sir Percy Allendale was sober enough to hold the wench firmly upon his lap.

Jules found Pennington and Allendale to be good enough fellows, although he had a suspicion Sir Percy was a sad rattle. Thistlewait he particularly liked. Probably because the youngster reminded Jules of his brother, Dominic, when he was young.

So, Jules took another long draught of brandy and prepared to discuss the mill in greater detail with the eager young lord and his friends.

Berkshire Road proved a greater distance than Kat had anticipated. No sound, except her horse’s rhythmic hoofbeats, broke into the darkness. Every mile brought a new doubt. Had she taken the right action? She had to pull it off now, and be back before anyone missed her. It might be fun to meet a real gypsy—if indeed the inn’s proprietress was one. Shouldn’t she be there by now? Jacko’s note! She hoped she stuffed it away somewhere. Oh well, no one would think to look in Jacko’s room until she was safe again in London with her twin beside her.

Kat caught her breath, half-faint with relief when the low hanging moon finally lit the Blue Boar Inn’s wooden sign.

She leapt from the saddle, tossing her reins to the postboy. Lowering her voice, she forced a cough. “Rub him down and give him an extra bag of oats,” she mumbled, flipping the boy a coin. Instantly he did as he was bidden without the blink of an eye. The first hurdle was crossed.

Adjusting her greatcoat and drawing herself to her full height, Kat entered the inn. Male laughter, loud and cheery, greeted her from the taproom. Pulling her hat a bit farther down her forehead, she peered carefully through the open rectangle. A low fire burned merrily in the grate and comfortable-looking high-backed chairs were placed around square tables, most of which were littered with empty bottles.

Thank goodness he was here! The nagging doubt that she would really be in the suds if she somehow missed him was removed. It was more of a relief than she imagined.

Penny and Percy were making fools of themselves over some serving girl who was more out of her low-cut blouse than in it. A peal of Jacko’s laughter drew her eyes to another table in a shadowy corner. There he was, her twin, happy as a lark, conversing with great animation to some gentleman who had his back to Kat. He didn’t seem at all familiar. All she could tell was that the stranger had raven black hair and broad shoulders.

What to do? She couldn’t simply rush into the room and confront her errant twin.

“May I be of assistance?”

Kat whirled around at the crisp inquiry. A tiny woman with a worn brown face and grizzly white hair pulled up into an enormous bun confronted her. Could this be Jacko’s gypsy princess?

“My lord, I didn’t recognize you at first. Didn’t realize you’d gone out again.” The innkeeper’s sharp eyes slowly surveyed the greatcoat that hung loosely upon Kat’s shoulders.

Shifting it back into place, Kat again drew herself up as tall as possible. “Think I’m coming down with something,” she mumbled as gruffly as she could. “Felt a bit chilly.”

Kat was not surprised by the old woman’s skeptical smile. It was actually quite unseasonably warm.

“Lord Thistlewait, I shall have a hot punch sent to your room at once.”

“My room?” Kat questioned. “Yes, of course, my room,” Kat muttered self-consciously, backing toward a narrow winding staircase. “I will retire to my room.”

Kat could feel the older woman’s eyes on her as she hesitated on the landing, studying six closed doors.

“Third on the right, my lord,” the innkeeper called.

Kat nodded, then coughed several more times. “Send that hot punch right along,” she demanded gruffly, before escaping into the safety of Jacko’s room.

The flames from the fireplace and a three-branch candelabrum on the bedside table lit the cozy low-ceilinged chamber. The bed, already turned down for the night, looked inviting; the linen felt freshly clean when Kat ran her palm over it. Lavender. The innkeeper had rinsed it in lavender, and the delicate scent permeated the pillows and sheets.

Kat straightened with a start when a short knock heralded the old woman’s entrance; she carried a tray containing a steamy mug of appealing brew.

“Here you are, my lord,” she said briskly, setting the tray beside the bed. “This should do the trick.”

“Thank you,” Kat muttered, trying to move deeper into the corner of the room. Again she was subjected to a quizzical appraisal of her slightly strange attire. “Thank you again, ma’am. That shall be all. Good night,” Kat finished firmly.

With an almost regal nod, the innkeeper left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

What could she do? Kat really had no other choice but to wait for her twin to come up. She fervently hoped the raven-haired gentleman did not keep Jacko too long; they had a tiresome journey back to London ahead of them tonight. Even with Jacko to chaperon her, she’d have a hard time explaining her presence here.

Gratefully sliding out of the unwieldy coat, the only garment she could find in Jacko’s closet big enough to conceal her true identity, she sat on the bed. It didn’t take long to remove the Hessians; they were way too big for her. She’d had to stuff old darned stockings in the toes to keep them on. The neckcloth was tossed, with the greatcoat, onto the chair in the dark corner. Taking a deep breath, she tightened her stomach and undid Jacko’s breeches.

What a relief! It had been a few years since she’d dressed up in her brother’s clothes to fool their friends. Last time the breeches had not fit so snugly. The lawn shirt also pulled across her bosom so she slid several buttons open. Perhaps Jacko’s clothes no longer fit because she was finally developing some curves like Mariah.

Much more comfortable, she leaned back upon the pillows. The enticing aroma from the mug tempted her to lift it to her lips. She was most definitely parched from her journey. The punch was surprisingly smooth going down. In fact, it was so soothing that she drank the entire contents of the mug.

Suddenly her eyelids felt ridiculously heavy. It couldn’t hurt to close her eyes and take the tiniest rest while waiting for Jacko.

Snuffing out the candles, she settled back upon the soft pillows. Really, it was amazing how tired she suddenly felt; all her former apprehension about Jacko slowly dissolved into a blissful peace.

Jules found the steps shockingly uneven; his boots kept slipping off of them. Strange, he had not noticed that before. Nor had he noticed how many blasted doors there were in this inn’s hallway. Carefully he counted, his room was the third … on the left.

“Saville!”

Jules whirled to turn back and peer over the banister. The hall pitched and spun wildly before coming into focus. Lord John Thistlewait, his golden curls tumbling about his flushed face, stared up at him. He waved the brandy bottle.

“Saville, we have yet to finish.”

“You go ahead without me,” Jules encouraged. “I will take my leave of you tomorrow.”

With a small salute and another dimpled smile, Lord Thistlewait turned to stagger back into the tap room.

Taking a deep breath and finding that it did not clear his rather befuddled mind, Jules looked to the third door. Yes, he most definitely needed a good night’s sleep before continuing his journey to the coast. He was past the age of drinking contests with the young bucks downstairs.

The low-ceilinged room was in darkness except for a small yellow light from the dying embers of the fireplace. Where were the damn candles? The innkeeper should have provided more light than this. Too tired to fuss, Jules felt for the side of the bed and sat gingerly. Not being at his absolute best, and not having the benefit of a valet, he struggled with his Hessians, swearing softly in French.

Pushing himself to his bare feet he tore off his shirt, tossing it to the floor. He fumbled with several of his trouser buttons, but was only half-finished when he gave up in disgust. Lying back on a pillow he slowly shut his eye. He hadn’t been this far gone since Oxford.

Which was why, at first, he thought perhaps he was hallucinating when his chamber door burst open and the room suddenly filled with lights and a veritable crowd of shouting people.

Gwynneth Tutwilliger had never fainted in her life, at least not without careful planning, but at this precise moment she came very close to succumbing to the vapors.

“Kathryn!”

“Saville!” Jacko’s roar echoed an instant later.

Both parties sat up on the bed: Kathryn, looking as if her lashes were weighing too heavily upon her lids, her hair tumbling loose from the ribbon that had held it up under her hat, the lawn shirt she wore half-unbuttoned, as were the breeches that molded her curvy thighs. Saville, his straight black hair falling over the patch covering his left eye, his broad shoulders and muscled chest tawny gold in the firelight, his breeches unbuttoned to barely conceal his manhood.

“Saville, what is the meaning of this?” Jacko roared, taking a step forward.

Saville!
Lady Tutwilliger’s frantic mind latched on to that name. There could only be one Saville who wore a black riband and possessed a scarred cheek: Jules Devereaux, Comte de Saville, the step-grandson of her old friend, Sybilla, Duchess of Culter.

All was not lost!

Lady Tutwilliger flung out her arms, stopping Jacko’s charge toward the bed.

“Saville, we are so
delighted
you were here to assist Lady Kathryn when she fell ill!” Lady Tutwilliger praised, and then twirled to the sea of faces staring at her.

Mariah and Hannah wore the same stricken expression; Jacko’s mouth fell open, as did Gladstone Pennington’s. She seared Sir Percy’s enthralled face with her most penetrating gaze, the one that had shriveled stronger men than this sad rattle. There was no doubt in her mind if she did not act quickly this would be the on-dit of the
ton
upon Percy’s return to London.

Marshaling her forces, Gwynneth Tutwilliger pushed fate’s disaster into an acceptable story that could stand circulation.

“Sir Percy, please ask the innkeeper to send up some strengthening broth for Lady Kathryn. If only one of our horses hadn’t thrown a shoe. We would have arrived with Lady Kathryn and dear Jules would not have had to play nursemaid. But you know how impetuous betrothed couples can be.”

Sir Percy lifted his brows. “Lady Kathryn and Saville are betrothed?” He had the effrontery to quirk his lip at her.

“But of course!” Lady Tutwilliger narrowed her eyes. “It is of long, albeit, secret, standing.”

Under her prolonged gaze he flushed and stepped back. “Of course, my lady. I will order the broth at once.”

“Go with you, old boy,” Gladstone Pennington sputtered, nearly pushing his friend out the door.

At their exit, Mariah could no longer contain herself. She rushed, tears streaming down her pinkened cheeks, to her sister’s side and threw a protective arm about her shoulders. Hannah took advantage of the moment and tottered to a small chair in front of the fireplace where she promptly closed her eyes. Jacko impatiently pushed past his godmother to confront the Comte de Saville, who had taken these few moments to redon his lawn shirt, thereby concealing one of the most attractive chests Lady Tutwilliger had ever had the good fortune to glimpse.

“Sorry for it, Saville. Liked you, but it must be pistols at dawn,” Jacko stated grimly.

The chorus of feminine shrieks effectively cleared the paralyzing shock that had descended upon Jules since all bedlam had broken loose in his bedchamber.

“Wretched boy, you can’t duel with your sister’s intended!” shrieked the harridan in the lilac turban.

The mousy woman in the chair opened her eyes only long enough to breathe, “But, Jacko, you are such a bad shot,” before closing them again.

The little beauty with the dark curls stamped her foot. “Jacko, you can’t hit the broad side of the barn! I won’t let you do it!”

“Of course he’s not going to duel!” declared Lady Kathryn, scrambling to her knees to cast them all a pleading look. “There has been a terrible mistake!”

For the first time Jules took a good look at the reason for all of this lunacy. She was the spitting image of Lord John Thistlewait, except upon more careful examination Jules saw there was a softness about her skin and features that clearly proclaimed her a female. He could see she could easily pass for her brother if she covered the swelling breasts clearly discernible through the fine lawn shirt and concealed the way the breeches curved over her hips and thighs. More often than not, people saw what they expected to see. Obviously she had passed for Lord Thistlewait tonight and somehow had gotten into the wrong room.

“Your sister is correct, Thistlewait. Obviously she is in the wrong room.”

“This is the right room! You are in the wrong room at the wrong time!” declared the dark-haired beauty whose flashing aquamarine eyes branded her another Thistlewait. “Now that sad rattle Sir Percy will spread this tale, and my dear Kat will be ruined, all because of you!”

“Now, Mariah, calm yourself,” the purple turban soothed. She looked squarely at Jules. “Saville,
I
am Lady Tutwilliger, godmother and only guardian to the Thistlewait children. I’m sure we can effectively squelch any nasty rumors by announcing your engagement to Kathryn in the
Gazette
.”

He sent her his most quelling stare. “This is eighteen nineteen, not the dark ages, ma’am. No one can force anyone to marry.” Transferring his gaze to Lord John Thistlewait, he stared into the young, flushed face. “I barely left you more than a quarter of an hour ago. Hardly time to dishonor your sister.”