Scandal's Child (6 page)

“Boring poor Saville in the dining room. She rushed in as if you had met with a serious mishap. I was halfway down the hall by the time we realized it was nothing. But I came ahead anyway.” He tucked her hand in his arm and leaned over confidingly. “Girl’s as pretty as a picture but wears you out with her energy. Talks more than you do, Kat.”

Throwing her arms around her brother’s broad shoulders, Kat buried her face against his chest. “I love you, Jacko,” she declared fiercely.

“Love you, too, you ninny,” he murmured, patting her back. “Dash it, Kat, what’s come over you?”

“Nothing, silly.” Laughing, she pushed away, looking up into his flushed face. “Don’t be so embarrassed. Twins are allowed such demonstrations of unseemly affection … and, you know, twins are also allowed to demand favors. Steel yourself and show Caroline to her room so I might have a few moments alone with Saville.”

Jacko’s roguish dimples deepened. “So that’s how the wind blows. Can’t say I’m not pleased. Saville’s the best of good fellows.” Laughing, he squeezed her fingers. “Willy would have my head for leaving you unchaperoned, but she’ll never know, certainly Hannah won’t be able to tell her! Can’t think why she insisted the old girl had to come along with us.”

Saville stopped in midsentence when they entered the room. His penetrating gaze never left Kat’s face, not even when, without ceremony, Jacko whisked Caroline off to her bedchamber.

“Something has happened,” he stated quietly. “Tell me.”

Kat had been fully prepared to throw this new problem upon Saville’s broad chest and let him handle it, but it suddenly dawned on her that she didn’t wish to place him in any danger, either. After all, she was the one who had interfered with Sir Edmund’s dishonorable game.

“I have simply been mulling over the unfortunate events with Sir Edmund on the packet.” She forced herself to look at him unblinkingly. “He seemed to know you. Had you met before?”

“Unfortunately, yes. Our paths have crossed. We were in Rome at the same time two years ago. But that is not all you wish to know, is it, Lady Kathryn?”

It was uncanny how quickly this man had learned to read her. Shocked, Kat widened her eyes in an attempt to fob him off. But tears threatened, and apparently she was unsuccessful in diverting him. She heard him utter a small sound before stepping forward.

“My dear Lady Kathryn, we are partners in our little charade, are we not? Let me share whatever is troubling you.”

His kindness was her undoing. One tear escaped her control to slide down her cheek. “I am being foolish I know, but the man truly frightens me. The devil you know is better than the devil you do not. Will you pay me the courtesy of being honest? I have placed us all in danger, have I not? He is a ruthless man.” He hesitated, and she could sense he was going to reassure her. “If you please, Jules, I would prefer the truth,” she insisted quietly, just the barest quiver in her voice.

“Then you shall have it.” Lifting her hand, he held it loosely, soothingly, between his palms. “The rumors of Sir Edmund are not pleasant. For sport as a young buck in London he beat up elderly cits. Later, he lost much of his family fortune gambling. He is cruel, and he can be deadly.”

“Deadly? Has he ever killed his man—”

“Blast it, Kat, can’t expect Saville to talk about such things with a lady!” roared her brother from the doorway.

Startled, Kat pulled her hand from Saville’s warm comforting grip and swung around. “Jacko, what are you doing back here?”

“Thought I should act the chaperon. Your brother, after all,” he declared, aquamarine eyes flashing. “Glad I did. You ninnyhammer, can’t ask Saville questions like that until you’re leg shack” led. Could have asked me. Everyone knows Sir Edmund’s been on the Continent for years in exile after killing his second man in a duel!”

Kat dared not look at Jules for fear he would see the truth in her eyes. Sir Edmund had been right; their conversation in the garden could be revealed to no one.

Mariah flirted coyly with Mr. Vanderworth whose stoic facade bore the faintest of smiles. Mildly satisfied, Gwynneth turned her attention to Miss Vanderworth, who appeared to be squinting less this evening, and was engaged in an animated conversation with Gladstone Pennington. She was happy to see the young man knew how to do the pretty. At the opposite end of the table, Sir Percy Allendale watched them all with keenest interest, while continuing to stuff himself with the quite delicious trifle the chef had prepared for dessert. The sad rattle was probably hoping for another tidbit of gossip to entice the bored
ton
.

Which was precisely why she had invited both young men to this intimate little dinner; it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on the boy, making sure she was a step ahead of whatever game he chose to play. That was why she had gone on and on about the lovely letter, which existed solely in her imagination, of course, from Kathryn about the beauty of the Comte de Saville’s ancestral estate and the elaborate plans to celebrate the upcoming wedding. Her fan slowed its pace—Gwynneth was actually quite pleased with how the evening was turning out.

“I don’t care if she is at table!” a haughty female voice exclaimed from the foyer. An instant later the double doors flew open and a white-haired woman with beautiful translucent skin, which belied her years, pushed past a stunned Westley.

“Sybilla!” Gwynneth gasped, surging to her feet.

“Gwynneth,” the Duchess of Culter acknowledged. Her shrewd eyes focused on Mariah who had risen and come to her godmother’s side. “Kathryn, my dear child!” Sybilla gushed, rushing to embrace her.

“No, no, Sybilla. This is Mariah.
Not
Kathryn,” Gwynneth insisted, noticing Sir Percy’s enthralled expression and seeing absolute ruin facing them all.

“Of course it’s Mariah,” Sybilla stated flatly, stepping back. “She’s too short for Jules anyway. Where is dear Kathryn?” she inquired, glancing down the table, her gaze only momentarily hesitating at Miss Vanderworth before going on.

“Your Grace, I thought the betrothal of long standing. How is it you don’t know Lady Kathryn?” Sir Percy audaciously inquired.

Really what did Jacko see in the young rip, Gwynneth fumed, appalled at his lack of decorum.

Sybilla stood stock still, and lifted her delicate chin to stare down her extremely straight nose at Sir Percy. “Who are you?” she demanded.

Making a credible bow, he smiled. “Sir Percy Allendale, Your Grace. I am a friend of Lord Thistlewait.”

“But how is this possible? Our friends have known anytime these last months about my darling Jules and Kathryn. It is only my ill health that has kept the formal announcement under wraps and me away from my future step-granddaughter.” Turning away, she cut him dead. “Obviously, sir, you are an imposter. Gwynneth, your servants should show this man the door.” Sybilla commanded before reclining into Gwynneth’s chair.

“But … but…” Percy sputtered, glancing around, a dazed expression glazing his eyes.

Gladstone had the good sense to take his friend’s arm. “We’ll be taking our leave now, Lady Tutwilliger. Thank you for a delicious dinner.” With a hasty bow and one quick smile at Miss Vanderworth, he ushered a stricken Sir Percy away.

“My sister and I shall also take our leave, Lady Tutwilliger. You obviously have family matters to attend to. We also thank you for a lovely evening,” Mr. Vanderworth said in his usual calm voice.

Really, did nothing
ever
rattle the man? Gwynneth wondered if she should reconsider her decision to encourage his attentions to Mariah. But that young lady obviously found no fault with his correct bow as he bid her good night. Westley appeared, playing the role of the perfect butler to a nicety, for once, to escort Mariah and the Vanderworths to the front door.

Only then did she notice the man standing at the other end of the table. How had he gotten past her eagle eye?

Every time Gwynneth laid eyes on the Marquis of Aubrey she wished she was thirty years younger. If Jacko’s beautiful looks matured into this glorious specimen of mature male, she would be more than repaid for all the worry he had given her.

Dominic gave her one of his breathtaking smiles. “Lady Tutwilliger, I apologize for interrupting your dinner party.” He flashed a rueful glance at the duchess. “Grandmother couldn’t wait to see you.”

“Of course I couldn’t wait!” complained Sybilla. “How could I after that dreadful communication.” She rounded on Gwynneth. “Where is Jules? What have you done to him?”

“Done to him! I found him in bed with my sweet Kathryn!” Gwynneth retaliated.

The battle was joined!

“Willy, whatever is going on here?” gasped Mariah, coming back into the dining room and quickly closing the doors behind her. “Your voices can be heard all over the house. It’s bad enough without the servants gossiping.”

“Lady Mariah, perhaps you can explain to us what has occurred,” Dominic asked, coming to stand with his hand on the duchess’s shoulder to calm her. “Grandmother, for once, let someone else get a full sentence in.”

Mariah’s wide, soft eyes asked her godmother for permission to tell the story. Gwynneth nodded with a sigh.

“Kathryn and Jacko are twins, you know,” Mariah began, her fingers tightly gripped together before her. “Kat foolishly pursued him to the Blue Boar Inn to try to keep him from some mischief. She has always seen it as her duty to keep him out of trouble because she is the elder.”

With a gentle smile, Dominic urged her on. “We understand. But how did my brother become a part of this?”

“She was waiting for Jacko in his room at the inn … and … and somehow … the comte mistook his room … and … and they were sharing a bed … when we arrived,” Mariah finished quickly, her cheeks two bright red spots.

“Obviously it was a mistake. If it was just family why could it not be kept quiet?” Dominic asked, a slight edge in his voice now.

“Because that dreadful rattle Sir Percy was with Jacko at the Blue Boar Inn. He saw all!” declared Gwynneth.

“Oh, my God, not that insufferable twit!” scoffed Sybilla. “Then they must wed at once! No, no, Dominic, there is no choice.” Sybilla patted his hands that now tightly gripped her shoulders. “Where are they now?”

“On their way to Château Saville with Lord Thistlewait and my companion, Miss Hannah Hamilton, to chaperon them. But I know when they arrive Kat plans to cry off from the engagement!”

Gwynneth’s admiration for Dominic was in jeopardy when she spied his relieved look. “However, we cannot allow that. Kat has already cried off from one engagement. Another would be doom for her expectations. I have a plan. But I’ll need your support, Sybilla. We must confer.”

“Grandmother, no!” Dominic protested as the duchess leaned forward, interested. “Jules deserves more than an arranged marriage. He deserves what I share with Juliana. After all the years … I have just found him—”

The duchess quieted him with a raised finger and a loving smile. “My dear boy, do you think I do not know what is owed your brother? I have an idea of my own that will insure we do not lose him again.”

“Kathryn, are you feeling unwell?” Hannah leaned forward in the coach seat to take Kat’s hand. “Good. You don’t feel overly warm, but you are uncharacteristically pale.”

Kat forced a smile. “No, I am fine, truly. Just a trifle fatigued from the journey.”

Hannah sighed and reclined against the pillows. With a small yawn, she nodded. “I certainly understand, dear.” Then she promptly closed her eyes.

Caroline was already napping, one cheek resting against the coach curtains. Kat couldn’t sleep. All she could think about was this latest development. She hadn’t slept a wink after her conversation with Jacko and Saville. Her worst fears had been confirmed: Sir Edmund Trigge was capable of anything. What could Kat do to protect them all from his wrath? She had come up with no solution during the long, sleepless night.

This morning she had tried to cover the bruising shadows under her eyes with a perky manner, but she must have failed for Jules had given her a most penetrating gaze when he handed her into the coach, and now Hannah had noticed. She would have to be very careful not to give herself away again. Her twin, usually attuned to her every mood, would cajole until he wrested the truth from her, and then the fat would be in the fire. She sensed a restlessness in him, a sudden yearning, that might easily be turned into a hollow, chivalrous gesture. She had no doubt how a duel between her brother and Edmund Trigge would turn out.

She turned to the young, sleeping girl beside her. Caroline’s cheeks were lightly flushed just below where her lashes fanned. She looked very young and very helpless. Kat could not have done differently; she could not have stood by and allowed someone like Trigge to ruin this innocent’s life. Now she must deal with the consequences.

Jules’s reaction she was not quite so sure of … nor, the fate of any duel he might undertake. In a mere two days she had come to know him as a man of strength and honor and compassion. She owed him her good name, and Caroline’s, and perhaps even Jacko’s life. There was no way she could embroil him further, especially a little voice nagged inside her, because she intended to cry off.

Perhaps Trigge will just give up and leave us in peace, Kat’s usual optimistic nature decreed. He couldn’t possibly follow them to Saville’s home. There they would all be safe. Perhaps, if Jules did not mind, she would take a trifle longer than first planned to end their engagement.

When would they arrive? She needed to beg Jules’s indulgence until she could be sure they were safely away from Sir Edmund Trigge.

The gently rolling countryside was covered with grapevines as far as the eye could see. Occasionally Kat could spy a great household way back, up on a hill, or the coach would pass an elaborate gateway.

Finally, Jules signaled the coach to turn into a roadway that hadn’t been dragged for years. The two other occupants of the coach were jolted awake by the vibration before, mercifully, they came to a halt.

Château Saville was enormous. Four stories of stone rose straight up to the sky. There were no towers or battlements and Kat, absurdly, wondered how the place had ever been defended.

Inexplicably, Jules was attuned to her thoughts. “I only remember a few of the stories I’ve been told about the house. Apparently it had been planned as a summer palace, but the knight was lost in the crusades. It stood empty until my great-great-grandfather was titled. He was really the one who finished the château and planted the vineyard.”

Jules glanced around wonderingly. “I remember it as much larger.”

Jacko assisted Caroline and Hannah from the coach. Jules walked across the crushed brown rock, at least here some attempt had been made to rake it level, and rang a bell hidden to one side of the
porte cochère
. At once the door was flung wide. A tall, painfully thin woman walked out. Her gray hair was pulled tightly back into a bun and she wore a stiff black dress corded round with an eye-catching set of gold keys.

“Mon dieu! Monsieur le Comte, you are the image of your late father!” she exclaimed and then gasped as Jules turned fully to face her and she saw his left cheek. Her eyes widened for an instant before she stopped herself. Taking a deep breath, she hurried down to meet them.

“I am Madelaine Bernair, the
ménagère
of Château Saville. You will not remember me, you were so young when you fled the terror.” She crossed herself. “My parents were in charge then. Now I am housekeeper and my husband, Anton, estate manager. Our families have long served the
famille
Devereaux, and we preserved as much as we could during these long years.”

“Madame Bernair,” Jules bowed to her, taking one of her gnarled hands between his palms. “My solicitor has told me of your devotion to my home. It shall not be forgotten. Now I want you to meet my guests.”

Once again he gave Kat a smile that caused the oddest sensations in strange parts of her anatomy. This time he also took her hand, leading her forward. “My fiancée, Lady Kathryn Thistlewait. Her brother, Lord Thistlewait.”

Kat noticed the usual stunned stare from Madame Bernair when she and Jacko stood side by side.

“Miss Hannah Hamilton and Miss Caroline Strange,” he continued.

“Welcome to Château Saville,” Madame Bernair replied coolly to the introductions, her dark gaze unapproachable. “I have made rooms ready and ordered a light repast that will be served in the dining hall in one hour.”

Exhausted from her sleepless night, Kat brushed off her uneasiness at Madame Bernair’s chilly greeting. Everything else seemed in order as they moved slowly through the house. The rooms were immaculate, if sadly out-of-date. Here and there, Kat could see bright patches on the walls where pictures should have hung. There was much to be done here. Perhaps she could repay Jules’s kindness to them all by assisting in the redecoration of the house. Fresh hangings and a more comfortable arrangement of furniture could do a lot to make this seem more a home.

The carved four-poster bed in Kat’s chamber was beautiful; the rich patina of the old wood making her run her fingers over its smoothness. Here, as in the other rooms she had seen, the brocade draperies were faded and she could see where the bedcovers and hangings had been carefully mended.

All along their journey they had seen the marks of war; in the countryside and in the people. The château also bore its scars.

Hurriedly pouring water in a porcelain bowl, Kat freshened herself. Just a few tugs on a hairbrush brought her unruly mop into order among the ribbons. She changed quickly from her traveling dress to a simple at-home muslin in a sea green she knew enhanced her natural coloring. Now she was ready to meet the others. She knew she was early, but she hoped she might find Jules in the small salon where they were to gather before supper. She wished a word in private to assess whether or not he would object if she and the others stayed on for a while.

It was clear the small salon was the one room in which Madame Bernair had placed the treasures she had been able to save. On the mantel an antique French clock ticked—it looked like pictures she’d seen. Vaguely she remembered there’d been a French king who’d delighted in making clocks—a Louis, she thought—and wondered if this could be one of his. On the tables were placed fawn leatherbound books, and at the windows the deep green brocade draperies still retained their rich color. But the most outstanding treasure was the huge oil painting over the fireplace.