The Blue Devil (The Regency Matchmaker Series) (28 page)

“After all,” Nigel said, allowing his deep voice to boom through the air, “I cannot kiss a lady to whom I am not betrothed.”

Kathryn watched him, her gaze as soft as a caress as she waited for what she obviously knew must follow. He did not want to disappoint her. Slowly, carefully—and somewhat painfully—Nigel shrugged out of his coat and then his azure brocade waistcoat. As he held her gaze, her eyes never wavered, but they had taken on a teary sheen.

The crowd fell to an expectant hush.

“As everyone knows, I always wear the color blue,” Nigel said in a voice designed to carry. “But what no one knows--apart from this gallant lady whom I love more than I can say!-- is that the color blue has always meant pain and loneliness to me. If she will do me the honor of becoming my wife, I know I shall never be lonely again, and my pain will be a thing of the past.”

There on the street, in front of a hundred witnesses, with water streaming down his face, Nigel knelt. He held out to her his blue waistcoat, now rimmed with a stain of dark blood. “Will you, my beautiful Kathryn, my fairy queen, love me and be my wife forever?”

Fingers trembling, Kathryn took the waistcoat from him. All eyes were on her as the crowd waited breathlessly for her answer. She swallowed. The only sound was the rain pattering on clothing, oilskin, and cobblestones, and the pop and hiss of the steam that rose as the drops fell on the coals. Suddenly, she hugged the waistcoat to her breast and then walked over to the glowing rubble. She stood there for a moment as time stood still, and then she threw the garment onto the coals and turned. Her gaze flicked across his, and then, to his surprise and delight, she let her eyes play across the crowd, feigning to seek their approval.

She had it.

The men waved their caps in the air, and the ladies were nearly all dabbing at their cheeks as they wished them both happy. She smiled at them and nodded, before turning slowly back to Nigel and winking. He took her hands and squeezed them lightly. Stepping closer to her, he whispered, “Thank you. For them. You are indeed gallant and kind. But, my fair Titania-Rose-Kathryn-Kitty-
Imp
, you have not answered my question.”

Her smile grew sweet and wistful, and when she spoke at last, he knew she had forgotten the burned hulk of the school, the crowd, the rain. He was the only thing in her world as she looked into his eyes. “Yes,” she whispered.

Kathryn was surprised to find she did, after all, have a blush left in her, for she felt her skin burning crimson as Nigel enfolded her in his arms and she became aware of the crowd once more.

“What did she say?” one old lady asked.

“What did she say . . . what did she say . . . ?” The rest of the crowd took up the chant, and Auntie joined right in with them.

“Yes!” Kathryn called out, laughing. “I said yes!”

The crowd roared. “
Kiss ’er
!”

And Nigel did.

Epilogue

“A
S JEREMY SCOTT
shook Nigel’s hand, he turned to Kathryn, who was standing beside her husband at the front door of Palin House, “If you ever tire of this rogue, I shall be happy to—”

“Good night, Jeremy!” Kathryn laughed.

He was the last ball guest to leave, and the ethereal blue glow on the horizon announced the sun would soon rise in the East. Jeremy waved and rode off, yet Kathryn was unable to tear herself from the window. She could not stop worrying over the absence of Ophelia and John. Coming up behind her, Nigel pulled her into the comfort of his strong embrace.

“Do not worry,” he said, nuzzling her ear. “They are probably together.”

“Oh, Nigel, that is exactly why I am worried! You know they detest each other. If they are together, it is probably because they are plotting to do harm to each other as we speak. Or perhaps the harm is already done, and the victor has cheerfully paused to dig a shallow grave.”

Kathryn and Nigel had been married for a little over a month and had come home from their wedding trip three days prior. They were staying at Palin House while Nigel’s townhouse in Berkeley Square was being redecorated. During their journey through Cornwall and the Lake District, where they spent a lovely fortnight at each of Nigel’s two finest estates, Palin House had been filled to the brim with guests.

Auntie, it seemed, had offered her home as the temporary premises of Baroness Marchman’s School for Young Ladies! And that wasn’t the only surprise Kathryn and Nigel had come home to.

Once again, Ophelia had decided to give a surprise ball--a welcome-home ball this time. And, of course, it was yet another masque.

But the biggest surprise of all was that the old lady herself did not attend. During the late supper after the ball, John had been discovered missing, too.

Kathryn was truly worried. For as long as she could remember, the two combatants had been swapping insults. Had their forced company finally allowed their mutual hatred to simmer into violence? What else could explain their absence?

The ball had been merry. Nigel had so many friends. The ladies had been openly envious of her, though pleasantly so, and they all wanted to know how she had snared the Marquis of Blackshire, while the gentlemen all wanted to dance with her. Kathryn hated to disappoint them all, but her husband had been quite unwilling to share her. They had danced until, laughing, Kathryn had begged to sit down, whereupon a throng of well-wishers surrounded her and Nigel—including a smiling Lord Arborough, whom Kathryn had informed of his unwitting role in her adventure.

Even her parents had abandoned their country ways for the evening. Declaring themselves charmed by Nigel, they had danced and drunk champagne with as much enthusiasm as anyone. She’d never seen them happier. The ball had been delightful.

Except for Ophelia and John’s absence.

“Dear heart,” Nigel said, rubbing his thumb across her shoulders, “you need not worry about Ophelia and John. Jeremy has apprised me of certain facts. It seems the Home Office has finished its investigation.”

“I do not know why they had to pry into my aunt’s past. She was most upset about it, and she is no more a spy than I am.”

“I know, love, but Sir Winston leaves no stone unturned. That is why he has remained at his post for so many years. He is very good at keeping England safe.”

She nodded and smiled ruefully. She was still worried. “What has the end of the investigation to do with Auntie’s disappearance?”

“The investigation uncovered something—something she has kept hidden for many years.”

“Oh, yes. I already know about it, Nigel. She was secretly helping her ‘rival’ Lady Marchman all those years. That was the ‘terrible scandal’ she’d written of in her diary. Can you imagine? I went through all of that just to keep that one fact hidden!”

“Mmm . . . not exactly.”

Kathryn crooked an eyebrow at him. “Oh?”

Nigel smiled. “It seems that was only one of the dear lady’s secrets. The other concerns Mr. Robertson.”

“John?”

Nigel nodded. “Dearest, Ophelia and John were married thirty years ago. Thirty years ago tonight, as it happens.” His eyes sparkled with laughter.

“Ophelia and John? Married all these years?” Kathryn said in wonder. “But they rub together like cats and--”

She was interrupted by the clatter of carriage wheels and horses’ hooves. As though conjured by magic, Auntie’s black lacquered coach pulled to a halt on the circular drive, and John stepped down to help Ophelia alight. Seeing Kathryn, the old lady blushed like a schoolroom miss.

John tucked her arm in his and bowed slightly to Kathryn and Nigel. “May I present Mrs. Ophelia Robertson!” he said proudly.

“We . . . we have eloped,” Ophelia said. “We went to Gretna Green.”

“Auntie, you hadn’t enough time to travel to Gretna and back.”

“Details, details!” she breezed, and Nigel and Kathryn traded conspiratorial smiles. “We meant to be back sooner, but...” Her words trailed off into an embarrassed sigh.

John put his arm around Ophelia’s shoulders. “What the old dragon means to say is that we would ha’ been back for the ball, but I insisted on stoppin’ for some weddin’ night capers.” Ophelia batted at him with her fan, but she was giggling girlishly. “She can’t get enough of me, you know,” John said, ushering Ophelia inside and right up the stairs with a spate of loving pinches and tickles.

“Oh,” Ophelia called from the landing, “Kathryn dearling, I almost forgot. I . . . I hardly know how to say this, but . . . since we’re all family now—” She patted John’s cheek and whispered the rest
sotto
voce
. “Well . . . since I am a national heroine for rescuing you and catching the spy and all—”

Kathryn spared a glance for Nigel, who was doing very well—much better than she—at concealing a grin, though his eyes were dancing nonetheless. Ophelia, John, and Kathryn had been publicly commended by the Prince Regent. Nigel, of course, had not been recognized--not publicly at least. Kathryn had been delighted to find that Prinny was rather jolly in private--except about the river display at Jane’s ball, for which he’d still not forgiven Nigel.

Ophelia went on. “—and since I donated a new school—”

“You did?”

“They could not all stay here,” Ophelia exclaimed, aghast. “I had to buy them a new school house!” She sniffed. “But . . . but . . . well, Agnes and I are no longer . . . no longer in . . . in balance.” Ophelia stammered to a halt.

“I don’t understand, Auntie.”

Ophelia wrung her hands. “You see . . . before, Lady Marchman had her title, and I had my fortune. We were in balance. Equal, you might say. But now that I have become a national heroine, and everyone knows it was I who helped Agnes after the school burned down, and I just cannot imagine life without . . . without . . .”

“Without Agnes breathin’ fire up your social skirts?” John supplied helpfully.

Ophelia swatted him playfully, but it was clear that her keen social her rivalry with Lady Marchman would be missed. “I think you can help me, Kathryn,” Ophelia said.

“Anything, Auntie.”

“Oh, good. Just good.” Ophelia turned to leave.

“Auntie?” Kathryn called after her. “What do you want me to do?”

“Plant my new diary at Lady Marchman’s new school, of course. Can you think of another way?”

Nigel grinned. “You are correct, Ophelia. It is the only way. And I am certain my wife will be delighted to help.” He smiled mischievously down at Kathryn.

“Call me ‘Auntie,’ my boy.”

“Quit yer yammerin’ ye old hag, an’ get movin’.”

“Watch yourself, John. Do not forget I am your old hag, now.” She smiled sweetly, and John resumed his pinching and tickling as she preceded him up the stairs.

Kathryn looked after them in wonderment, her heart full of happiness.

“Well!” Nigel intoned, when they were completely alone once more. “I suppose …” he let the word hang in the air, “that it is time . . . once again . . . for us to perform our sacred duty to our country!” He sighed dramatically.

Kathryn echoed his sigh, placed the back of her hand against her brow, and said, “Ah yes. The sacrifices we make! I shall try to lie still and think of our queen.”

“Liar!” Nigel whispered. Scooping her up into his arms, he nuzzled her neck and started for the stairs.

Kathryn giggled, only too happy to have been wrong—about a great number of things.