The Blue Devil (The Regency Matchmaker Series) (6 page)

CHAPTER FIVE

B
ARELY THREE HOURS
later, Kathryn alighted from a hackney coach and paid the driver, then hurried up the worn, brick steps of Baroness Marchman’s School for Young Ladies. The day had turned rainy and cold, and the fading light of late afternoon lent an eerie cast to the gray stone facade. She stood shivering, dressed in a simple, brown cloak, a thin garment borrowed for the occasion from a housemaid of Ophelia’s. Underneath, she wore a plain, worn blue calico dress of outmoded style. Thick black woolen stockings, homemade mittens, and low, stained, leather boots cut exactly the same for both left foot and right, completed the costume.

At first, Kathryn had tried on the maid’s clothes, but they had been too big, and she’d been forced to endure the humiliation of asking to borrow, instead, clothes that belonged to the maid’s much younger sister. Though Kathryn was well past the first blush of womanhood, with her lithe build and round face, she could easily pass for a child of fourteen. It was a nuisance.

She was passed over for the next customer in line at the market fairs or pinched on the cheek by her friend’s visiting aunties. Even more troublesome was that her looks effectively prevented her from attracting the serious attention of any handsome travelers who happened to pass through her village.

She never thought she’d find a use for being mistaken for a child.

For once, though, Kathryn was grateful for her looks. For this occasion, she’d enhanced her youthful appearance as much as possible. Her short, curly locks were gathered into two childish pigtails and tied with two lengths of bedraggled, blue satin ribbon. Another span of ribbon was employed as a sash about her waist The three large bows swayed and bounced gently as she moved. She pinched two girlish roses into her cheeks and took a deep breath, which steamed into a cloud of vapor when she exhaled forcefully, trying to calm her skittering insides. The cold ride over had done nothing to stem the tide of a growing anxiety. As omens went, freezing rain in March was not reassuring.

The wet, brass knocker chilled her fingers even through the wool of her mittens, and she quickly tucked them back under the cloak. Waiting for the door to be answered, she noted the smoke curling out of the school’s chimney and inhaled the sweet, dusky scent of oak. Oak, not coal. The mighty English Navy was built of oak, and there wasn’t much available to burn. Lady Marchman’s School must be exclusive indeed to be able to afford it. Kathryn stamped her foot, which felt like a block of ice. Blast, what was taking so long? Couldn’t Lady Marchman afford a butler as well?

Finally, the tall, green-painted door opened. A slender, severe-looking young woman stood over the jamb, barring Kathryn’s passage. Her white-blond hair was pulled tightly into a knot at the nape of her neck and covered with a starched lace cap. She wasn’t much older than Kathryn. Her eyes surveyed Kathryn’s borrowed clothes, and Kathryn stared up at her with purposefully wide eyes, shifting a little to make her bows bounce. She crossed her fingers behind her back in childish supplication for good measure.

“May I help you, moppet?”

Moppet
? Kathryn stifled a delighted shiver of triumph. She was a moppet! Her deception was successful.

But the diary was still inside—and Kathryn was still outside. The woman’s voice was colored with sympathy, but her tone indicated that helping Kathryn was last on a long list of tasks she needed to accomplish.

“Yes, ma’am.” Kathryn pulled from her pocket a carefully rumpled letter Auntie had had Bendleson write, seal with wax, and cleverly impress with a “seal,” one of the intricate fobs that hung at the ends of Palin House’s bell pulls! No one would recognize it. Kathryn held the letter up like a shield in front of her. “I... I’m supposed to show this letter to someone at Baronet Marchman’s place.”

“Baroness Marchman’s,” the woman corrected her and gestured at the tastefully small brass plaque mounted on the door. “Baroness Marchman’s School for Young Ladies,” she read. In reply, Kathryn only curtsied and lowered her eyes. Suddenly, she felt the envelope slip through her fingers. The woman had taken the letter and started to close the door, but Kathryn put out her booted foot and hastily stopped the heavy wooden panel from latching shut. Unfortunately, it bumped her foot hard.

“Owee, owee, owee-
me
!” For once, the silly, childish pain-chant wasn’t an embarrassment; it was actually useful, for the woman’s face folded into lines of concern.

“Are you hurt?” she asked in alarm.

Kathryn hopped on one foot and clutched the other. “’Twas only my toe. I shall be all right by the time I see Lady Marchman.”

The woman shook her head. “Lady Marchman will not give you a gratuity, and I am afraid. Neither will she allow me to. I am sorry. Good day!” Gently, she made to shut the door once more.

“Please, ma’am . . . you don’t understand. Open the letter. If you send me away, I’ve nowhere else to go.” Kathryn let go her foot and tried to ignore its intense throbbing as the woman threw her a dubious look. But she broke the seal and quickly scanned the letter anyhow.

And then, looking startled, she stepped back and practically yanked Kathryn into the warm house. “I am Miss Mary Gant,” she said, “head schoolmistress. Well . . . actually, I am the only teacher here besides Lady Marchman herself. We employ masters when needed for painting, dancing, pianoforte and the like. Here now, let me take your things.” Divesting Kathryn of her small valise and cloak, she chatted animatedly about the weather before placing a chair close to the crackling fire in the largish anteroom. Positively insisting Kathryn sit and warm herself, she began to back out of the room, still clucking like an excited hen who’d just scratched a fat, juicy grub from the earth. “Wait right here, please, miss. I shall tell Lady Marchman you are here. I expect she will be out to meet you soon. I’ll ring for tea. Or would you prefer chocolate? Or milk, perhaps. Yes, milk would be best, I believe . . . under the circumstances,” she said and was gone in a flurry of skirts, leaving behind the pungent aroma of starch.

“Thank you,” Kathryn murmured, bemused and astounded at the lady’s reaction to her faked letter of admittance. Kathryn knew the entire content of the letter, for she had decided what should be written herself, once she had convinced Ophelia her plan really was the only logical course of action left to them. There was nothing in the missive to provoke such a reaction.

Or was there?

In her haste to recover the diary, Kathryn hadn’t had a chance to see the actual instrument. It had been penned as Kathryn was donning her borrowed clothing. The letter was supposed to be a simple request for admittance, backed by the promise of a horrendously large banknote to be sent as soon as Kathryn was accepted and settled. But Kathryn had only decided upon what would be written; she hadn’t decided upon how it would be stated, and she hadn’t been there when Auntie’s butler penned the thing. It was Ophelia who had composed the exact words in the letter. Plucking the folded paper from the waxed surface of the side table where Miss Gant had left it, Kathryn hesitated before opening it.

The teacher had disappeared behind a closed door on one side of the room. A staircase separated the door from an arched opening on the other side of the room. Through the arch, Kathryn glimpsed a long hall that opened onto several rooms on either side. One of those would be the salon where Auntie had left her diary. Now was the perfect time to find it. The plan was to locate the diary as soon as she could upon her arrival and slip out the door, leaving behind only a mystery for the servants to contemplate. That, and a banknote for Lady Marchman to pocket, which Kathryn had hidden in her valise—a note large enough to discourage Lady Marchman from spreading the tale. After all, she wouldn’t exactly have earned the money, since her new “pupil” wouldn’t have stayed long enough to have afternoon tea. If Kathryn were lucky, she’d unearth the diary and make her escape before she even had to meet Lady Marchman.

But what if she were not lucky?

She’d have to face Lady Marchman, that’s what. And judging by Mary Gant’s reaction to that letter, not knowing its exact contents might be Kathryn’s undoing. She’d just have to read it before she went in search of the diary. Lord! Her plan had seemed simple enough before she’d arrived.

Quickly, Kathryn scanned the foolscap. It was covered with the flowing script of Bendleson’s hand. Kathryn smiled at the memory of the butler’s poorly hidden delight at having a role in their subterfuge, as she read

My Dear Lady Marchman,

The young woman I have sent to you is a distant relation of mine recently removed from the West Indies.

She is emerging from a very traumatic period of her life, during which she lost the six members of her immediate family to the Yellow Jack. We are the only two members of our once-great lineage left alive.

Nothing amiss there. Kathryn read on:

I wish you to admit her to your fine school. I hope to unite the distant branches of the family in marriage AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.

I realize it is an almost unthinkable breach of custom, but please do not insist the gel wear proper mourning clothes. She cannot be married in black, and it is IMPERATIVE the ceremony not be delayed any longer than it must be.

Kathryn’s eyes goggled. Marriage? She hadn’t told Auntie to include anything about marriage to Lord Arborough in the missive. It must have been Ophelia’s idea; Bendleson would never have included such a detail on his own—though Kathryn did note the emphasis Bendleson had used on certain words. Such drama was unnecessary. Yet, she could not be surprised. One could not associate oneself with so strong a personality as Ophelia Palin’s for very long without taking on some of her mannerisms. Evidently, Bendleson had succumbed. She read on:

The girl’s fortune is quite vast and must yet be settled upon her legally, but there is also the matter of an ancient title entailed in a rather unique manner. There is some talk of her possible inheritance of the title, since she is the last of her line. Surely you see that IN HER DELICATE STATE—

Kathryn’s eyes widened. Delicate? That was an unfortunate choice of words, indeed. Combined with the emphasis Bendleson had used, it might easily be misinterpreted—with disastrous result.

—she is in no position to fend off the inevitable onslaught of legal and social attacks her exceptional situation will bring. You shall understand that I cannot divulge further details of this INCREASINGLY complicated matter.

Increasing? No . . . no, it could not be . . .

I place my most precious possession in your care. It is absolutely imperative that you speak of this matter to no one until the legalities are settled. Neither must you attempt to make any contact with me whatsoever. You will notice she is in disguise. If the girl’s present position or FAMILIAL LINK to me becomes well known, there is no telling what might happen to her.

Kathryn groaned.

The girl needs rest and quiet. She is a biddable child, but she is rather willful just now, which is not surprising, considering HER CONDITION (the tragedy she has just been through, of course), and she requires a bit of mollycoddling. Having lost her dear mother at such a tender age, she is as yet uninformed about certain matters, and I am certain she does not understand what is happening to her.

I say again: make no attempt to contact me. I shall contact you when it is safe to do so. Please indulge her whims—and mine—and I shall prove myself

Eternally grateful,

Arborough

“In my condition?!” Kathryn ground out through clenched teeth. Good Lord! No wonder Miss Mary Gant had insisted Kathryn warm herself. No wonder she’d offered milk instead of tea. Oh, dear! Kathryn couldn’t possibly face Lady Marchman now. The embarrassment would be too great. She couldn’t bear it.