The Blue Devil (The Regency Matchmaker Series) (7 page)

She stomped off to find the diary, no longer worried about being caught searching. What did she care? It couldn’t be any more embarrassing to be discovered with one’s hand wedged beneath the cushions than it was to suddenly find oneself with child. If Kathryn scowled any harder, her face would stick that way, she was sure, but she didn’t care.

Poor Auntie . . . she’d never know her diary was in safe hands. No. Kathryn was going to strangle her first.

LADY AGNES MARCHMAN’S teacup clattered to a rest on its fragile saucer. “Lord Arborough? Are you quite sure the note said ‘Arborough’?” she asked incredulously. “That seems most unlikely. Arborough is nearly ninety years old. He spends his days in a wheelchair and cannot rise!”

“Apparently,” her head schoolmistress said dryly, “he spends his nights elsewhere, and at least one part of him can rise.”

“Mary!” Agnes admonished her but couldn’t hide a grin. She cleared her throat. “What on earth are we going to do with the child?”

Mary shook her head. “We cannot turn the poor thing out. She said she has no place to go.”

“Under the circumstances, we cannot send her back to Lord Arborough,” Agnes said with a nervous flutter of her parchment hand. “It would be most improper.”

“Yes,” Mary agreed, “we shall have to keep her.”

“But how can we keep her? We’ve no room.” Agnes bit her knuckle and stared pensively out the window.

“That does not signify, Aggie. We must keep her. You should look on her, the poor mite. To think of that vile old man forcing himself on such an innocent! It is unthinkable. It . . . it is criminal, that’s what.”

“Criminal or not, we cannot bring the case to the magistrate, Mary. Arborough would only claim the babe she carries is not his, and her shame would become common knowledge. She could be left homeless and penniless with no protector.”

“Penniless? But she is an heiress.”

Lady Marchman’s eyebrow rose. “You said she looked fourteen or so.”

“Yes . . . oh, I see. With no other surviving relations, the court will appoint Lord Arborough as her guardian—”

“And he will have complete control of her fortune,” Lady Marchman finished. “I am just as aggrieved as you are, Mary, but the more she fights this injustice, the more injury she shall sustain. She really has no choice but to marry the wretch.”

“God rest his soul,” Mary said, and when Agnes slanted her a disapproving look, Mary dimpled and added, “With all possible speed, that is.”

“Amen.”

The two lapsed into silence as the fire popped and hissed. “Aggie,” Mary finally said, “since we cannot turn her out, we shall just have to put her in my old room with Lady Jane Tregally.”

“But that room is the smallest in the house. And Lady Jane’s guardian will be most displeased when he finds out the private room he paid for is no longer private.”

Lady Jane had come to them only the previous morning. Her arrival had disconcerted Lady Marchman because it was long past the beginning of the school term, and because every bedchamber in the large house already housed at least three students. But what was most unsettling of all was that Lady Jane’s guardian was a member of the peerage—a lofty member of the peerage at that. It was a most startling and satisfying turn of events, for the patronage of a nobleman would carry weight with the
ton
. The School could raise its tuition! Hastily, Agnes and Mary had made room for Lady Jane, the nobleman’s ward, and Mary, who had always enjoyed a room to herself, was now sharing Agnes’s bedchamber.

“We simply have no other choice but to house her with Lady Jane, Aggie.”

“But what will happen if Lady Jane discovers the girl’s delicate condition? If she should inform her guardian—”

“Arborough’s note implies the girl does not realize her own delicate condition—”

“Yes, and we must not enlighten her.”

“—and therefore she shall have nothing to tell.” Mary made a satisfied gesture. “And while Lady Jane is clever, to be sure, I doubt she is worldly enough to discern the girl’s condition. It will be several weeks at least before the girl’s figure changes significantly, and she will be gone and wed by then.”

Agnes nodded her agreement. “Besides, even if Lord Blackshire does find out, he is a good man—”

“Even if he is rather odd for placing his ward in a boarding school.”

“—and I doubt he would spread such gossip.”

“Why in the world did Blackshire place Lady Jane in a boarding school, do you suppose?”

“I do not know, Mary. But we have no time to talk of that now. Our new student awaits.”

SOMEWHERE IN THE house, a bell rang. Kathryn’s sweeping hand stilled under a plump orange brocade pillow atop the divan. This was taking too long. She should have found the diary by now and been out the door. Her hand made its third futile pass beneath the mountain of gaudy pillows. The diary was not there. A mantel clock loudly ticked the seconds off as Kathryn frantically searched the room. The divan, a pair of chairs, a chaise—even a bookshelf. The diary was nowhere to be found.

Kathryn opened a glass-fronted cupboard and looked forlornly in the last possible place: an enormous silver vase. No diary. That did it. The diary just wasn’t here. Had it been found already? Was it even now in Lady Marchman’s possession? Or had Kathryn been searching in the wrong room?

It did not matter, for she had no time to search another.

She could not be found prowling about the house, her hand in a cupboard, reaching for a silver vase! Lady Agnes might doubt the veracity of the forged letter and suspect Kathryn was a robber. She might send word to Lord Arborough to confirm Kathryn’s identity. She might even call a magistrate!

And then it occurred to her that she really was a robber. Blast! Her careful plan was failing. She was running out of time. In just seconds, she would have to end her search.

But she had to find Auntie’s diary.

Kathryn could hear footsteps coming down the hall. The image of the brave little sparrow flitted into her mind. It must have been terrifying for that little bird to fly through the window of Palin House and steal from the sideboard. But he’d faced his fears and, blast it all, so would Kathryn!

Not for the first time, Kathryn made an impulsive decision. She’d do what was necessary to protect her aunt. And if that meant becoming one of “Lady Marchman’s young ladies” for the entire afternoon, or even overnight, she would. In fact, she vowed, she’d stay at the school for as long as it took to recover Auntie’s diary or die—probably of acute embarrassment—in the process.

Turning, she ran back to the anteroom where Mary Gant had left her, skidded across the floor, and came to a stop in front of the fire, nearly toppling the chair. She sat down and smoothed her skirt just as the door opened, admitting Mary Gant, who bore a large, silver tea tray. Seconds later, a plump, happy-looking woman with gray hair, wearing a tastefully cut green baize dress with a lace collar, emerged from the hall. She looked kind and motherly and was dressed simply. No doubt the housekeeper, Kathryn decided, wondering where Lady Agnes was. Probably too stiff-rumped to deign to speak to a girl “in her condition,” Kathryn thought.

The gray-haired woman extended her hand. “I am Lady Agnes Marchman, Miss . . . ?”

“
You
are
Lady
Marchman
?” Kathryn asked incredulously before she could stop herself. Ophelia’s tales had led her to expect Agnes Marchman to wear horns, cloven hooves, and a long, forked tail. She had not at all expected the kind and motherly-looking woman before her.

Lady Marchman lifted a shoulder and smiled. “I am she. Does my countenance displease you, Miss—ah . . . ?”

“No ma’am.” Kathryn tried to remember if the letter Bendleson had penned had said what her name was supposed to be. She didn’t think it had. “Please pardon my manners; I was expecting someone much . . . older-looking. And my name is Davidson, my lady. I am Kitty Davidson.” The lie brought a blush of guilty color to her cheeks. She didn’t like to lie, but under the circumstances, it couldn’t be helped. She could hardly give her real name, and “Kitty Davidson” wasn’t so far away from Kathryn St. David that she’d hear her false name and forget to answer—she hoped.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Davidson.” Lady Marchman sat next to her, took her hand, and patted it. Then she smiled over Kathryn’s shoulder and said, “I see you have already met Lady Jane.”

In confusion, Kathryn swiveled in her chair and found herself looking into a pair of sparkling, mischievous dark eyes set in a stunningly beautiful face belonging to a girl of about fifteen years. Her elegant features were framed by long, straight, dark hair.

Lady Jane stood in a shadowed corner beneath the staircase, in front of a rich green tapestry. Dressed in green velvet, she was neatly camouflaged, and she knew it. Kathryn’s heart pounded rapidly. How much of Kathryn’s frantic search of the parlor beyond that archway had Lady Jane observed? All of it, by the look on her face. What would she tell Lady Marchman? Kathryn’s heart beat furiously at her temples, and she held her breath.

The girl stepped forward and held Kathryn’s gaze as she said, “Yes, Lady Marchman, we have met, and I must say Miss Davidson is a very interesting new companion. I have had an amusing time getting to know her, and I look forward to furthering our acquaintance.”

Kathryn wilted with relief.

Clearly, Lady Jane
had
been spying from her vantage point under the stairs, but, just as clearly, it was obvious she would keep Kathryn’s secret.

With one lifted brow, the girl smiled at Kathryn, no malice in her laughing eyes.

Kathryn flashed Lady Jane a grateful, conspiratorial smile in return.

“Ah,” Lady Marchman said, “how fortunate you find each other agreeable, as you are to share a bedchamber.”

Lady Jane looked at Kathryn and winked. “Oh, how delightful, Lady Marchman. I am sure we shall suit very well. We have already found we have much in common.”

Indeed, Kathryn thought, with as much amusement as relief, we both skulk about, invading others’ privacy.

CHAPTER SIX

T
HANK HEAVENS SHE
was “increasing!”

By the time she was shown her room, given lunch and then tea, taken for a tour of the school, and fussed over by Lady Marchman, it was quite late, and the evening meal was at hand. She was staying at the school overnight, and she’d have plenty of time that night to look around. All she had to do was wait for everyone to settle into slumber, light a candle, and sneak downstairs.

Owing to her “condition,” Kathryn was certain, Lady Marchman had mumbled some excuse about not wishing to subject her to the draftiness of the large dining hall after the rigors of her day’s journey and insisted she dine alone in the small dining room—which suited Kathryn perfectly well! She very much wished to avoid having her face become familiar to any of the students at Lady Marchman’s School.

Though it was highly unlikely she’d meet any of the daughters of merchants or lesser gentry in one of London’s ballrooms, it was not out of the realm of possibility. She decided it was but a trifling consideration.

Besides, she had other things to worry about.

Kathryn tore off a bit of bread and chewed it thoughtfully. Lady Jane was another matter. It would be a couple of years before Jane took her own bow to Society, but when that time came they would meet, and Kathryn was certain clever Jane would recognize her—assuming Kathryn found Auntie’s diary that night before Lady Marchman did!

Naturally optimistic, Kathryn refused to think about the alternative. She’d find the diary and that was that. Tucking into her dinner, she considered her situation and the school and its occupants, settling her thoughts finally upon Lady Jane.

She wondered why the girl was here. She supposed it was because her guardian was a single man. Jane’s attendance at the school was probably only a temporary measure to protect her reputation while a suitable companion could be found to lend them propriety. Jane was certainly not without a fortune, for she was dressed exquisitely. But even without a large dowry, her title and dark beauty alone would be enough secure the regard of some baronet or knight. Oh, yes. Kathryn would certainly be seeing Lady Jane again. But it did not worry her over-much. After all, Jane had not exposed Kathryn’s frantic search of the salon to Lady Marchman this afternoon, had she?

When the time came, Kathryn would tell Jane the whole story, and Jane would vow to keep the secret of Kathryn’s scandalous performance at Lady Marchman’s school between them. She would regard such knowledge a delicious lark, just as she had today. Perhaps Kathryn should out with the truth now, confide in Jane and beg her assistance in the search for the diary.

No. Kathryn shook her head firmly. As much as her instincts told her Jane could be trusted, Kathryn knew she could not be certain, and a misplaced confidence would place Auntie’s happiness at risk.

The matter settled in her mind, Kathryn put down her fork and slipped from the room, clutching a message she had scrawled to Auntie earlier in her room. She made her way to the stable, where, from the tall windows of the small dining room, she’d glimpsed a young stableboy going about his chores.

Five minutes later, she was once more sitting primly at table, and the boy was on his way to Grosvenor Square with the message. Along with apprising Ophelia and John of her decision to stay on at the school overnight, Kathryn had also added a plea for a truce between the aged combatants—not that she expected them to declare one. Auntie and John—who’d had a fit over her plan—would be worried by now. She frowned, imagining that the two of them were making each other quite miserable by now.

Always, when the two of them had been thrown into each other’s presence, there had been some member of the family to intervene in their spats. But the two of them were alone this time, under strained circumstances, and for many more hours than planned.

Was it possible they would come to blows?

Nonsense, Kathryn chided herself. John would never strike a lady. But of course, Ophelia had no such restriction. And John would no doubt argue that Ophelia was no lady!

Oh, dear
.

Kathryn wished she could get home sooner, but she knew she would not be home until the small hours of morning after her search for the diary whilst everyone at the school was abed. And she would have to wait until daybreak to return home. London was not Heathford, and it would not be safe to travel alone at night.

It was late when she finally got to bed.

Darkness had fallen and the shadowy hallways echoed with the muted giggling of the forty-six girls installed at the school. Kathryn and Lady Jane’s bedchamber door was barely closed behind them when the tall, striking girl clapped her hands and exclaimed, “Now, do tell me what you were searching for below-stairs. You were searching for something?” It was a statement, not a question.

Kathryn lay her valise on the four-poster. “Searching?” she mumbled with an even calmness she did not feel.

“Oh!” Lady Jane bounced to a rest on the bed, directly in front of Kathryn. “I hope you will not be so tiresome! I could not wait for bedtime tonight, to have you to myself. We were not left alone for a half-second until now. You may confess your sins to me with complete assurance of impunity. Why, when I saw you going through Lady Marchman’s salon so minutely, I was overjoyed. The other inmates of this prison are dull indeed, all aspirants to the model of all that is perfect in gentle English Womanhood. But you,” she declared, “are not.”

“How flattering,” Kathryn stated dryly, folding her gloves.

Jane laughed. “I only meant that you are unlike the rest of the girls here. Empty-headed ninnies, the lot of them, unthinking, unknowing, and unseeing. Whereas you, I’ll wager, miss nothing, and I’d gladly give a groat or two to know what thoughts your brain conjures. You must have been thinking something very interesting when your arm was up to your elbow in that grotesque silver vase down in Lady Marchman’s salon, for instance.”

Kathryn resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Lady Jane, I—”

“La, Kitty! You must call me Jane, of course.”

Kathryn blinked in surprise at the girl’s familiarity. Auntie’s lectures had led her to expect nothing but a strict and rather harsh formality amongst the
ton
, and she found herself drawn to her roommate’s straightforward approach in spite of her resolve to resist it. “Very well,” she said. Jane. My mother has—uh . . . that is, she had a vase like that one. It is a very unusual design, and its hallmark was located on the bottom of the inside. I was merely checking to see if the two were struck by the same smith.”

“Yes. Well.” Jane nodded but clearly disbelieved the explanation. “We’ll just let that one pass, then. shall we? I lost my parents this year,” she said, plunging onward. “Are both of yours still alive?”

“No,” Kathryn answered shortly, hoping her curt manner would pull Jane up short and stop the interrogation. “They are both dead.”

But Jane went on, “How old were you?”

“Ten,” Kathryn said, making up a number.

Kathryn went to the washstand and patted her face down with cool water and dried herself, feeling the girl’s dark brown eyes boring into her back. She carried a key to her valise on a string about her neck. Her fingers pulled it from beneath her faded blue dress and she set about extracting a night rail she’d never thought she’d be forced to use from the ratty valise. The sooner she got ready for bed, the sooner she could end Lady Jane’s inquisition.

Kathryn’s nerves were strung up tight as a smuggler’s rigging.

Ultimately, Jane was thwarted, since Kathryn never uttered another syllable before blowing out the candle and settling into the feather bed. Kathryn was never more happy to snuff a candle. Jane sighed dramatically and punched her pillow beside her. Kathryn blew a relieved puff of air up through her curly bangs and pretended to fall asleep.

Thank goodness she wouldn’t have to face Jane in the morning!

The clever girl had given up her questioning with too little resistance, and Kathryn was certain Jane’s next siege would begin at first light. Fortunately, Kathryn would not be available! Settling into her pillow, she mapped out her next move. She must have searched the wrong salon upon her arrival. The night would afford her several hours to search under cushions unobserved. And how many cushions could one school have? She’d be gone before the moon rose. She would wait in the stable until morning and send the boy for a hackney coach as soon as it was safe to travel. All she had to do was wait while everyone around her drifted into slumber. It would be simple. Easy. Straightforward.

It was impossible.

Hours later, a frustrated Kathryn still lay listening to the school sighing and settling about her. Oh, to be sure, Lady Marchman had fallen asleep with alacrity, but judging by the tossing and groaning Kathryn heard around her, few others were so fortunate.

Lady Marchman snored.

Loudly.

Kathryn herself hadn’t slept at all, of course. She’d lain in wait as the hours passed, wondering if the opportunity to arise and search for the diary would ever come. Good Lord! The racket coming from Lady Marchman’s chamber had been enough to wake the Beefeaters slumbering behind the thick walls of the Tower of London. It had gone on for half the night! How anyone ever got enough sleep at Baroness Marchman’s School for Young Ladies was beyond Kathryn.

It was half past three in the morning before the place was quiet. The place was finally as still as a dove in the rain. Slipping soundlessly from her shared bed, she mouthed a silent good-bye to Jane, picked up her valise, and crept from the room, closing the door behind her.

As Kathryn descended the back stairs in almost total darkness, a tread creaked loudly underfoot, and she was sure the sudden pounding of her heart rivaled the former clamor of Lady Marchman’s grinding snores. Forging ahead, she reached the first floor and looked for the first banked fire she saw, letting its softly glowing coals guide her through an open door and across a room. Drawing from her valise a fresh candle, she held its wick to the embers until it caught and finally set about finding the diary. With everyone abed, it would be no trouble at all. Simple. Easy. Exciting!

An hour later, she had almost lost her composure.

The house was enormous. There were classrooms and studies, a kitchen, several small parlors and receiving rooms, two dining rooms, an accounts room, several storage rooms, a drawing room, a morning room, a ballroom and music room, and a studio. Anywhere that had a couch, chaise, divan, or even an overstuffed chair had been searched. She’d swept her hand under every cushion in every blasted one of the common rooms. She’d found five shillings, a hairpin, a lady’s gazette, a broken charcoal crayon, three harp keys (Kathryn assumed the girls did not like music lessons much), and a sticky lump of peppermint, but no diary. The little book just wasn’t there.

“What now, Auntie?” she muttered.

It was already half past four, and the kitchen staff would soon be bustling about preparing breakfast. What was she going to do? Kathryn felt panic rising and stuffed it back down. She had to be logical. Where else could the diary be? Someone must have found it and taken it . . . to the library.

Of course!

She’d peeked in long enough to see that the place didn’t have any large pieces of furniture, just a desk and some tables—which is probably where the diary lay, waiting to be re-shelved. She padded that direction, but just as she placed her hand on the library door, she heard a muffled thump and the echo of voices from downstairs as the morning cacophony of the kitchen began. Blast! She couldn’t risk being caught ransacking the library. She could always say she couldn’t sleep and had come looking for a book to read, but how was she to explain the presence of her valise?

She was stymied. Foiled. Done for.

There was no other recourse but to end her search right then. But slinking back to Auntie’s house with her tail tucked and thence fleeing for the country was out of the question. She had never been a quitter, and she wasn’t about to start now! She would just have to continue on as one of “Lady Marchman’s young ladies” for another day. She climbed the stairs once more and slipped stealthily back into bed beside Jane. The mantel clock ticked away the minutes, and soon she fell asleep.

And there
he
was, waiting for her.

They were in a garden with darkness close around and a thick mist swirling about their feet. He whispered all sorts of endearments, his warm, sweet breath skittering across her neck and ear. And then he kissed her. It was the same kiss he’d given her in Auntie’s garden. Every little movement, every thudding heartbeat of that kiss she lived once more in her dream and awakened suddenly, perspiring, with a sense of longing. It was foolish dream.

Foolish. Senseless. Silly.

But—heaven help her!—a part of her wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep so she could return to Blackshire’s arms. Horrified, she willed herself to stay awake. She was bone-tired and groggy by the time Lady Marchman knocked softly on the door at dawn and entered the room, carrying an impossibly brilliant lamp that cast hard-edged shadows across the room. Both young women groaned, and Jane pulled the covers over her head. Normally, Kathryn was a cheerful riser, but Jane, it seemed, was not.

Lady Marchman smiled. “Arise and greet the day, my girls. There is much to learn before the sun goes down.”

Jane groaned again. “Madam, the sun is not up yet!”

“Nonsense! The cocks have been crowing since a quarter to five, and if they can drag themselves from their roosts, then so can—
oh
my
!” Lady Marchman caught her first glimpse of Kathryn. “Oh my!” she said again, putting her hand to her cheek. “Are you feeling well?” She bent closer and squinted. “Oh. But of course you are not.” She slid a look at Jane and clamped her lips tight, then straightened.

Jane was soon ushered from the room, and Kathryn was ordered to spend the day at rest—which she begged to pass in the library. Lady Marchman consented.

Perfect. Kathryn gave a satisfied sigh as soon as Lady Marchman quit the bedchamber. Logic told her Kathryn some maid had picked up the diary and returned it to the library. It would probably be sitting on a table waiting to be re-shelved, which would make it easy to find. Kathryn would be back home with Aunt Ophelia and John by noon!

Scrambled out of bed as soon as the door clicked shut behind Lady Marchman, Kathryn hurried to dress herself between bites of toast. She was starving.

She couldn’t believe her good fortune. She hadn’t had to withstand even one of Jane’s questions! The diary was as good as in Auntie’s hands. As Kathryn buttoned her shabby blue frock, she relaxed into a dream of ball gowns, waltzes, and strolling in the park on the arm of a handsome gentleman—fancies which her unexpected success at the masquerade ball confirmed would soon become reality. Ah! What fun it would be! Would Auntie restrict Kathryn to pale muslin, or could she be persuaded to let her wear deep, blue satin? Would there be any more masquerades? Would any of the handsome gentlemen she strolled with attempt to steal a kiss? Perhaps one of the trio of pirates? Even the clumsy one was endearing.