The Christmas Kittens (5 page)

Dorinda tossed back the covers and hurried to the wardrobe. She'd waited patiently for at least a half-hour, all the while plotting her strategy. Her mother's carriage had just left and she could set her plan in motion.

Pulling out her new burgundy velvet dress with cream-coloured lace at the neck and sleeves, she tossed it upon the bed and rang for her maid. The abigail, who thought she'd have the morning to herself, was surprised to see her mistress up. But the village girl merely did as she was bid and helped the lady dress, for Miss Westerly's temper was legendary among the servants.

The process took nearly an hour before Dorinda was satisfied. At last feeling her best in her new dress and with her black hair fashioned just as she liked it with loose curls in the back and around her face, she chose a cream-coloured casquet bonnet with burgundy flowers about the tiny flared brim. The helmet style hat would allow her perfect face to be seen. Finally she donned a heavy fur lined burgundy cape. Giving the sleeping Princess a final pat, she set off for Whiteoaks with no maid or footman, for that was an important part of her plan.

The journey on foot took nearly three-quarters of an hour, but at last Dorinda stood at the front door of the run-down manor. Patting her curls in place, she excitedly lifted the tarnished brass ring hanging from the lion's mouth and knocked three times.

To her surprise, the door opened in a matter of minutes to reveal a young man in his shirt sleeves, wearing an apron and holding a polishing cloth. He swept her with an accessing gaze. Before Dorinda could utter her well-rehearsed speech, the footman announced, “Lord Marsden and Lady Rosalind are not receiving at this time, miss.”

In her sweetest voice, she cooed, “I have only come to see one of the servants. A young girl who so kindly came to my rescue yesterday when I took a fall from my horse.”

The young man hesitated a moment, then said, “I think that would be Lady Rosalind's nurse you're talkin' about, miss, but Binx is occupied at present.”

“I brought a reward for her kindness.” Dorinda opened her gloved hand to reveal a shining guinea, resting on the burgundy dyed leather.

In a flash the footman snatched the coin. “The marquess said no visitors, and I reckon he meant the servants as well. But I'll see Binx's gets it, miss.” Then he closed the door in the visitor's face.

Dorinda Westerly was outraged. How dare the marquess refuse admittance to the daughter of a baron? Just who did he think he was? Viewing the rebuff as a challenge, she decided she would get into that house this very day even if it cost her reputation.

She wandered up the drive, her mind deep in plots and plans. Turning to survey the weed-choked gardens, she spotted a narrow path which led deep into a hedge-bordered walk. If her childhood memory served her, she thought the path made a great arc back to the west wing of the house. The way was overgrown, but passable since winter had left only the brown leafless stalks of the weeds and brambles. The untrimmed box hedge was still green and plainly visible.

A daring plan entered her brain. Dorinda hesitated only a moment, then she began to fight her way up the nearly impassable path. As the prickly bushes tugged at her cape and her dress, she merely reminded herself that the reward for such a journey could well be the title of Marchioness of Marsden.

Karis glanced at the small clock on the mantelpiece of the nursery. They were nearly finished making the garlands for the Great Hall and still Lord Marsden had not returned. She knew it was extremely foolish of her to wish to spend time with his lordship, but she attributed the desire to the fact that she and Anthea rarely went into company.

No doubt, the marquess had lingered in the village discussing business, for their visit probably meant little to him. He likely knew any numbers of young ladies to amuse him in Town. The thought suddenly brought a tightness to Karis's chest. She pushed her musings of the gentleman from her mind, concentrating on her task. She and Anthea could not spend all day at Whiteoaks, no matter the inducement, for someone was likely to wonder about their long absence.

Tying the last red bow on the final garland, Karis stood and surveyed the great piles of decorations about the nursery. The kittens frolicked among the clutter. Picking up an grey one who was trying to untie a ribbon, she stroked his soft fur as she admired the garlands.

“I do believe we are finished.”

Anthea and Lady Rosalind exchanged a secretive glance, then the younger girl rose. “At Marsden Keep we always had a Kissing Bough. The decorations won't be complete without one.”

Nodding her head, Anthea held up a small green sprig with transparent whitish berries. “I asked Jock to find us a piece of mistletoe and he did. We must have a Kissing Bough.”

Karis smiled at the girls as she placed the kitten on the bench. “But a Kissing Bough is usually made only if you are having a Christmas party.”

Both the young girls came forward, each taking one of Karis's hands.

Anthea begged, “Oh, please, it won't be a perfect Christmas without the Bough.”

Lady Rosalind added her voice. “Yes, yes, a Kissing Bough. We must have one.”

“Very well, but you shall have to paint those remaining pine cones white and I must go to the kitchen to see if Mrs. Shelby has any more candles.”

Binx, who'd been enjoying the afternoon making the decorations, rose. “I can do that Miss Lockhart.”

“No, Nurse, you stay and supervise the girls so we don't end up with seven floured kittens. I must look around to see what else I might need for the Bough and I won't know it until I see it.”

Nurse laughed, then settled into her chair to watch her charge and Miss Anthea.

Karis exited the nursery and walked to the stairs that led back to the Great Hall, mentally listing all she would need to make a Kissing Bough. As she passed one of the large windows which lined the hall, a flash of deep red moving in the garden below caught her eye. She paused, looking down into the untamed foliage. To her horror she spied her cousin fighting her way, in the most determined manner, through the thick tangle of dead weeds coming towards the west wing.

What mischief was Dorinda about now? Karis knew her cousin was determined to marry and become a part of Society. But why was she so obsessed with meeting Lord Marsden? Her parents intended to give her a Season, or did they?

Over the past year both Lord and Lady Westerly had complained about the expense of going to London for the Season when there were any number of eligible young men in Warwickshire. Each had actually hinted that the wealthy Mr. Roland Tanner would be an acceptable match despite his lack of lineage. Aunt Flora had once confided to Karis that Lord Westerly feared that his headstrong daughter might create some scandal before she brought a gentleman up to scratch. But Dorinda didn't consider the squire's son acceptable. She was determined to do better.

Was that what was driving the girl to pursue the marquess in this most outlandish manner? Karis watched as Dorinda stopped to unsnag her cape from a thorn bush. Once free she set out straight for the house.

Biting pensively at her lip, Karis wondered if she should go down and confront her cousin? She might be able to thwart Dorinda's plot. The only problem was that she and Anthea were not supposed to be at Whiteoaks.

Dorinda would find some way to punish them for what she would see as disloyalty and too often her harshest acts were directed against Anthea. Her cousin knew that hurt Karis far more than any humiliation inflicted upon herself.

Perhaps it would be best to merely secrete herself some place and watch what Dorinda planned to do. That way, Karis knew she could put a stop to whatever it was if the need arose. Coming to a decision, she hurried down the stairs and entered the library. She went to the tall casement windows and peeked around the edge of the faded green curtains. Her cousin's cream-coloured bonnet was barely visible above the top of the long uncut hedge. Dorinda was making her way towards the very room in which Karis now stood.

As her cousin's face came into view, Karis drew back, wondering if Dorinda was so lost to propriety that she would actually invade Lord Marsden house. The question was answered within minutes when the window creaked and groaned as Miss Westerly pushed it open.

Karis frantically looked for a place to hide. The library was spartanly furnished with few chairs and tables. With the exception of the desk, she could see nothing behind which she might hide. But to step to the huge oak desk would make her clearly visible to her cousin.

Dorinda's leg came through the window, indecorously exposing her silk stocking to the knee. About to be caught, Karis quickly stepped behind the curtain by the window, hoping her cousin wouldn't spy her.

After a great deal of grunting and swearing which was more suited to a groom than a lady of Quality, her cousin pulled herself through the window. She issued another loud groan.

Karis peeked around the edge of the curtain. She saw Dorinda's cape extended back out the window, caught tight on some obstruction, likely a bramble. Her cousin, face distorted with frustration, pulled on the garment with all her might. Suddenly the cape came free, sending Dorinda reeling backwards into a heap on the library floor. Her casquet bonnet flew from her head and land in the ashes which spilled out on the hearth.

Scrambling to her feet she yanked the bonnet away, but sooty grey stains had ruined the cream-coloured surface. Dorinda swore, then tossed the bonnet on the chair. She marched back and closed the window she'd entered through, then returned to the fireplace and removed her cape.

Karis covertly watched her vain cousin pull bits of leaves and twigs from her black curls, throwing the pieces into the dying fire. The girl muttered angrily to herself, but her words reached Karis.

“Well, my lord marquess, you have put me to a great deal of trouble this cold morning and I shall see that you pay the toll. If I have my way, you shall have a fiancée before I leave this house today.”

Karis bit her lip to keep from crying out in shock. This was no mere attempt to meet Lord Marsden. Dorinda's intent was far more sinister. She was going to try to compromise herself.

The sound of rending fabric brought Karis from her musings. Dorinda had torn the sleeve of her velvet dress, exposing a length of arm. Karis clutched the curtain in horror. She'd never before realized the depth of the cousin's wickedness.

The sound of a door being sharply closed echoed from the Great Hall then the marquess's voice. As footstep came closer to the library, Karis knew she must do something to protect Lord Marsden from her cousin.

About to step from behind the curtain, she was suddenly struck by the thought that his lordship might think she was somehow involved in her cousin's devious plot to ensnare him. She was filled with uncertainty about what was best to do.

Karis heard the marquess step through the open door and come to an abrupt halt. His familiar voice as cold as the wind outside reminded Karis of her own first meeting with the gentleman.

“Good, God, not another one. Madam, who are you and why are you in my library?”

Marsden glared at the young woman standing before him. He'd never seen her before but he knew the type--beautiful, spoiled and determined. He'd married just such a woman. There was little doubt in his mind as to why she was in his house.

Dorinda, unaware of his growing hostility, stepped forward. Tilting her head just so, she gazed with a wide-eyed stare so the marquess could admire her blue eyes. In a breathless voice she said, “Thank goodness someone has come. I thought no one had heard my cries for help.”

“You were being attacked in my library?” The marquess' voice sounded bored and his face was a mask of indifference.

Dorinda giggled, shaking her head to make her raven locks bounce. “No, my lord, I was coming to Whiteoaks to thank Binx for helping me yesterday. But some large animal, I did not see what, came from the jumble of weeds in the garden and tried to attack me as I walked up the drive. I rushed for the house and came straight in, for I knew I needn't stand on ceremony with my old friend Rachel's family.”

His grey eyes were like two bits of stone as they raked her. “You were old friends with my late wife?”

“Oh my, yes. I am Miss Dorinda Westerly. My father is Baron Westerly of Westwood Park, the estate next door. Why, Rachel would often come to take me for walks and read me stories, for as you know, she was much older than I.” Dorinda had barely seen Rachel Whitehead above two times in her childhood, but she was certain his lordship wouldn't know that since he and his wife had never visited the estate during their marriage.

Lord Marsden allowed his gaze to drop to the bailiff's contract rolled in his hand. If there was one thing he was certain about, it was that his deceased wife didn't have a maternal bone in her lovely body. She'd surrendered Rosalind to a wet nurse after her birth, and barely saw the child after that, being far more interested in her friends and fashions. Glancing back at the young woman before the fireplace, he took in the torn sleeve, confirming his worst suspicions. She was plotting something, but he would not be such easy prey.

He called over his shoulder to the footman he'd just passed as he entered, “Toby, I believe we shall need Mrs. Shelby at once.”

Unfortunately, a knock sounded at the door forestalling the servant from going for the housekeeper. With a feeling of dread, the marquess partially turned and watched Toby open the door. Somehow he knew this visitor meant trouble. It was as if those gods he'd spoken of to Miss Lockhart were punishing him for relaxing his guard over the past few days.

To his surprise, Miss Westerly threw herself at him, pressing close with her hands clutching his arms in a near death grip. “My lord, we must not be found alone like this.”

The marquess set her from him. Then he looked up to see a large older woman in a voluminous purple cape with white fur collar push her way past his footman.

“I have come to see Lord Marsden.” The lady, having barely uttered the words, spied the marquess standing in the doorway and without so much as a by your leave, advanced on him. “There you are, my lord. I have come with an invitation--”

She abruptly halted upon seeing the gentleman was not alone. Her gaze swept the visitor, then a martial glint settled in her brown eyes. She advanced on the couple. “What is the meaning of this, my lord? Why is my daughter here with you alone?”

The marquess's face grew bleak as the looming marital noose tightened around his neck.

All three of the participants in the little melodrama started when a voice behind them disputed Lady Westerly's claim. “Hardly alone, Aunt Flora, for Anthea and I have been at Whiteoaks all morning.”

Karis's knees were shaking when she'd stepped from behind the curtain. She knew she'd pay a heavy price later, but she couldn't stand by and allow her cousin to do such a despicable thing to Lord Marsden. Whatever happened, it would be worth it for the look of thanks reflected in the marquess's eyes as he smiled at her over her cousin's head.

Dorinda's hands drew into tight fist as she stared at her cousin through narrowed lids. Where the devil had the cunning little baggage come from? Karis Lockhart had been nothing but an annoyance for the past year but today she'd ruined everything, Dorinda thought bitterly.

Lady Westerly, an innocent in this dark comedy, appeared at first relieved to see her daughter was accompanied, then curious. “What are you and Anthea doing here?”

Marsden watched as Karis nervously ran hands down the front of the apron she wore, brushing bits of flour loose while she tried to explain.

“Well, since Dorinda did not need me . . . That is, Anthea and I . . .”

Seeing the glowering look on Miss Westerly's pretty countenance, the marquess suspected that Miss Lockhart had risked much by foiling her cousin's little ploy. He would not abandon her to the conniving beauty's wrath. “I invited your niece to bring her sister, Miss Anthea, for the day to play with my daughter, Lady Rosalind. I hope you don't mind, Lady Westerly.”

“Not in the least, my lord,” the baroness replied.

That mystery cleared, the lady realized the greater question was why her own daughter was here. The girl was supposed to be home in bed resting. Lady Westerly was suddenly interested in getting Dory alone to find out what plot she was engaged in. Her greatest fear was that the headstrong child would ruin her chances at a good match by doing something outrageous.

When the baroness remain quiet, the marquess wisely continued his efforts for Karis. “I fear my daughter and I have taken advantage of Miss Lockhart's kind nature and artistic talents. She and the girls have been quite busy all morning making Christmas decorations for the Great Hall while I was away handling matters for the estate.”

Dorinda laughed. What a great fool her cousin was. She'd spent her time with the most handsome man to come to Warwickshire in ages acting like a nursemaid and servant. `Twas no wonder he'd gone off on business. In a sweet voice edged with sarcasm, she remarked, “My cousin does so love getting her hands dirty.”

Karis's cheeks warmed, but she merely pulled a pair of scissors from her pocket which she'd been using to cut the red ribbons. “Shall we find needle and thread to repair that tear in your gown, cousin?”

The baroness had failed to note the torn sleeve. “Dorinda Westerly, that dress was new and you have practically ruined it. When I think what I paid that modiste--well never mind. Come with me at once, only Jane has the skill to repair such a fine garment.”

“But Mama, what about Karis? We cannot leave her . . . alone with a gentleman.”

As the baroness eyed her niece thoughtfully, the sounds of children's laughter echoed in the Great Hall. The girls came down the stairs calling for Karis. The marquess stepped to the door, signaling them to come to the library.

Lady Rosalind entered carrying two kittens. She ignored the unknown ladies, going straight to Karis. “We are done painting the cones. When can we finish the decorations?”

Anthea trailed in behind Lady Rosalind. She also carried a kitten, but halted warily at the sight of her aunt and cousin. A defiant look settled in her hazel eyes. “Good afternoon, Aunt Flora. What brings you and Dorinda to Whiteoaks?”

Suddenly reminded of her purpose, the baroness fumbled in her reticule for a few minutes before pulling out a card. “I almost forgot. Lord Marsden, we are having a dinner on Christmas Eve and you are most cordially invited. `Tis nothing grand, but I thought you might enjoy meeting your closest neighbors.”

Under normal circumstances, Marsden would have refused. He'd come to Warwickshire to repair the house, not to socialize, but just now he knew he should stay in the baroness's good graces to try to protect Miss Lockhart as best he could from any reprisals from her cousin. “I should be delighted to attend.”

Lady Westerly beamed. “Excellent, my lord. My daughter and I will take our leave. We look forward to seeing you then. We must be off, Dory.”

Dorinda wanted to stamp her foot in frustration. She was being forced to return home while her mousy cousin might remain. She must leave the gentleman with a lasting impression of her. Her gaze came to rest on the rather frail looking child beside her cousin, Dorinda saw an opportunity to advance herself with Lord Marsden.

“Such an adorable child, my lord.” Dorinda went to the little girl who drew back at Miss Westerly's advance. “Don't be frightened for I am an old friend of your dear departed mama's.”

Lady Rosalind surprised her father when she sullenly replied, “That is what all the ladies say who are wishing to meet my papa.”

Dorinda gave the child a rather sour smile, but quickly rallied. “Can I pet the dear little kittens?”

Anthea would not quietly tolerate such nonsense. “If they are so dear, why did you make me get rid of them?”

Lady Westerly, ever ready to defend her daughter, said, “Anthea, you know it is not safe to have the kittens around a dog. They are far better here at Whiteoaks. Dorinda, `tis time that we go for it appears Karis shall be very busy with the girls finishing the decorations.”

 
Dorinda didn't like leaving Karis in the company of the marquess, not that he would look twice at the girl, but she had little choice. Things had not gone as Dorinda had planned. As the marquess coldly returned her stare, she decided perhaps it was best for her to go with her mother. Her cousin would be well occupied with her decorations and the marquess wouldn't likely remain for such domestic business.

Lady Westerly and her daughter said their goodbyes. The baroness reconfirming the time for the dinner while Dorinda, in an undertone, reminded her cousin she had duties at Westwood that she should not neglect.

The marquess walked the women to the door, saying farewell and declaring himself delighted to be coming to their dinner. He closed the door with a sigh of relief, knowing what a close thing it had been and knowing he owned Miss Lockhart a debt of gratitude.

He returned to the library, but was offered no opportunity for private speech with the lady. The two girls were again demanding that she help them finish the decorations.

With an apologetic smile, Karis allowed the girls to lead her from the library. She wouldn't dwell on what would happen once she returned to Westwood, but she was certain her cousin would exact some punishment. She decided to concentrate on finishing the Kissing Bough and getting the decorations hung. She called an invitation over her shoulder to Lord Marsden to join them.

Karis's smile broadened and a warmth rushed through her when the marquess fell into step with her and asked what he might do to help as they followed the girls to the kitchen.