Wicked and Wonderful (17 page)

A crippling frustration settled within her, of desires that could not be fulfilled, desires she had ignored for most of her time with the troupe, of memories of being with her cousins and all the silly plans they had made to cut a dash in London during their come-out season.

She wished herself a thousand miles from Somerset. Never, when the troupe had arrived at the town of Portislow, did she think she would find herself in the midst of such struggles within her own heart. It was as if a very large door, and very grand in appearance, had swung open to reveal golden light and all of her hidden desires fulfilled, only she was not allowed to cross the threshold. She was a songstress, and, at times, an actress of the troupe. Lord Kelthorne, Miss Currivard, Mr. Doulting, Miss Banwell, Miss Upton, and Mr. Emborough were as untouchable to her as the sky.

Shelly had fallen asleep. She wished her life were as uncomplicated, that she could simply close her eyes, drift into sleep, and all that was troubling her would disappear like mist before strong sunshine.

Margaret asked Betty to trade places with her and once seated beside Judith, took Shelly from her. “Ye can scarcely keep yer eyes open. Lean on me shoulder, if ye like.”

Judith wanted to say no, but she was greatly fatigued and leaned against her friend.

“Are ye well?” Margaret asked on a whisper.

“Aye,” Judith responded. “Just a trifle sad.”

“And no wonder.”

“I wish I had enough set by to purchase my cottage. I believe I would do so tomorrow.”

Margaret clucked her tongue. “As I have told ye an hundred times, Judy,” she continued in her whispers, “a cottage ‘tis not fer ye. I’ve seen ye with Shelly. Ye’ll not be content ‘til ye have a husband and were ye to make a push, even now, ye might have one afore summer ends.”

Judith sighed heavily. Whispering as well, she said, “You must be as mad as Bedlam if you are thinking what I believe you must be thinking.”

“Not so daft as ye might think. Just try not to discourage him should he come to call again.”

Judith chuckled softly. “I am a poor songstress. There is only one manner in which such a man looks upon a female like myself.”

“P’rhaps,” was all she would say.

Judith fell asleep against Margaret’s shoulder wondering what Kelthorne’s thoughts might be and wishing, not for the first time, that he would try a little harder not to be so very much her ideal.

Chapter Eight

Kelthorne traveled alone with Miss Currivard. He had not desired to do so but his sisters would brook no opposition on that score. In addition, there had arisen an understanding among the party that he was courting her quite seriously even though his heart was in no manner centered upon her. He had been unable, therefore, to avoid the intimate situation.

To her credit, she did not attempt to engage him in conversation. Rather she sat gazing out the window, her hands folded serenely on her lap. She seemed inordinately content, something he did not understand.

He found he was a trifle irritated. Did she not comprehend his attraction to Judith? Did she not understand in the least that when he was near Judith his heart pounded unreasonably? Had he, therefore, misjudged Miss Currivard’s intelligence?

He groaned inwardly. Would that he had never come upon Judith trespassing in his orchard that first night. He could have fought his desire for her otherwise. The truth was that had she been a lady of quality he would be courting her now and not Miss Currivard.

But she was not a lady of quality even if her speech bespoke her birthright. For reasons he did not know, nor cared to know, she had chosen life as a professional songstress. Little better than an actress, particularly since she had been traipsing about the country in the company of several healthy young men. She could not possibly be innocent for all her protests and yet, God help him, he wanted to believe she was. Not that any of it mattered, not one whit! Regardless of the truth, even were she to attempt to reenter polite society, she would never be able to overcome the stigma of her years of living in such a manner

He glanced sharply at Miss Currivard. “Why did you desire this picnic? I confess I did not understand it from the beginning. What did you hope to achieve?”

She smiled and shrugged. “Precisely what I did achieve.”

Now she would be evasive? He was irritated once more. “And what was that?” he snapped.

She lifted her brows to him. “Have I offended you in some wretched manner, my lord, for I vow from the moment of entering the coach you have been as cross as crabs. Yes, I know you have not spoken meanly to me, but everything about you is as prickly as a hedgehog from the time we departed Cheddar Gorge.”

He drew in a deep breath feeling quite guilty. “I do beg your pardon and no, you have not offended me, not by half. It is merely that, well, I suppose I am distressed by many things not least of which that Miss Lovington could have perished today and my shot was deuced fortunate.” There it was, he thought, the truth that was haunting him, just how close Judith had come to being killed by the wounded stag.

Miss Currivard leaned forward and caught his gaze, which he gave to her reluctantly. “I am not ignorant—” she began, but then checked her words. “That is, of course, you must be overset. Who would not be when another’s life was dependent upon clear thinking and accurate shooting? You are to be commended a thousandfold for what you did today. At the same time, I cannot help but wonder the toll it must have taken upon you.”

He nodded. “I suppose you must be right. I would wish the moment undone. Good God, what a fool that Hemyock creature is.”

“I could not agree more nor did it escape my notice that the rest of the troupe held him in much contempt for what he did. Amazingly, however, he seemed entirely oblivious to his perfidy.”

“Such fellows as that,” he said, shaking his head, “usually are. They often leave a trail of disaster behind them without once looking back. Even in the chance moment they do, they ascribe any such spate of misfortunes to the work of the gods.”

She smiled and leaned back. “Giving the subject a slight turn, however,” she said, “I suppose I do owe you some explanation about the picnic for I did have a purpose as I said before, one that I achieved, which was to come to know Miss Lovington better.”

“But why?” he asked, both astonished and mystified.

She regarded him carefully for a long moment. He felt certain she was trying to communicate with him in her silence, but he seemed to be rather doltish for no inspired meanings arose to explain her thoughts.

She finally said, “I will confess that my reasons are to a degree incomprehensible even to me, but when I heard her sing for the first time, I felt as though I already knew her. Do you not think that odd?”

“Yes,” he murmured, but he believed he knew precisely what she meant. “Perhaps it is the nature of her gift to create such sentiments in others.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “But at the same time, I had the strongest sense that she might be able to understand me.”

He laughed in his incomprehension. “But she is little better than an actress. Do you hope to befriend her? I would think it quite ill-advised.”

She tilted her head slightly. “Do you truly?” she asked.

“Well, yes. Her position in society is so far beneath yours, so far in fact that she might as well reside in another land.”

“Indeed?” Though she spoke quietly and as always in a poised manner, he felt a blade of ice cross to him and cut very quickly.

He felt rather insulted. “Yes, I do, indeed,” he responded.

“Did it never occur to you that she and I might share something in common?”

“What would that be?” He could not imagine to what she referred.

She chuckled softly. “That neither of us belongs where we are on the Portislow estate. By birth, I do not belong in your company and she most clearly does not belong with that acting troupe. Yet there we must both perform as required of us by the circumstances of our lives. Over which I know I had not the smallest control and which I am come to believe neither did she. No lady of poor birth could sustain so perfect an accent without having been born and trained to it, which leads me to wonder again just how she came to be with the troupe.”

He was stunned by her words, by her assessment of her own situation as well as Judith’s. “I would never have thought of it in that manner,” he said.

“Do you think I do not feel the whispers and stares when I go amongst society, when I go
alone
in society? My father is not permitted to tread where I tread and I am at the mercy of the character of any lady that desires my presence in her home. I know that it is never by my own accomplishments that I am invited to the best houses. Sometimes I am treated properly and with great civility and other times as though I might as well be required to do the laundry as perform in the drawing room. Surely, you cannot think me ignorant of my situation in that regard?”

“Of course not,” he said quietly. “Though I confess I do not think on the subject much. I hope I have not been unkind.”

She smiled fully. “No, that is perhaps the most exceptional part of your present charm—you never let me feel for a moment that I am beneath your dignity.”

He burst out laughing. “Well, that is because I have no dignity, or did you not know as much and are you certain you even wish to be here? My reputation is rather sad, in fact.”

She continued to smile. “I think it the worst hypocrisy in the world.”

“As do I,” he said. “I should be treated as an outcast, not you.” He breathed a sigh of relief. “I find it wonderful to be speaking in this manner. I was not certain how much you knew of me.”

“I believe you have quite underestimated the
beau monde’s
love of gabblemongering.”

“I always have, much to my detriment, I suppose.” He fell silent for a moment then asked, “So your desire was to come to know Miss Lovington during this picnic and you say you achieved your object.”

“Well, I certainly made a beginning, but I must say I had a very difficult time restraining all the questions I desired to ask of her. You see I am convinced there is some great mystery surrounding her presence in the troupe. Are you aware, for instance, how much she is loved and protected by them? Betty said… Do you know Betty?”

“Betty of the onions?”

“Oh, lord yes,” she returned grimacing. “At any rate, I chanced to speak with Betty as well and she informed me of these truths and that the troupe has often withdrawn in the middle of the night to escape the attentions of some forward rogue or other and even debated doing so because of you.”

“Indeed? Because of me?”

“Oh, yes. I was given to understand your presence created quite a dust-up. So you see your reputation does precede you.”

“Abominably so, I fear, and yet you are still willing to converse with me.”

“So I am,” she stated.

“Do you know, you put me in mind of Laurence in this moment. I believe you share a quality with him that I value very much.”

“And what would that be?”

“That neither of you fears a little plain-speaking.”

“There is no point to refrain from it when one wishes to know well and to be known.”

“Aye,” he responded softly. He recalled that Judith had said something of a similar nature.

He realized that he liked Miss Currivard, even that he admired her, much as he admired Laurence. There was perceptiveness in her that she also shared with his friend and it was possible that she might even match his elevated intelligence. He knew himself to be quick-witted but there was something in Laurence of brilliance. He suspected Miss Currivard might be cut from the same cloth.

She glanced out the window then frowned. “I believe I recognize those gates. That is the country house of the Marquess of Stolford where we passed the night.”

Kelthorne leaned forward and caught sight of the tall iron spires just as the coach passed by. “So it is.”

“You know, I dislike him very much but your sisters seem quite enamored of him.”

“I believe they are but I would wish them well away from such a man.”

By the time the coach drew up the steep incline to the front of the house, Kelthorne was greatly content Judith had retreated fully from his thoughts. Miss Currivard’s candor and goodness had quite set him at ease. As he handed her down and watched her stretch her back a little, he thought this was what his marriage ought to be: open, artless, warm.

He offered his arm, his heart full of good will as he led her into the house.

“There is one thing I think you ought to know,” Miss Currivard said.

“And what would that be?” he inquired as they crossed the threshold.

“That I intend to help Miss Lovington in whatever way I can.” She released his arm and began drawing off her gloves. She looked up to meet his gaze, perhaps to see his reaction.

“Do you think it necessary?” He felt nervous suddenly for he strongly suspected that by helping Miss Lovington, the lady before him meant to encourage a friendship with Judith. He had just spent the last hour scouring thoughts of her from his mind but the specter which now raised its head was of Judith being underfoot. “Do you think it wise?”

“As for necessary, I actually think very little in life is truly
necessary,
but I do believe it to be wise.”

He wanted to argue the point but there was something in the determined set of her chin that stopped him. Instead, he asked, “And what precisely did you have in mind?”

“I am glad you have asked,” she said smiling as she removed her bonnet. “Over the last mile of the journey a notion came to me that I begin to like more and more and which I have every confidence will be greatly pleasing to all the guests in your home.” He gestured for her to head in the direction of the staircase, which would take them to the drawing room above. Laurence’s voice could be heard, followed by uproarious laughter.

She chuckled and looked up the stairwell. “You have a wonderful friend in Mr. Doulting. He is never at a loss as to how to best entertain anyone. I find I am always amused in his company.”

“As to that, he does seem intent on making certain you are comfortable, perhaps for my sake, I suppose. He seems much taken with you and he does not generally approve of most of the ladies of our circle. He finds them full of artifice.”