Wicked and Wonderful (18 page)

“Well, as you must already know, he will not find artifice in me.”

Kelthorne chuckled. “No. That he will not.” As they mounted the stairs together, he asked, “So what is this present scheme of yours?”

“I think that for a very fine fee, Miss Lovington should be asked to perform for a little soiree
you
intend to give.”

His heart sank. This would not do, not by half. He felt certain he could get over this absurd
tendre
he felt for Judith, but not if she was in his house for him to look at and wish for. “Forgive me, Miss Currivard, but I beg to differ with you on the point of wisdom.”

“I have but one object,” she said, though he sensed this was a whisker. “She told me she hopes one day to purchase a cottage, that she has already saved quite a bit of money to that purpose. I mean to help her in that objective. But if you disapprove, I shall understand. After all this is your home, but I warn you I will simply make arrangements elsewhere.”

Kelthorne felt as though he was being tested but he was not certain in what way. He did not feel as though refusing her would in any way cause her to like him less, but if that was not the nature of the exam he was facing, then what was it?

Worse, however, was the simple truth that he could not possibly confess the real reason he disliked the notion. He could hardly tell her that he feared were Judith to be in his home, he would be unable to keep from touching her, perhaps even finding an opportunity to drag her into his arms and kiss her again. There it was, plain and simple. He did not feel he had the smallest command of himself when he was around the deuced woman.

Still, he could hardly tell Miss Currivard that.

Instead, before entering the drawing room, he said, “I would only ask that you gain the support of my sisters. Should they disapprove of your scheme, my house would become a place of great misery for everyone, not less so yourself.”

She smiled, quite broadly. “You have little understanding of the matter, do you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My lord,” she said quietly, “your sisters would grant me the moon so long as I remained beneath your roof and attempted to win your heart.”

He laughed feeling wholly resigned. “You are right. Of course, you are right. My wits must have gone a-begging.”

“Then it is settled and I may proceed with your blessing?”

“Yes,” he responded, but his heart betrayed him by suddenly surging with delight at the very thought that Judith would soon be in his home.

A familiar clattering up the stairs prompted him to move protectively in front of Miss Currivard. “Rufus!” he called out, turning around and pointing at the dog. His faithful hound, already at the top step, stopped instantly in stride and panted.

“Come.” The dog moved to his side.

Kelthorne moved away slightly and let him see Miss Currivard. “Now greet our guest properly.”

Rufus, who was a highly intelligent, though incorrigible creature, did as he was bid and held out a paw to her.

Miss Currivard laughed, leaned down and took the large, dark shaggy paw in hand. “And good day to you as well,” she said.

Kelthorne watched Miss Currivard pet his head and rub his ears, just as Judith once had. He knew Miss Currivard had an excellent heart, only what the devil was he to do?

*** *** ***

Judith bid Miss Currivard to seat herself on the stool. She was still astonished, however kind the young woman had been to her at Cheddar Gorge, that she had actually come to call, even requesting to speak privately with her.

“To what do I owe this visit?” she inquired.

After sitting down, Miss Currivard glanced around her humble abode and exclaimed, “I should have done just this when I was forced to live in a tent for all those weeks in India. How much I should have enjoyed having my things about me, a painting or two, a piece of framed embroidery, and these dried flowers hanging from your looking glass—I think it splendid.”

Judith sat down in the chair by her dressing table and smiled. How wonderful it was to be understood. “This arrangement did not occur overnight, I assure you. But once having begun, I found it afforded me a great deal of pleasure.”

“Did you do the rug as well?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I am utterly amazed,” Miss Currivard said. Her face was aglow.

Judith waited for her to speak. She had already posed her question but did not wish to press her guest too hard. At the same time, she knew Miss Currivard’s presence in her tent to have excited the greatest curiosity among the troupe.

Miss Currivard met her gaze and smiled in some understanding. “As to the reason why I have come,” she began, “I wish to lay a small proposal before you. Since you were so kind as to share your hopes for the future with me, I was hoping to be of what assistance to you that I can. I was wondering if you would be so good as to perform for a soiree at the castle in the next few days or so. You will be paid handsomely—a hundred pounds.”

“What?” she said. “A hundred pounds?”

“I thought I might give you a shock, but indeed, if you are to have your cottage before you are quite advanced in years,” here she smiled more fully still, “then a little push is necessary. I suppose you might even think of me as your patronness.”

“A hundred pounds.” Judith was truly astonished. “You would do this for me?”

“Yes, of course. A friend ought to be of use, I think, and I hope you will call me friend.”

Nothing could have warmed her heart more than to hear Miss Currivard address her so kindly. From the time of their conversation at Cheddar Gorge, Judith had embraced the possibility of a friendship with her, however unlikely their circumstances. She had enjoyed conversing with her and was never made once to feel the disparity in their situations. She sensed in Miss Currivard a unique quality that would make the very best of friends.

These thoughts brought her round, however, to the more pressing difficulty—Kelthorne. The very notion that she would be obliged to spend an evening in his company sent a shiver along her spine that had nothing to do with fear. For the past two days, she had worked very hard to relinquish all thoughts of him. But now, with the prospect of an entire evening in which she would be required to converse with the guests as was natural in such private settings, she became acutely aware that she would be with him far more than could ever be thought desirous.

Miss Currivard rose. “I know that the demands of this life are great so I will not keep you. Only, I do hope you will oblige me in this.”

She seemed so serious that Judith could not help but wonder if there was more in Miss Currivard’s plan than merely helping her to one day purchase her cottage. She could not however, for the life of her determine just what that might be nor could she ask her directly.

“I must lay the request before Mr. and Mrs. Ash,” Judith said, rising as well. “They have charge of our time and schedules.”

“Yes, of course.” She extended her hand and Judith shook it warmly. Releasing her hand, she added, “There is one more thing, Miss Lovington. If you would not be disinclined and should you choose to accept my proposal, then I would be greatly honored if you would permit me to accompany you on the pianoforte.”

“Indeed?” Judith inquired, shocked once more.

“Do you fear I am not sufficiently accomplished? I promise you that my governess, who lived in constant dread that my rank as a tradesman’s daughter would sully her sterling reputation, made certain from the time I was a very little girl that I learned my scales and arpeggios properly.”

“I did not mean to imply anything of the sort. I was merely stunned that, given the differences of our situation, you would be wishful of doing so. After all, we will need to practice together, and I should require several rehearsals. So are you absolutely certain this would not be repugnant to you, for I promise you, on this head, I am a severe taskmaster. Mrs. Ash and I have quarreled more than once on just this topic.”

Instead of appearing doubtful, Miss Currivard merely laughed. “I see that you are something of a perfectionist, as am I. Although I must say, I suspected from the first that we two shared this in common. I promise you in return, therefore, that you alone shall name the date of the soiree and you shall have as many rehearsals as you deem necessary to be comfortable with my skills.”

Judith felt there was nothing more to be said. She reiterated her need to discuss the proposal with John and Margaret but promised to send word to the castle by the afternoon.

“I hope you will not refuse me,” Miss Currivard said. “Indeed, I am depending upon you more than you can know.”

There it was again, the hint that the entirety of her motives for the soiree was yet hidden.

A few minutes later, Judith was locked in a great argument with both John and Margaret.

“But I do not think it will do at all,” Judith said. “Without wishing to elaborate, I do not feel it wise that I engage a concert at the castle. It is not seemly.”

“In wat manner not seemly,” Margaret said. “What rubbish. Lord, Judy, I ain’t never seen ye so missish.”

“Aye, Judy,” John agreed. “And ‘tis not as though ye have not performed fer a private audience afore. Do ye not remember Shropshire?”

“And do you not remember that we were required to leave town that very night. Charles was furious.”

“I supposed that were a poor example,” John said. “But Lord Kelthorne has been most kind to the entire troupe and I have seen nothing of his attentions to ye that were improper. Margaret agrees with me.”

“Even though he came to my tent?”

“Even then, fer he were a gentleman just as Margaret knew he would be.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “And Miss Currivard has been a perfect lady and shown great kindness to ye, singling ye out as she has. “‘Twould be an insult to deny her now. Ye know as much. I know ye do.”

This much was true. “But I cannot like it. I know Kelthorne has not precisely gone beyond the pale. However, I still feel in danger.”

“Aye,” Margaret said softly. “But ye are speaking of yer heart.”

Judith gasped. How did Margaret know? “Yes,” she confessed.

John suddenly swept an arm about her shoulders. “Judy, ‘twould not be bad to let yer heart be engaged a little.”

Tears started to her eyes. How easy it was for him to say such a thing to her when he had been able to wed the woman he loved, but what of her? What
if
she tumbled in love with Kelthorne? There would be no such marriage to fulfill the dreams her heart seemed to weave the moment she was within twenty paces of him.

There seemed to be no argument, however, that she could put forth that would convince John and Margaret that she should refuse the invitation. Besides, to deny Miss Currivard was to show her unkindness when she had been so good to her at Cheddar Gorge. No, she must go.

John gave her shoulders a squeeze then released her. “Ye know wat ye must do.”

“Well, if I must do this thing,” she snapped, “then I insist upon sharing the hundred pounds with the troupe.”

“None o’ that,” John said. “Ye know very well that earnings from any private performance is not to be shared. Those are the troupe’s rules.”

“It is not right,” she countered.

“Nonsense. Remember Winchester, when the officers asked for Betty and Angelique for the evening, fifty pounds a-piece?”

“But that was not for...” She broke off blushing deeply. John laughed at her. “And still, after all these years, yer cheeks will turn the color of a tomato.”

Margaret laughed as well, but said, “Have done with it, Judy. Take the engagement. Indeed, ye have been such a blessing to the troupe, whatever Charlie says. Ye have brought audiences when no one else could. And as fer Kelthorne, if ye be worried, then hint him toward Miss Currivard.”

“I suppose I could do that,” she murmured, but she was not content.

An hour later, she penned her note to Miss Currivard accepting her proposal and naming the number of rehearsals she required, five for at least an hour each time and therefore setting the date of the soiree for a week’s time.

So it was that on the following day, Judith found herself at Portislow Castle. Miss Currivard was giving her a tour of the principal rooms and had led her at last to the conservatory. She opened the glass door that had a view of the small vale in which the troupe was camped.

“From here,” she said, stepping to the low wall, which gave warning that the hill dropped sharply away, “you can see the camp, particularly at night when the lanterns are lit and the fire ring is ablaze. It is a lovely sight.”

Judith stood beside her. The day was very fine and the hillside opposite was aglow with morning light. All the hills about were heavily wooded giving the entire vicinity a lush, verdant aspect. “What a beautiful sight,” she said.

“Aye, so it is.”

“Where does this path lead?”

“To the left is a long slope by which one can reach the stables at the bottom of the hill and to the right the path connects with another that meanders to the top of the hill.” She turned to her suddenly. “I ought to give you fair warning that you are to stay to dine with us.”

Judith felt her heart constrict in her chest. “Oh, but that is impossible. You must see it is. Indeed, I cannot.”

Miss Currivard cut her off swiftly with a wonderful trill of laughter. “My dear Miss Lovington, I will brook no opposition. Your presence is required.”

“By whom?” she asked, feeling suddenly frightened. She understood Kelthorne’s sisters to be quite fearsome.

“By me, of course.”

Judith stepped away from Miss Currivard. “I beg you will excuse me,” she said earnestly. “No good can come of this.”

Miss Currivard held her gaze firmly but her expression softened in quick stages. “I believe I understand your reticence and if my intentions were of a simple nature, I would allow you to be excused but, for reasons I cannot explain, you would be doing me a very great favor.”

Judith might have protested but there was such sincerity in her looks that she found she could do little more than smile, if feebly, and acquiesce.

“Shall we?” Miss Currivard gestured to the small music room that adjoined the conservatory.