In the Shadow of Arabella (18 page)

“I will accompany Lady Brent. Meghan Cavenaugh, one of my best friends from Westleigh, will also be in Bath this summer. Doubtless I will see her and perhaps others I know. I will come to you in August—when you are settled. Can you imagine how wonderful it will be to be together and away from Sir Humphrey?”

Katherine smiled. “It will be wonderful indeed. Do you think, Rena, that you could manage to forget about Sir Humphrey? Rudley does not know about him, and I would prefer it to stay that way.”

Serena frowned at this information, but since she was in the habit of abiding by her sister’s wishes, she did not question them now. “If you do not want me to talk about him, I will not, not ever. As far as I am concerned he does not exist—never did.” She hugged her sister then, more relieved than she could say to be free of the odious guardianship that had threatened her future.

* * * *

Katherine and Serena spent several relaxing days with the Harringtons and then departed for London. There Katherine left her sister in the capable hands of Lady Brent before setting out on the final leg of her journey to Rudley Court.

As she drew ever closer to her new home, as landmarks and then roads became familiar, she realized she was eager to return.

She had suspected that her new status as the Countess of Rudley would give her influence. Her trip north had demonstrated to her just how much authority she had gained through her alliance with Rudley. Less than five months earlier she had been powerless against her stepfather, powerless to help her sister, dependent upon the charity and goodwill of the Harringtons and the Brents for her opportunity to go to London.

Her marriage had made it possible for her to change her entire situation. She had Serena safely in her care; she had Sir Humphrey out of her life. She owed it all—a tremendous debt—to Rudley, and he did not even know how greatly he had helped her.

From the time they had met he had given and given to her, and she had only taken. She remembered James’s indelicate and improper comments about his betrothed’s coldness and lack of passion. Rudley could fairly lay the same accusations against her. She had been no wife to him. She had talked with him, laughed with him, confided in him; but she had not given herself to him, not in the way a marriage intended, not in the way he wished.

Although there was much about her husband she did not understand, she had grown to respect him more than any man she had ever known. She admired the way he related to his friends and family—the depth of his loyalty to them and their fidelity to him.

She marveled at the way he was always in control, never ruffled, never at a loss. No doubt his power and position accounted for some of this, yet she believed that were he a man of no title and modest means he would command the same respect.

Most of all, she was touched by a vulnerability he displayed at the most unexpected times: he had carried a newborn lamb that had lost its mother from the field himself, putting it into the hands of his shepherd and making sure it was warm and cared for; there was a tenderness in his voice when he spoke of his mother and his determination to preserve the chair she had lovingly created; he displayed misgivings when Katherine teased him about his extravagance, or his experience, or his decadent youth; he had confided the pain of his first marriage, a disillusionment that still clouded his memory.

In these rare moments when he allowed her to see the chinks in his armor, she was permitted a glimpse of what she might bring to their marriage. She could play a crucial role in these small places: offering another perspective when hard decisions had to be made; repairing the trusting heart that had been left wounded by his first wife’s betrayal; seeking a way to bridge the chasm that had opened between Rudley and his only child—this child who alone of all his family he held carefully at arm’s length.

In this she knew she must take great care. If it were only the simple matter of cherishing Pamela there would be no problem, for the girl was a joy. But tied to Pamela was the specter of Arabella. Katherine was now convinced that Rudley was either unable or unwilling to separate them, either in his mind or in his heart.

The lake came into sight and the coach turned onto the curving drive. Would Ned be home when she arrived? she wondered. She imagined his tall form, his broad shoulders and dark hair. She could see his deep blue eyes, always tender and caring when they looked upon her. She realized she could hardly wait to see him, indeed, had missed him.

Then as the coach stopped and Mr. Kendall handed her down, she heard her name spoken and looked up to see Rudley descending the steps two at a time.

“Katherine!” he exclaimed. “How I have missed you!”

Her glowing smile of greeting and outstretched hands were all the invitation he needed to envelop her in a fond embrace, very improper indeed before the interested eyes of more than half a dozen servants. In his enthusiasm, he lifted her off her feet momentarily, and she laughed as he set her down again, planting a chaste kiss on her mouth at the same time.

“We are shocking the servants, sir,” she said quietly as she heard Kendall directing the footmen to unload the coach.

“It will do them no harm. They will have a subject of conversation for their dinner. You look wonderful. The trip went well?”

“It went superbly, mostly due to the skill of Mr. Kendall.” As Kendall passed behind them, Katherine reached out to stop him.

“Yes, my lady?” he asked, smiling at her.

“Thank you again, Peter, for the ease of my journey and for all your help.”

“You are very welcome, Lady Rudley.” Then, noticing his employer’s gaze fixed upon him, he asked, “Was there something you wanted, sir?”

“No, nothing,” Rudley replied, offering Katherine his arm to escort her into the house. As they ascended the inside staircase alone he asked, “Peter?”

Katherine turned a questioning glance to him. “Peter is Mr. Kendall’s given name. Surely you know that?”

“Of course I know it. I was just startled to hear you using it.”

“Is it really so surprising? We spent days together in the coach.”

“I knew you for months,” he argued, “before I could even get you to
utter
my name, much less use it with the familiarity you showed with Kendall.” By now they had reached the upstairs hall and stopped outside Katherine’s bedchamber door.

She laid both hands gently against his chest as she said, “He is our employee. You were my suitor. A woman cannot be too forward with a man who is courting her. She must be circumspect. Offer her favors sparingly, little by little.’’

“As an angler teases a fish onto the line, you mean?”

“If you like. Although I do not believe that fish enjoy being caught so much as men do.”

“Oh, do we, indeed?”

“I think perhaps you do, yes.” His arms moved around her and drew her close as her hands moved to his shoulders, then to caress his neck. “I missed you, too, Ned. I am so happy to be home.”

His kiss was gentle, hopeful, and she responded wholly, enjoying the sensation as much as he. He raised his head regretfully at the sound of approaching footsteps. He opened her door and swung it wide. “I will see you at dinner. You must tell me all about your trip.”

The clock on the mantelpiece in the blue drawing room showed five minutes past ten o’clock. Katherine was sitting near the fire with her needlework in her lap, occasionally glancing at the faded chair opposite. Rudley had once asked to see her work, but she had put him off easily, saying he must wait until the piece was finished in order to appreciate it fully. He was sitting on the other side of the room at a secretaire, writing. Pamela had been with them earlier but had gone to bed nearly an hour since.

Pamela was a shy, retiring child, totally different from what Katherine had been at the same age. By the time Katherine was ten, she had climbed every available tree, taken several nasty falls from Jeremy, and even tumbled ten feet off the balustrade of a bridge into the river below. Pamela was a pattern-perfect young lady—always polite and proper, never speaking unless spoken to—a flawless product of the combined efforts of nurse and governess.

Katherine continued to be puzzled by the child and by her relationship with her father. Since Katherine’s arrival at Rudley Court, she and Pamela had become friends. With Katherine Pamela put aside her formality and allowed her stepmother to see the natural inquisitiveness and youthful exuberance all children possess. But there seemed to be no sign of any improvement in Pamela’s relationship with her father. In his presence she was unfailingly reserved.

“Pamela,” Katherine had asked yesterday when they were walking alone in the garden, “are you afraid of your father?”

“No, ma’am,” the child had answered readily. “Why should you think so?”

“You are so quiet in his presence; you never appear to relax with him. Why do you try so hard?”

“I want Papa to like me, my lady,” Pamela had said innocently.

“Pamela! Don’t be silly. Your father loves you! Surely you know that?”

“Mama did not love me. She never said she did. She said I was in the way; she never wanted me with her.”

“Oh, Pamela, I am sure your mother loved you. Some people find it difficult to say they love you, but it does not mean they don’t.”

Katherine was shocked at the extent of the pain Arabella had inflicted. Not only had she destroyed Rudley’s happiness for six years, she had evidently ignored the needs of her child as well. Katherine found it appalling that Pamela had gone all these years feeling that neither of her parents bore any love for her! And then to have her mother die and her father desert her . . .

She had turned to Pamela and gone down on one knee to bring herself on a level with the child. She had looked into the wistful blue eyes and said firmly, “
I
love you, Pamela . . . very much. You know that, don’t you?” Pamela had been in her arms instantly, and they had both wept.

“You have not set a single stitch in the last five minutes. Have you gone woolgathering?” Katherine’s thoughts were dragged back to the present by Rudley’s words. He had finished his letter and was watching her as she stared moodily into the fire. He crossed the room and stretched his long frame into his mother’s handcrafted chair.

“I was thinking about Pamela,” she replied.

“What about Pamela?”

“She thinks you do not love her.”

His brows rose in surprise. “Did she say so?”

“Not exactly. She said she wanted you to like her.”

“I have told you I do not consider myself a good parent,” he said.

“Did you know that Arabella never told Pamela she loved her?”

“No, I did not know it,” he replied, “but I am not surprised.”

“Pamela has suffered a great deal for one so young.”

“Yes.” Rudley’s voice showed some signs of irritation. “And no doubt you are about to put a large portion of the blame for that suffering in my basket.”

“Did you not realize that deserting her when her mother had just died would be a hard blow for a child of six?” Katherine asked.

“It was not a question of . . .” He rose from his chair to pace the room and then began again. “I have already told you I seldom saw the child. I do not see that my staying or going should have affected her particularly.’’

“Well, it did,” Katherine continued. “She was young, but old enough to understand you had both left her. And old enough to believe that you did not love her enough to stay with her or to take her with you . . . You resent the child because of her mother, don’t you?’’

He stopped pacing and turned to face her. He knew he should not be surprised by such a question. Katherine was nothing if not direct. “Yes, I suppose I do resent her.”

“But that is uncharacteristic of you, Ned. You are the fairest person I have ever known. I have seen examples of it time and time again in your dealings with people—with me. Can you not see that to blame the child for the faults of the mother is unreasonable, even cruel?’’

This was hard criticism, and Katherine would not have been surprised to hear him respond with anger. But he did not. He said simply, “I don’t think I can be reasonable in matters concerning my first wife.”

“Could you not try to separate Pamela from your memories of her mother?” Katherine suggested. “She loves you so much, and she strives so hard to please you. If she felt you cared for her, I think it would go a long way toward easing her painful memories.” She was silent then, giving him time to weigh her words. He came to her chair and, taking both her hands in his, drew her to her feet.

“It would please you if I made an effort with Pamela, would it not?”

“You know it would.”

“And you must know by now,” he continued, “that I would do anything to please you . . . I will try to be more considerate of Pamela’s feelings in future.”

“Not only for my sake,” she objected.

“For your sake, for my own, and especially for Pamela’s.”

“And will you think, too, about engaging an art tutor for her?”

“Does she need one?”

“I believe she does, and Miss Shaw admits that she has taught Pamela all she knows. We both feel she would benefit from someone with more expertise.”

“Has Pamela an interest? Will she apply herself?”

“Has she an interest?” Katherine asked in surprise. “You have seen her work. She loves it!”

He shook his head slowly as he answered, “I think I recall Miss Shaw reporting that Pamela drew well, but I cannot remember ever seeing any examples of her work.”

“But surely she must have shown you some of them?” Katherine asked in disbelief. “You said she gives you detailed reports.”

“She does. Reports on Pamela’s progress. I do not demand that she show me proof or example.’’

Katherine rose from her chair so suddenly that she startled him. “What is it?” he asked.

“Come with me. There is something you must see.”

Katherine immediately led the way upstairs to Pamela’s apartments while Rudley carried a candelabrum to light their way. They entered the sitting room through its door to the outside corridor. Seeing that the connecting door to Pamela’s bedchamber was closed, Katherine took a taper and proceeded to light all the candles in the room. As the level of light slowly increased, easels began to take shape from the shadows and the framed pieces on the walls came into view.