Lord Devere's Ward (6 page)

Kate, teased out of her megrims, laughed. “Well, there are worse fates.”

“Your parents sent you to England to marry well.

They will not be pleased unless you return to India with any less than a baronet, I’m sure.” Bettina coiled the braid on top of Kate’s head, pinning it. She left curls to frame Kate’s face.

“I wonder if they have considered I may not return at all. It is possible that any husband I marry won’t wish to travel or live in India.”

“Do you miss your home, ma’am?”

Kate paused, unsure of her answer as an image of the frigid, moonlit attic of Badham Abbey at midnight flashed through her mind. She pushed the unwelcome memory away and thought instead of her parents. “Yes and no. I’m lonely for my family, of course, but the Penroses have made me feel so welcome that I am scarcely ever homesick. I miss the weather,” she said, recollecting the contents of one of the books she’d perused regarding India’s climate and geography. “It is much warmer, and here I find I am often chilled, though not, of course, on such a fine day as this.” She donned her hat of chip-straw and tied its blue grosgrain ribbons beneath her chin.

The weather permitted luncheon to be served on the sunny balcony outside the dining room. The day would have been too warm but for a slight breeze, and Kate gratefully felt the air soothe her hot nape.

* * *

Quinn watched the soft wind lift a chestnut curl touching his ward’s cheek and envied that tender breeze. Staring at Kate from across the table, he imagined caressing her hair. Dressed in a gown which flattered her eyes, she was entirely captivating.

She had been so delightfully flustered when caught reading the salacious passage from
The
Odyssey.
He’d wanted to press her down into the tall grass and show her exactly what Homer had meant.

She barely looked at him at lunch, sweet torturer. Did she know how much one look from her fine blue eyes affected him?

His Kate.
His
Kate. Dear God, he was already thinking of her as his own possession. He ground his teeth, frustrated. A young woman as independent as Katherine Scoville, who climbed out of attic windows and traveled alone over half the country, would surely object to such an approach. And what of his honor?

He avoided temptation by leaving after luncheon.

Despite his hasty departure, he spared some time for a private tête-à-tête with his sister. They sat in the drawing room and hatched their plans while Pen dozed in his wing chair after the heavy meal. The open French doors allowed Quinn to hear the shouts of the children at croquet. Bees hummed in the fragrant rose-vine just outside.

“I’ll open the house on Bruton Street whenever you give the word, Nan,” he said.

“Next week, I think. But we will not be going about for a fortnight after. I must take Louisa and Kay to Madame Mirielle’s first.”

“Bring back memories?”

Anna smiled. “Yes. It was not so long ago that I prepared for my debut. ’Tis a monstrous exciting time for the girls.”

“And how does my ward go on?”

“Very well. She is a most pleasant girl. She is quite the favorite with everyone, especially the boys.

She can run and climb with the best of them, but she knows her way around society. You need have no fears on her behalf. She and Louisa will have their pick of suitors, I think.”

“Hmph.” He did not know quite how he felt about the prospect of Kate having suitors for her hand in marriage.

“Once we have Louisa launched, we’ll introduce Kay. Mind you, she has the occasional nightmare, but I believe there is no lasting damage because of her experiences.”

“Nightmares?”

“The first week, Louisa told me she heard her cry out in the night.”

“Damn and blast!”

“There’s nothing we can do, Quinn. For all her cheerful smiles, she is a very private child. She denies any sorrows and, I must say, her demeanor has improved as time has gone by. What of her other problems?”

“As well in hand as can be,” he said. “The Lords are a most ponderous crew, I fear. They are at present involved with questions concerning the prospective Queen. We may have to file in Chancery.” She winced. “We could wait until the twelfth of never for a decision from Chancery. Any word of Badham?”

“He’s not in London yet, but he will be, I am sure.” He flicked lint from his lapel. “We should keep Kate quiet until the Lords have acted.”

“That should not be difficult. Pauline will be coming to town also, and the two of them can amuse themselves at the theatre and Vauxhall while I escort Louisa.”

“Mind, there should be a chaperone with her at all times. If need be, send ’round a message and I’ll watch her, er, them.”

Anna looked at him at bit strangely, he thought, before she smiled and rose, saying, “I’ll see you out.

You’re determined to leave so soon? We had hoped to keep you here longer, Quinn.”

He shrugged, affecting a careless mien. “I’m for Surrey, and then back to London. Don’t worry about the house. Harper will make sure everything is right and tight for you.”

Quinn rested that night in his Surrey estate, and attended races at Ascot the next day. Stalking through the peers’ enclosure toward the track, he was intent upon observing the progress of his well-bred nags.

Based on the attention he received, he gathered others had different goals.

A flock of females, dressed in their fashionable best, surrounded the lords like so many fluttering butterflies. The mating season had begun.

“Lord Devere, allow me to present my daughter, The Honorable Gillian Calmont-Trent,” twittered one matron. Quinn raised his lorgnon, casting the older lady a sweeping glance meant to depress pretension.

The tiny child hidden by her skirts merited no attention whatsoever; Quinn especially disliked the custom in some families, widespread in the prior century, to dump fourteen-year-olds into Polite Society. This chit, cheeks still rounded by baby-fat, belonged in the schoolroom, not in the ton.

Nevertheless, he’d do his duty. ’Twouldn’t be fair to cut the girl. He stretched his mouth into a smile.

“Miss, er, Calmont-Trent.” He made a courteous bow before he was diverted by yet another eager Mamma. This large lady, dressed in unflattering puce, sought to bring her little chick to his notice.

Fortunately, one of his friends grabbed his arm to haul him over to a group of owners before Quinn became mired in the swamp of fortune-hunting females.

Quinn turned his regard to his companions and their horses.

“I say, Devere, you’re devilishly cool with the ladies today,” said the man who grasped his arm.

Quinn recognized Viscount Byland from

Northumbria.

“I tire of the dance.”

“‘Tis your fate. Wealth and title engender feminine attention.”

“Is it so foolish to want to be desired for oneself, rather than the contents of one’s pocketbook?” Byland laughed. “Not at all, Devere. But look at us!” The florid-faced, overweight lord patted his own belly. “I, for one, am grateful to have been born a wealthy peer. Otherwise, I’d never swive a single maid.”

Quinn joined his friend’s laughter. “And I, the bran-faced, ginger-pated Duke of Limbs, would awaken alone forevermore.”

“‘Tis not so bad for you. The ladies enjoy your amiable personality.” Byland poked Quinn in the ribs and waggled his brows. “Especially that little opera dancer, oh, what is her name?”

“My lips are sealed,” Quinn said. In fact, he had dropped the lovely Mistress Granatt as soon as she had spread her favors beyond one bedmate. Quinn did not share.

“Sealed with her ardent kisses, I vow! But which of your devil’s spawn are you racing today?” Quinn chuckled. “Your favorite rival, Tyndale’s Treat, runs in the second heat against your Bylander.” The big black stallion, Quinn’s pride and joy, was descended from the Darley Arabian. At age five, Treat was unbeaten.

Treat ran well, winning his race. Quinn collected his winnings, plus several offers for the purchase of the flamboyant, swift-footed black. Smiling, he refused all of them.

He returned to London to give orders concerning the Tyndale townhouse on Bruton Street. Although he had once lived in the early Georgian home, which had belonged to his parents, Quinn preferred his smaller residence on Berkeley Square. However, Bruton Street, boasting a spacious ballroom as well as numerous bedrooms, salons and drawing rooms, suited the presentation of the young women to London society.

Quinn stared moodily out his window onto Berkeley Square, watching late afternoon fade to dusk. It being late March, the square was free of frost and snow. A light mist gathered to shroud the harsh contours of the buildings which lined the Mayfair streets. Unaccountably restless, but with no engagements that night, he determined he’d visit his club in St. James.

Dressed in evening wear, Quinn crossed Piccadilly, keeping an eye out for the odd mishandled equipage. Though ’twas early in the evening for the ton to be hurrying to engagements, numerous carriages clotted the busy thoroughfare.

His mood lifted as he spotted Sir Willoughby Hawkes. Game to a fault, Hawkes could be counted on to take Quinn out of Crab Street. But Hawkes wore a frowning brow. What could be bothering him?

“You know, old chap, I’m thinking of becoming leg-shackled. Must protect the lineage and the estate, and all that. Any prime articles coming out this year?” Quinn eyed Sir Willoughby warily. A fine fellow, Hawkes, but one had to be canny about encouraging Sir Willoughby. Quinn didn’t know if he wanted a closer familial relationship with his crony. Although a landed baronet, Hawkes, a notorious rake, could not be considered the best possible catch for his niece Louisa. As for Katherine, that was not even a question.

“Can’t rightly think of anyone who might suit you, old man,” Quinn said, keeping his voice casual.

“Off to White’s for a spot of supper?”

“Oh, it’s early yet. I thought I might call at the Nymphos Hotel to examine the new talent.” Quinn found his friend’s inclination odd, but remained mum. If Hawkes wished to form a lasting connection with a suitable miss, the Nymphos, a notorious buttocking shop, was not the place to frequent. Quinn himself had no interest in the place anymore. The bachelors parted at the corner of King Street, one to proceed east to Leicester Square and the aforementioned Nymphos, the other to turn to St.

James and dinner.

After dining at his club, Quinn amused himself gambling. White’s, a haunt of the older generation, was a trifle dull for his taste but he made it his business to be seen there. He kept half an ear open for political gossip, believing at this juncture awareness of the inner workings of the House of Lords could be greatly to his ward’s benefit. While he heard nothing of direct assistance to his cause, he hoped that his presence in the company of political animals would help.

Quinn rose from the table two hours later, several hundred pounds richer, caring nothing about the game or his companions. He wandered back home feeling hollow. What was missing from his life?

Normally he would have accompanied Hawkes to the Nymphos, and released himself in the body or mouth of some street princess. Why had he hesitated?

Kate. His Kate was the reason. No other woman held a shred of interest for him. Everything about her, from her shining chestnut hair down to her lovely little ankles, entranced, enthralled, and enchanted.

“Damn,” he said aloud, whacking his cane against an iron fence at Berkeley Street. His heart ached when he thought of her distress due to the losses she’d suffered, as well as the effects of the brutality of Herbert and Osborn. For all he knew, Kate had never talked of the experiences to anyone, keeping all her pain inside. He wanted to ease her but did not know how without sacrificing his honor, and hers.

* * *

The Penroses removed their household to London shortly thereafter; except for the three youngest children, the entire family moved to Bruton Street in a parade of carriages, landaus, barouches, coaches, and traps.

“What exactly is a season?”

Kate broke off her conversation with Louisa to listen to Anna’s response to Pauline’s question.

“And why do we have to have one? What’s so important?” Pauline, who had revealed herself to Kate in the past weeks as inquisitive, even curious, pursued the issue.

“La, child!” Anna threw her head back and laughed. “The questions you ask!”

“Seriously, Mamma. I have heard talk of seasons all my life, but no one has explained to me what ‘The Season’ is.” Kate knew that Pauline would chase her answers as tenaciously as any foxhound tracked its prey.

Pauline’s mother answered. “Well! The London social season is very important, to be sure. It is most significant to a young woman of birth and breeding.”

“To catch a husband, you mean?”

Anna frowned. “‘Catch’ is truly not the proper term. It would be best to say that for quite a few years now, well-born persons gather in London after the worst of winter has passed. The gentlemen have hunted every fox and pheasant to extinction, and everyone has grown heartily bored of their country properties.”

“I thought the Season began with the first race at Ascot, in March,” said Kate.

Anna’s brow pleated. “There is no official event which begins the London social season. It merely seems as if the weather clears sufficiently in spring to allow easy travel from the country to London.” At that moment, the horses pulling the landau splashed through a mud puddle rimmed with ice.

Kate suppressed a smirk.

“So in the spring,” Anna continued, “we go to London to socialize with our friends and relations after the winter has passed. That is all.”

“There is more awaiting me, though, Mamma, isn’t there?” demanded Louisa.

Anna smiled. “For a young woman of

marriageable age, the parties and social events are an opportunity to see and be seen by young men.”

“The mating dance, so to speak,” Kate said.

“But no one knows Lou, Mamma, and you don’t go to London except to buy clothes. How will Louisa be invited to any parties?” asked Pauline.

“As soon as we get to Town we shall give a ball for Louisa after she is presented at court. We’ll invite all our old friends and our relations. They’ll reciprocate with invitations for Louisa,” Anna said, smiling. “Unless, of course, they have eligible daughters. They will not invite Louisa because our Lou is sure to cast everyone else into the shade.” Kate laughed with the others. “How long will we be in London, ma’am?”