“He is not a nice person,” Katherine said, hoping her great-aunt would not be too disappointed.
“He is a toad of the worst order,” snapped her great-aunt in reply.
Julian Penn chose to enter the conversation at this point. “It has been a long time, Aunt Harriette.”
“We shall discuss that matter when we reach your home. I trust that is where we are bound?” Lady Winstanley asked this of Lord Ramsey, rightly judging that he was the leader of the situation.
* * * *
“Katherine and I shall have to make a few arrangements regarding Sidney, then we shall follow. Mr. Penn, perhaps you and Gisela can take the phaeton? I can send the cart home later. Katherine and I shall use the gig.” He cast a dark look at the neat little vehicle, then at Kate. He wanted to have a few choice words with her before they joined the others.
“I shall follow you home,” Lady Winstanley announced, prodding Mr. Penn with her cane. “And it is deuced chilly standing about here, Julian.” She spoke to him as though he were no more than two-and-twenty, Katherine noted with amusement.
Katherine watched the others leave, then joined Lord Ramsey on the walk to the building where the pie powder court was held. Sidney would hear a thing or two from her.
* * * *
In the phaeton, Julian Penn tucked a rug about the lovely Gisela, then proceeded toward home, not at a spanking pace, however.
“Before we join the others, there is something 1 wanted to discuss with you.” He nervously cleared his throat.
“Yes, Julian?” Lady Gisela leaned against the strong, dependable figure next to her, thinking that he would not be off to the mountains or across on the Continent. Rather, he would be safely here, always about.
“I had not planned it quite this way, but this evening has changed everything. I can see now that I badly need taking in hand. Had I been a better father, this evening would not have occurred. I never thought to wed again, regardless. Life seemed quietly dull, but comfortable nonetheless. That is, until a certain young lady ranted and raved at me over a particular sermon.”
“Julian, I? Young? How nice of you to think so,” cooed Lady Gisela.
“You must confess, dear lady, we have had some stimulating conversations. Dare I hope that you return my regard? I should like above all to be able to spend my days and evenings with you, provided you do not believe me too old?” The hesitancy in his voice endeared him to his love.
“Never old, Julian. Just right, I fancy. I should be pleased to be your wife, my dear. I am persuaded we shall suit each other to a tee.”
At which Julian urged the horse to greater speed, pulled up before the Penn house, and swept Lady Gisela into his arms. If there was any sign of advanced age in the ardor of his kiss, Lady Gisela could not notice it. She happily nestled in his arms until the sound of Harriette’s carriage disturbed their romantic interlude.
“We shall continue this later, my dear,” promised Julian. “I shall hold you to that, my dearest,” Lady Gisela whispered back as the tart voice of Lady Winstanley drifted to them on the evening air.
“I could do with a cup of hot tea, Julian,” she commanded.
* * * *
The arrangements at the pie powder court were not quite as simple as Philip had hoped. The court was set up to deal with matters pertaining to the local markets and market buildings. Petty thievery, disputes between seller and buyer could be settled here. The university had been granted the right to judicial privilege over felons and outlaws, and murderers as well.
Sidney had not murdered; he had only intended to commit such. The straw body with the knife still protruding from its back was a silent witness, and proved to be an excellent one in spite of its lack of speech. The professor in charge looked at it, shuddered a bit, and seemed convinced. But he did not know what to do with Sidney. He could convict a murderer; but there had been none, the straw body in rose with the knife in its back notwithstanding.
It took more than a bit of time and some clever talking upon Philip’s part to convince the professor in charge of the hearing that Sidney ought to be sent off to Australia.
The professor had looked down his thin nose at Philip, then at Katherine, finally at Sidney. His gaze had settled upon Katherine, recalling who she was, not forgetting the importance of his lordship. Members, however indirect, of the university were more important than some mere outsider. He granted the arrangements, gave Sidney an uncomfortable lecture full of biblical quotations, then handed him over to Philip.
Philip, in turn, consigned Sidney to his man of business, who had followed Lord Ramsey to the fair with all the necessary papers to hand.
Sidney glared at Katherine once outside the building, a neat little inn where the court was held each year. “I do hope you are happy, cousin. All that lovely money,” he sneered.
“I am glad not to have the knife in my back.” She considered saying more, then decided against it. Sidney wasn’t worth the words or effort.
She stood close to Lord Ramsey, trembling slightly. It was difficult to say whether it was the shock of almost being stabbed with a knife, or the bump on her head, or meeting Great-aunt Harriette, or the proximity of Lord Ramsey. She rather suspected it was the prospect of the ride home with him, alone in the gig in the night.
“Well, Katherine? It is all over. Your play is a tremendous success. I rather believe your financial worries are ended, if Lady Winstanley continues to name you her heiress. Now what?” He tucked her arm in his and began to stroll along Garlic Row.
The merchants were beginning to close up their booths. Here and there a curtain had been drawn. Katherine stifled a yawn, surreptitiously rubbed her sore head, then stumbled as Lord Ramsey led her through to where the gig stood waiting. Noise from the animals at Adam’s Circus drifted across the field. Cries of the walnut-sellers mingled with the laughter of those enjoying the theater and the various shows. The little Italian rope-dancer was doing well, as was the Punch and Judy.
Here, in the near darkness behind the booths, Katherine stopped to stare up at her benefactor. It was a romantic setting. The stars shone brightly, a partial moon glowed in the sky, oil lamps flickered along the rows, all lending to the mood, stirring the senses. She searched his face, wondering what lurked in those beautiful eyes now shadowed.
“Have you nothing to say?” He sounded amused.
Katherine cleared her throat, then said, “Was it necessary to stuff me in a corner?”
He threw back his head to laugh, then quickly hugged her. “Bless you. I felt badly about that. I am not accustomed to this sort of thing, as you may guess. I am sorry, my dear.” He stroked her cheek with a tender, feather-light touch.
“You might have used greater care,” she observed, moving toward the gig at a slow pace, while speculating whether her heart could withstand its mad rhythm.
“I hope I never have to confront that sort of a situation again, dear Kate. Who would have suspected the dandy?” he mused.
“True,” she agreed. There was a pause, during which Katherine wondered if she would ever feel herself again. This trembling was bad enough, but the longing ache deep within her refused to go away. Perhaps it was merely heartburn? Cousin Sophia would have to bring Katherine one of those nasty but efficacious tisanes she made.
Somehow, Katherine doubted if that was really the problem. More than likely it had to do with the odious man standing at her side, handing her up into the gig as though he would be delighted to see the last of her. Indeed he might.
“You will undoubtedly get back your investment with a handsome profit, sir,” she said in a meek little voice.
“Blast it, Kate, I’m not worried about that. How is your poor head?” He walked around the gig, then climbed up to sit close beside her.
He did not pickup the reins; she wondered when they would set off. “Better.”
“You know,” he said in a sensual growl that set off warning bells in Katherine’s head, “the university claims the right to prosecute strays. I did not tell them about you, however.”
“I was never a stray, precisely,” she said, curious to know why he had brought up this old chestnut.
He lifted her chin, studying the pretty face revealed in the light of the stars and moon. “No, I suppose I could merely say you were trespassing, although the sentence is harsher for that offense.”
Prompted by some imp, Katherine dared to inquire, “And what is the sentence for strays, pray tell? I ought to know what I face.”
“You walked right into that so beautifully it is almost a shame to catch you on it, but I have waited so patiently, I deserve my reward.”
Totally at sea, Katherine gazed up at him with questioning eyes. “Which is?” His self-satisfaction was so tangible a thing, she felt she could take it in her hands.
“Strays are awarded to the owner of the land. I thought you would know that.”
“Your father is to get me?” she was prompted to say, even more fascinated by the turn of their conversation.
“Goosecap. I own that land; it was deeded to me some years ago. I suspect my parents thought to encourage me to marry and settle down to raise a nursery.”
“I see, I think.” Very daringly she inquired, “And what, good sir, will you do with this stray? Prosecute?”
“First of all I decree you call me Philip. Perhaps darling and sweetheart later, but Philip for now.”
Katherine’s head felt decidedly light. “Philip, ‘tis most improper.”
“Not for a wife, my dear Kate. Say you will marry me as soon as the banns can be posted?”
Awed by the prospect of a lifetime with Philip, Katherine sat tongue-tied for a few moments, leaving her suitor in anxious suspension.
“You would have the plunge bath,” he said by way of inducement. “And our very own theater.”
“As if any of that mattered in the least,” she retorted. Then, surging ahead before she lost courage, she said, “Because, you see, I love you very dearly, you impossible man. You have no need for prosecution or anything of the sort. It might help,” she added judiciously, “were you to take me in your arms and bestow another of those delicious kisses if you truly wish to persuade me to agree.”
In mere seconds she found herself clasped in strong arms against that wonderfully enticing body. “Kate? You’ll not say nay, for I’ll not hear of it. As soon as can be, you’ll be mine.” With that fervent declaration, he kissed her most soundly.
Somehow her bonnet got lost and her shawl greatly disarranged. Her head ceased to ache, and that peculiar feeling deep within melted to a puddle of warmth. Loving a man had a lot to recommend for itself.
When at last released, Katherine said, her voice oddly breathless, “I expect we ought to go home. That is, my home.”
He sighed rather woefully, agreeing. “I fear you are right.” He picked up the reins and in short order they were dip-clopping along the road, not hurrying in the least.
“I’ve never seen a gentleman drive with the reins in one hand while his arm was about a lady,” Katherine observed dreamily.
“If we were on our way out to Fairfax Hall, the horse would know his own way and I would not need to hold anything but you, my love.” He paused a moment, tightening his clasp of her before continuing. “One thing I insist upon. No more productions at Sturbridge Fair, or any other commercial theater.”
“What?” Katherine sat up, most indignant. “But I am a success. You said so yourself.”
“Easy, love,” Philip replied, wishing he’d had the brains to bring the subject up later on, when she was more settled as his future wife and the entire world had been appraised of the wedding.
“I enjoy my writing,” she warned.
“And so you shall, my sweet. We shall have our very own theater and productions.”
She gave a dubious nod. “We will need a cast.”
“Ah, I have a notion or two about the best and most efficient manner of supplying that,” he answered in a low tone that sent delightful shivers all through Katherine. “I fully expect that along about the time that Belle and Gabriel sail out with their goslings, we will be close to having our first cast member, if you do not mind, that is?”
She swallowed with care, wondering if she ought to pinch herself, then decided the bump on her head was enough for the night. He was real, and the future never had looked rosier. “I think that it sounds splendiferous.”
He brought the gig to a halt before the Penn house, then swept his love into his arms to carry her up to the house.
When Mrs. Moore opened the door, having positioned herself for just such an event, he explained that Katherine was weak after the ordeal of the evening.
“Silly man,” Katherine whispered. “I believe you are more intent on having me in your arms.”
“You are a fast learner, Kate.” He marched along the hall, then placed her on the sofa in the drawing room, where the others were gathered.
For a moment shocked silence reigned, all concerned at the slight figure reclining on the sofa. Cousin Sophia crossed to ascertain that Katherine was not suffering from a fever, for her cheeks were suspiciously pink.
Then Gisela spoke. “Your father and I are to be married, Katherine. I hope you do not mind.”
Teddy had joined the group, and upon hearing this, he let out a whoop of joy. “Oh, I say, jolly good.”
“I’m immensely pleased for you both.” Katherine’s quiet words were nearly lost in the buzz of conversation following the announcement.
“But what about Katherine?” interrupted Cousin Sophia in her abrupt, practical way.
“Indeed. Why have you not allowed Katherine to visit me in London, Julian?” demanded Lady Winstanley. “Or are you like that miserable wretch, Sidney, who expected me to drop any day? I always used to say that you had deep pockets and short arms, Julian. The poor girl wants a good wardrobe and making over. Why, her gown looks years old and village-made, at that.”
“That was not the reason at all,” Julian replied, flustered and dismayed at the older woman’s forthright words. “I did not think she desired to go, for she seemed content here, and she was so young.”
Gisela placed a comforting hand over Julian’s. “He has been busy and alone. Sophia could do only so much, you know. It is difficult for a man to raise two children when he has an important position to take much of his tune.”