In the Shadow of Arabella Read online

  “What a lovely house this is!” Charity exclaimed. “This room is so tastefully decorated.”

  “I like it very much,” Katherine replied. “It is simple and at the same time grand.” She turned to Miss Brent and asked quietly, “Who is the beautiful woman with Lord Rudley?”

  “Lady Milicent Battle,” Marie answered.

  “The young woman Lady Brent said Lord Rudley was spending time with? Do you know her?”

  “Mm … a little. Her father is the Earl of Carstairs.”

  Katherine openly observed Lady Milicent as she stood in conversation with the earl. She was tall and slender, remarkably elegant in a gown of deep-sea blue. Her jewelry consisted only of diamonds but those were in abundant supply. Above the low neckline of her gown a priceless pendant lay against her white breast while a diamond tiara nestled in her high coiffure and diamonds dangled from her earlobes and encircled her slender, shapely wrists. Her face was arresting, for without being classically beautiful she had a presence that was commanding. She had hair as dark and shiny as mahogany and large, widely spaced eyes. High, arched brows were raised at something his lordship said to her, and her sensual mouth curved in a half smile.

  “She is … unusual,” Katherine said, for lack of a better word.

  “I know what you mean,” Marie responded. “There is something about her … a magnetism, an aura. She attracts men by the score but is not particularly popular among the women. She seldom speaks to me. We do not have much in common.”

  “I think any woman who is a favorite among the gentlemen tends to be unpopular with her own sex,” Charity added. “Jealousy is part of human nature, however despicable.”

  “Well, I am not jealous of her,’’ Marie continued, but broke off as their hostess, Lady Helen Manville, approached with a young man at her side who she introduced as Mr. Peter Everett. When he asked Katherine if she would care to dance, she hesitated.

  “Go on, Katy, enjoy yourself,” Charity urged. “Marie will keep me company.”

  Charity loathed these first moments at a party, when men who did not realize that she could not dance would ask her and she would decline one after another until they ceased to ask. At home everyone understood her infirmity, but here in London she knew it would be difficult at first, and she dreaded it. Two gentlemen, one quite young and one rather older, approached her for the first set. When she declined both, the younger asked Marie to join him. Lady Brent gave her daughter a nod of consent and Marie went off happily on the young man’s arm.

  Oliver Seaton did not make an appearance until the end of the second set, an example of tardiness that won him a disapproving glance from his aunt. He offered her one of his most disarming smiles, and then moved into the drawing room to search out one of his brother’s guests.

  “Good evening, Miss Harrington.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Seaton,” Charity answered, smiling warmly at a familiar face.

  “May I have the honor of the next dance, ma’am?”

  “Thank you, sir, but I do not dance,” she replied quietly.

  Most men would have excused themselves after such a rebuff, but Mr. Seaton had intended for the past week to ask the enchanting Miss Harrington to stand up with him. Certainly he could coax this shy country miss onto the floor.

  “But, Miss Harrington, I have requested the next piece of music especially for us.”

  She smiled again. “I am sure you did no such thing, Mr. Seaton, and indeed I must decline your invitation.”

  “If you do not know the steps, I will be happy to teach you,” he offered, taking her hand and drawing her to her feet.

  Watching this exchange from across the room, Katherine spoke to her partner for the next set. “Pray excuse me, sir,” she apologized, “I see that my friend has need of me.” He nodded as she turned away and hurried to Charity’s side.

  Charity was blushing, clearly confused by the gentleman’s persistence. She turned to Katherine with relief. “Mr. Seaton will not believe me when I say I do not dance.”

  “I will not take no for an answer,” he affirmed.

  Katherine saw instantly that the gentleman was being particularly stubborn. Well, then, only a direct blow would put him off. “Miss Harrington is lame, Mr. Seaton, and does not dance. I am sure you will excuse her.”

  *

  Chapter 4

  Startled by Katherine’s blunt remark, Charity sat down quickly, staring at her folded hands in confusion.

  Katherine’s eyes met Mr. Seaton’s squarely. No man could have been more embarrassed than he was at that moment. She expected him to mumble an apology and retreat. She was therefore considerably astonished, and more than a little impressed by his courage, when he hesitated only briefly before addressing Charity again. “May I have the pleasure of your company for the duration of the dance, Miss Harrington?”

  Good manners allowed only one answer to this question. Therefore, Charity raised her eyes to his as she replied quietly, “Certainly, sir, if it would please you.” Eager to end the awkward moment, Charity caught Katherine’s eye. “Your partner is waiting for you, Katy.”

  As Katherine moved away, Mr. Seaton took the chair beside Charity. “You must allow me to apologize, Miss Harrington.”

  “Please, sir, there is no need.”

  “On the contrary, ma’am. Any gentleman would have desisted after your first refusal. I am genuinely sorry to have distressed you.”

  “Truly, Mr. Seaton, you have not … it is only … my friend was rather direct.”

  “And rightly so, for I was being an insistent bore!”

  “No, sir, indeed you were not. You are in high spirits for a party, and you had no way of knowing. Please, enough has been said. Could we not change the subject?” She glanced up at him, a tentative smile hovering on her lips.

  There was a pronounced twinkle in his eyes as he replied, “We are having fine weather for this time of year, are we not, Miss Harrington?”

  Later that evening Oliver Seaton danced with Katherine and took the opportunity to apologize for his earlier behavior.

  It was quite some time, however, before Lord Rudley invited Katherine to stand up with him. He had been a model host all evening: circulating among his guests, dancing equally with all the ladies, conversing amicably with the gentlemen.

  As he swept Katherine into the waltz, she was impressed by the firm grip of his large gloved hand on her smaller one. Her last partner had seemed hesitant to touch her, barely brushing her fingertips as they danced. The earl’s hand at her waist was strong and warm, guiding her expertly about the room.

  He was dressed immaculately in knee breeches and a black silk evening coat that fitted across his broad shoulders without a wrinkle. Deep in the folds of his elaborately tied cravat a single diamond sparkled. He wore no other jewelry save a heavy gold signet ring bearing what Katherine assumed to be the Seaton family crest. His hair, styled a la Brutus, was very dark, nearly black. Katherine glanced up to meet piercing blue eyes gazing soberly down at her.

  At that moment, with her fingers resting lightly on his powerful shoulder and his hand at her waist, she had an odd sensation of dèja vu. She felt as if she had lived this moment not only once before but many times. Such a notion was silly, for she had never before danced with the earl. She did not know him well, had only heard him converse in Lady Brent’s salon for less than twenty minutes, yet he seemed a man of dimension—imperturbable and shrewd. She wondered briefly if he were given to excess.

  As she continued to hold his eyes, wondering what he was thinking, he shattered her illusion of his worth by voicing the single most common and unoriginal question she had heard in town.

  “How are you enjoying your stay in London, Miss Stillwell?”

  She sighed inwardly, prepared to respond with an equally common and unoriginal answer, when suddenly she decided she would not play the game by society’s rules. “Would you like to hear the proper, polite answer to your question, my lord, or the truthful one?”
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br />   If she thought to startle him with her question, she was only half successful. He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow at her challenging remark. “The truthful one, by all means.”

  “Well, then,” she considered, “I must admit I have always felt rather like a duck out of water here. London society is all frivolity and pleasure-seeking.”

  “My brother John would agree with you. Yet you certainly have entertainments in the country,” he said.

  “We have our pleasures and pastimes, Lord Rudley, but we also have a busy, worthwhile, and practical side to our lives, one that seems to be lacking in town. I find all my days here filled with shopping, visiting, and strolling in the park. Our evenings in the weeks to come are replete with parties, routs, and balls. I do not believe there to be a single day in the next two weeks when we are not engaged to attend some function or another.’’

  “The Season does not last forever,” he replied. “Surely there is time within the year to both visit the metropolis and fulfill our obligations.”

  “Perhaps you are right,” she conceded, “and no doubt we shall enjoy the entertainments. I am only saying it is a one-dimensional sort of life. I, for one, could not pursue it for long.”

  The dance ended and no more was said on the subject of the carefree London life. Katherine never regretted the instinct that caused her to be honest with Lord Rudley that evening, even though she learned in the weeks to come that his lordship was one of the most active participants in the very life-style she had deprecated.

  Later that same evening after Rudley had bid his guests good night, he thought again of Miss Stillwell’s comment. It was true, as his youngest brother John often remarked, that the large majority of London entertainments were self-serving. Rudley rode and boxed to keep his body in condition; he drove and fenced to keep these skills finely honed; he sat in the House of Lords to do his part, as his father and grandfather had done, to give and receive views on the present state and future prospects for the well-being of the country. A great deal of the remainder of his time, however, was spent in the pursuit of idle pleasure. Countless balls, endless dinners, hours of meaningless flirtation—Miss Stillwell was correct—much of it could be considered a waste of time.

  He recalled the question he had put to her earlier: “How are you enjoying your stay in London?’’ He had been making polite, simplistic, inane conversation for so long that he did it now without thinking. He was conditioned to thoughtless chatter and he was honest enough to admit that it served quite well for most of his acquaintance. He felt very much as if Miss Stillwell had plucked the rug from beneath his complacent society manners. Before he retired to bed that night he decided never to put another question to her that might be considered the slightest bit trite.

  Katherine twirled round the room in the capable arms of Mr. Peter Everett, her aquamarine gown skimming softly over the polished floor. Tall, shy, and clever, Mr. Everett had been humming along with the orchestra, pointing out their shortcomings to his partner.

  “The brilliant composer who penned this music never expected it to be hacked about by louts like these.”

  “I have always been impressed by people who can play the violin, even poorly,” Katherine replied. “It seems an incomprehensible instrument to me.”

  “The instrument may require skill,” he said, “but one would suppose that, having conquered the instrument, the musician could at least manage to count to three. It is, after all, all that is demanded in a waltz.”

  Katherine finished the dance with a smile on her face, for Mr. Everett was always a congenial partner. She was claimed for the following set by Lord Witford. Following Witford, she was promised to Parnaby. He had approached her moments after she arrived at the evening’s festivities and insisted that she allow him a waltz.

  Now, as she sat at the edge of the room chatting with Charity, she wondered if he intended to collect her or if he would allow her to sit the dance out. She glanced about casually. Most of the couples had already taken the floor, waiting for the music to recommence.

  Suddenly he was there, bowing over her hand and drawing her to the edge of the dance floor. When he had spoken to her earlier, he had been all smiles. Now his face held a stern expression.

  “What has changed you, Katy? In all the years I have known you, I have never seen you behave like this.”

  Taken aback by this seeming attack, she countered with, “Behave like what?”

  “All this dancing and smiling. You have danced twice with Witford and twice with Everett. Every time I look you are with a different man.”

  “They asked me to dance, James. I have always loved to dance.”

  “Yes, but not each dance, and not with every man who asked. You would often sit out a dance with Miss Harrington. I can remember when you were more particular—”

  “I do not see what concern this is of yours,” she interrupted.

  He held her a little away and stared down at her. “You were serious the other day? When you said you were determined to marry?”

  “Do you think I would likely jest about such a matter? Of course I was serious.”

  “I am starting to believe you are. It is unfortunate that we were interrupted by Lady Brent, for there was more I needed to tell you. I want you to wait for me, Katy. I love you, and I will not lose you now.”

  These last words were whispered so softly and with such passion that she felt again the same thrill she had known when she first realized he cared for her … when he first held her … when he first kissed her.

  “If you truly love me,” he continued, “you will wait for me, wait until I can offer you the kind of situation you deserve.”

  “When last we spoke, you said we could not live on love, James. If love is not strong enough to see us through your present difficulties, what makes you think it strong enough to see us through this waiting period you seek? How long would we need to wait? Can you tell me that?”

  “Two years, three at the most.”

  She was shaking her head before he even finished speaking. “If it were for myself, maybe I would wait that long. But I am not the only one who matters anymore. Sir Humphrey plans to marry Serena to a very old man in September, and I have sworn I will not let it happen.”

  “Perhaps I could speak to him,” he suggested, “convince him that such a marriage is not in her best interest.’’

  “You know my stepfather,” Katherine replied. “Once he has decided something, he never changes his mind. But I promise you: I intend to see that this marriage never takes place.”

  Before going to sleep that evening, Katherine added some comments to the growing list of names in her journal. She now had eleven men entered on the pages as matrimonial possibilities. She scanned the names with approval. It seemed there were more available men than she had at first suspected. Most on her list were congenial; several were wealthy; all could give her the secure home she needed in order to rescue her sister from Sir Humphrey’s unfeeling plans.

  Parnaby had been jealous of her popularity tonight, of that she was certain. Katherine did not believe in manipulating men, and she certainly refused to play the teasing games she saw other women employ; yet she realized that if her quest for a husband caused James to be jealous and brought him to his senses, perhaps he would offer for her after all.

  She smiled as she thought what a heavenly moment that would be! James declaring his love, admitting that any hardships they must share would be worth it so long as they could spend the rest of their lives together. They would announce their engagement and Sir Humphrey would see that he was wrong about James. Together she and James would be more than a match for her stepfather. Sir Humphrey would never insist on Serena’s marrying a nobody like Archie Postlethwaite once she was the sister-in-law of a viscount. With connections to the Haygarth family, Serena could look much higher than a mere country squire.

  With this best-of-all-possible-worlds scenario running through her mind, Katherine tucked her journal away in the
desk and blew out her candle. Slipping a hand under her cheek, she drifted off to sleep, dreaming of her future as Lady Parnaby.

  *

  Chapter 5

  “You cannot be serious, Oliver. The lady is lame!” The earl and his brother were enjoying a leisurely repast in the oak-paneled breakfast parlor. Beyond the opened curtains a dense morning fog evaporated from the streets as the sun climbed over the rooftops. Oliver had just suggested they call in Berkeley Square and invite Lord Brent’s houseguests to ride with them.

  “Miss Stillwell assured me that Miss Harrington does ride, but she insists upon an extremely mild animal. I have found the most docile gelding you can imagine.”

  “You found no such in my stable!”

  “No, certainly not. I heard of him yesterday from Hower, and I intend to take Marcus Brent to see him today. He is accustomed to carrying elderly ladies and small children; I was assured he has not a single evil or fractious bone in his entire body.’’

  “I hope Marcus does not intend an equally docile mount for Miss Stillwell,” Rudley interjected, “for I can assure you, she is a bruising rider.” He considered for a moment and then continued, “Tell him to put her on Karma—there is a horse to suit her skill.”

  “Very well,” Oliver said, “she shall have Karma if Marcus agrees.” He regarded his brother thoughtfully for a moment before he added, “She interests you, does she not?”

  “Who? Miss Stillwell? Why do you think so?”