Regency Christmas Courtship. Louise Allen
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unpicked the knot she had just set, which had become unaccountably tangled. So presumably Madeleine had been Lady Madeleine, even though she was married to a mere Mr Rivers.
‘That was his view,’ Grant said. ‘I do not share it. Having married a lady with just those qualifications as my first wife, I know all too well they are no guarantee of anything. However, it makes a perfectly plausible reason.’
‘Of course,’ she agreed. And the old earl was quite correct—what do I bring to this marriage? We could have a good marriage, as long as I can keep my secrets, but if they become public knowledge, it will make a scandal that would rebound on Grant and on the children. She was pleased at how composed she sounded.
‘Kate, you must write to your brother soon,’ Grant said.
‘No. I will not write to him. I do not want him knowing anything of my marriage.’
‘Kate, why ever not? I would have asked you for his direction and done so myself if I had realised you would neglect to do so. I need to talk to him about the settlements,’ Grant said. ‘And I assume he is holding money for you that will be released on your marriage. I seem to recall you saying something.’
Did I? How foolish. ‘There is virtually nothing. I do not want to make a fuss about it. He has control until I marry with his approval, that is all.’
‘You think he will object to me? He may not know me by reputation, but he is hardly likely to turn up his nose at an earl.’
‘He would be delighted with an earl,’ Kate said drily. ‘But he will be unpleasant. If you must have the truth, Henry has an expensive wife and ambitions beyond his means. He is quite unscrupulous.’ That was all true enough. ‘If he discovers who I have married, he would ask to borrow money—which I doubt you would ever see again. To encourage him to sponge off you would not be right.’
That was harsh, but it was a mild version of the truth. Henry would hold the scandal of Anna’s parentage over Grant, try to entangle him in that mire. He would get a surprise if he tried it, she thought grimly. Grant would probably throttle him. But then there was the blackmail. What if Grant thought he must inform the magistrate? He was an honest, straightforward man. There was no way he could ignore it, surely? Then he would be smeared by association, by his marriage.
‘He is my brother-in-law. I would not like to be unreasonable. Do not sound so apologetic, my dear. Brothers-in-law are almost expected to hang on one’s coat-tails.’ The tolerant amusement in Grant’s voice was no help. ‘Besides, there is the matter of the settlements, which I really should discuss with him. You should have what is yours.’
‘It is very little, a few hundreds.’
‘Settle it on Anna if you do not want it. It is always a mistake to neglect financial matters, however minor.’
Kate wondered suddenly just how wealthy Grant was. There was no stinting about the household, the land was obviously in good heart. But that might simply be because he was expending all he had on keeping things just so. Now, on top of the risk of her dubious brother touching him for loans, which would never be repaid, she had saddled him with the expense of a wife and a child. She had removed his opportunity for a much more advantageous marriage and all she could offer were the skills of any competent mistress of a country house.
For how much longer could she put Grant off about contacting Henry? Or could she add to her deceit, tell Grant that she had written to her brother, but that he had cut the connection?
But then Grant would still want to pursue her money for her and, she suspected, he would try to heal the breach. And behind those fears was the lurking terror that sooner or later he would ask her to accompany him to London, take her place beside him in society as his hostess. Inwardly she quailed. A country mouse contemplating life amidst the birds of prey of fashionable London could not have felt as inadequate. She could not even dance the waltz, Kate reflected with a descent into gloom. The faint smile felt as though it was pinned to her face. She would manage if she had to. Somehow. But if Lord Baybrook was there…
‘Kate, is something wrong?’ Grant had obviously noticed the artificiality of her expression.
‘No, of course not.’ She made the effort to smile with her eyes when all she felt was queasiness.
‘There is no need to be anxious.’ There was something warm in his expression, some meaning in his tone. Kate stared back, puzzled, as he added, ‘About tonight, I mean.’
He is talking about bed, about making love. Does he mean not to be anxious because he will come to me…or that he will not? I hope he comes. There was no hiding the truth from herself that she was attracted to this man, this stranger-husband. She felt the blush rising up her face and with it the shame that Grant would see her eagerness, think her a wanton. Or perhaps he would welcome that, expect her to be very experienced and to possess sophisticated skills in bed.
It was difficult to understand this feeling. After all, her skills were non-existent and she had no idea what would be involved in sophisticated lovemaking.
‘I am not anxious about tonight,’ she said, rather too loudly.
‘Dinner is served, my lady.’ Grimswade somehow managed to sound even more smoothly efficient and bland than normal. When had he appeared in the doorway behind her? Had he heard? She wondered if it was possible to pass out from sheer embarrassment. Henry always said that one should treat the servants as though they were furniture and would discuss anything and everything in front of them—from an embarrassing rash to his gaming losses.
‘Thank you, Grimswade.’ She found a smile for the butler as she began to rise to her feet, then almost jumped in surprise to find her husband by her side, his hand outstretched.
‘My dear.’
My dear. A conventional phrase, that is all. He means nothing by it. She put her fingertips on his wrist and resisted the urge to curl them around the strong tendons, to feel the jut of his wristbone. When she had seen him this morning her eyes had been drawn to his bare, tanned hands, a sharp contrast with her smaller, paler hands beside his on the rug. What would those long fingers look like on her body? How would they feel? Now she told herself that she could detect nothing through the fine kid of her evening gloves, not his body heat, not the pulse of his blood.
‘I do hope you like the new recipe for veal ragout Cook has been trying,’ Kate remarked as they walked through to the dining room. ‘It is an old family one I remembered.’ Discussing the food was utterly banal. He would think her so dull. But it was safe.
Giles the footman stepped forward to pull out her chair at the foot of the table for her, but Grant was before him. He pushed it in carefully as she sat, then laid one hand on her shoulder in a fleeting caress before taking his own place at the head of the long board. ‘I am certain that whatever you suggest will be delightful.’ That warmth was back in his eyes and behind it a question that had not been there before. Or perhaps a doubt.
Conscious of the attendant footmen, of Grimswade bringing the decanter to fill Grant’s wine glass, Kate closed her lips on the impulsive questions—What do you want of me? What do you expect of me?—and focused her attention on the dishes arrayed on the table. At least her husband would have no reason to complain of her supervision of the kitchen, whatever he felt about her presence in his bed.
Kate was nervous. That blush when he had mentioned tonight had not been the faint glow of anticipated pleasure, but the embarrassment or nerves that Grant might have expected from a virgin. But she was not untouched—the presence of little Anna was proof enough of that. So what was it? An aversion to him, or painful shyness? One would be easy enough to overcome, the other, less so.
‘Have you been dining here in lonely state every night?’ he asked, casting round for some innocuous topic to discuss in front of the servants. He