Louise Allen - Regency Pleasures and Sins Part 1

In her room Jenny was ready waiting with hot water and hair brushes, the best of Katherine’s limited choice of evening gowns laid out on the bed. Light was fading over the park and, as Katherine washed, the maid went round the room closing the heavy blue curtains across the windows.

With the outside world shut out, she looked closely at the bedchamber for the first time and shivered. The room seemed glacial to her eyes, used as she was to a bedchamber as a sanctuary, a warm retreat where she could create a feminine, private world.

The walls were lined with ice blue watered silk, the polished boards were largely obscured by a vast Chinese rug in shades of blue and ivory and the high ceiling and plasterwork seemed to enclose her like the sugarwork on an elaborate cake. Even the bed did not offer much promise of comfort. It was so high she would need a footstool to get into it, the covers were a mass of white lace and the hangings more chilly blue silk.

The pictures played their part in her discomfort—a full-length portrait of an exquisite young lady in a lavish gown and marvellous parure of diamonds regarded her with disdain and, on another wall, a classical scene showed maidens being dragged to a sacrificial altar.

Jenny followed her mistress’s gaze and pulled a face. ‘Nice thing to have in a bedchamber, I don’t think! Enough to give a body nightmares. Here’s your pearl ear-bobs, Miss Katherine.’

Katherine hooked them into her lobes with the sinking feeling that she was the maiden on the way to a sacrifice. The prospect of the meal filled her with dread. She would be surrounded by servants who, if they did not know it already, would soon be aware of the strange nature of the Marquis’s marriage.

Luncheon had been an ordeal, how much worse was a formal dinner going to be? She would have to make polite and appropriate conversation with three men, two of whom she hardly knew and one of whom she loved and could not have. And, to crown it all, she must hope that with her limited experience she did not commit some breach of etiquette in this ducal household and embarrass both herself and Nicholas.

But it was none of those things that made her want to order Jenny to throw everything into their portmanteaux, to send for John to harness the team and to flee back to the shabby comfort of last night’s inn. A creeping unease was coming into her heart, a feeling that she was out of her depth already and into a situation where she had no control. Whatever happened she was going to be hurt, she knew that, but now it was no longer just herself and Nick involved.

The men were gathered in what Heron informed her was, ‘The Chinese Salon, your ladyship, it being more comfortable for small family gatherings.’

Remembering some of the bewildering succession of apartments through which Robert had led her that afternoon, Katherine could only be thankful for that information. She swept into the room with her chin up, telling herself that if she could beard a highwayman in his den she could face a Duke in his palace.

The men looked up as she entered. They had been gathered around a table with a paper spread upon it and, as Katherine came closer, she saw it was a large map. She bobbed a curtsy and looked up to meet Nick’s eyes. He smiled and without calculation she smiled back, relieved to find his warmth in the middle of the cold formality. Then Robert greeted her and the Duke stepped forward, gesturing her to look at what they had been studying and the chill, lonely feeling ebbed away.

‘I was just showing Nicholas this map which Mr Crace, our archivist, found recently in the Muniments Room. He is unable to join us for dinner, as he is dining with Reverend Rossington, our chaplain, at the Bishop’s palace.’

Katherine swallowed a small gasp. Of course, a Duke would have an archivist and a chaplain and of course they normally joined the family for dinner. Was it ever possible to be private in this vast house?

Nick was poring over the map again, one long finger pointing to what seemed to be a house towards the edge of the park. ‘Is Cousin Wilhelmina still in residence in the Dower House, sir?’

‘No, she died three years ago,’ the Duke replied. ‘The place is empty now.’ He regarded his elder son sharply. ‘Have you a use for it?’

Nick shrugged, ‘Possibly, sir, if you have not. I shall need to be setting up my own establishment.’

‘You can have the east wing here to your entire use should you wish,’ the Duke remarked. ‘Why do you wish to move out of the house?’

‘Because, with respect, sir, I think we would deal better together if we are not in each other’s pocket. And my wife informed me last night that she prefers a smaller home. Something snug and cosy were the words she used, if I remember aright.’

‘Nicholas!’ The word was forced out of Katherine with more emphasis than decorum and she blushed. ‘Excuse me, your Grace. I meant no disrespect, I had no idea where Nick lived when I spoke.’

‘So, he had not told you.’ The Duke smiled thinly at their discomfiture. ‘You could not have guessed what you would find. And in any case, you would expect the marriage to have been ended long before the Dower House is fit for habitation, would you not?’

‘Yes, of co—’

‘No.’ It was Nick, cutting emphatically across her response. ‘No, that is by no means agreed.’

As soon as he spoke he regretted it. Not the sentiment, but the abrupt way he had spoken, for Katherine’s eyes meeting his held not the defiance and anger he expected, but a sort of blank tiredness. He felt as though he had raised his hand to strike an already beaten animal.

‘Kat …’

‘Dinner is served, your Grace.’

The Duke stepped forward to offer his arm to Katherine and Nick wondered if he had imagined the expression in her eyes. Now they were bright, attentive on his father, and she was already asking a thoughtful question about the Chinese wallpaper which extended from the Salon into the dining room.

The table was reduced by most of its leaves and conversation would be easy, he thought, taking the foot of the table while Katherine was seated on his father’s right and Robert took the opposite place. It did mean he was sitting at right angles to her, which made it difficult to examine her face more closely.

Still, he mused while mechanically disjointing the capon set before him, the view of Kat’s profile was charming enough to keep any man occupied over dinner. The dark lashes swept her cheek, fluttering modestly in contradiction to the set of her firm little chin. Her nose was straight and when she smiled, as she was doing now at Robert who was offering her fish, there was a hint of a dimple in her cheek.

But despite the smile, he could not read her mood and he had become used to being able to do that on the long journey together. It had seemed she was not used to dissembling, to hiding her feelings; when she was angry her chin came up, her eyes flashed and she said what she thought. When she was happy her laughter was infectious and her whole body relaxed into a fluent softness that had an alarming effect on his own.

But now she was on society manners, listening attentively to her father-in-law and interposing a sensible question from time to time. She seemed to be sharing her attention equally between his father and brother. Nick tried interjecting a question.

‘Do you ride, Katherine?’

She turned to look at him and he was struck by how refreshing she looked in her simple gown in that exotic room. Her expression was serious and when she smiled the warmth did not reach her eyes. ‘No, I have never ridden.’ The smile became rueful. ‘We never lived in the country after I was twelve and in town it was difficult enough keeping the carriage and pair without adding riding horses.’