Kate faced the elopement philosophically. She had to leave anyway and she was already in disgrace. It mattered little to her that she would be creeping away in the dark instead of leaving in a more dignified manner the next morning. And she really did not feel she could do anything now to prevent the elopement. She had reasoned with her employer, but the girl was determined. And who was Kate to say that she was wrong? Thelma was extremely weak-willed. If she stayed, it was very possible that she would end up marrying the marquess. A life of social ostracism with her Mr. Moreton was probably preferable to such a life, Kate thought with a shudder.
Besides, the past five days had been disappointing ones in several ways. Late in the afternoon after Kate had visited the Evanses’ cottage, Lady Thelma had told her amidst a great deal of embarrassed stammering that for her remaining stay at the Abbey she would be expected to take her meals in her own room and remain there or working in the library for the rest of each day instead of mingling with the guests.
Kate had felt a vexed sort of humiliation at the command. But she had stayed on for Lady Thelma’s sake. The elopement itself she would countenance. But she would not see the girl undertake the long journey to Scotland without female companionship and the proper chaperonage. But the days had been irksome. Boredom had been the least of her worries, though there had been plenty of that. Sitting in her room or in Lady Thelma’s and taking walks when she knew the guests absent did not help the days fly by.
But there had been other results more bothersome than the boredom. In five days she had not set eyes on Mr. Dalrymple beyond one glimpse through her window as he rode away from the house with a group of others. She supposed that somehow or other she might have contrived a meeting. But it was very unlikely that she would see him alone. And the embarrassment of her request made her unusually timid. If Nicholas Seyton had never meant anything to her, perhaps she could ask a stranger for his address without a blush. But somehow it seemed that asking for such information would make it very obvious to Mr. Dalrymple that she and Nicholas had been lovers. Ridiculous, of course, she had told herself at least a dozen times over the previous five days. But she still hesitated, found excuses, assured herself that the time was inconvenient. When the time was right, she always told herself, she would dare Lord Barton’s wrath and sally forth in search of Mr. Dalrymple.
But time was running out. And what would she do if she had to leave the Abbey tonight without having discovered the address? It was very important that she get that letter on its way soon so that Nicholas could arrive back in time to get the papers from Josh and save the Pickerings from homelessness and starvation.
The trouble was, Kate thought now as she stitched delicately at her embroidery, she was completely out of touch with what was going on in the house. All the ladies had retired to their rooms, Lady Thelma had said. But what about the gentlemen? Had they gone out? Were they too in their rooms? Were they engaged in some other activity in the house? There was no way of knowing beyond going on a search. And she would do that now if she had not turned craven in the last few days.
She stitched on. Another very depressing result of her confinement to her own room and Lady Thelma’s was that she had not seen Sir Harry in the last five days either, except on horseback with the same riding party of which Mr. Dalrymple had made one. It really did seem a hard fate to be cut off from his company when they had so little time left anyway. She would have so liked a few more chances to talk with him, perhaps walk with him. Even if the conversation consisted entirely of quarreling and insults. It was dreadfully frustrating to think of his being in the same house as she, yet totally beyond her reach.
Perhaps it was just as well, she thought. Nothing could develop from the relationship, if their association could be dignified by that name. The more time she spent with him, the fonder she would grow of him, and the harder it would be to be without him after she left with Lady Thelma. The argument seemed curiously unconvincing, but she must keep telling herself that it was true nonetheless.
One good result of having to keep to herself was that she had not had to fear running into that hateful worm the Marquess of Uppington. It had been relaxing for five days to know that she did not have to keep glancing over her shoulder lest he be creeping up on her. She could not remember fearing anyone as she had feared that man. She would have to remain hidden for only relatively few hours longer. And then she would be fleeing with the runaways and could forget the very existence of the Marquess of Uppington.
Kate’s needle remained suspended over her work for a moment as she frowned down at a quite unoffending silk anemone. He was not the reason why she had not ventured out in search of Mr. Dalrymple, was he? Was she frightened of running into the marquess? She had been telling herself that her reluctance was due to her desire not to be seen by Lord Barton. But why should she fear him? What could the man do to her more than he had done already? He could not dismiss her. He could not refuse to give her written recommendation. He had done both of those things already.
Was it Lord Uppington? It was so very possible that while creeping around peering through doorways in search of the one man, she would actually find the marquess. And perhaps in a quiet part of the house where they would be suddenly alone together.
Good gracious, Kate thought indignantly, threading her needle through the edge of the cloth and folding it up resolutely, it was fear that was keeping her skulking upstairs. Cringing, feminine terror of a rake who could not even put up a decent fight against an indolent gentleman like Sir Harry. She was living in fear of a man who would resort to spite and lies in order to destroy his victims once his pride had been wounded.
Fear the Marquess of Uppington? Never!
“Lady Thelma,” Kate said, getting to her feet, “you are tired despite your excitement. You have yawned twice within the last five minutes. You really must have some sleep. Tonight will be sleepless, and the next few days are like to be busy and tiring ones. I am going to leave you now.”
“I am sure you are right, Kate,” Lady Thelma agreed, “though I swear I shall not sleep one wink. But I must not keep you from your bed. You must try to sleep too, you know. ”
Kate strode along to her own room, feeling better than she had felt for days. She would show anyone who cared to watch how fearful she was, indeed. She dumped her work bag unceremoniously on the desk in her dressing room without bothering to put it away, turned to the pier glass to make sure she was fit to be seen belowstairs, and turned resolutely to leave. She did stop briefly beside the desk, though, hesitate, and slip something from inside her work bag into the pocket of her dress before whisking herself from the room and to the drawing room.
She entered unannounced but found the room empty. The house was far from quiet, though, she discovered as she went downstairs. Footmen and maids seemed to be dashing in all directions, several of them laden with flowers. Doubtless all was being made ready for the evening festivities. Kate peered into the state dining room, more out of curiosity than an expectation of finding any of the gentleman there. The large epergnes of flowers and the sparking silver and crystal tempted her to linger, but she would not lose the momentum of her errand. She moved on to the salon, the library, the hall, and found no one. Mr. Moreton and Lord Poole were in the billiard room, but there was no one else there. Kate murmured an apology and withdrew.
How disappointing it was not to have seen Mr. Dalrymple after making such a determined effort to thumb her nose at her fear.
“Have you seen Mr. Dalrymple?” she asked the only footman she could see who was not rushing about on some errand.
“I believe he went riding, ma’am, with Lord Stoughton and two other gentlemen,” the young man answered with a bow.
Bother, Kate thought, wandering to the open front doors. Now she would have to do this all over again. But this evening it would be out of the question, when everyone would be dressed for a grand occasion and there would be so many visitors wandering around. Why had she not mastered her fear before this? If only she had realized it was terror of the marquess that was keeping her in her room, perhaps she would have shamed herself into coming forth long before this.
And then she turned her eyes skyward. She might have known! The Marquess of Uppington himself was climbing the curving steps that led down to the terrace. And he had seen her. Well, if she could not fulfill her errand with Mr. Dalrymple, Kate thought, at least she could redeem herself in her own eyes by not running from this confrontation. The marquess’s face was still looking as if he had been in a severe boxing mill. And that face was not looking at all pleased to see her. It was very likely that he would walk past her just as if she were not there at all.
Kate moved slightly so that she stood in the center of the doorway. “Good afternoon, my lord,” she said with a bright smile. “Is it not a beautiful afternoon?”
He looked up at her, startled, and inclined his head stiffly. “Ma’am,” he mumbled.
“I am standing here quite undecided,” she said. “Should I venture into the garden for a stroll or should I not? Tell me, my lord, will I be cold without a shawl, do you think?”
“I think it unlikely, ma’am,” he said. “The air is warm.”
“Ah,” she said. “I did not bring a bonnet downstairs with me, either. Will anyone mind, do you think?”
“It is unlikely,” he said. “Most people are in their rooms or riding, I believe.”
“Oh.” Kate sighed.“I had hoped that perhaps someone would wish to accompany me. But no matter. If no one else is here, and doubtless you are tired after a walk or a ride, I shall have to venture out alone.”
The marquess’s eyes narrowed on her smiling face for a moment. Then he held out an arm to her. “Allow me,” he said. “I can think of no more pleasant way to while away the next half-hour than a stroll in the garden.”
