He attempted reason. “I can’t imagine that you want to marry me, Isabella.”
“This is my home,” she declared, “and our family blood must continue here. It isrightthat it continue here.”
“I have the Braydon blood,” he pointed out. “You’re talking of the Godyson blood, and that only came herewith your grandmother. You will carry that to some other grand estate.”
She had been well indoctrinated “You’ll break Grandmama’s heart!” she cried. “She made Beauchamp Abbey what it is.” Here came the tears, which she seemed able to summon at will. “You’re a monstrous usurper!”
“Then you certainly don’t want to marry me.”
She let out a wail that could probably be heard throughout the house, and ran away.
Dauntry sighed. Damn Mrs. Cateril for not being the woman he’d been promised. He’d have to find another bride, and speedily, for recently Isabella had been taking direct action. She’d sought his company a time or two and come too close to him for propriety. Once she’d tripped and fallen into his arms. It had been so clearly staged that he’d been tempted to drop her.
She was a child and his ward, but he was sure the dowager Lady Dauntry believed that all was fair in love and war, and she was waging war. He wasn’t even sure the dowager loved Isabella. Whatever the truth of that, she was allowing her passion for Beauchamp Abbey and her precious Godyson bloodline to rule.
The Godyson family was one of the few aristocratic families that could trace its line back to before the Conquest, and the dowager was the sole remainder. When she’d married, she’d insisted on including the name, and the family had become Godyson-Braydon. She’d built the power and prestige of the family, and made the Abbey suitable for its glory. Braydon wouldn’t be surprised if she’d had some plan to drop the Braydon name, and have her son become Alfred Godyson, Viscount Dauntry.
If so, any such plans were shattered, but she had not yet given up the fight. Thus he still needed a wife who was up to the task.
He’d go to Town and ask friends for recommendations.There must be any number of worthy war widows who’d benefit from the arrangement, and some had followed the drum. They’d make short work of the dowager and Isabella. Before that, however, he’d have to deal with Mrs. Cateril. He could respond to the letter to say he’d changed his mind, but his friendship with Lulworth and his wife had helped preserve his sanity here, and Mrs. Cateril and Mrs. Lulworth were old and devoted friends.
Another delicate quandary, but with planning he should be able to manage it. He returned to his office to write that he would visit the parsonage at ten the next morning. He dispatched it, then sat back to plan how to get Mrs. Cateril to beat the retreat, saving him from any hint of having jilted her.
Chapter 6
Kitty tried to pluck up the courage to tell Ruth what a mess she’d made of everything. Instead, she clung to hope of a miracle. She thought she managed to appear normal through the evening, for Ruth and her husband must expect her to be anxious.
Andrew had arrived home accompanied by two large honey-gold dogs, which Kitty gathered served as gun dogs at times, retrieving rabbits and pigeons for the parsonage pot. Stocky, brown-haired, and cheerful, Andrew was made to be a country parson. Kitty could easily imagine him out in the fields, helping to bring in the harvest.
Why couldn’t Viscount Dauntry be more like him?
His dogs were as amiable as he and tolerated Sillikin’s excited greeting. The three soon ended up curled together in front of the fire, with the two cats nearby. Lady Cateril would have been appalled, but for Kitty that scene was a symbol of all she’d thrown away.
Over dinner Andrew spoke of the viscount, obviously assuming Kitty would be interested. How Dauntry was distantly connected to a duke, had been stylish even as a schoolboy, and had been mentioned in dispatches once in the war. Kitty assumed it was all intended to make him even more appealing to her, but it added to her blue devils. He most certainly wouldn’t want a hoyden as his wife.
She went early to bed to avoid more talk of what she couldn’t have and suffered a restless night of longings and fears. In the darkest hours of the night, she found a thread of hope. Lord Dauntry was clearly desperate enough to grab at any available bride, so perhaps his desperation would make him forgiving.
Dark-hour thoughts were never positive, however.
Why is he so desperate?
Has his cold harshness turned off all the women he’s courted?
She tried to tell herself that he, too, had presented an unfortunate first impression. That he was easygoing beneath the ice. Or that she could cope with his coldness because he’d mostly be absent. She’d coped with a great deal worse from Marcus, after all.
None of it helped.
She awoke to a cold morning with the fire not yet lit, and huddled under the covers. What was she going to do when the ax dropped? She couldn’t bear to return to Cateril Manor. She simply couldn’t. But she couldn’t stay here as a guest forever.
She’d have to find some kind of employment, but as what?
She realized that Sillikin was by the door, wanting to go out. At Cateril Manor Kitty would have simply opened the door, for the dog knew the way to the kitchen there and the servants would let her out. Here, she couldn’t depend on that.
Ruth had only five servants—her cook, the manservant, the lad, a young nursery nurse, and the general maid. Clattering footsteps suggested that Sukey, the general maid, was dashing here and there. She shouldn’t be asked to care for a dog.
Kitty wrapped up warmly and then, praying she wouldn’t encounter Andrew, took Sillikin downstairsto the kitchen. The cook looked up, startled, and then frowned at the dog.
“She needs to go out,” Kitty said. Yet again, she wasn’t impressing the servants, and servants gossiped. “I didn’t want to trouble Sukey.”
