He would never have married any of the women he played with, and they’d had no more desire for commitment than he. Thank heavens Kitty Cateril showed no sign of wanting spurious emotions and declarations. That was probably what had decided him a week ago—that and her fighting spirit. By God, she had a fighting spirit.
In London he’d visited his military club and out ofcuriosity mentioned meeting Marcus Cateril’s widow. There’d been universal approval, which should have pleased him, but he’d seen interest as well when they’d realized that Kit Kat was free to wed. Most men had lamented that they were in no position to marry anyone and probably hadn’t been serious in the first place, but there’d been a few others. He’d lied to one, a Captain Edison, about where she was. He hadn’t wanted an old admirer racing in to snatch his bride. His instinct had been right. Edison had given her the dog and might have been a serious admirer all along.
He’d left the club unsettled by the men’s reactions, but it hadn’t dented his determination to marry the woman. She met his requirements, and once she was established at the Abbey he’d be free to leave. Now, however, he was discovering a new Kitty every minute. He shouldn’t be surprised. Women could be as changeable as the English weather. He’d seen hard-bitten whores become sighing fools over a man no better than any other. Usually one much worse, which only proved the female brain was chaotic. He’d seen coolheaded ladies gibber and coo over a baby—but, then, he’d seen men do the same if it was their own.
Children.
Odd to think he might have a bunch of them.
Unlikely, she’d said. That answered one question. She wasn’t a virgin, so he needn’t consider that in the coming night.
The coming night.His body stirred at the thought of it. When she’d relaxed in the upholstered chair, firelight playing on her russet hair and bold features, he’d felt her sensual power. A sliding, quizzical glance had caught his breath, and he’d been suddenly aware that though her strong nose and chin could be somewhat mannish, her full lips were anything but, especially when parted....
He’d have to guard against that or he’d end up ensnared like all the rest.Kit Kat.Apparently her husband’s London rooms had been known as the Kit Kat Club.
He dragged his mind back to the practical.
Eight years married and no child, so in all probability she was barren. That was probably a blessing. He had no idea how he might react to a child of his own, but he was sure having a wife die in childbirth would be the deepest sort of hell.
***
Kitty played her way around the house, encountering the occasional groundsman. If she passed close by she said, “Good afternoon” which seemed to startle them. Was it extraordinary that any of the family acknowledge their existence?
When she’d completed the circuit of the house she was feeling better for fresh air and exercise, but reluctant to return. That wouldn’t do. She couldn’t retreat, so she must advance. And if she were advancing, it would be with a strategy and as great a force as she could muster.
Perhaps worrying about how to conquer the dowager and Isabella was the wrong approach. The servants might be a better target.Rather than attack the fortress, undermine it.
A first step would be a celebration of the viscount’s marriage. She was sure that was normal. The villagers had received coins and free ale. The servants here should do as well or better.
She’d consult Braydon.
No, Henry. Henry will know.
The outdoor servants must be included. What of the tenants, laborers, and local tradesmen outside of Beecham Dab? There was the hamlet called Stuckle, and there might be other places.
Lord Pately’s heir had married during her time living atCateril Manor. The Caterils hadn’t attended because of mourning, but they’d heard all about the celebrations. There’d been the usual coins and free ale, but there’d also been a servants’ ball a few days after the event and invitations to the most prosperous local farmers and tradesmen.
Perhaps there was something in the records about how the fifth viscount’s wedding had been celebrated. If not, people could be asked. It might have been no more than twenty years ago.
She strolled about as she thought, but then a speck of rain drove her inside. She closed the door just ahead of steady rain and went to Braydon’s office. The door was open, but he wasn’t there.
She stopped by the secretary’s office. “Do you know where Lord Dauntry is?”
He rose. “No, my lady.”
“Do you know if there’s any record of the events around the fifth viscount’s wedding?”
“I believe there are some accounts. A moment, my lady.”
He went into the muniment room and returned with a ledger, flipping through the pages. “Here are some costs to do with the ring and various gifts. All in London, of course.”
Of course. He’d married there. “Were there any celebrations here?”
“That would be in a separate account, ma’am. A moment, please.” He found another ledger and ran through the pages. “Ah, here. On the same day, a special dinner for the indoor servants, with wine to toast the couple. The next night, a dance in the long barn, which included the outdoor servants, with ale and cider. Ale and cider provided for the villagers of Beecham Dab and Stuckle. Special provisions for the residents of the almshouses. More of such benevolence.”
“Thank you.” She turned and came face-to-face with Braydon. “May I have a moment of your time, my lord?”
“As many as you wish,” he said, but once they were in his study he asked, “A problem?” as if he expected one.
