When she was dressed, William escorted her downstairs. The sound of laughter and conversation and the clink of glasses greeted them as they neared the salon.
Kate paused at the door. Guests sat around the room on sofas and chairs while the footmen served wine and sweet biscuits. Robert stood by the window in conversation with a lady in a fashionable yellow and white striped gown. He laughed at some comment she made.
The blonde-haired woman was none other than Arabella, Lady Elphinstone, Robert’s old flame. Of that Kate was sure, for the way the lady gazed up at him left no doubt.
When he saw her, Robert excused himself and came to her side.
“You have found someone to amuse you, it seems,” Kate said softly, hating herself for her jealousy.
“That’s beneath you, Kate,” Robert murmured. “Lady Elphinstone is an old acquaintance. Nothing more.”
“But you mean something to her.” Kate watched as Arabella crossed the room to them.
Lady Elphinstone curtsied low. “How pleasant to see you again, Lady St. Malin.”
“Indeed.” Kate returned the curtsey. “Are you acquainted with the bride, or is it the groom, Lady Elphinstone?”
“Mr. Foster is a second cousin.”
“Then you must be pleased with his choice of bride. Merry is delightful.”
“I am, indeed. Are you staying above a day or so? I intend to ride. There’s an excellent bridle trail.”
“I’m afraid not,” Kate said. “I didn’t come prepared for riding.”
Arabella’s gaze flickered to Robert. “Perhaps you would care to ride, St. Marlin? I well remember how fine a horseman you are.”
“Unfortunately, we must leave after the wedding,” Robert said. “We have an engagement in London.”
Kate caught the warning glance he gave Arabella. Fury rocked her, twisting her insides.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to reminisce,” Kate said. “Lady Charlesworth is alone, and I wish to speak with her.”
Not looking back, Kate didn’t know if Robert remained to talk to the countess or not. She fought to convince herself that she didn’t care. But her lip trembled, and she was afraid she’d cry.
Lady Charlesworth frowned. “You are upset, my dear. But we can’t talk here.” She rose. “I seem to have left my handkerchief in my chamber.”
Merry’s mother hurried over. “A footman will fetch it for you, Lady Charlesworth.”
“No, thank you, my dear. I prefer to stretch my legs. Keep me company, daughter-in-law?”
“Of course.” Kate gave in and looked back as she passed through the door. Robert had left Arabella and was now speaking to a gentleman she didn’t know.
In Lady Charlesworth’s chamber, the lady removed her handkerchief from her reticule where it had been all the time. “Now. Please sit and tell me what has made you so unhappy. Has it something to do with my son?”
“I’m being foolish,” Kate said, sinking onto the chaise. “I suspect Lady Elphinstone was once involved with Robert. I suppose I’m jealous.”
His mother shook her head with a moue of distaste. “Frightful woman, Lady Elphinstone. I doubt you need to worry about her, Kate. Robert might have married her before his uncle died. He chose not to.”
“Why didn’t he? Do you know the reason?”
Lady Charlesworth smiled. “A lady who is a member of my sewing circle relishes gossip, and because my son was involved, delighted in telling of his affair. It has been said that Lady Elphinstone likes variety in the bedchamber. Bacchanalias, apparently,” Lady Charlesworth whispered the word. “It appears that Robert does not. Perhaps my son is more conventional than he realizes, for he put a quick end to their relationship when he discovered it. It was some time ago, and I think you’ll find he hasn’t taken her up again.”
Kate wished she believed it. But Arabella was beautiful and sophisticated, and she wasn’t finished with Robert.
“Try not to let it affect you too much, my dear. You have him in your bed. Win his love. You have far more to offer than she.”
Impossible to tell her mother-in-law that she had done precisely that, and despite his attempted seduction earlier, Robert was yet to show any real desire to repeat it. She was glad now that they hadn’t made love earlier. To find him with Arabella afterward would have hurt her more. She could not match the countess in sophistication, in the bedchamber by the sound of it, nor in artfulness.
