Chapter Thirteen
Grayson’s announcement was met with varying degrees of shocked expressions on the faces of the company, not the least of which was his intended.
She recovered her composure quickly, but the other females gasped and gaped rudely, while Pimperington ogled her in an unseemly fashion, his rapt gaze moving over the white expanse of her breasts with an interest that made Grayson livid.
Raleigh was the only one who did not stare at Kate as if to determine exactly what she possessed that had managed to ensnare the Marquess of Wroth. Instead, the viscount was watching Grayson, his usually languid gaze bright with interest.
“This is splendid news!” he said, with a broad grin. “Should have known you’d snatch up such a goddess without giving the rest of us mortals a chance. May I be the first to tender my congratulations,” he added, bending low over Kate’s hand. She nodded rather dazedly.
“And when is the wedding to be, my lord?” Mrs. Parker asked slyly as she raised her fan to flutter about her face. “We have heard nothing of your engagement in Town.”
“It is of long standing, arranged by our families when Kate was but a child,” Grayson said, fixing the nosy woman with a fierce gaze that made her step back. “Now that we are both of an age and mind to wed, I suspect the ceremony will be held very soon.”
“Marriage? Wroth? I say, this is something! Now none of you can complain about me getting lost. Like to take up the reins, you know,” Pimperington said. “Had to try out my new curricle, you see. Must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, but all’s well that ends well, as the Bard would say.”
“We’ve been traveling forever,” Miss Collier complained.
“And still would be, if we hadn’t spied the house chimneys,” Raleigh muttered.
“Well, we can certainly set you to rights again,” Grayson said, cursing the ill luck that had brought them to Hargate. As much as he would like to send them on their way with all speed, common civility demanded that he offer them something.
“I can show you the proper route at once, but if you would care for some refreshments, you may join us in the drawing room.”
“What’s that? Refreshments, you say? Just the thing to revive us!” Pimperington said loudly, and Grayson had no choice but to lead them into the gallery.
To his surprise, he felt a restraining hand upon his arm. “You go on ahead,” Raleigh said, waving to Pimperington and a pale-looking Kate. “I want to speak with Wroth for a moment.”
As he watched the rest of the party disappear, Grayson resigned himself to a brief interrogation. Although he had no patience with some of Raleigh’s dandified antics, beneath the frivolous exterior beat the heart of a genuinely kind friend, a rarity among the ton.
And Grayson knew he could rely upon the viscount’s discretion. Striding toward the study, he motioned Raleigh to a seat and shut the doors behind them.
“Well?” There was no mistaking the humor in the viscount’s tone.
Grayson turned. “Well, what?”
Raleigh laughed. “What are you really doing in this godforsaken place? And with a gel who looked as surprised as I was to hear that she’s to wed you.”
Grayson frowned. He did not know why Kate had seemed so startled. Did she think he would have seduced her nearly to the point of consummation if he entertained no thoughts of marriage? The idea annoyed him. Did she think so little of him?
“Circumstances brought us together,” Grayson said, without explaining how Kate snuck into his study and shot him. “As you know, I’ve been considering taking a wife for some time now, and Lady Courtland meets all my requirements.”
“Which are?” Raleigh asked, his mouth drawn up in amusement.
“She is intelligent, attractive, and of good lineage,” Grayson hedged, not wanting to reveal too much, even to Raleigh. Even to himself.
Raleigh straightened in his seat. “Lud, that’s a little cold-blooded, even for you. Are you saying you have no affection for the girl?”
“I hardly think that is necessary for a good marriage,” Grayson said, rounding on his friend. “Lady Courtland has a number of admirable traits—honesty, strength, and a poise that defies all hardship. Such qualities are more to be valued than some passing flirtation.”
“Hmm.” Raleigh’s smile returned. “Not a case of opposites attracting, I’ll wager. From the looks of her, she’s got a will to match your own, which should prove a bit uncomfortable for a man who has gotten his way since he was in leading strings.”
Ignoring Raleigh’s foolish prattle, Grayson walked to the windows and stood looking out. “I had thought that we could have a companionable existence together, but…”
“But?”
Grayson turned around. “Now I’m not so sure.”
Raleigh whistled long and low. “Lud, this is serious. The great Wroth having doubts?”
Grayson disregarded the jest and stalked past the desk. “I knew from the first that she was suitable. More than suitable,” he amended. “But she seems to have a peculiar effect upon me, a loss of composure, if you will, that is most unsettling.”
“What’s that you say?”
Grayson turned his head to fix his friend with a meaningful stare.
“I’ve been crushing things,” he said, at a loss to articulate the problem, even to Raleigh.
He walked back to the windows and stared out.
“I’ve lost all finesse, Raleigh. Clarinda wouldn’t recognize me,” he admitted, referring to one of his most famous mistresses.
“Deuced, but this is positively alarming,” Raleigh said, sounding highly entertained. “I fear for your sanity. Why, next you’ll be beating your breast like a gorilla and swinging the gel from a chandelier.”
Grayson frowned at Raleigh’s amusement. “I don’t like it,” he said.
“You’re still the same man.”
“Am I?” Grayson turned to face him. “I wonder.”
Raleigh eyed him soberly. “You’ve been restless, searching for something. Perhaps you’ve found it.”
Grayson did not reply. He had been seeking peace or at least a sort of quiet companionship, not this disturbing passion that threatened his very mastery over himself.
Raleigh sighed. “Well, you’re going to have to marry her now or do some fancy maneuvering. Pimperington’s not the type to ignore a juicy on-dit. He’ll have the news all over Town within the week.”
“I know,” Grayson said softly. He had thought the open declaration would settle his mind, but he still felt unsure about himself—and Kate.
As if reading his thoughts, Raleigh gave a snort of laughter. “And what about your counterpart? She doesn’t look thrilled to be betrothed to the most eligible bachelor in the kingdom.”
“She’s too stubborn for her own good,” Grayson muttered. “Of course, she will marry me. She’ll do what’s sensible.”
Raleigh shook his head. “Not every female will put up with your high-handed ways, Wroth, not even for the privilege of being a marchioness. And this one doesn’t appear interested in your wealth or position—or your considerable physical charms.” He flashed an irreverent grin.
Grayson frowned. Of course, Kate didn’t care about such things; that was one of her most appealing traits. Yet surely she would not refuse his name. And now that he had announced their betrothal, she could hardly deny him.
“She must marry. Her uncle is going through her fortune like water,” Grayson said. “According to my inquiries, he’s been throwing money away on women, gambling, and elegant trifles. He’s in Scotland now, having fled the country after a certain unpleasantness with a lady of quality.”
“He’s not the earl.”
“No, the line died with her father. And while the countess was lovely and sweet, her brother is not. Jasper Gilroy imprisoned the girls here to fend for themselves, without a chaperone, without even proper servants.”
Grayson felt the familiar surge of rage and released a harsh breath. “I would like to kill him with my bare hands,” he said, turning to give his friend a glimpse of his fury.
“Hmm,” the viscount mused. “Better to channel all that excess of emotion into your marriage bed. Less chance of being arrested for murder! I’d say a special license is in order, if the gel’s of age.”
“She is,” Grayson said, feeling some of the strain leave his body.
“Then marry her at once,” Raleigh said, rising to his feet, “if only to have mercy on my spinning head, for I can’t stand to watch you pace a moment longer.”
Grayson halted his steps to glare at his friend. “I never pace.”
Raleigh grinned. “Just so. Beastly trait, isn’t it? I believe Wycliffe used to say the same thing.”
Grayson glared at him. “Do not liken me to that idiot Wycliffe and his wife, for my marriage will be entirely different.”
“Oh?” Raleigh said, raising his quizzing glass.
“Yes. The two of them fancy themselves in love, while Kate and I are embarking on a sensible arrangement that will benefit us both. She will have her fortune returned to her, along with my name and my title, while I shall have a wife to get me heirs. It is as simple as that. And put down that ridiculous thing,” Grayson said, knocking Raleigh’s glass aside as he stalked past him and out of the study.
It was a sensible arrangement, Grayson told himself, even as the sound of Raleigh’s laughter followed behind him.
***
Kate went through all the polite motions, ringing for tea and cakes and making introductions, just as though she was the lady of the house and not its poverty-stricken tenant.
No doubt, the unwanted guests could guess at Hargate’s decline.
But Kate told herself they had no way of knowing that the servants were here only temporarily and that there was no chaperone in residence.
She spoke loud enough for the odious Mr. Pimperington to hear, deflected Mrs. Parker’s barbed questions, and watched Lucy preen for a new audience. But despite her new clothes, she felt as drab as a mouse next to the visitors.