Page 29

Catherine laughed. “I’m sorry, I could not resist tweaking you.

Anyway, I went to see Mr. Dawes. He was extremely reticent and taciturn.

I’ll admit he is taciturn by nature, but this went beyond what is normal even for him.

When I asked about the sale of horses we brought down, he brushed me off.

And he quite cut me off when I asked about my favorite of the horses, Zephyrus, a big bay.

Said he didn’t have time. The odd thing was, he would never look me in the eye.

Then, and I don’t know quite why I asked him if he knew anything about the Marquis’s sudden departure from town. ”

“Did he?”

“He denied it, but he was strangely fidgety. I have known Mr. Dawes all my life, and I’d swear he was lying to me."

"But to what purpose?”

“That I cannot say.” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Oh, look, Catherine!” Susannah cried, grabbing her arm, “Captain Chilberlain and Earl of Soothcoor have arrived!”

Catherine looked up dutifully, and though she saw the two gentlemen, she also saw Kirkson standing by the entrance greeting two of Almack’s formidable patronesses.

She doubted he’d seen her yet, but with the Captain sure to capture Susannah’s attention, she had to think of a way to stay clear of the gentleman.

She rose from her chair, pulling Susannah along with her. The Earl of Soothcoor didn’t know it yet, she thought grimly, but he was about to become her dress’s savior.

“You watch the chit avidly. I swear I do not see what you gentlemen find of interest in her. She is such a tiny brown wren, and just as common,” Lady Welville said languidly, yawning delicately behind her fan.

Sir Philip Kirkson looked down at her and sneered. “And I fail to understand how you could possess a voucher to this hallowed hall of respectability.”

Panthea laughed lightly, not in the least offended. “You would be amazed at the skeletons that reside in the closets of some of our vaunted patronesses.”

“Blackmail, hmm?”

She waved her fan back and forth, smiling. “Frankly, I don’t know why you bother. It is such an insipid place.”

“I don’t often attend. Just enough to show I can if I choose to,” she admitted. She tucked her arm through his. “Walk with me to the refreshment table so I may pretend to enjoy lemonade, and tell me about Miss Shreveton.”

“Why the interest?”

“Because Stefton displays interest.”

“Gave you the go-bye, did he?”

“Only temporarily. See,” she said, pointing to the diamond and sapphire necklace she wore, “he gave me this.”

“It looks like a parting gift to me,” Kirkson said drily.

“Nonsense,” she denied haughtily. “We have an understanding. He is merely drawing Society’s attention away from our affair. To save my reputation. Why else divert his attention to our little brown wren?”

“Possibly,” drawled Kirkson, “because our little brown wren is the heiress of Sir Eugene Burke.”

“Burke?”

“Of Burke horses, my dear. He is the best and most famous horse breeder in England.”

“I know that,” she said waspishly, “but why should that be of any interest to Stefton? He has more money than he can count. He scarcely needs to marry money.”

“Because, my silly widgeon, Stefton has begun a breeding program of his own. I’ll grant you he is more interested in racehorses than the carriage and riding stock of Burke’s, but if he were to marry our little brown wren, as you call her, he would have strong ties to Burke.

With that connection and with virtually unlimited access to some of the best breeding stock in the country, he will be able to raise the finest racehorses around. He will dominate Newmarket.”

Panthea frowned. What Kirkson said made sense, damn his eyes! “Why isn’t her relationship to Sir Eugene more commonly known? This is the first I’ve heard of it, and I would swear that would make juicy telling and have the fortune hunters dancing attendance upon her night and day."

"From what I have been able to discover from the people at Burke’s establishment, Miss Shreveton has decided she doesn’t wish to marry.”

“How odd.”

“To you, perhaps, but remember, she is endowed with an ample fortune. Miss Shreveton’s family, however, does wish her to wed, and it is they who insisted she come to London. This deception of hers is a rebellion against them.”

“She does not look like the type to have enough gumption for rebellion.”

He watched Catherine laugh at something the Earl of Soothcoor said as they led down through a set in a lively contredanse. “There is more spirit in her than you suppose,” he drawled, remembering how she fought him at the inn.

“I gather you wish to wed Miss Shreveton?”

“It is my intention. You see, I have suffered some, shall we say, less than trivial losses recently and need to effect recovery. Flight to the continent does not agree with me, so I do not ignore the size of the wren’s fortune.”

‘‘From my observation, the little bird has taken you in dislike.”

“An early misunderstanding, no more. I do not intend to allow it to stand in my way,” he said grimly.

Lady Welville’s lips twitched. She took a glass of insipid lemonade from the waiter and raised it to Kirkson in salute. “To your success!”

He inclined his head and smiled. “And may I wish you the same?”

Panthea’s darkened eyelashes descended over her eyes until she looked at Kirkson through narrow slits. Her smile thinned enigmatically. “You may, sir. You will of course, let me know if I may assist you in any way?”

“Of course,” he replied.

They looked at each other and smiled again in perfect understanding.

“My thanks to you, my lord,” Catherine said breathlessly as the Earl of Soothcoor led her off the dance floor. She unfurled her fan. “That has to be the most vigorous dance in existence.”

“Aye, I’ll grant you that. May I fetch you a glass of lemonade, Miss Shreveton?”

“Yes, that would be grand, thank you,” she said, smiling up at him. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kirkson look speculatively in her direction. “Then again, why don’t we go together? I would not have you think I am some missish young lady,” she said in a rush, peremptorily taking his arm.

The Earl’s thin face registered surprise for a moment, then he smiled at her, placing his other hand over hers. “I should be honored,” he said.

He had been curious all evening as to Miss Shreveton’s desire for his company, especially coming hard after the Marquis’s request that he watch over her.

Something, or rather someone, was causing her distress that was obvious.

Most likely importuning her for favors. He thought himself an unlikely choice for a protector; however, since both she and the Marquis seemed to expect it of him, he calmly accepted the mantle.

He looked about the room. Only one person seemed to be watching her: Sir Philip Kirkson. A bad one that, but an odd one to be pursuing Miss Shreveton.

“I don’t mean to pry, but if we’re to set the tabbies’ tongues wagging by remaining together to protect you from Kirkson, do you mind telling me why?”

A blush swept up Catherine’s neck and face. “I’m sorry, my lord. I know it is very bad of me.” She tried to remove her hand, but he held it fast.

“Don’t fratch yourself, lassie. I’m perfectly willing to be of service.”

She smiled wanly at him. “Again, I apologize. You are right, but truthfully, I do not know why he persists. Unless it is a matter of pride.”

“And how is that?”

“I first met him during my journey to London. He took me to be, well, you know, a certain type of lady.”

He looked black. “I be understanding you.”

She sighed. “Yes, well, he was rather adamant that I accept his regard and would not listen to any protests I made.”

They halted before the refreshment table. “And how did you convince him of his error?” the Earl asked as blandly as possible, though his dark eyes were alertly watching Catherine’s face.

“It was the Marquis who finally came to my rescue.”

“Stefton?” he asked, jerking upright, lemonade sloshing out of the glasses he held.

“Yes, and then Mr. Dawes, my uncle’s agent. Thank you,” she said, accepting the glass he handed her.

“Dawes? Sir Eugene Burke’s man? Burke is your uncle? So that explains it!”

“Catherine! What are you about?” demanded Lady Harth in a strident whisper, sweeping down upon them before Catherine could question the Earl.

“I beg your pardon? Did you need me for something, Aunt?” She set her glass down on the table.

The Earl of Soothcoor lightly touched her arm. “I’ll talk with you later, lassie,” he murmured. “Just you be remembering I’m here if you need me.” He bowed perfunctorily to Lady Harth before walking away.

Lady Harth barely waited until he was out of hearing.

“I demand that you tell me just what you mean, making a spectacle of yourself,” her aunt hissed.

“And have you no consideration for you dear cousin Iris? You have an eminently respectable suitor whom you insist upon ignoring and instead make up to all manner of highly ineligible men. It is bad enough that you harass the Marquis of Stefton, but now you hang onto the Earl of Soothcoor in a frightfully forward manner, quite embarrassing your cousin. Iris has been enjoying his attentions and might have continued to do so in the future if not for you.” Lady Harth’s voice was becoming shrill, and several heads turned in their direction.

“Please, Aunt Alicia, it isn’t at all as you suppose. Except,” she said, pausing, her arms held rigidly to her sides, “that if you mean to consider Kirkson an eligible suitor, then you are correct, for I will resist any suggestion of a connection with that gentleman.”

Lady Harth’s narrow chest heaved, and her thin frame quivered in anger.

Her eyes grew wide, and air whistled through her teeth.

“Ungrateful wretch! After all the expense of clothing you and presenting you, this is how I am repaid!” she declared dramatically, her voice rising and her arms swinging wide as she stepped backward.