I am just saying, for the record, that I will call out any man who lays a finger on you—and do my damnedest to kill him. And if your Jonathan had abandoned you and not drowned, then I would go after him and kill him, too. What if he called Jonathan out for failing to marry her? But, heartbroken as she had been at the time, if he had married her they would surely be in an unhappy marriage now, she would never have met Grant—and it was Grant she loved. And Grant who, one day, might love her.
*
It was only when the hired chaise was bowling across the flat farmlands around Hawkwell that Kate began to think uneasily about Henry’s reaction. What, exactly, would her brother do with a sister who turned up, exceedingly inconveniently, and threatened to crack the golden egg he was relying on? She had nothing to threaten him with to make him do the right thing and she would not put it past him to lock her in the attic while he thought out his tactics. It was not as though he had ever expressed any affection for her after all.
She had left Charlie and Anna with Jeannie and Mr Gough at the Ship Inn, but she had not told either of them where she was going, which, in retrospect, was not sensible. She had said nothing last night as they settled into the accommodation—now she knew she should at least have taken Jeannie into her confidence. The lowlying pastureland looked sodden and depressing as she stared out of the window, biting her lower lip as she thought.
‘Giles, when I go into the house I am visiting, I will take Wilson with me, of course. I would like you to remain in the carriage. Let the window down a crack and then you will hear the church clock. It strikes the quarters. If I am not out within an hour, or if I do not send you a note with my name underlined, then I want you to go to Mr Gough with all speed and ask him to come here and demand to see me. He is to take no excuses, do you understand?’
Giles looked appalled. ‘My lady, my lord would have my hide if he thought I had let you walk into somewhere dangerous!’
‘It is not dangerous, exactly. I certainly would not take Wilson with me if it were, but the owner may want me to stay against my will.’
‘I’ve got a hatpin,’ the maid said darkly. ‘And I’ll use it. No one will hurt my lady if I have anything to do with it. You do as you’re told, Giles.’
‘Yes, Miss Wilson.’ The personal maid to the lady of the house easily outranked a mere footman. It seemed that Giles was more in awe of her than he was of his mistress. ‘I’ll listen, like you say, my lady, never fear.’
Kate felt easier with some precautions in place, even though she was probably being completely melodramatic and the worst that might happen was that Henry would laugh in her face and throw her out. And if that happens, she resolved as the chaise drew into the courtyard in front of Belchamps Hall, then I am telling Grant everything.
Leaving Giles anxiously listening for the clock, Kate marched up to the front door and beat a tattoo with the knocker. The heavy oak door creaked open and she found herself face-to-face with Claridge, the butler.
He said stolidly. ‘Yes, ma’am?’
‘Claridge, do you not recognise me? Miss Catherine.’ She took a step forward as he gaped at her. ‘Where is Sir Henry?’
The butler gave way before her, but he still looked utterly taken aback. ‘In…in his study, Miss Catherine. But—’
‘You were not expecting me, quite. And it is Lady Allundale now, Claridge. There is no need to announce me, I know my way.’ Strangely she felt confidence flooding back as she smiled at the butler. She was here to fight dragons, defeat them for the sake of her love and her happiness. She lifted her chin, set back her shoulders, lifted her imaginary sword.
‘Yes, miss. I mean, my lady.’
He stepped aside, jaw working as though he was searching for words, and went along the familiar panelled hallway, past the foot of the stairs and the great carved banister rail she used to slide down on her tummy when she was a child. They passed the door into the sunny front parlour, where she would sit and sew with her sister-in-law, and up to the door to Henry’s study, not a place in which the women of the household were welcome.
‘Make Miss Wilson comfortable if you please, Claridge.’
She entered on her knock and almost stopped dead in surprise. The old gloomy study Henry had inherited from their father had been swept away. Now it was freshly painted and boasted a handsome mahogany desk and chairs in the latest style, new bookcases and an array of books in fine leather bindings. The window had been converted into French doors leading out on to the rear terrace, and as she came in, she saw Henry standing there, the door ajar, apparently letting some chill fresh air into the stuffy room.
‘Madam?’ He blinked at her and she realised that for a moment he did not recognise her with her smart clothes and the gemstones winking in her earlobes. ‘Catherine?’
‘Good afternoon, Henry.’ She sat down in the chair opposite the desk, laid her reticule and ti
ghtly rolled umbrella on the glossy new leather surface and smiled warmly at him. ‘What a handsome study, it must have cost you a pretty penny.’
‘What are you doing here?’ He stalked from the window and stood clutching the back of his chair. ‘Where in Hades have you been?’
‘Oh, living my life.’ Kate pulled off her gloves, slowly, finger by finger, as she looked around. ‘While you have been accumulating the pretty pennies, it seems. What else have you been spending the money on, Henry? Oh, and I would love a cup of tea. And perhaps one of those delicious scones Mrs Hobhouse always used to make.’
He was so taken aback that he yanked the bell pull without arguing. Claridge must have been standing right outside the door. ‘Sir?’
‘Tea. Scones.’ Henry flapped a hand at him and sat down. ‘What are you doing here? And where did you get those clothes and those jewels?’ He flung himself back in the chair and laughed. ‘Oh, I see. You’ve found yourself a cosy little niche as some man’s ladybird, have you? You’re cleverer than I thought if you’ve fallen on your feet that way. Or should I say, on your back?’
‘Don’t be coarse, Henry.’ Kate took the little silver case from her reticule and tossed a card across the desk to him. ‘My husband would not appreciate it.’
He picked up the card and stared at it, the pasteboard creasing in his grip. ‘Lady Allundale? Lady Allundale? How the devil? He knows about the brat?’
‘What brat would that be, Henry? My husband’s daughter?’
He stared at her. ‘You couldn’t have convinced him it was his, you were too far gone when you ran off.’