To Marry an Earl Page 4

  Being Wednesday, that gave her a week and a half before the first of the banns were read. It was more time than she could have hoped for, but even that fact did not diminish the frustration she felt at being so easily dismissed by the earl. She should have expected it, but the proof of his apathy still cut. Almost subconsciously, she had let herself hope that Lord Bowcott may prove kinder than Father, may allow her an escape from the life she had lived thus far. Her hand itched to crush the letter that proved the downfall of all those hopes. But something stopped her—so she smoothed the edges that had curled up in her tight grip and promptly shoved the note into a drawer of the writing desk.

  She turned to the window, admiring the view, which was just as beautiful in the daytime as she had believed it would be. But she could not fully appreciate it, not with the cloud of despair that had settled over her. Would she perpetually feel despair without more than a few hours reprieve? Her hands lifted and unlatched the window before pushing it open. She drew in a steadying breath and counted backward from ten as she recollected her emotions. If she had learned anything growing up, it was that letting her feelings run away from her would not end well. She would benefit greatly by taking a page from Mama’s book and withdrawing from her feelings altogether.

  She paced from the window. Soon, more of the earl’s guests would arrive, but today, she must endear herself to the servants. They would be her only companions if her husband proved unkind.

  Kate groaned but squared her shoulders and entered the hall beyond her door. However, the moment Kate stepped into the dining room to break her fast, she regretted ever leaving the bedchamber. The servants had expected her to dine in her room, and she sent them into a flurry trying to prepare something. Belatedly, she also noticed that she had risen much earlier than even country hours warranted. She tried to retreat upstairs, but it was too late when the servants were fluttering about her, apologizing and carrying in various plates of toast and fruit.

  After breaking her fast in embarrassment, she checked on her resting mother, who claimed she was perfectly well and simply had “a touch of a headache, could not keep anything down, and was plagued with an aching in her bones that would not go.” Kate requested a tisane from Mrs. Grange after becoming lost twice on the way to her office. The concoction had helped Mama before. Kate pushed aside her own disappointment. Mama was always bedridden for nearly a week when plagued with such an illness. Kate’s last flame of hope that she would not be embarking on her new life alone was snuffed out, leaving her feeling empty. Being lonely was affecting her more of late. Even surrounded by her mother’s feeble attempts at affection and her father’s unkindness, she hadn’t felt this abandoned since . . . well, since her one friend in the world had left her behind.

  Thoughts of her childhood friend were not helpful, so Kate moved to the morning room and worked on her needlepoint until she thought her eyes may bleed from the boredom of it all. She exited the room, only to run into a maid carrying a tea tray, sending it flying everywhere. The maid gushed her apologies, despite it having been Katherine’s own fault, then hurried away. From that point on, the servants eyed her with a mixture of amusement and distrust.

  Endearing herself to them was going well. Very well. It was all going splendidly.

  With the disaster of the morning, Kate chose to take a tray in her room for lunch, hiding from her own embarrassment. But the scenes continually ran through her head. She could only imagine how she would manage to act in company if she was such a dunderhead in front of the servants.

  It was ridiculous, really. She had been raised to excel in any social situation. And she had during her last two Seasons. She had played Society’s games to perfection and had never given the ton any reason to disdain her despite Father’s growing reputation. But now her world had been flipped upside down, and her manners had tumbled about accordingly.

  Kate groaned and leaned against one of the posts of the bed, closing her eyes. She was certain she was being dramatic in her assessment of her first day at Newark Park, her discomfort coloring her feelings, but she still could not help the deepening feelings of despondency. Even the stunning view from her window was not lifting her spirits. Rather, it was taunting her, as dark clouds rolled across the sky, threatening rain. She had hoped to escape and explore the gardens in the afternoon, but it seemed that would not be a possibility.

  Within minutes, the expected rain began, beating against the window in waves. The weather seemed to mimic her mood as of late. It was fickle, going from a bright day to stormy skies in the space of an hour. She, similarly, bounded between hope and despair.

  She didn’t know what to think. She didn’t know what to feel. Should she be excited or apprehensive to meet Lord Bowcott? Was her life to be enjoyable, or was she doomed to marry a man like Father, to waste away until she was a shell of herself like Mama? And what would Mama do with Kate gone, no longer there to provide support in her unhappy marriage?

  Tears gathered in her eyes, but Kate blinked them back. She did not show emotion. She had to remember that. She stood from the bed.

  How had her life come to this in less than a fortnight? Hardly more than a week had gone by since Father had decided she was entirely expendable. How could a parent be so unfeeling? He had not always been this bad. He had never been a loving man, but after Mama had miscarried for the sixth time, and it had been clear there would be no heir, bitterness toward his only daughter had surfaced. His one daughter who should have been a boy. His daughter who was nearly the picture of his beautiful wife, a wife he had grown to hate in her inability to give him an heir. His daughter, who was only ten years old at the time of that final miscarriage. Drink and gambling had taken over then, and though he still lived, Kate had felt she no longer had a father. Within a year from that time, she’d begun to wish she didn’t have one.

  At least he hadn’t come to the house party. She could only imagine how much worse this situation would be with Father stomping around the grand home, grumbling about wealth and privilege, knowing he had gambled nearly all of his own away.

  There. She had found something to be grateful for.

  That had to be commendable in itself. She sighed and rang for Betsy. She ought to dress for dinner, show the servants she was not completely incompetent, and perhaps gain back a bit of dignity before the earl’s guests arrived tomorrow.

  ***

  Not for the first time in the last few days, James cursed his choices . . . then congratulated himself for them.

  He was engaged to Katherine Cartwright. A grin spread across his face at the thought.

  But then he remembered that she was going to kill him when she found out. Or, at the very least, wish to kill him. Kate was likely too kind to truly commit murder.

  This shouldn’t have happened. He should have been able to choose to court her, woo her, maybe get her to fall in love with him. She should have been able to choose him in return—not that she would have after how he’d acted three years ago. He groaned, his head falling into his hands as he sat in his London study.

  And then he’d gone and thrown out the plan for a house party. He’d only been thinking of her, knowing how this scandal would affect her. He’d wanted to create as normal a betrothal as possible, so he’d stipulated the house party as the locale for announcing their engagement. But now he felt it would have been better to just marry Kate and try to get her to forgive him. Privately. Where a houseful of guests would not be watching his inevitable failures.

  Guests. That thought elicited another groan. He hadn’t known whom to invite. The guest list had needed to be large enough to cushion the scandal but small enough to not overwhelm Kate. Or me, he added as an afterthought. He had appealed to Lucas and Henry and even convinced Henry to bring his sister, Julia, who was Kate’s junior by only a year. Lucas’s parents and their younger son would come as well.

  Then, in a stroke of either brilliance or sheer stupidity, he’d written to his aunt, the one who had believed the title belonged to her son, and invited her family as well. He’d felt it a good idea, an opportunity to meet the family he had only corresponded with while also adding numbers to the party, but now he wasn’t so sure. What if they were horrid people? He had already begun to suspect they might be. And what if they were unkind to Kate?

  But it was too late now. George, the non-earl, had two younger sisters old enough to attend, and he’d sent word that they and their mother would arrive this week, so he supposed there was nothing for it now; he would simply have to tolerate their company and hope they appeared better in person than they had through correspondence.

  Though the event was unmatched, seven ladies to six gentlemen, James had been unable to force himself to invite even one more person for propriety’s sake. Chances were no one expected the new earl to behave as to his station anyway.

  He stood and walked to the door, picking a book off the edge of his desk and palming it back and forth between his hands. His guests would be arriving at his estate tomorrow, and Kate would already be there. But fool that he was, he had found an excuse to stay in London longer. He did have business—that was true—but the part that kept him in London had concluded a few hours before, and he could accomplish the remainder at the estate. He was putting off the inevitable. Both excited and terrified to see Kate, he’d figured he would allow her time to settle in, perhaps come to love his beautiful countryside a bit, and maybe be more amenable to their marriage by the time she found out who he was. But he’d realized this past hour that he had left Kate to meet his guests, guests with whom he doubted she was acquainted.

  No, she probably knew Lucas. The daughter of a viscount and the son of a marquess were sure to have crossed paths. That wasn’t particularly reassuring though.

  It was cowardly, and James had never considered himself a coward. He had found his way after both his parents had died of a sickness two years ago, leaving him their Oxfordshire estate with hardly any funds to manage it. He had navigated his way as an earl after suddenly finding himself far above his former station of a simple gentleman. He had convinced Lord Harcourt that he was a better match than Lord Norwich.

  And thunder and turf, he could manage reintroducing himself to his betrothed.

  Momentarily buoyed by his frustration, he stormed from his study and up to his bedchamber, hollering for his valet as he walked through the doorway. The tall man appeared within seconds, his regal bearing the same as always.

  “Hayward! We are leaving. Or I am leaving . . . and I need you to pack and alert the household to close house for the winter. We are headed to Newark Park.” James walked to the dressing room, pulling off his cravat as he went. “I’ll need you to pack a small case and follow me as soon as you can, but I am leaving today, within the hour if possible.”

  His manservant’s eyes widened. “But, my lord, it is nearly two days’ travel. You cannot possibly go on horseback. And I ought to be with you to help with—”

  “I’ll be fine, Hayward. While I appreciate the sentiment, I survived without a valet for years, and I’ll do just fine for a day. I’ll change horses, then stay at the Red Crown in Reading tonight. They are reputable.” James gestured to his clothes. “But I’ll be needing something for traveling, if you please.”

  Hayward looked like he was about to object again but thought better of it when James began struggling out of his coat. The uptight valet shook his head but assisted James and set to laying out clothes with swiftness and no small amount of muttering.

  Just over an hour later, James weaved through London traffic, on his way out of Town. On his way to Kate.

  And, he thought with an errant grin, potentially on his way to certain death.

  Chapter 5

  The following morning found Kate pacing a veritable rut into her bedchamber’s carpet. She halted at the window, turning suddenly. “What would you say to life as a runaway, Betsy?”

  Her maid’s eyes widened. Poor Betsy. She was not raised to serve a lady so mentally volatile as Kate. “I am unsure what you mean, miss . . .”

  A very diplomatic way of avoiding the question. Kate’s lips twitched. “Oh never mind. I was simply ruminating on the possible ways of escaping this engagement.”

  Betsy nodded knowingly, but the look in her eyes betrayed her belief that Kate was one step from insanity.

  Kate was one step from insanity.

  She paced her way back to her maid. “Oh, Betsy, I cannot do it. I cannot possibly greet guests as if I am intimately connected to the earl.”

  “But, miss, you are intimately connected to the earl.”

  “Oh yes, but I don’t want to be, and does that not make the difference? Besides, ought I even to be meeting them at all? Perhaps I should simply stay in my room until the earl arrives.” She threw her hands in the air and turned toward the dressing mirror, nervously tugging on her gown.

  Kate felt like an imposter, attempting to be the betrothed of an earl, whom she did not even know, when she felt more like some prized pig. And her situation more closely resembled the latter anyway. What if they knew? What if all the house guests knew that the earl had purchased her, sight unseen, and they were now part of some ruse to show the rest of Society that she was, in fact, respectable and not at all worth the scandal that the true situation warranted. The whole farce had Kate wanting to feign an illness. Or five.

  Or what if no one knew of the engagement at all? Perhaps it had not been announced but would be when the earl arrived. Another reason to hide away in her room. And who were these guests?

  “Tell me, Betsy, what do you know of the earl’s guests? Beyond their names, that is.” She’d asked this of the housekeeper the day before, when she’d been informed of their impending arrivals, but had only received a short listing of names, no personal information.

  “Well, miss.” Betsy slowly coaxed her mistress back to the dressing table as she spoke. “There is a Sir Henry Ainsley and a Lord Berkeley.”

  Kate had recognized that last name from her time on the marriage mart, though she was not personally acquainted with the man beyond maybe a few greetings in her last two Seasons.

  Betsy continued. “I believe they are friends of the earl.” Her maid’s fingers, which had proved quite remarkable at styling hair, worked through Kate’s tresses, pinning and looping the ebony curls, fixing the damage Kate’s pacing had incurred. “I understand Lord Berkeley’s parents and his brother will also be there. Lord Berkeley is an earl, a courtesy title I’m told, but the heir apparent to his father’s marquessate. Sir Henry is a baronet. Some of Lord Bowcott’s family will be in attendance as well.”

  Katherine’s gaze shot to Betsy’s through the mirror. “His family? I was not aware he had family . . . Why are they not in residence already?”

  “Not immediate family, miss, a cousin or aunt, I believe, and their family. It is not clear to me who exactly they are, only that they have some relation to the earl.” Betsy nodded to Kate’s head and stepped back.

  “Oh, Betsy.” She said the words with pleasure this time. “You are quite skilled at that.” Kate rotated her head from side to side, taking in the simple but artfully done hairstyle. If she swooned from stress, at least she would be presentable while doing so. A few curls bounced near her forehead, drawing attention to her dark eyebrows, which were looking particularly black today, in contrast to her skin. That morning Mama had commented warningly on Kate’s increasingly pale complexion. So, for Mama’s sake, she pinched her cheekbones, satisfied with the added color doing so created.

  “Thank you, miss. It is easy to style your hair, beautiful as it is.”

  Kate smiled and stood, preparing to bid Betsy farewell. But her maid surprised her by speaking again.

  “Forgive me, miss, but everything I’ve heard of the earl has been quite favorable. Perhaps . . . perhaps this could end in a love match after all.”

  Kate’s smile turned painful. “Thank you, Betsy. But I do not wish for love. It is only a made-up sentiment, better left to poets. I shall return to dress for dinner in a few hours.”

  Before she would have to further discuss the topic, she exited the room, ignoring Betsy’s wide eyes.

  Moving toward the staircase, Kate heard the unmistakable sound of a carriage pulling up the drive. It seemed she would end up meeting the guests, after all. She couldn’t very well go back now after that conversation with Betsy. Still, she considered the option as well as the option of darting into any side room and hiding until the newcomers were shown to their rooms. Ultimately, Kate would have to meet these guests at some point. Likely within an hour or two. She may as well accomplish the task now so it would not hang over her all the day. Settled somewhat, she continued to the entrance hall. Her mother was still laid up in bed. A doctor had come that morning and assured them it was nothing a few days’ rest would not cure. Kate was grateful that she was not terribly ill but felt rather ungrateful for wishing she could be here to help with the greetings. As it was, Kate was alone.

  She passed the butler and housekeeper who waited in the entrance, then settled in the morning room only long enough for the long-case clock to tick four times before she heard the front door open. Mrs. Grange’s efficient voice could be heard welcoming the newly arrived party, and then the door to the morning room opened.

  The butler—she’d learned his name was Gibson—stepped in, and a party of people practically fell into the room.

  Gibson announced, “Mr. Bragg, Mrs. Bragg, Miss Bragg, and Miss Lavinia Bragg.”

  As one, the group sank into respective bows and curtsies, and Kate returned the greeting with one of her own. Each of them possessed hair somewhere between brown and blonde and varying expressions of curiosity or distaste. Mrs. Bragg was clearly feeling the latter.

  “This is Miss Cartwright, daughter of the Viscount Harcourt.” Mrs. Grange made the introduction with a graceful dip of her own.