Regency High Society Vol 3: Beloved Virago / Lord Trenchard's Choice / The Unruly Chaperon / Colonel Ancroft's Love. Elizabeth RollsЧитать онлайн книгу.
remarked the instant her young mistress had scrambled into the post-chaise and had begun to make herself comfortable on the seat opposite.
‘I feel as if I’ve just seen one,’ she didn’t hesitate to admit. ‘Did you happen to notice that tall gentleman who entered the inn a few minutes ago?’
‘Can’t say as I noticed a soul, miss. Why, was it someone you know?’
Katherine frowned in an effort to remember, for there was something there still lurking in the dim recesses of her memory which she just could not capture. ‘He seemed oddly familiar, yes. But for the life of me I cannot imagine where I’ve seen his face before—certainly not in Bath, I feel sure.’
‘And was it a handsome one?’ Bridie couldn’t resist asking, thereby earning herself an impatient glance.
‘I wouldn’t have described it so, no. He was attractive, certainly, but not what I would call handsome.’ Katherine paused to straighten the skirt of her dark blue carriage dress. ‘Not that it would have made a ha’p‘orth of difference to me if he had been a perfect Adonis.’
‘No, I know it wouldn’t!’ Bridie retorted, with the speed of a striking snake. ‘And we both know why, don’t we?’
Katherine elected not to answer, and turned her head to stare resolutely out of the window, a clear indication that she considered the conversation at an end. Unfortunately the action didn’t prevent her from thinking about her maid’s prompt rejoinder.
She didn’t suppose for a moment that Bridie had intended to be heartlessly cruel. It was not in the woman’s nature. In fact, the opposite was true. Bridie, loving and unfailingly loyal, had always been there to offer comfort and encouragement. Which was possibly just as well, Katherine reflected, for she sometimes felt she would never have survived the many heartaches she had suffered in recent years without the constant support of that occasionally infuriating and frequently overprotective Irish woman.
It was from Bridie, who had been there to witness the event, that Katherine had learned that she had been born during what had been one of the worst storms to hit Ireland in living memory. While the high wind had been battering the country, leaving a trail of devastation in its wake, Charlotte O’Malley had been giving birth to a daughter, a protracted and agonising ordeal that had almost brought about her own death and had resulted in her not being able to have any more children.
Oh, yes, she had indeed been a scourge to those close to her since the day of her birth, Katherine reflected dismally. Although blissfully unaware of the fact during her idyllic childhood, she had been forced to accept in recent years, after the series of tragic events which had struck her life, that she did indeed bring ill fortune to those for whom she cared most deeply. Only one person seemed immune to the lethal Katherine O’Malley curse.
She couldn’t prevent a tiny sigh escaping as she instinctively cast a glance at the plump, middle-aged female seated in the opposite corner of the carriage. It would be foolish to hope that any prospective husband might be similarly protected, and Katherine certainly had no intention of burdening her conscience further by encouraging the advances of some poor unsuspecting male. It was perhaps fortunate, therefore, that her silent resolve never to marry had not been tested thus far.
During the six years she had lived in Bath, she had been introduced to numerous very personable gentlemen, and yet not one had ever succeeded in arousing in her more than a faint interest. Not once had she ever experienced the pull of mutual attraction … At least, she silently amended, never until today.
She couldn’t deny that she had felt oddly drawn to that tall gentleman back at the inn. His touch had been strangely reminiscent of her father’s—gentle, yet wholly protective. It was perhaps just as well that their paths were unlikely ever to cross again, for she very much feared that the enigmatic stranger might be just the type of man who would test her resolve to remain a spinster to its limits.
* * *
By early afternoon, when the hired carriage had pulled up outside her aunt and uncle’s charming house in Hampshire, Katherine had succeeded in thrusting the brief encounter with the disturbing stranger from her mind. After being admitted to the house by Meldrew, the very correct manservant, and discovering that both her aunt and cousin were at home, Katherine removed her outdoor garments and, leaving Bridie to take charge of the unpacking, went directly into the comfortable parlour where she discovered the two female members of the Wentworth family happily engaged in their favourite occupation.
Mrs Lavinia Wentworth, raising her head at the opening of the door, betrayed her delight by a warm smile. Setting aside her sewing, she was on her feet in an instant, her arms outstretched in welcome. ‘How lovely to see you, my dear!’ she announced, after placing a kiss on the face which so closely resembled her dear, departed sister’s.
After returning the embrace with equal warmth, Katherine turned to the only other occupant of the room, who betrayed no less delight at her arrival. ‘You look blooming, my dear Caro. Captain Charlesworth is a lucky man! I trust everything is in readiness for the party tonight?’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Caroline assured her. ‘Mama and I have been busy all week finalising the arrangements. We are expecting around a hundred guests. And I’m so very glad that you are to be among them. When you failed to arrive yesterday, both Mama and I began to fear that you had changed your mind, and didn’t choose to risk making the journey, after all.’
Eyes glinting with unholy amusement, Katherine sat beside her pretty cousin on the sofa. ‘My, my! What a feeble creature you must think me! I might be almost three years your senior, Caroline, but I’m not in my dotage quite yet. No, it was merely that a threat of snow yesterday afternoon forced me to take shelter at a posting-house. That, and a desperate need to silence the dragon-lady’s continual carping.’
Knowing precisely to whom her niece had referred, Mrs Wentworth could not forbear a smile. Although Katherine had grown into the image of her lovely mother, she had inherited her wonderful dark auburn hair and blue-green eyes, made more striking by dusky brows and lashes, from her Irish father. She certainly favoured her sire in temperament too, for she possessed a fine Irish temper and could be quite outspoken on occasions. ‘Bridie has only your best interests at heart, Katherine,’ she remarked. ‘And I must confess that it has relieved my mind during these past years knowing that she has always been there to care for you.’
Katherine chose not to comment, for although she valued Bridie highly, there had been occasions, most especially in recent months, when she had found her loyal Irish maid’s continual cosseting increasingly irritating. So, instead, she changed the subject by enquiring into the whereabouts of Caroline’s elder brother. ‘Is Peter not here at present?’
‘No, he’s back at university, although he did spend Christmas with the family,’ Caroline enlightened her. ‘To be frank, I believe he was relieved to be going. I do not think he quite relished the prospect of having to aid Papa in entertaining the dowagers this evening.’
Katherine cast a glance brimful of wicked amusement in her aunt’s direction. ‘And does my esteemed uncle look forward to such an onerous duty, I cannot help asking myself?’ she remarked, knowing full well that Henry Wentworth, although a most agreeable, warmhearted gentleman, was not disposed to socialising to any very great extent.
Reaching for the tambour frame once again, Mrs Wentworth could only admire her niece’s perspicacity. ‘I think it would be more truthful to say that he is resigned to the task expected of him, Katherine. Unless I much mistake the matter, when he rode out a little earlier it was for the sole purpose of calling on a neighbour of ours, Sir Giles Osborne, in order to enlist the baronet’s aid.’
His wife’s suspicions were uncannily accurate, for Henry Wentworth had set out for Osborne House, and was at that moment enjoying a glass of burgundy in the company of his friend.
‘I have already assured you that I shall not fail to attend,’ Sir Giles answered in response to the heartfelt request. ‘My sister would never let me hear the end of it if we didn’t put in an appearance. We shall arrive promptly at eight, and you may rely upon