Blame It on Bath: The Truth About the Duke Read online

  That evening she had Birdie dress her hair for an evening out. She put on the luminous blue gown and dabbed orange water behind her ears before fastening the amethyst pendant around her neck.

  “You look beautiful, Miss Katherine,” whispered Birdie, one hand pressed to her throat. “Your father would be so proud.”

  “Thank you, Birdie.” She squeezed the older woman’s hand. As she regarded herself in the mirror, she thought it might even be true.

  Gerard’s reaction was even more gratifying. He stopped cold when she came down the stairs, and a slow smile spread over his face. “Good evening,” he said, taking her hand as she reached the bottom step. “Mrs. Goddard earned every penny.”

  Katherine blushed with pleasure. “Thank you for prompting her to deliver a gown early.”

  He waved it aside. “I wanted to enjoy the sight of you wearing a decent gown for once.” He lowered his head to murmur in her ear, “I already enjoy the sight of you wearing nothing at all.”

  Her blush grew hotter, but she was becoming used to his wicked ways. “That would be highly shocking at the Assembly Rooms.”

  He laughed as he offered his arm. “And a bit improper, even for me.”

  By the time they arrived at the New Assembly Rooms, Katherine felt like she was floating on air. She never imagined how much a mere dress could change everything. As they walked through the corridor toward the ballroom, women paused to watch them and whisper behind their fans. They were probably noticing Gerard more than her, as he was dazzling in his scarlet coat again; but for the first time in her life Katherine didn’t feel insignificant and invisible. She kept her head high and smiled whenever they stopped to greet someone. It came as no surprise to her that Gerard already seemed to know half the town, while she only saw a familiar face when Lady Darby waved cheerily to her from across the room.

  “There’s Carter and his sister,” said Gerard to her. “I’ve wanted to introduce you for some time.”

  She was glad he had waited. Up close, Cora Fitzwilliam was even more beautiful than she was from across Milsom Street. At least tonight Katherine felt at only a modest disadvantage next to the lady; in her dowdy old blue dress, she would have felt hopelessly plain. To her relief, though, Mrs. Fitzwilliam was perfectly warm and charming, and her brother, Lieutenant Carter, was just as cordial.

  “I’ve so looked forward to meeting you,” said Mrs. Fitzwilliam, drawing her a bit apart from the gentlemen. “I cannot tell you how pleased Danny was to meet Captain de Lacey in town. He’s been so low, and the captain has given him purpose and determination again by asking his help. Merely having a reason to leave the house has given his spirits a tremendous lift.”

  “Oh,” said Katherine in surprise. “I didn’t know he’d seen Lieutenant Carter much.”

  Mrs. Fitzwilliam laughed. “Well, only a few times—but I understand the captain’s business is very delicate. Danny strictly warned me not to say a word to anyone. I only mention it to you because it would embarrass my brother if I said anything to Captain de Lacey.”

  “Yes,” Katherine murmured. “Of course.” So Gerard had confided in someone—just not her. But perhaps Lieutenant Carter had skills and talents that were useful in the search, while she did not. “I understand I have you to thank as well,” she said to Mrs. Fitzwilliam, touching her pendant. “The captain told me you advised him at the jeweler’s.”

  Mrs. Fitzwilliam smiled and pressed her hand. “It was my pleasure! It does look splendid on you, as he said it would.”

  “He did?” Katherine smiled tentatively.

  “He did.” The other woman leaned closer, her dark eyes warm. “I understand he had never before bought jewels for a woman.”

  Katherine touched the pendant again. “He did very well.”

  She couldn’t recall a happier evening. Lady Darby came to exclaim over her gown and pronounced her the prettiest girl in the room. The Woodfordes, she said, wouldn’t attend because the admiral was feeling ill. She also took to Mrs. Fitzwilliam as if they were kindred spirits, and Katherine was soon caught up in smiling and laughing as the two of them chattered like old friends. No one who knew her from before would recognize her, she thought at one point, not even herself.

  Gerard led her out to dance a country set that admitted little chance of talking, but that was best. For the first time in her life, Katherine felt the scrutiny of everyone in the room upon her. Every time Gerard took her hand or met her eyes with a sinful little smile playing about his lips, her heart nearly tripped. It was all she could do to follow the steps and not embarrass either of them. After that, other gentlemen asked her to dance, and Katherine was so shocked by the attention she said yes to everyone until she suddenly found herself engaged for every dance. That had never happened to her before. In the back of her mind, she knew it was due to her marriage and her companions and perhaps her new dress, not to any sudden improvement in her looks or manner, but for tonight, she was happy to revel in her new, unexpected, fashionability.

  She finally begged off a dance after two hours. Her feet ached, and she felt almost light-headed from the heat and press of the crowd and the unfamiliar exercise and the two glasses of champagne she’d consumed. A little unsteadily, she made her way back to Mrs. Fitzwilliam, who had refused all partners and remained with her brother. He leaned on a cane—Gerard told her he’d been shot in the leg and sent home to recuperate—and thus couldn’t dance. They were arguing over it when Katherine joined them.

  “I’m not martyring myself,” Mrs. Fitzwilliam was insisting. “If you want to get away from me, ask someone to dance.”

  “No lady would risk her toes getting mashed by my cane, Cora,” he snapped. “But you should be having a good time.”

  “I am,” she said serenely. “See? Lady Gerard has returned to save me from your bad manners.”

  Lieutenant Carter’s face fell. For a moment he looked wretched, but he mustered a smile. “Then allow me to redeem myself and fetch some wine for you, ladies.”

  “Lemonade, please, sir,” said Katherine, fanning herself. “Thank you.”

  He bowed and set off through the crowd. His sister watched him go, her expression tinged with worry. “I hope I’m not intruding, Mrs. Fitzwilliam,” Katherine murmured.

  Mrs. Fitzwilliam shook herself and smiled. “Not at all, Lady Gerard. If you stay and talk with me, Danny won’t be able to scold me for not dancing.”

  Katherine was silent for a moment. Was she not dancing because she refused to leave her brother or because she didn’t want to? “I’m not used to dancing so much. I may have to sit out a long while.”

  Her companion’s eyes flashed with gratitude. “You must call me Cora. I feel we’re to be real friends.”

  Katherine slowly smiled. “Only if you will call me Katherine.”

  “I would be honored.” Cora tilted her head. “I always envied the name Katherine. I should have liked to be called Kate.”

  “My husband is the only one who calls me that.”

  Cora laughed, with a conspiratorial wrinkling of her nose. “How endearing!”

  “Yes.” Katherine thought about it. It was endearing that he gave her a nickname. At first it sounded odd and overly familiar, but now she liked the sound of it. It drew a bright line between somber, retiring Lady Howe and this new Lady Gerard, who had arrived on the arm of the handsomest man in town and had a partner for every dance. Tonight she felt much more like Kate than prim Katherine. On impulse she turned to Cora. “Perhaps you will call me Kate as well.”

  Cora blinked, then smiled anew. “With pleasure.”

  Yes. She took a deep breath and said the name to herself, testing it. Not Katherine, but Kate. It sounded warmer, happier, simple but lovely. From now on, she resolved to be that new person she had somehow become tonight, and name herself accordingly.

  Chapter 16

  Bringing Kate out for the evening was half-brilliant, half-idiotic.

  On the positive s
ide, his wife had never looked better. No one would call her a beauty, but tonight . . . well, tonight she was quite fetching, to tell the truth. He’d been right that a decent dress would make a world of difference, but he’d had no idea how much. The dull brown dress she once called her best made her look pale and skinny. Even Gerard, who knew every curve of her body, was astonished at how the new blue gown made the most of her slim figure. He was sure he wasn’t the only man entranced by her newly displayed bosom, perfectly set off by the amethyst pendant. Certainly the number of gentlemen who appeared to solicit an invitation and a dance did nothing to diminish that belief. He felt the fierce satisfaction of a speculator who’d bought a piece of land for its rich soil, only to discover a large vein of coal ran through it as well. He would have been satisfied with the marriage if it only brought him a fortune and a wife who didn’t trouble him much; instead he had the fortune, a surprisingly pleasing marital bed, and now a rather handsome wife as well.

  Unfortunately that wasn’t the only result of the evening’s expedition. Within half an hour of walking through the doors, that cursed phrase caught his ear: the Durham Dilemma. At first he tried to ignore it and concentrate on his wife’s obvious delight in the evening, but it stuck in his mind like a bramble. He tried to talk to Carter, who’d been helping him make a few discreet inquiries about town, but the murmurs seemed to circle around him like smoke from a fetid fire, subtly poisoning the air.

  Gerard hadn’t ordered the newspapers on purpose. He hadn’t gone out in society, also on purpose. He had done his best to be unremarkable and uninteresting in Bath, some hundred miles from London, and still his father’s sordid secret plagued him. He’d known that was probably inevitable, but damn it all, he would have preferred not to have it spoil this night.

  His temper built at a slow burn until he couldn’t take it anymore. If he caught one more man staring at him with avid curiosity and delighted shock in his gaze, he’d put his fist through something—or someone. He scanned the room, and saw Kate dancing with yet another fellow, smiling happily as they stepped through the quadrille. At least she seemed spared the tarnish of the scandal so far. He muttered a word to Carter and left the ballroom, hoping a bit of fresh air would cool the fury boiling inside him.

  It was deserted under the shelter of the portico. A cool, misty rain had begun falling and steamed down the sides of the building, trailing into the gutters. The drops were so fine, they made only a muted whisper. A passing horse splashed by, its hooves clattering on the wet streets. He took a deep breath and let it out, wishing he weren’t so powerless. He had left London determined to do something to solve the problem and only found himself following one blind lead after another. What a fine joke it would be on him if he spent weeks chasing phantoms, and his brother Edward’s legal strategy tidied up the problem without any need to find the blackmailer. He ran one hand over his head and bit back a frustrated curse. He was simply incapable of waiting patiently for that to happen, but so far his efforts all seemed impotent and wasted.

  Behind him the door opened and closed. Another man stepped out. Gerard caught the sharp aroma of a Spanish cigar, something he’d not smelled since he returned to England. He moved a few steps away, not much in the mood to talk.

  “Beastly weather,” said the other man after a few minutes of silence. “Bloody Bath.”

  “I like it,” Gerard replied. “It reminds me I’m in England.”

  A quiet chuckle was the only answer. A distant roll of thunder sounded, as slow and undulating as if the gods barely had the will to send it.

  “De Lacey, am I right?” The other man came toward him. He blew out another puff of smoke.

  Gerard watched it evaporate in the misty rain. “Yes.”

  His companion smiled. He was a good decade or more older than Gerard, a distinguished-looking man with streaks of silver in his dark hair. He was impeccably dressed, and a gold signet flashed on his left hand as he removed the cigar from his mouth. “Condolences on your father’s passing,” he said.

  “Thank you,” murmured Gerard, inclining his head a degree. Apparently solitude was too much to ask tonight. “Forgive me, I haven’t the honor . . .”

  “I’m Worley.” The man returned Gerard’s slight bow. “Of Uppercombe.”

  That meant nothing to him. “A pleasure, sir.”

  Worley still wore his small smile. “You’re the one who married Howe’s widow.”

  “Yes.” That was no secret, and he’d rather be known for that than for the damned Durham Dilemma. There was really nothing exceptional about Worley but that annoying smile, as if he laughed at some private jest. Gerard wished he would go away.

  Worley peered out into the rain. “Well done, young man. Quite a purse on that lady. I always knew you were the most resourceful of Durham’s boys.”

  Something resonated deep inside his breast at those words—not in preening satisfaction, but in alert to some undercurrent in Worley’s words. Who the hell was Worley, and why had he come out in the rain to speak to him? Because, Gerard was instinctively certain, it was not mere chance. “My brother Edward would be ill pleased to hear such a slur upon his character,” he said, almost carelessly.

  Worley puffed on his cigar, blowing out a long stream of smoke. Gerard shoved his hands into his pockets and leaned back against the wall, away from the plume and into a better position to see Worley. He didn’t think he’d ever heard the man’s name before, but Worley clearly knew something about his family. “Ah, yes. Edward the diligent one. Rather too bound by rules and tradition, don’t you think?” Worley tilted his head to look at Gerard. “Of course you do. Otherwise you’d still be in London, waiting for the lawyers to do their worst.” He tapped ash from his cigar. “Not out here in the wilds of Bath, with no apparent purpose.”

  “My wedding trip.” Gerard lifted one shoulder. “An escape from the suffocation of London.”

  Worley’s sly smile widened. “Of course.”

  “You seem well acquainted with my family, sir. You must forgive me—I’ve been out of the country a great deal—but were you a friend of my father?”

  “Friend.” Worley considered. “I shouldn’t say friends,” he replied thoughtfully. “We had business together from time to time. I had a great respect for your father.” He heaved a sigh. “Such a shock, the rumors that have abounded since his death.”

  All Gerard’s instincts sat up at attention. Everyone in London, and apparently in Bath as well, wanted to talk about his personal scandal, true; but something was different about Worley’s curiosity. His sigh managed to imply glee rather than sorrow. Gerard made a bored face even though Worley had his complete concentration now. “Oh. That. I expect that to blow over before we return to the city. People will find something new and scandalous to talk about before the end of the month.”

  “Yes, of course,” murmured Worley. “Your brothers, I hope, are bearing up as well as you?”

  “I suppose Edward wishes he could escape London as I did, but he’s tied up with the attorneys over Father’s will. He is, as you said, the most diligent of us three. And Gresham—or I should call him Durham now . . .” Gerard shrugged. “I daresay he hardly noticed. He’s accustomed to being talked about.”

  As fleeting as a flash of lightning, a frown touched Worley’s brow. If Gerard hadn’t been watching closely, he would have missed it entirely. “Quite right,” Worley said easily, no trace of displeasure in his voice. He took a long draw on his cigar, and the end glowed vivid orange as it turned to ash. “One mustn’t allow the gossips any sort of triumph.”

  “No,” Gerard agreed. “Durham would have thrashed us all if we gave any credence to lies and defamation.”

  Worley flicked the butt of his cigar into the gutter. “Of course. It’s been a pleasure, de Lacey. Good evening.”

  “Sir.” Gerard bowed his head courteously, watching from under his eyelashes as Worley strode back into the building. What was behind that strange conversation, h
e wondered. Perhaps it was just spiteful enjoyment of another’s trouble. Perhaps Worley had borne some grudge against Durham, or one of Gerard’s brothers. Perhaps Worley, like his brother Edward’s onetime fiancée, sold gossipy tidbits to the local papers to supplement his income. Perhaps. But Gerard felt Lord Worley would bear a little watching, just the same.

  Chapter 17

  The next morning Kate woke earlier than usual, but she was still surprised to find Gerard in bed beside her. Normally he was gone as soon as the sun rose, and she often didn’t see him until dinner. But this morning he lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling with a grim set to his face. She murmured good morning to him, and he replied in kind, but with a distracted manner. With a sinking heart she slipped out of bed and went to the dressing room.

  She wondered what had happened at the ball. Most of the evening had been lovely, with making Cora’s acquaintance and her own unexpected popularity, to say nothing of the pleasure of dancing with Gerard, even just once. He had disappeared for most of the ball, and she presumed he’d gone to play cards or do other things gentlemen generally preferred to dancing, but when he returned to take her home, she knew something was wrong. The carriage ride home had been almost silent, and she didn’t have the courage to ask if he, too, had heard the whispers about the Durham Dilemma, or if something else angered him. His dark mood cast a pall over the evening that had been so wonderful, and then he vanished into his study when they reached home, leaving her to go to bed alone for the first night in their marriage.

  When she was finished with her morning needs, she tried to steady her nerve. He had come home and confided in her a bit the other night. She wouldn’t nag but merely offer a sympathetic ear. Perhaps she should confess what she heard of the Durham Dilemma—which was mainly what she had read in the gossip papers in London, but he must hate every word of it. She fidgeted with the sleeve of her dressing gown as she weighed the risks. Perhaps she should say nothing of that and tell him instead how much she enjoyed the previous evening and hoped he had, too. If he wished to tell her more, surely that was invitation enough. She drew a deep breath and went back into the bedroom.