Regency Surrender: Scandal And Deception

Chapter Twenty-Two

As Katrina and Sarah strolled further into the maze the sound of rhythmic splashing grew louder. After making yet another right turn, they were rewarded with the sight of a marble fountain situated in the middle of a large gravel-covered square. The statue at the centre of the fountain was of a Greek or Roman woman, with water pouring from the urn in her hand and splashing into the pool below her. If Katrina had saved all the tears she’d cried over Julian they would have filled numerous urns.

She took off one of her white silk gloves embroidered with forget-me-nots and skimmed her fingers through the cold water in the fountain’s base. ‘It is lovely here.’

‘I told you we would reach the centre. Now let’s find a way out.’ Sarah marched across the clearing towards another break in the hedgerow.

Katrina watched the water droplets slide from her fingers. ‘There is no reason to leave. We are fortunate no one else is here. Can we not simply enjoy the solitude for a bit longer?’

Sarah took her time walking over to her, and sat next to Katrina on the rim of the fountain. ‘You cannot hide here forever.’

‘I have no intention of remaining here for the rest of the day. Just a few more minutes. Please?’

The noise of the garden party seemed far removed from where they were. Katrina closed her eyes and concentrated on the sound of the water splashing and the birds chirping. For a few minutes, at least, she could pretend she was far away, sitting on a rock alongside the babbling brook that meandered through her home in Tarrytown.

Only now she would be returning to a very different home. Her great-aunt would no longer be there. Her home would never be the same.

She took a deep, steadying breath. Miraculously, Sarah appeared content with the silence between them as well.

Then the sound of crunching gravel ruined everything. Their solitude would soon be interrupted. They agreed that it was time to leave and walked towards another opening in the hedgerow. Hopefully they would get lost for hours, trying to find their way out, and Katrina wouldn’t have to pretend her heart wasn’t shattered into countless pieces as they spoke to the other guests.

As they entered the hedgerow Katrina bumped into the large form of Lord Boreham. Sarah caught her by the elbow before she tumbled to the ground.

‘Forgive me, Miss Vandenberg,’ he mumbled, looking flustered after their accident. ‘I was not aware you ladies were in here.’

Katrina rubbed the back of her neck. ‘And we were not aware you were walking this pathway. I fear we are all to blame.’

He appeared to be grasping for something to say. She had no interest in prolonging an encounter with the man and thought it best to spare him the misery.

‘Well, do enjoy your time here, my lord. The fountain is lovely.’ She curtsied and edged around him, pulling Sarah with her.

He mumbled his goodbye just after they had turned the first corner on their journey out of the maze.

* * *

Julian stepped into what he assumed was the centre of the maze and was surprised to see Lord Boreham on the opposite side of a Grecian fountain, bent over with his bottom raised to the sky.

‘You present an interesting sight, Boreham,’ Hart called out over the splashing water.

Lord Boreham jerked his body into a standing position, his face flushed bright red. In his hand he held something white. As they strolled around the fountain and stepped closer to him Julian could see that the slip of white was a delicate silk glove with a line of blue flowers trailing down its length. Where had he seen it before?

His heart flipped over when he realised why it looked familiar, and he snatched it out of Lord Boreham’s hand. ‘Where did you get this?’ he demanded.

Lord Boreham went to take it back. ‘Miss Vandenberg must have dropped it.’

Her name felt like a kick to the chest. ‘And how would you know this is Miss Vandenberg’s?’ he asked, holding the glove out of Lord Boreham’s reach.

‘Because she was just here.’ He reached for it again.

‘I shall return it to her.’ Julian knew Hart was watching him. He didn’t care. This was all he would have left of Katrina, and he was not letting anyone take it from him.

* * *

The next night when Julian arrived home from Parliament he took off his tail coat, grabbed a bottle of brandy, and entered the portrait gallery to find some reassurance from the men who had come before him. He walked from painting to painting, studying the men staring down at him, as he drank from the bottle. They were all very good at appearing to be intimidating and grand, but they did look like a miserable lot. Had any of them been happy?

If anyone had ever understood the heavy weight of being the Duke of Lyonsdale it had been these men. They had known that life entailed sacrifice. They had known that their wants and desires did not matter. Every decision they had made had been made with the consideration of how it would impact their legacy. His father had understood this.

Julian took a long drink. The brandy burned all the way down.

He knew nothing of the women these men had married. Portraits of the duchesses hung in his various estates. He had never had any interest in looking at them before. Now he wondered about the women who had spent their lives alongside these men. Had any of them had the fire and charm of Katrina?

He pulled the flimsy white glove from his waistcoat pocket and touched the raised stitching of the forget-me-nots. He laughed to himself over the irony. He would never forget her, but he wondered if she thought about him at all—even for a fleeting moment each day. Did she feel the heavy weight of their parting? Did she long to hear his voice as much as he longed to hear hers?

The glove held faint traces of her lemon scent. Some day soon he would no longer have even that small reminder of the woman who had come to mean so much to him. He raised the glove to his nose and took a deep breath—holding her scent in for as long as he could.

‘I’m surprised to find you here at such a late hour,’ his grandmother called from the doorway.

Julian shoved the glove back into its hiding place. Couldn’t a man find a bit of solitude in his own home!

‘I wasn’t aware there were restrictions upon when one might visit a room in one’s own home.’ He took another drink.

She walked slowly towards him, adjusting her shawl and glancing at the six candelabras that lined the room. ‘I don’t recall ever seeing this room lit with so many candles.’

‘The better to see my illustrious ancestors,’ he said, waving the bottle towards the portraits. ‘I didn’t think they would approve of me skulking around in the dark.’

She eyed the bottle in his hand. ‘I see. And what have you noticed about them at one in the morning that you hadn’t noticed before?’

‘The Dukes of Lyonsdale are a bloody surly lot.’

‘I can’t speak for all of them, however, your grandfather was known to smile on occasion.’ She gestured towards the bottle. ‘What are you drinking?’

‘Brandy.’ He handed her the bottle.

She took a small sip.

Had any of the other duchesses drank brandy from a bottle?

Looking at these men, he doubted it. He walked over to the portrait of his grandfather and tilted his head. ‘What was he like?’

She followed him and looked fondly upon the man she had married. ‘He was a fine, just man who cared for the people who depended on him. He enjoyed country life more than coming to Town. And he loved his family deeply.’

‘Did he love you when he married you?’ He motioned for the bottle and she handed it to him.

‘No. We came to love each other in time.’

That was what he would do. He would fall in love with Lady Mary. Why hadn’t he thought of that before?

He took a long drink and wiped his mouth with his sleeve.

‘I hear you have been here for quite some time.’

He had almost forgotten his grandmother was standing next to him. She had been unusually quiet. Perhaps she was feeling poorly.

‘I’ve been here since I returned from session.’

‘Have you eaten anything at all? I’ve noticed you seem to have little appetite of late.’

Had he eaten? He must have, although he couldn’t recall. ‘I suppose I have.’

She threaded her arm through his. ‘Why don’t we call and have something brought up to my sitting room?’

They walked towards the doorway, past the blank wooden panel that should have housed the portrait of the Fifth Duke. Julian dragged his grandmother back to stop in front of it. He cocked his head and stared at the grains in the wood.

‘He wasn’t fit to hang with the others,’ he mused out loud.

‘That is what we have been told.’

‘Why?’

‘I do not know.’

He looked down at her and squinted till her image came into view. ‘But haven’t you ever wondered?’

He took another swig from the bottle. This brandy was exceptional!

‘I’d wager it was something dreadful,’ he said. ‘Or, worse yet...scandalous! That was it, wasn’t it? He did something scandalous.’

The floor dipped. He should mention that to Reynolds in the morning. They might need to fetch a carpenter.

He looked back at the empty panel. ‘Poor cove. I’d wager he fell in love with an unsuitable woman and married her. Worst thing you could ever do, you know. There is no redeeming yourself from that.’ He tilted his head to his grandmother and pointed the bottle at himself. ‘No one will take my portrait and shove it in some dusty attic. I will not be marrying the woman I love. Some American lob will get that privilege. I will have the honour of marrying a seventeen-year-old chit who, as far as I can tell, has never had an opinion of her own.’

The floor dipped again, and Julian stamped with his booted foot to get it to stop.

His grandmother reached up and patted his cheek. ‘You look very tired, my boy. Perhaps we should walk to your bedchamber.’

‘That is very far. I think I’ll just sleep here.’ He went to sit down on the floor, but the annoying woman wouldn’t let him.

‘Your rooms are not that far, and on the way you can tell me about the new curricle you have purchased.’

‘It’s beautiful...very shiny. But I’ll not drive Lady Mary around in it. She can have her own carriage.’

He trudged down the hall and went to take another swig of brandy, but the bottle was empty. They should make these bottles bigger.

‘I’m marrying her, don’t you know? Plan to ask Morley soon. Maybe tomorrow. Best to do it quickly. No need to wait. It’s inevitable.’

Chapter Twenty-Three

Where was he?

Katrina worried at her lip as she stood in the ballroom of Finchley House, studying the guests who meandered around the elaborately decorated room in various costumes. The columns had been dressed to resemble trees and there was greenery tied with flowers that hung from the crystal chandeliers. Even though each guest wore a mask, she was certain she would be able to recognise Mr Armstrong in this imitation woodland forest. At least she hoped she would. Perhaps she should have asked which costume he would be wearing when they had spoken briefly at the Hipswitch garden party.

‘May I help you find someone, my dear?’

Katrina jumped at the sound of the Dowager Duchess of Lyonsdale’s voice. ‘Your Grace, you startled me.’ She turned to find the sweet, diminutive woman dressed like a man, with a ruffled collar, jacket, doublet and hose. For the first time in days Katrina had the urge to smile.

The Dowager turned in a circle and bowed. ‘What do you say, Miss Vandenberg? Don’t I cut a dashing figure?’

A soft laugh bubbled up in Katrina’s throat. It sounded scratchy from lack of use. ‘That you do, indeed. Are you a particular gentleman?’

‘Why, Shakespeare, of course.’ The Dowager stood a bit taller—or at least as tall as a woman of her height could. ‘That is a beautiful costume,’ she said, admiring Katrina’s gold armbands.

The warmth of the Dowager’s smile tugged at the scattered pieces of Katrina’s heart. She missed this woman who had kindly offered her friendship and had taken her under her wing. How she wished she could reach out and hug her.

‘Thank you. I must confess I wasn’t certain what I wanted to be.’

‘I’d say a Greek goddess was the perfect choice.’

It definitely was an improvement over the three hundred shepherdesses she had seen milling about the house since her arrival with the Forresters.

The Dowager scanned the area around them. ‘You appeared to be searching for someone. May I offer some assistance?’ She raised herself up on her booted toes to improve her view.

Katrina crossed her arms and fingered her armband, fighting the urge to be honest with the Dowager. ‘I was just admiring the dancers.’

The Dowager lowered her heels and turned an assessing eye on Katrina. ‘From over here?’ She leaned closer and lowered her voice. ‘You cannot fool me. Now, tell me, am I acquainted with this person?’ Her eyes sparkled with anticipation.

Katrina bit her lip again. ‘I’m trying to determine what Mr Armstrong is wearing this evening. Do you know the gentleman?’

The smile on the Dowager’s face dropped to a frown. ‘Yes. I know the man. I was not aware you were well acquainted.’

There was no sense in holding back her sigh from the Dowager. ‘We have been brought together on a number of occasions. I only wish this not to be another.’

‘You are trying to avoid him.’ The smile was back, brightening the Dowager’s face.

‘I am. However, if you share that with anyone I will deny it.’

The Dowager placed her finger to her lips. ‘I am the soul of discretion.’

As Katrina scanned the room once more she finally spotted him. He was dressed as an ancient emperor with a crown of gold. It was no coincidence. How had Madame de Lieven found out what Katrina was going to wear?

‘I have found him,’ she said, and groaned.

The Dowager was back on her toes, scanning the crowd. Then she turned sharply and covered her smile with a gloved hand. ‘Oh, heavens. He does look very pleased with himself.’

‘I’ve yet to observe him not looking pleased with himself.’ Katrina stepped behind the Dowager. Unfortunately the woman’s height would do nothing to block Armstrong’s view of her. ‘He is bound to find me. I’m certain he knows what I am wearing. There aren’t many women draped in gold gowns walking around this evening.’

‘You are only the third I have seen as yet.’

Coming here had been a mistake. While Katrina loved spending time with the Dowager, it brought back memories of the time she had called on the woman at Lyonsdale House—the day Julian had almost kissed her in his library.

How long would the pain last? Perhaps when Sarah’s dance ended she would be able to keep Katrina’s mind off her broken heart.

* * *

Julian stood in the ballroom of the Finchleys’ masquerade between Winter and Lord Andrew Pearce, trying to concentrate on what the brothers were talking about and not on the skull-crushing pain pounding in his head. Did the Finchleys really need this many candles in one ballroom? Didn’t they realise that a darkened ballroom was preferable to one that appeared to be lit with the brightness of seven suns?

He looked down into his untouched glass of champagne and wished it were coffee. Could one actually hear the sound of champagne bubbles?

One of his friends might have just asked him a question. He wasn’t certain. ‘They are a valuable trading partner, and our borders in North America will be expensive and difficult to defend should another war break out. It is in our best interests to improve our relations with them.’

Could he go and lie down now?

‘Thank you for clarifying that for us, Lyonsdale,’ Andrew said with a smirk over the rim of his glass. ‘Should I have any interest in Anglo-American relations in the future, I will be sure to inform you.’

That reply had seemed to work with everyone else this evening. Why were his friends so difficult?

‘Pardon me—I thought you had asked me a question.’

‘I did,’ Andrew replied. ‘I asked you what it was you drank this morning?’

‘Last night. It was last night. From what I can recall it was brandy. I am not completely certain of that, however.’

Both men shook their heads in pity.

Winter removed the glass from Julian’s hand. ‘This will not help.’

‘I need something to do with my hands that does not include squeezing my forehead so tightly that my brains pop out.’

His friends laughed—which was a very cruel thing to do since the sound bounced around in his head.

‘Why did you even bother attending this evening?’ Andrew asked. ‘You’ve been avoiding all forms of entertainment recently anyway. Two days ago you attended Hipswitch’s garden party. That alone should have left you free to avoid any other outings for at least another two weeks.’

‘I need to see Morley and arrange a time to call on him.’

There was no mistaking the look that passed between Winter and Andrew. ‘And what would you have to discuss with him?’ Winter asked.

He was a tall man, of intimidating size. If Julian hadn’t know him so well, he might have taken his question as a demand.

‘I’ve decided to ask for Lady Mary’s hand.’

Andrew began to choke on his champagne, and Winter’s sharp eyes bored into him through his black mask.

‘She is a logical choice,’ Winter commented evenly. He understood the personal sacrifices one must make as a duke.

Julian rolled his shoulders and glanced around the room until he spied his grandmother. Whatever had possessed her to choose the costume she had? Then his attention shifted and every muscle in his body locked at the sight of Katrina standing next to her. He needed a deep breath, but his lungs refused to cooperate.

As if some cruel force in nature had called to her she suddenly looked up, and their eyes met through their respective masks. His dying heart gave one weak effort to stir.

He couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. Which he should—but he didn’t.

She was breathtaking, in a sleeveless gown threaded with gold that sparkled in the candlelight. Her hair fell past her shoulders in ringlets, and bands of gold encircled her upper arms. She was Andromeda—and he was no Perseus.

Everything he had ever wanted was across the room from him. And he could not have it.

‘Lady Mary will come into her own some day,’ Winter said.

A sharp pain stabbed at his chest. Julian blinked and Katrina turned away. The connection was gone, as if it had never existed. Two people who had known each other once—now were strangers.

He needed to go somewhere—somewhere dark—where he could be alone and lick his wounds. The Finchleys had a library. No one would go to the library in the middle of a masquerade ball. It would be his refuge.

* * *

Julian locked the door behind him after he entered the unoccupied room and untied his mask. It was dark enough that the moonlight streaming in from the terrace doors cast a bluish white light into the room. He dropped into a plump wingback chair near the fireplace and closed his eyes. There was an advantage to dressing like a pirate. They did not wear restrictive tail coats.

The rattling of the library doorknob broke the peacefulness of the room. Thank God he had had the forethought to lock the door. Let whomever it was find another room to carry on an assignation. This room was his, and he needed to be alone.

After some time he realised he must have dozed off. He stood and stretched, but it did nothing to alleviate the tension coiled tight in his body. He couldn’t put the inevitable off any longer. It was time to approach Morley.

He rubbed the ache in his chest, finding it was becoming hard to breathe. With luck the cool night air might help.

As he turned towards the French doors leading to the terrace he stumbled at the sight of Katrina’s familiar silhouette in the moonlight.

He recalled standing with her on the Russian Ambassador’s terrace the night his life had changed. No woman had ever affected him the way she did. And deep down he knew no one else ever would. Would there come a day when he stopped caring about her? Caring? It was much more than that. It was more than anything he had ever felt for anyone.

Julian gripped the back of a nearby chair. Suddenly it all made sense. He loved her—he had from the moment he’d spoken with her under the stars. That was why he had such a burning need for her. That was why no other woman could compare to her—and that was why, now they were apart, all he wanted to do was hold her in his arms and never let her go.

The terrace appeared to be deserted except for her lovely form. The need to know if she felt the same was consuming.

But before he could take another step towards the door, a man dressed in a black domino costume with a half mask and tricorn hat approached Katrina’s side. Julian would wager one hundred pounds it was Armstrong. His heart sank. It was too late.

His vision clouded over with images of Armstrong dancing with her at the Whitfields’ ball. It cleared just in time for him to see the man covering Katrina’s nose with something white, shortly before her body fell limply into the man’s arms.

Julian’s brow furrowed. Katrina never swooned.

Before he was able to react, the man had hoisted her into his arms and carried her off into the darkened garden.

What the bloody hell was going on?

Julian ran for the French doors, raced down the terrace steps and through the garden. Just as he charged through the gate onto South Bruton Mews a carriage pulled away. Julian was certain Katrina was inside it. His almost dead heart now pounded furiously in his chest. He ran after it, but wasn’t fast enough, and the carriage made its way over the cobblestones towards Bruton Street.

Julian slammed his fist into the garden wall, not even feeling the pain. There had to be a way to reach them.

Finchley House was one of only two houses on Grafton Street whose gardens backed directly onto the mews. All the other houses had stables separating the mews from their gardens. Julian scanned the long narrow lane, searching desperately for a horse. What he found was Hart’s driver, sitting idly on his bench in an unmarked carriage a few doors down. Thank God his friend was always prepared for a hasty departure.

Julian whistled for Jonas just as Hart ran up beside him.

‘I saw you hurry past. What has happened?’

‘Someone has taken Katrina. I’m taking your carriage.’ Julian climbed onto the driver’s box, next to Jonas, and looked down at Hart. ‘Find Miss Forrester and let her know. You both must keep this a secret. Watch for my return.’

Hart nodded, and stepped back as Julian and Jonas sped away.

The carriage rocked as it travelled over the bumpy cobblestones. There was a bend in the lane ahead. Hopefully the other carriage would be visible once they had made the turn.

‘There was a carriage here just now, Jonas. Did you see it?’

‘Aye, Your Grace. The one with the unmatched pair?’

‘That’s the one. We need to follow it.’