A Sensible Lady: A Traditional Regency Romance (5 page)

“Of course, Miss Brampton, we are told repeatedly in Holy Scripture that at the last day …”

Gus paused, trying to frame the most benign and comforting interpretation he could honestly give to what was supposed to happen in the hereafter.

 “I understand that we all must give an account of our deeds done here on earth, Mr. Wharton. But, I was wondering if perhaps some of the deeds…” Katherine glanced at the Brampton marker, biting her full lower lip, frowning in concern, “some deeds might
seem
more … wrong, perhaps even … sinful …than they really are … and one does not really …
mean
any harm … one just has an abundance of … high spirits?” She finished in a rush and gave Gus a hopeful smile that would have melted steel.

Virtuous, Katherine Brampton might be, but she was not so naïve as to be ignorant of her brother’s reputation. Richard Brampton had been called wild for good reason.

Gus hastened to reassure her, not bothering to examine too closely what his true beliefs in the matter were.

“I am certain that you need have no fear for your brother’s soul, Miss Brampton,” he stated in the heartiest tone he could muster. “Why, he was baptized into the Faith in this very church.”

Miss Brampton blinked away tears and smiled radiantly, threatening Gus’s composure once more.

“What a comforting thought, Mr. Wharton. I am, indeed, grateful for your wise counsel.”

Gus gave her a slight bow as she took her leave, a tremulous smile on her lips.

He turned back to the vicarage, drained of any energy, even for the challenge of a cribbage match. It was too bad Katherine Brampton had not asked him if he believed in purgatory. He could have answered honestly.

Yes, Miss Brampton, there is a purgatory. I know that for a fact. It is where former libertines go when they become priests, and beautiful parishioners treat them as eunuchs.

“I realize that I should have visited you sooner, but with all of the demands of Oak End…” Sir Clive waved a well-manicured hand in the general direction of Katherine’s birthplace.

The sound of the carriage conveying Aunt
Prunella
and Hephzibah to Mrs.
Sythe
-Burton’s had scarcely faded when Sir Clive Brampton’s spanking-new curricle pulled into the Dower House driveway. Katherine resigned herself to the inevitable face-to-face meeting with the new baronet, her former fiancé.

Sir Clive selected the chair in which Lord Dracott had sat just a few mornings previously. The contrast between the two men could not have been starker. Lord Dracott had enveloped the large chair. Sir Clive was framed by it, as for a portrait. He was attired in the first stare of London fashion. Stiff shirt points, exquisitely starched linen, elaborately arranged neck cloth, faultlessly tailored coat, spotless pantaloons, and Hessians polished to looking glass shine bespoke a valet of relentless perfectionism.

Sir Clive’s carefully arranged Brutus disguised a forehead that Katherine believed was slightly higher than it had been when last she had occasion to be alone with him, not even two years ago. She stiffened her spine and reminded herself that she was a lady of twenty-three years, not an uncertain girl who had failed to “take” in a disastrous London season, nor the scandalized young lady who had discovered her fiancé with a housemaid in a pantry mere days before her wedding.

“Clearly the estate requires considerable attention, but at least you have a reliable bailiff in Randal.”

Katherine silently blessed the family retainer who had taught her the rudiments of running an estate when her father had succumbed to a chill on the lungs this past January.

“I fear I had to let him go.
Too sure of his own judgment in matters that should have been submitted for my approval.”

Katherine could not hide her dismay.

“Don’t go tearing up, Katherine. I swear if you paid more attention to your own best interests and less to any number of randomly chosen souls, you could make something of yourself. You need not worry for Randal. Dracott has taken him on. Why Lord Cecil had time to fill the living of St. Chrysostom’s with a notorious libertine and could not find himself a new bailiff when Carter retired is beyond understanding.”

“I believe we should all give Mr. Wharton the benefit of the doubt, until or unless his behavior gives the lie to his intention to mend his ways.”

Katherine could not let the man who had listened so kindly to her be maligned without some defense.

“When did you acquire such a forgiving spirit, Katherine? I do not seem to recall you possessed one when
I
would have been its beneficiary.”

Katherine could feel the warmth of her face flushing.

“Mr. Wharton is not my fiancé.”

The words were out before she could stop them.

“He
is
a priest.”

“And in my experience, he acts like one,” Katherine retorted.

Sir Clive smiled indulgently.

“That is just the point, my sweet
cuz
, ‘in
your
experience.’ And what exactly
is
your experience? How old are you now?
Twenty-two, twenty-three?
Just what do you know of life? Surely, you learned next to nothing during your time in London. Or else you would have known not to go flying into the boughs when you discovered your intended dallying with a serving maid. A
serving maid
! A lady of any polish would have found it amusing, I promise you. What did you want in a husband?
A spiritless Puritan?

“And just in case peoples’ memories had faded regarding that little piece of naïve reactivity, you remind them by departing your home in the company of your mother’s—-let us be kind—eccentric aunt, with the assistance and conniving of Lord Cecil Dracott, who apparently was not—shall we say—conducting himself with his usual discretion in the last months of his life.”

“I had thought to spare us
both awkwardness
by removing myself from Oak End before your arrival.”

“But there need not have been any awkwardness,” Sir Clive explained patiently. “The presence of Miss Summersville—eccentric though she is—would have stilled any gossip. And realistically, my dear cousin, the answer to our predicament was and remains obvious: we should wed. It is certainly the expected and most logical thing to do,
given
the situation.”

Katherine did not try to hide her distress. She raised her teacup with trembling hands and took a fortifying sip before managing to replace it in its saucer without a spill.

“The ‘situation’ no longer exists, Sir Clive. I live here, not at Oak End, and I plan to remain here.”

Katherine hoped her voice sounded as firm as her intentions.

“And as long as you remain here unmarried, Katherine, my dear, the gossips of St. Chrysostom’s parish will have plenty of grist for their mills. I will be cast as an ogre who, by inheriting from the now-lionized and sanitized Sir Richard, drove you from the home of your birth. So if your intention was to revenge yourself for my little transgression of the past, you have done so.”

Katherine attempted to protest this gross distortion of her motivation, but Sir Clive ignored her.

“However, your naïveté is not well suited to such deviousness. For by placing me in so uncomplimentary a light, you have unwittingly made yourself the object of speculation that cannot end happily for you.”

“This is all nonsense. You are creating drama whole cloth out of nothing at all. If you and your mother would demonstrate clearly that you accept Aunt
Prunella’s
and my living here, whatever talk there is—and I doubt there is much—would stop.”

“You really do not
understand,
do you, my dear cousin. Perhaps what you say might have been the case. There would have been no cause for speculation—while Harry Dracott was still fighting the French in Spain, and while Gus Wharton was doing whatever he was doing before Lord Cecil imagined him a suitable priest for St. Chrysostom’s.”

Sir Clive’s voice dripped pity.

“Are you planning to ensnare one of them? Surely you know you will catch cold if you try. You were offended by
my
behavior. I promise you, my girl,
mine
is pattern-card perfect compared to theirs.”

“I am
not
in the market for a husband,” Katherine said through clenched teeth. “Even if I were, Lord Dracott is as besotted with Lady Angela as he was when she was alive, and Mr. Wharton is my
priest
, not my suitor, for heaven’s sakes. All I wish to do is live here in peace and provide a home and some dignity for Aunt
Prunella
. Certainly you can appreciate that?”

Sir Clive sank back in the throne-like chair, his bluster suddenly gone.

“Forgive me, Cousin. I have spent too much time in the fashionable world. One forgets that such naïve simplicity still exists. It is part of your charm, I suppose. And
your
most serious flaw, too.

“Have you considered what will become of you when Miss Summersville goes on to her reward? Dracott will eventually remarry. Just what do you imagine his new bride will think of an unrelated, unmarried lady living in such close proximity to the Hall? Where would you turn if your residence here became untenable? Try, if you can, to focus your thoughts on the hard realities of your life, if that is possible. I believe if you do, you will see the wisdom of returning to Oak End as my wife. I am a patient man. I believe you will come to your senses within a month or two.

“Meanwhile, Mama has prevailed upon Leticia to join us. She should be arriving within the week. She is looking forward to the prospect of renewing her acquaintance with you.”

As Sir Clive stood to take his leave, a disturbance from the region of the kitchen erupted into the hallway. Through the parlor door, which had been left ajar for propriety’s sake, a black-and-white dog covered in soapsuds greeted the baronet with enthusiasm, leaving wet paw prints on his pristine pantaloons.

“Down, you spawn of Satan!” Sir Clive struck at the dog with the gloves he had been preparing to draw on. The dog, believing it had been invited to play a game, snatched a glove in its teeth and turned back to the hallway to be met by Miss Elizabeth Dracott, who was as wet and soapy as the dog.

“Princess!
There you are!”

Lizzie scooped up the wriggling animal in her arms before discovering Sir Clive’s and Katherine’s presence. She glowered at the baronet.

“I know you told Jimmy to drown or shoot Princess, but she’s safe with me!”

Sally appeared belatedly, mobcap askew, dress and apron soaking wet, and took the dog in a firm grasp just before it escaped from Lizzie.

Sir Clive cast Katherine a withering glance.

“I believe I shall take my leave before bedlam is let loose again. I wish you joy, Katherine, my dear.”

The baronet executed a stiff bow and closed the door firmly without waiting for Sally’s assistance.

There was no difficulty tracing the origins of the debacle. A trail of soapy water led to a laundry tub in the kitchen, surrounded by as much water as it held.

Giving Sally firm orders to restore the kitchen to immaculate order before Hephzibah returned and suffered a terminal spasm, Katherine wrapped the wet dog in a discarded bed sheet and carried it to the front parlor to interrogate Lizzie Dracott about the circumstances surrounding her acquisition and future plans for a spaniel that appeared unlikely to submit to the disciplines of being a worthy hunting dog.

Lizzie required no urging to tell the story.

“Jimmy, Sally’s brother, was on the other side of the lake, crying…well, trying hard not to cry, but I could tell. And Princess was wagging her tail, kissing his face.”

Katherine looked down at the dog in her lap and received a lick on her chin and a gaze of brown-eyed devotion.

Lizzie smiled approvingly.

“Princess is a wonderfully friendly dog.”

Indeed. Katherine stroked the silky new adult coat. She guessed that the spaniel was just less than a year old. Not puppy cute, but still puppy energetic.

“She is a darling creature, Lizzie, but what do you plan to do with her?”

The child considered Katherine’s question, chewing her lip and studying the rug.

“I heard Cook say that Trinket is not long for this world. That means she is going to die soon, doesn’t it? And Papa is very attached to her. He is going to be really sad when she dies.”

Lizzie’s face clouded as she considered her father’s pending bereavement.

“So, when Jimmy told me he couldn’t bear to shoot or drown Princess, I knew right away that she was just what Papa needs. And I don’t care what Sir Clive says; she’ll make a wonderful hunting dog. She likes to swim and chase rabbits already.”

Katherine was reluctant to discourage Lizzie’s enthusiasm, but she knew she must.

“But is that fair to Trinket?” she asked the child. “Trinket is old and feeble. I cannot believe that she will welcome the intrusion.”

Lizzie nodded in agreement, her face brightening.

“That’s what I thought, Miss Brampton. And Trinket goes everywhere with Papa. She even sleeps at the foot of his bed! She can’t get up there by herself and he lifts her up—I heard Patterson tell Cook. So Papa doesn’t have any time to pay attention to Princess right now. But he’ll need her soon as Trinket dies.”

Katherine’s suspicion about Lizzie’s plan for the spaniel was being confirmed.

“Just where were you planning for Princess to live until then, Lizzie?” she asked, knowing the answer.

Lizzie smiled at Katherine. Only the swinging of her legs betrayed any nervousness.

“I thought maybe Princess could stay here with you, Miss Brampton,” she offered brightly. “I wanted her to look her best for you,” she added anxiously. “That’s why Sally and I were bathing her. She’d gotten into some horse droppings.”

Lizzie was unfailingly honest.

“You
will
keep her for me, please, Miss Brampton!”

Lizzie, knowing Katherine’s soft heartedness, pressed her plan.