Married to the Marquess (12 page)

A soft knocking at his study door brought his head up. In all of his haste to have done with whatever his father wanted him to do, he had neglected to close his door entirely. Confused as to who would be seeking entrance, he sat up taller, his head starting to throb from impact most painfully. “Come in.”

As if the multitude of surprises of late could have gotten any more shocking, Kate entered, looking oddly timid. “May I?”

Gathering himself and hopefully hiding his shock much better than he thought he was, he nodded and stood. “Of course, Kate.”

“I do not mean to intrude upon your privacy,” she said slowly as she took a seat.

“I wish you would,” he replied as he sat back down. “My privacy is rather annoying me at the moment.”

She looked at the note on his desk rather pointedly. “Not good news?”

He glanced at it as well. “Not at all. It’s from my father, and…” He trailed off, hesitating. One day of attempted friendship with his wife was not enough to entitle her to know the details of their private lives. He could not even be sure that he liked this woman, let alone if he trusted her.

“I do not want to pry,” she said, guessing his thoughts rather adeptly. “I just… I heard you banging on the desk, and I wondered if I might be able to help.”

“With the injuring?” he snapped, more as a reflex than anything else. “I manage to do quite well on my own, Kate.”

She frowned and her mouth opened to retort, but she quickly closed it, then shook her head and stood. She moved towards the door, and Derek sighed in frustration.

“No, don’t go,” he said, getting to his feet again.

She stopped and looked at him, rather superiorly. He prayed this was not the return of Kate the Tyrant. The last twelve hours had been unusually temperate for being at home, and he would rather they stay so mild. It was far less stressful.

“I apologize,” he told her, spreading his hands out just a bit, wondering just how often he was going to feel the need to apologize. “Again. Old habits. Please.” He gestured back to the chair she had just vacated, knowing that she would probably snap at him, and he would be lucky to escape with that hand still attached to him.

Kate nodded and returned to her seat, again with the surprises.

Reeling from the sudden change, as the old Kate would never have done something so forgiving or decent, he slowly sank back into his chair, careful to not stare at his wife and wonder when she was going to burst into flames.

“Did it help?” Kate asked after a moment.

He looked at her oddly. “Did what help?”

Something that could almost be called a smile flicked across her face, and he suddenly remembered that his wife was a beautiful woman. It was easy to forget, as she was so often looking severe and disapproving, and always kept that dark hair of hers so tightly pulled back. But he recalled a day, right around five years ago, when he had married her, when for the first time in his life, he had been grateful to marry her. She had been stunning even though he hated her. That, of course, had faded and even now it was a blurry memory, but he remembered her smile, small and slight and hidden, and how it had caught him right in the chest.

Rather like it did now.

“Banging your head against the desk,” Kate said, tilting her head just a touch.

“Who said anything about it being my head?” he asked with a grin.

“One, you have a red mark on your face, and two, it has been something I have considered doing a time or two.”

“You wanted to bang your head against the desk?” he laughed. “When?”

“Whenever I get letters from the estate in Derbyshire,” she said, still wearing that almost-smile.

“Oh, yes,” Derek groaned, nodding. “Mr. Frazier and his blood… erm, blasted reports,” he amended quickly, feeling that he should probably curb his harsh language around her.

She nodded, her eyes looking almost amused. “If I never read another report of his about every detail of every farm, I will consider myself fortunate.”

Derek sat forward and smiled. “Did you ever get his notices of his…”

“…mother’s gout?” they finished together.

“Yes,” Kate said, tucking an invisible strand of hair behind her ear. “It was awful.”

“I know,” Derek said with a chuckle. He sighed and gave her an appraising look. “Nathan and Moira want us to come to a party at their home this evening. Would you like to go?”

She thought for a moment. “I would, but I am still in mourning.”

He shrugged. “So don’t dance, if it should occur. It is only a small party, not a formal audience. It hardly counts. Besides, I think Moira would like to have you there.”

“Really?” she asked in a voice that was almost too sincere for him to believe it came from her.

“I think so,” he said with a nod, enjoying this side of her. “She doesn’t show it, but Moira does not have many friends. She is still new to Society, and things are difficult.”

“Then yes, I think we should go,” Kate said firmly. “It is important to support her.” Then she gave him a serious look. “But I still would like to know if I can help with whatever is troubling you.”

Derek considered thanking her, but refusing the offer. But as he looked at her and saw an honest willingness to help, he gave in. What was a wife for, after all? And so he opened up to her for the first time in his life, and found her to be discerning and receptive and really rather wise in family matters, and the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon was spent trying to determine the best course of action for keeping David out of trouble and keeping his father satisfied.

And by the time they broke to change for the party, Derek thought that perhaps this friendship idea would not be so difficult after all.

They caused a small stir as they entered the ballroom of Nathan and Moira’s house, where a good many chairs had been set up and already people were milling about, but all had frozen as the Marquess and Marchioness of Whitlock had been announced together. Then the titters and whispers started, and Derek sighed.

“Well, that should give them something to gossip about for a while,” he muttered.

“How very shocking we are,” Kate muttered right back. “To think, we, a married couple, appeared at something together. How dare we. And I in my mourning gown? Appalling manners, all around.”

Derek bit his lip, wanting to snicker, but knowing he shouldn’t. Then he caught sight of a truly horrible thing. “Oh dear,” he murmured to his wife as they moved into the room. “I believe Baroness Rudin intends to sing again.”

Kate’s head snapped up and she looked where he indicated. “Blast!” she hissed. “Perhaps I will suddenly find myself violently ill. Catch me if I faint away, won’t you?”

“Kate!”

“What?” she asked, looking up at him. “You cannot possibly expect me to listen to her caterwauling like a drunken sailor and applaud the performance. I have heard better vocals from dying cats.”

Derek choked on more laughter. “Kate, stop. I will never maintain composure during her attempt to perform now that is in my head.” He tilted his head as he considered her in a new light. “I had no idea you were funny.”

She gave him a look that was so coy, he had no idea she could do so. “There are many things you do not know about me, Whitlock.” She looked around, and then sighed. “Now if you will excuse me, I must find Moira and then spend the rest of the evening avoiding Lord Pembrook and his noxious fish breath.”

Derek allowed her to move away from him, and turned to put a fist to his mouth, hoping to stem the fits of laughter that were threatening to burst out of him. But really, he was truly flabbergasted. Kate was funny? That was a twist of irony he had never expected. What else was she hiding underneath that buttoned up demeanor of hers?

“What’s the fuss, Derek?” Colin asked as he, Duncan, and Geoff approached him.

Derek took a calming breath and turned. “My wife,” he announced, “is funny.”

The stunned expressions on each of their faces nearly set him off again, but he had felt that same shock only moments before.

“Oh, come off it, Derek!” Colin said after a moment, starting to smile at what he thought was a joke. “Katherine doesn’t have a sense of humor!”

“No, no, she does, I swear,” he said with a very serious shake of his head. “It’s the strangest thing.” He proceeded to tell them all exactly what she had said as proof, and he knew they were convinced when even the mostly stoic Duncan had to put a hand to his lips.

“Well,” Geoff said, when he had recovered, and started to move away, “I think I might stand by Katherine during the musical portion of the evening. It might be extremely entertaining.”

“Watch out for her claws,” Colin told him, demonstrating with his hands, and earning himself a smack on the back of the head from Duncan, which was akin to getting punched by most men.

“Leave off Katherine,” Duncan said firmly as he and Derek followed Geoff. “She’s funnier than you are.”

Across the ballroom, having no success in locating Moira, Katherine decided to look for her out in the hallways. Hosting one’s first event could be very trying, and though she had not much experience, she had been an unofficial hostess a time or two, and those were demanding enough.

She entered the darkened hallways and let her eyes adjust to the change from the brightly lit ballroom, then slowly made her way along, hoping she would not get lost. That would certainly be something for comment if it ever got out, how the Marchioness of Whitlock wanders around other people’s houses, even when in mourning.

She almost laughed at the thought.

“Did you see that the Whitlocks came in
together
just now?” said a female voice not too far away. Katherine pushed herself into an alcove behind a suit of armor, and waited, holding her breath.

Another voice snorted in derision. “Rather brave of him to go anywhere with her, I should think,” came the unmistakable voice of Lady Greversham, one of the most notorious gossips in all of London. “And she is supposed to be in mourning. That girl is going to turn out to be just like her mother; puffed up and ridiculous and severe, only prettier.”

“And she will have no one to regret that she is gone once she dies,” the first voice snickered.

“I doubt,” came a third voice Katherine did not know, “that the marquess has yet done the deed, as they say, with his wife, no matter what the rumors say.”

“Oh, heavens no,” Lady Greversham said in a disapproving tone. “Can you imagine? He could not get within ten feet of her without being burned or bruised. No, the day they produce a child of any sex, heir or not, is the day that pigs will fly. The dukedom will pass to the younger brother, unless they will accept illegitimate children of the marquess.”

“Are there illegitimates?” one of them gasped.

Lady Greversham tsked. “No one knows, to be sure, but you could hardly blame the man if there were.”

“Do you think their marriage has even been consummated?” the third woman hissed, the three of them almost past Katherine’s hiding spot now.

The other two snickered. “I am quite certain it has not. Which means the marquess could have the marriage annulled, if he should choose. The scandal might be worth it, if it means finding a new bride.”

“And he would have his pick,” Lady Greversham said importantly, her voice fading as they turned the corner. “All of London would line up for him, and I do mean all…”