The Disdainful Marquis (10 page)

“It's true that the duchess knows Miss Tomkins,” Violet said loftily, to the blond woman's evident relief. “I'm most surprised to see you here, Rose, and I'm sure Her Grace will be curious about your presence as well.”

Rose turned to the captain triumphantly. “There, did you hear that?”

The captain shrugged, content to have the burden of decision taken from him. “Very well,” he said, “but we sail in an hour.”

Rose turned to go below deck and gave Violet a radiant smile. “You're a good old thing, Vi,” she whispered, “and I'm not forgetting.”

“Is that,” Catherine whispered to Violet as they strolled on, “Her Grace's old companion Rose?”

“Don't let her catch you saying ‘old,'” Violet smiled.

“Whatever is she doing here?”

“With Rose one hardly knows,” Violet said disinterestedly. “Perhaps she's companioning someone else. Perhaps she's short of the ready and wants to touch the old girl's heart before she sails for a guinea or two. Time will tell.”

Violet spotted someone she knew in a clutch of travelers who were standing and joshing with each other by the rail, surveying late arrivals as they hurried up the gangplank. She turned and eyed Catherine obliquely. The wind had whipped color into the girl's cheeks, she noted. And her eyes gleamed bluer than the slate-blue sea beneath them. Her hair spilled out from the blue bonnet, tugged into curls by the sea winds' damp fingers. She looked as fresh and bonny as a young doe. Violet pursed her lips.

“I see some old acquaintances,” she said quickly. “Do you continue on your walk. Once the boat begins to move, you may not feel like staying above deck. So here's your opportunity to catch the lay of the land. I'll see you later.”

And, with a nod, she left Catherine's side and disappeared into a crowd of people.

Catherine walked on alone. She felt uneasy about walking by herself in a crowd of strangers, for she knew it was not the sort of thing a young female should do. At least, she amended, not the sort of thing she should do in Kendal. But the duchess had told her to go for a stroll, and Violet seemed to find nothing amiss with it. It would seem, she thought, a poor-spirited thing to rush below decks now and huddle alone in the cabin when all the world was up here on the main deck. That had been just as she had been doing, she thought, since she came to London, huddling alone while the world went by her window. Well, now she was to be one of that world. It was certainly time, so she walked on, watching the others, observing the scene.

However, she did not observe much of it. She was so flustered when one young gentleman swept her a bow and gave a whitetoothed smile, and so distracted when another elderly gentleman grinned most improperly at her, and, finally, so devastated when a trio of young women stared her up and down with cold disdainful eyes that she hardly had time to make the sort of observations she expected to. So she found herself a quiet corner of the rail and positioned herself there, staring pointedly out at the shore, so that anyone seeing her would think she was waiting for an escort to board the ship and come to her side. That, she felt, was a safer pose than merely perambulating the deck looking for insults. For it seemed, the fashionable world had the same opinion as regarded young females alone as did the world of Kendal.

It had been, she congratulated herself, a clever ploy, for no one bothered her now. However, she could see little of what was going on behi
n
d her and had to content herself with hearing bits of the conversation that flowed around her. Mostly, people were gossiping, she concluded. Talking about who was here and whom they expected to see. They spoke of “Lady This” and “Lord That.” She heard them joke about someone's bonnet, and someone else who had put on a few stone since they were last seen. They spoke of nicknames such as “old Bertie” and “Sly Betty.” All seemed to be code names, as when they giggled over “Viscount Viperous” or “the Dirty Duchess” and “the Deacon.” It was odd, she thought, that no one seemed to be speaking of the trip that was to come but instead only gossiping about who was there. She could not know that in the duchess's world people traveled not to see new things, but to see who else was traveling with them and who they knew that would be at their destination upon their arrival.

And so she was almost relieved when she heard a familiar voice at her elbow address her. Although the same voice caused only consternation every time she had heard it, this time it was with almost a feeling of pleasure that she listened to its deep laconic tones. At least it was familiar and she felt no longer so alone.

“Well,” he said, “and so the little country mouse takes to the sea at last. Are we to have the pleasure of your company all the way to Paris? Why, I suppose we shall,” he smiled not waiting for her answer. “I had quite forgotten that the duchess was never one to miss a gay party. Ah, but my manners—allow me to introduce you, Jenkins, this is the Duchess of Crewe's latest companion, Miss…ah, my lamentable memory. Miss?”

“Catherine Robins, Your Lordship,” Catherine said quickly, to avoid further embarrassment, worrying about whether it was proper to introduce herself, and then once she had, wishing to bite off her tongue for admitting she already knew his name and rank.

The gleam in his gray eyes showed her he well knew her predicament.

“Allow me to present Robert Jenkins, my friend and my traveling companion.”

Catherine, turning and dipping a little curtsy, was further confused when she saw the gentleman she had been introduced to. For while the marquis, she noted, was dressed quietly but splendidly in dove gray and black in the peak of fashion, the shorter, muscular older man at his side was dressed as soberly and unobtrusively as any of the valets she had seen in the trail of their employers. Could it be that he was introducing her to his valet? Catherine hardly knew anymore what was proper in this strange milieu she had entered, and, throwing propriety to the winds she smiled up at Jenkins when she saw the sympathetic look on his grizzled homely square face.

“How do you do,” she said.

“Oh he'll do fine, now that he's met you,” the marquis went on. “As who wouldn't? You glow, my dear, you positively glow. Life with the duchess seems to have suited you to a tee. Do you know, Jenkins, that when I first met Miss Robins, she did not even know a street address in London? In fact, I flatter myself that I was the first to meet her, when Her Grace was conducting interviews. Of course, I shall not be the last. But from the moment I saw her, I knew that she would put an end to the stream of elderly parties that were quite obstructing the street in their eagerness to find employment with the duchess. It was becoming difficult to go out of doors, with the roadways thronged with elderly indigent females. Rather like stepping out into a massive sewing circle every day. There were so many old dears littering the walkways, it was becoming a traffic hazard. But then, as I laid eyes on Miss Robins, I knew she would put an end to it. We owe her a debt, Jenkins, for clearing up the public thoroughfares.”

Jenkins shot the marquis a look, Catherine thought, of censure.

“Delighted to meet you, Miss Robins,” he said in a gravelly voice, “but you must excuse me now. For I've things to see to.”

He bowed and took his leave, but the marquis seemed content to lounge at Catherine's side. He leaned back against the rail.

“Quite a change for you, isn't it?” he said to Catherine, in the same light bored tone that he had used with Jenkins. Rather, she thought angrily, as if he were still talking to someone else, even though there were only the two of them there now.

“Here you are, in the cream of London society. But you don't know a soul and can't yet get a taste of it. Her Grace has kept you cloistered, hasn't she? Now that's at an end, and you're free, but there isn't a familiar face about. Except, of course, for Violet, but she's feathering her own nest already. I,” he said, with mock bravado, “shall help you. For, God help me, I know every soul aboard this packet. There,” he said, turning his eyes toward a red-faced gentleman with bulging eyes, “is Old Hightower. Buried two wives and looking for a third rich enough to make matrimony worthwhile again. He lives in high style, but don't be fooled. His estates are mortgaged to the hilt, so he'll need to be quick about finding someone who hasn't heard of his financial distress. That's why he's off to Paris. Don't waste a second on him, little one, regardless of the diamonds at his throat. And there's Prendergast. Comely enough—there, that sort of a willowy-looking chap…. Fancies himself a deep thinker, and he'll make up a poem for you the moment you flutter those incredible eyelashes at him! But that's all you'll get. He does have a fortune, and he'll likely keep it forever, for he doesn't spend a groat if he can help it. He's a perennial houseguest and as tight with a penny as a drum. And ah, there's Lord Hunt—pass him by, child, pass him by. Drinks, you know, and forgets all of his promises in the morning. But now there, by his elbow, there's Sir Lawrence. That's one to keep your eye on. Old, but not infirm yet, and a chap who comes down handsomely when he's pleased. And he's not hard to please. And yes, there's Richard Collier, quite a prize despite that weathered look. There's many a good year left in him, and there's not a party he's likely to miss.”

Catherine drew breath in fury. She cut the marquis off just as he was gesturing toward the poor old gentleman being pushed aboard in his bath chair.

“I do not care about prizes and the personalities you have been so kindly explaining to me. My job is to be a companion. And whatever you may be thinking, please disabuse yourself of the notion that I am looking for a husband. I am here to be Her Grace's companion. To work, not to set my cap at anyone.”

The marquis stopped and looked at her with an arrested expression in his eyes. He stared down into her face, seeing the genuine anger and disturbance there. His eyes lingered for a moment on her lips, and she dropped her gaze, flustered both at her temerity in scolding him and at his intent regard.

Then he gave a shout of laughter that caused others on the deck to stare for a moment at them.

“Wonderful,” he said. “The intonation, the indignation, the heated countenance, all wonderful. Unless, it could be… No, I am not so wet behind the ears. Still,” he said, in a considering way. “What do you think of dear Violet?”

“Why, she is a delightful companion,” Catherine said stoutly.

“And what of the duchess's outline of duties?” he asked in a warmer tone of voice.

“Unexceptional,” she replied.

For once the marquis himself seemed puzzled. He gave her one more lingering look and then straightened.

“We shall see,” he said cryptically. “I hope you are a good sailor, little mouse, for the wind is picking up. I shall see you again, I am sure.” And bowing, he left.

Everything proper, she thought, with chagrin, while being everything improper.

Catherine watched him stroll away, stopping every few moments to bow or have a few words with other passengers. He was, she thought, watching his tall straight figure, quite the handsomest man aboard, but then she noted, watching the expressions of the females he greeted, she was not alone in thinking that. If only he were not so familiar and so puzzling, she sighed as she watched his slow progress across the deck.

And as she watched, he was stopped by Violet. Violet raised a glowing face as she flirted up at the marquis, and soon the two were deep in conversation. While Catherine stood watching intently, the marquis caught her at it. He looked up at her with a glance of rueful amusement as Violet motioned toward her. And then, before she could turn her head away, he gave her a curiously knowing smile. Then he linked Violet's arm in his and the two strolled away.

Catherine quelled her momentary feeling of dismay and then resolutely turned her face toward shore again. What was it that Miss Parkinson had told her so gently?

“A female who is a companion, no matter her birth, must always remember that she is not the social equal of her employer or of her employer's friends. However elevated her birth, she is yet an employee, and she must never imagine otherwise or she will be laying herself open to insult.”

Good advice, Catherine thought; perhaps I should work it in needlepoint and hang it above my bed, for I should not forget it for a moment. And neither, she told herself sharply, should I care about the marquis' choice of companions. And she stayed at the rail till they began to call ashore and the wind turned bitter enough to drive her below.

Once she reached her cabin again, Catherine opened the door without preamble and then stood motionless in the doorway. For there was Violet, her hat and slippers off, lying back against her bed pillows, talking animatedly with Rose. And Rose, the duchess's former companion, had made herself comfortable and sprawled out all over what Catherine had assumed to be her own bed.

When Catherine appeared, the two let off talking, and it was Rose who spoke up immediately, “There you are, Catherine. I'm happy to meet you. Seeing as how we're all going to be traveling together, I wanted to meet you. I was in such a state up there, I didn't have time for a word. But now, all's tight and we can have a nice coze.”

Violet watched them with a highly amused expression as Catherine stammered, “Oh, then you're accompanying someone to Paris, as well?”

“Oh, Lord love you,” Rose beamed, “I've gotten my old job back. But don't look so downcast. It'll be heaps of fun for us. Imagine, the duchess is going with three companions this time! She thought it was a right old joke too. I do confess, when I saw you with Vi here, I thought I was sunk, I did. But I got down on my knees to Her Grace and told her all my troubles. I groveled, I did. I was that afraid she'd pitch me out. It would serve me right, but then where would I be? She gave me a hard time, calling me all sorts of a fool, and what could I say when she was right? Giving up a soft berth with her to fly off with a gamester and letting the world go hang—it was madness. Yes, Vi, you were right. A leopard don't change his stripes. And he going off with another like that, leaving me high and dry without even fare to get back to London. But first thing I do back in town is to go haring back to Her Grace. And then I hear she's off to Paris! Think of it, me giving up Paris like that.”