Marchington Scandal Read online

  Katharine got the distinct impression that the countess knew precisely who she was, but she said only, “I believe not. I am Katharine Daltry.”

  “How do you do? You are General Daltry’s daughter, are you not? I knew your father years ago.”

  At this, still spoken in that mockingly amused tone, Katharine’s eyes widened slightly. She looked at the countess, thought of her own dashing father, and almost laughed. It was quite possible that the general had known Elise Standen—she was very much in his style—but the countess was too young to have known him “years ago” in the intimate way that her voice implied. The woman was trying to bait her. A glitter appeared in Katharine’s amber eyes. “Did you?” she replied sweetly. “I don’t remember. Was it before I was born?”

  The other woman’s head jerked a little as she glanced quickly at Katharine, an arrested expression in her eyes. Then, surprisingly, she slowly smiled her crooked smile once again. She surveyed the younger girl from head to foot, appreciatively. “You are your father’s daughter, aren’t you?”

  Katharine had to suppress an answering smile. The woman’s humor was contagious. “People seem to notice a resemblance.”

  “Oh, undoubtedly. I congratulate you.”

  The remark seemed so sincere, and the countess’s expression so clear of mockery, that Katharine was suddenly struck by an idea. Could she speak to this woman about Tom, rather than vice versa? She dismissed the thought at once. She could not broach such a personal matter with a stranger who possessed not even the slender link of being married to her cousin. But even as she came to this conclusion, Elise Standen said, “Did you come looking for Tom?” Laughter was again in her voice.

  Katharine was taken aback.

  “It was not so hard to guess, you know. You came in with such a determined look, it was obvious you were searching for someone. And when you saw me, you were so astonished.” She laughed. “It helped, of course, that I knew you were Tom’s cousin.”

  “His wife’s cousin,” Katharine could not resist replying.

  “Yes, of course. His wife’s cousin.” The countess’s green eyes met Katharine’s amber ones lazily, and she smiled.

  “Won’t you stop what you’re doing?” blurted Katharine then. This exchange was extremely improper, but she could not let such an opportunity go by.

  The older woman’s smile broadened. “I could pretend that I don’t know what you mean,” she answered. “But I think I won’t. It is far more piquant.”

  “Do you like hurting people?” said Katharine, at once put off and somehow fascinated by this woman.

  “Not particularly.” The countess was careless.

  “Then you will stop?”

  “Oh, no, my dear. I am having far too much fun with little Thomas. And my own amusement is more important than anything else to me. You cannot imagine how bored I was before he came along.”

  “But that is despicable,” began Katharine, appalled by such lighthearted selfishness.

  “Oh, la, what a word. It is no more than half the ton is doing every day, Miss Daltry. There’s not the least harm in it.”

  “There is,” insisted Katharine, thinking of Elinor’s face this morning.

  Countess Standen shrugged, losing interest in the subject. Katharine was about to go on, to try to make her see the rightness of her request, when there was a slight noise behind them and Tom Marchington hurried into the room.

  “Sorry to be so long,” he was saying. “The damned groom…” Seeing Katharine, he stopped abruptly.

  “Tom,” murmured the countess caressingly. The look in her eyes, a mixture of confidence, amusement, and calculation, made Katharine frown. “Your cousin was searching for you, darling. I told her you’d be right along.”

  Tom and Katharine frowned at one another, he in uneasy annoyance, she in angry disgust. The countess had told her no such thing. “I want to talk to you,” she snapped, forgetting all her careful plans.

  Tom’s frown deepened. “I am just escorting the countess home.”

  “Oh, don’t mind me,” put in this lady, drifting toward the door. “I can find my carriage perfectly well. Do have your little ‘talk.’ This is such an uplifting place for one.” And with a mocking smile over her shoulder, she was gone.

  Katharine was immediately aware of the complete impropriety of talking to Tom in a public place. Why had she followed him here instead of calling at the house again later? She was annoyed with herself, and her annoyance shifted irrationally onto Tom as he started to go after the countess. “Tom! I want to speak to you,” she snapped.

  He turned back, plainly exasperated. “Well, you’ve chosen a dashed inconvenient time for it…and place, for that matter. I must go.”

  “On the contrary, you must stay and hear what I have to tell you,” Katharine heard herself retort. As soon as the words were out, she bit her lip. This was no way to persuade Tom Marchington.

  A carriage went by outside, and Tom strode to the window to watch it. When he turned back, he looked even more annoyed. “She’s gone. What the deuce do you want?”

  Katharine tried to stifle her anger and recall some of the very rational phrases she had framed this morning. She took a deep breath. “I want to talk to you about the countess, Tom. Elinor—”

  “Oh, yes. I see. Elinor sent you to lecture me on my behavior, is that it? Well, I can’t see that it’s any business of yours.”

  Wishing that she had not mentioned Elinor’s name, and that she did not more or less agree with his objection, Katharine ventured, “Perhaps it is not, precisely. But I am a member of your family now, and I wanted to urge you to think of what you are doing. It is not only that you are hurting Elinor, though that is very important, but you may cause a scandal that will affect all the Marchingtons.” Katharine had determined on this approach after Elinor’s remarks about Sir Lionel, and she was gratified now to see Tom’s face change. Perhaps being reminded of his father would check him.

  But Tom said sullenly, “I haven’t any intention of causing a scandal. I can be as discreet as anyone.” He stuck out his chest. “And I do think Elinor might be more understanding. She always wanted to come to London, too. We often talked of how we wished to try our wings in town. And a man has a right to a few larks before he settles down.”

  “But you are married already,” Katharine replied.

  Tom’s round face looked rebellious. “Well, I asked them to let me come for a season first, and Father refused. It’s not my fault.”

  Exasperated, Katharine surveyed his mulishly unreceptive face. She could think of no reasonable arguments against his position, because he was being thoroughly unreasonable himself. So she tried illogic. “I suppose Elinor is free to do as she likes also, then?” she asked.

  For a moment Tom looked startled, and she hoped; then he shrugged. “Of course. All she wants is to attend balls and that sort of nonsense.”

  At this flip dismissal, Katharine’s annoyance flared into anger. “You are acting like a spoiled child,” she snapped. “Don’t you care for anyone else’s feelings?”

  Predictably, this simply angered Tom in his turn. “Whether I do or don’t, it’s none of your affair,” he retorted. “And you can tell Elinor not to send people to preach at me. I am perfectly able to manage my own life—yes, and my wife’s, too, if you and the other interfering tattlemongers would just leave her alone.” And with this he turned on his heel and walked out of the room.

  Katharine stood still for a moment when he was gone. She was very angry indeed—mostly with Tom, but partly with herself for handling him clumsily. She took several deep breaths, thinking, as she did so, of a number of telling remarks she might have made during the exchange, and finally started toward the door. She had come to one decision during this abortive effort to help Elinor. She would see Tom Marchington separated from the countess and returned to Elinor if it was the last thing she ever did.

  Five

  Elinor was understandably disappointed when Katharine told
her the outcome of the encounter with Tom. But when she was assured that her cousin did not mean to give up, and indeed was determined to think of some plan, she brightened and went home not too despondent to prepare for a luncheon she was to attend. Katharine, eating her own meal with Mary, was less sanguine. They discussed the problem for some time without hitting upon any plausible solution. And in the end, they were forced to leave the subject, for it was clear that neither had the least idea what the next move should be.

  “I am going up to my studio,” said Katharine, rising, “and put this whole matter out of my mind for a while. If anyone calls, I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

  “Of course, dear. But you had better tell one of the maids. I am going out this afternoon to visit old Mrs. James.”

  “All right.” Katharine started out of the dining room. “I will see you at tea, and we shall try again to discover some plan.”

  Once upstairs, Katharine forgot all about Elinor, Tom, the countess, and other annoyances. She had found years ago in India that she could put almost any worry or pain out of her mind when she stood before her easel, and the initial use of this activity as an escape had gradually developed it into a great love. She was finishing her painting of the poppies today, as she would have done yesterday but for Elinor’s interruption, and she was soon completely happy, tracing the delicate lines of the petals with a tiny sable brush.

  Nearly two hours passed, Katharine heedless of anything but her work. She was just standing back from the canvas and looking it over, trying to decide whether to call it complete or to add a few further touches, when there was a slight noise from the doorway, and a male voice exclaimed, “That is good, really good!”

  Katharine whirled to find Tony Tillston walking into the studio, surveying her painting with real interest. “Tony! How did you get in here? I left strict orders that I was not to be disturbed.”

  Her visitor turned away from the canvas and grinned, his hazel eyes dancing. “I know you did,” he replied. “Your maid told me so. But I fear I overbore her with the…er, force of my personality. I assure you she did not willingly reveal your hiding place.” He looked around the room. “This is unexpected, Katharine. I had no idea you were interested in painting.” He turned back to the canvas. “Or so gifted. I meant what I said, you know. That is really good. And I know something about art.”

  Katharine was torn between gratification and embarrassment. She hated to have people see her work before she was prepared, but she was human enough to find his praise irresistible. She put down her palette and began to clean her hands of paint.

  “Did you begin this in India?” continued Tony. “You never mentioned it when I knew you before.”

  “Yes.” Katharine kept her eyes on her hands. “There was very little for me to do there, you know, after Robert was killed. I always liked painting, so I took it up again. After a while, I went from watercolors to this.”

  Tony nodded, examining the painting more closely. “You mean to say you taught yourself to paint this way?”

  Katharine shrugged. “I had a great many lessons in watercolors.”

  “But this is quite different. I really am impressed, Katharine. You should do something with this.”

  Katharine made a slight derisive sound. “What? Exhibit? I have no wish to be a nine days’ wonder, thank you. I have seen what happens to women of my sort who fancy themselves poets or artists. They may be tolerated, but only as freaks, and only while they do not disturb anyone. I am quite happy painting for myself; I don’t want anything but time.”

  Tony laughed. “A telling shot at me. But I will not apologize again for interrupting you, because I think I can do you a service. I understand your feelings about exhibiting, and I daresay you are right. But you might still do something privately. There are any number of collectors who would admire your work.” She started to speak, but he held up a hand. “And I think you should become acquainted with some other painters. I am told that it is very helpful to be able to talk about one’s work with those who can understand it.”

  “It may well be,” responded Katharine impatiently. “But you know quite well that I cannot do that, Tony. I am grateful for your interest, but—”

  “In fact,” he interrupted, “I should like to take you to Lawrence’s this very afternoon. He is always at home on Tuesdays for tea.”

  “I can’t…” began Katharine, then stopped. She stared wide-eyed at her guest “Lawrence? You can’t mean—”

  “Yes, I do.” Tony grinned impishly again. “Sir Thomas Lawrence. I am well acquainted with him. He painted a portrait of my aunt several years ago, and we struck up a friendship.”

  “You…you know Lawrence?” echoed Katharine.

  “Come, come, this astonishment is not very flattering. I realize that I am not the weightiest of fellows, but I do have my points. Will you come?”

  “B-but, I cannot,” stammered Katharine. “I do not know him at all. And…and my gown.” She looked down helplessly.

  Tony laughed. “I will present you. But I agree that you must change your costume.” He eyed her worn muslin dress and voluminous apron with amusement. “Not that it isn’t very fetching, of course.”

  Gathering her wits, Katharine grimaced at him. “But who will be there? Are you certain I may go uninvited?”

  “Of course. It is open house on Tuesday, and a great many fashionable people look in, including ladies who want their portraits painted, so you needn’t worry about the proprieties.” He turned back to her painting. “And you can take some of your work to show Sir Thomas. I suppose you will take his word for its quality, if you won’t take mine.”

  “Oh, no!” Katharine was appalled. “I couldn’t possibly do any such thing.” She thought of putting one of her efforts in front of the most admired painter of their time and put a hand to her mouth.

  “But he’s very good about that sort of thing. Says that he wishes to help young painters as Reynolds helped him when he first came to London.”

  Katharine merely shook her head emphatically from side to side.

  “But…” Tony met her eye and paused. “Oh, very well, but I think you are being overnice. Someone is always bringing a canvas for Lawrence to see, and most of them are not nearly as good as this.” Katharine made a quick gesture, and he raised his hands. “I say no more. Go and get ready. It is nearly teatime.”

  She hesitated only a moment. The chance to meet the great painter overcame all her scruples. “I’ll be in the drawing room in half an hour,” she answered, turning to leave the room. “Are you coming?”

  “Yes.” Tony followed her, but on the landing outside, he suddenly exclaimed, “What’s that?” and bent to examine his gleaming Hessian boot. “Dust! You go on. I shall come down in a moment.” And he pulled out his handkerchief as if to brush off his boots.

  Shaking her head at this piece of affectation, Katharine went down the stairs to her bedroom. As soon as she was out of sight, Tony straightened. He listened to her footsteps die away, then, with a mischievous grin, turned back to the door of the studio and disappeared within.

  Katharine said very little on the ride to Sir Thomas Lawrence’s house. She was too excited, and apprehensive, at the thought of meeting the man whose portraits of the rulers of Europe had lately been the talk of London. She had dressed with great care in a quietly elegant pearl-gray gown, and as they rode she wondered to herself what she would say if she had the opportunity to talk with Lawrence. Every phrase she thought of sounded idiotic.

  “You mustn’t mind if Sir Thomas flirts with you,” said Tony when he helped her down from the carriage. “He always flirts with pretty women. He doesn’t mean anything by it.” As Katharine stared at him, he laughed. “Have I shocked you? I beg your pardon.”

  They were admitted at once and taken upstairs by a footman. Katharine heard the buzz of conversation before they entered the drawing room, and when they stood in the doorway to be announced, no one seemed to pay any heed. Surveying the group i
n the room, she was relieved to see several people she knew, and a liberal sprinkling of females. She had retained some small doubts about this call despite Tony’s assurances. The latter took her arm and led her forward. “Come,” he murmured, “I will present you.” They made their way across the room to stand before a tall commanding man with chestnut hair and a full, handsome face. “Sir Thomas,” said Tony, “how are you? May I present a friend of mine, Miss Katharine Daltry? She is very interested in painting.” He grinned at Katharine and stepped back a little to allow her to come forward.

  “H-how do you do?” said Katharine.

  “My dear young lady.” Lawrence actually bowed a little. “I am enchanted to have you in my house. Will you have tea? Of course.” He signaled one of the servants.

  Katharine, very nervous, turned to find that Tony had basely abandoned her. He was not to be seen anywhere in the room. She gazed frantically about, but encountered only the sardonic eye of Lord Oliver Stonenden, who was standing some distance away chatting with two men she didn’t know. His apparently mocking glance did nothing to reassure her. Indeed, if anything, it increased her confusion. What was he doing in Sir Thomas Lawrence’s salon, the last place she would have expected to encounter him? With a tiny shiver, she turned back to Sir Thomas. Tea arrived, and she took her cup.

  “What sort of painting do you like?” asked Lawrence genially.

  “Oh, I…I think your pictures are splendid,” Katharine blurted. “They have such…such ease and…and sparkle.” Cursing herself for this banality, she strove to gather her wits. “And of course, the drawing is perfect,” she added more coherently. “You are so wonderful with the pencil.”

  The artist bowed slightly again. “You are too kind. But you talk more like a painter than a collector.”

  “That is because she is a painter,” responded a voice behind them. “Here, Sir Thomas, look at these.”

  Katharine whirled and, to her horror, found Tony holding up one of her own canvases. He had several more beside him, and others in the room were turning to see what was being shown. “Oh, no,” she gasped. “You mustn’t…Sir Thomas, I did not mean…”