Valerie Bowman - Secrets of a Scandalous Marriage

She sucked in her breath, doing her best to ignore the clean masculine scent that accompanied James into the room. She swallowed and turned her attention back to her parchment. “My lord?” she said, picking up her quill and feigning interest in her work. “Do you need something?”

He stopped a few paces in front of her. “I’ve come to ask you something, Kate.”

He took a seat in a chair across from her and she looked up at him. A too serious look rested on his handsome face.

“What’s that?” she asked hesitantly, dropping her quill, and studying his face closely.

“I was speaking with Abernathy—” James began.

Kate shook her head frantically. “We’ve been over this. I don’t think—”

He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. “Leave it to me to worry about it then.”

She glanced away, tears unexpectedly burning the backs of her eyes. “That’s not your occupation, my lord. Or your concern.”

“Tell me, Kate.” He paused. “Is there anything? Anything at all that you remember?”

She took a deep breath and met his eyes. “I’ve thought about it so many times. So, so many times. I replay the entire morning over and over again in my mind.” She pressed her fingertips to her temples. “In addition to George, the only people in the house were myself, Lady Bettina, and the servants.”

“You’re sure of that?”

She nodded. “As sure as one can be in a large estate. We certainly had no other visitors.”

He watched her carefully. She could feel his hazel eyes on her. “Do you think Lady Bettina could have done it?” His voice was tight, authoritative.

Her fingers dropped away from her temples, and she searched the ceiling, resting her palms on her knees. “I suppose it’s possible, but I don’t know why she would. It makes no sense. And they did seem to be … in love.” She sucked in her breath. That last part had been difficult for her to say, he could tell. Damn it, he’d like to lay his fist into Markingham even now.

James’s voice was clear and calm. “Perhaps they had a fight. One you didn’t know about?”

She shrugged, meeting his eyes again. “It’s possible. Anything’s possible. But the only thing I remember…” She looked away, out the dark window. “The only real thing I remember … was coming into that room … and … seeing him.” Her throat worked convulsively.

James reached out and squeezed her hand. It was so small and cold compared to his. “It must have been horrifying,” he whispered.

She blinked away more tears and turned to face him again. “I’m afraid I can be of little help. That is all I remember. And all I know.”

“That’s enough, Kate. Thank you. I shouldn’t be asking so much of you.”

“If I remember anything, I’ll tell you immediately,” she assured him.

“Thank you.” He glanced away briefly. “Now to discuss a more pleasant topic.” He leaned back in his chair and gave her a smile that made her heart do a little flip. The stubble was back on his chin and cheeks this late at night, and she was doing her best to ignore it.

“What topic is that, my lor … James?” She cleared her throat.

He crossed his booted feet at the ankles and rested his hands on his thighs. “You said you wanted to live. That was the bargain, was it not? Annie and Lily assure me your trip to the countryside is being planned as we speak. What else would you like to do?”

She smiled. “Now that I’ve been thinking about and I believe I’ve decided.” She bit her lip, a bit hesitant to admit to him the other thing she’d been wanting. But if he didn’t laugh her out of his home over the desire to visit a farm, this next thing would probably not surprise him one bit. She took a deep breath. “I want to dance at a ball.”

James blinked and his hands dropped to his sides. “A ball?”

She nodded. “Yes. I only attended one ball in my life, before I was married. It was so beautiful and perfect. It was the last time I can remember being happy. Wearing beautiful clothing and enjoying myself. Dancing and laughing and not having a care in the world. I know it’s winter and I know we cannot have guests and moonlit gardens and champagne on the balcony, but oh, James, I want to dance.”

James gave her a conspiratorial grin that made her heart beat faster again. “If it’s a ball you desire, my lady, a ball you shall have.”

When Mrs. Hartsmeade and two maids arrived in Kate’s bedchamber that afternoon armed with pins, scissors, thread, and fabric, Kate didn’t know what to make of it.

“His lordship has instructed us to make you a ball gown,” Mrs. Hartsmeade announced.

“A what?” Kate asked, turning in a circle while Louisa measured her waist.

“A ball gown, your grace,” Louisa replied with a bright smile.

“His lordship says he regrets he couldn’t have the finest seamstresses from Bond Street come to work on your gown, but he couldn’t risk the … well, you know.” Mrs. Hartsmeade glanced away.

Kate nodded. “It’s certainly very nice of him and all of you, but I don’t need a real ball gown—”

“No, your grace, he insisted upon it. He picked out the color himself. This gold.” She handed the swath of lovely satin fabric to Kate. “‘It’ll bring out the highlights in the duchess’s hair,’ he said. Though I doubt he’d like it if he knew I repeated such a thing to you.” Mrs. Hartsmeade smiled, and Kate swallowed and pressed her hand to her belly where butterflies had just taken flight.

“He said that?” she asked, feeling like an eighteen-year-old about to make her debut again.

“He did,” Louisa reassured her. “I heard him.”

Kate bit back her smile. She reached out and gingerly touched the gold satin. It was the most beautiful fabric she had ever seen. Why, she couldn’t have picked better herself. “Then, by all means, let’s make me a ball gown.”

By the time the afternoon was over, Kate and the three servants had giggled themselves silly deciding upon all the details of the gown including the décolletage. “Lower,” Kate had insisted, making Louisa blush. She was being improper, no doubt, but this might well be her last chance to dance with a handsome man at a ball in a low-cut gown. And she wanted to live after all.

By the time Mrs. Hartsmeade ushered Louisa and the other maid from her bedchamber, the gown had been entirely designed, was well on its way to being made, and Kate had smiled more than she had in an age. She threw herself on her bed and hugged her pillow. A ball. She was going to attend a ball. And with the ever-so-dashing Lord Medford. She kicked her legs against the cool sheets and squealed into the pillow.

It was two days later before the gown was complete. Kate had spent those two days in a completely unsuccessful attempt to write the pamphlet. She’d spent time reading Lily’s and Annie’s pamphlets over and over again, hoping one or both would spark some idea for her. Make her come up with some formula for success. Both of their pamphlets hinted at scandal and had a bit of a warning tone, but Kate couldn’t imagine how hers ought to be. It would not be a confession. Nor a plea for mercy. She just wanted it to be … honest. Just what James had asked of her. To tell her story, in her words. But what if no one believed her? What if the pamphlet was not a top seller as James had predicted? What if copies were burned in the street? Burned … She gulped. She couldn’t think about that. She must do her best.

Mrs. Hartsmeade came into the study on the second afternoon to announce the ball gown’s completion. She and the girls had worked day and night to sew the fabulous garment and after a few fun fittings, they were ready to declare it finished.

“It’s beautiful,” Kate said, touching the wide skirt reverently, tracing her fingers along the delicate fabric.

“His lordship asked me to give you this.” Mrs. Hartsmeade handed Kate a piece of parchment sealed with wax. Kate widened her eyes and grasped the piece of paper, ripping it open and scanning it quickly. It was an invitation. To Viscount Medford’s ball. The man had thought of everything.

“And you are the guest of honor, your grace,” Mrs. Hartsmeade said with another quick wink.

Kate bit her lip, also biting back the little squeal of happiness that rose to her lips.

She playfully curtsied to the housekeeper. “Please tell his lordship that I shall be most delighted to attend.”

Kate stood in front of the looking glass in her bedroom, butterflies in her stomach again, and a tentative grin on her face. She felt like Cinderella. Certainly her first ball gown had never been this grand. She twirled in a circle. They’d made her wide skirts, reminiscent of the turn of the century in France, with a tight, corsetlike bodice and long sleeves that ended in points on the tops of her hands. It was a lovely gown and Kate felt like a dream in it, petticoats and all.

Louisa had put up her hair in a chignon with a few wisps pulled out to frame her face, and somehow Mrs. Hartsmeade had secured a pot of rouge and Kate dabbed the stuff on her lips and her cheeks and even the smallest bit between her daring décolletage. Live. Live Live. She sung to herself.

She took another look in the mirror and sucked in her breath. She didn’t have any jewels, true, but that was perfectly all right. It wasn’t a real ball. She stared at her reflection. Would Lord Medford think she was beautiful? Oh, why was she even thinking such a thought? It didn’t matter. This entire night was just for fun. Nothing more, nothing less. It was not as if James were a suitor and she a young innocent looking for a husband. In fact, the situation could not be more opposite. She was an accused murderess who had forced the man to throw a pretend ball for her. No, this was not a night for moonlit gardens and stolen kisses. It was freezing outside and she was a prisoner, she thought with a wry smile.