The idea seemed absurd. Was it possible? But even if it were so, would Clive have reasoned the same way as he was doing now and be searching for those papers on the remote possibility that they had ever existed?
Nicholas became so deeply engrossed in his own thoughts that he drew his horse almost to a complete halt on the road. His father and Clive Seyton had been very close until the former’s death, far more like brothers than cousins. He had learned that both from his grandfather and from some of the servants. If his father was too terrified to tell the earl about his marriage, was it possible that he had confided in his cousin? And would he have told his cousin about the papers without, perhaps, telling him where he had hidden them?
Again the idea seemed absurd. Perhaps he was trying to be just too clever, Nicholas thought. He was not even quite sure that his parents had been married. He was not quite sure that the new earl was deliberately withholding information from him. He was not quite sure that the earl was now searching for something. Every other conjecture he had worked out painstakingly in his mind might be so many wild thoughts with no substance whatsoever.
Perhaps. But he meant to pursue those conjectures, nevertheless. He had become too involved in uncovering the secrets of his own past to shrug off the whole matter now. Even if he was illegitimate, even if his mother was a street prostitute, he had to know the truth now. He could rest once he knew the truth, even if it confirmed all his worst fears. He could not rest with the uncertainties. Especially when those uncertainties held the possibility that he had lived all his life under a great injustice.
Nicholas spurred his horse on. He was close enough to home that he must ride with more caution. He did not wish to risk being seen by any of the family at the Abbey, Katherine Mannering included. They might recall next week that Sir Harry Tate had been ambling along the road nearby only the week before. And he did not want any members of the coast guard to see him and know that Mr. Nicholas Seyton was indeed still in the area. He drew his horse off the road after a while and took the safer route across country.
Chapter 7
Kate had not expected to be present for the arrival of the guests the following week. She had taken the label of servant much to heart. But Lady Thelma, who was not naturally sociable, felt the need of her companion’s presence as moral support. Wearing her best day dress, therefore, a light brown muslin, her hair smoothed back from her face and dressed in a neat bun at her neck, Kate witnessed the arrival of all the guests and was presented to each of them.
Lord Barton’s sister and her husband were the first to arrive. Lady Toucher looked remarkably like her brother: fair-haired and rather plump. She seemed somewhat placid in nature. She nodded kindly at Kate and remarked that she was pleased to know that dear Thelma had the company of a sensible young lady. Kate was not at all sure why the aunt had decided at one glance that she was sensible. Her hairstyle and the color and plain style of her dress, perhaps?
Two of Thelma’s particular friends were the next to arrive, with the mother of one of them as chaperon. The Honorable Miss Christine Barr-Smythe had a tendency to squeal as a reaction to any emotion, while Miss Julie Carstairs had an equal addiction to giggling. Kate noticed the good-humored expression of Mrs. Carstairs and thought sympathetically that the lady must have needed all her good nature to tolerate the company of those two girls on the journey from London. Each reacted in her characteristic way to the first sight of the great hall of Barton Abbey and Thelma waiting there to greet them.
Lord Barton’s cousin on his mother’s side arrived soon after these ladies, bringing with him his wife and daughter. Sir Peregrine Lacey and his lady appeared to be a quiet and genteel couple, Kate judged. Their daughter Angela must be close to her own age. She was a tall, graceful girl with masses of very dark hair. She appeared serious and quiet and would perhaps be a welcome contrast to Thelma’s two friends.
Another relative of the earl’s was next to arrive. Everyone else was already in the drawing room taking tea when Mr. Charles Dalrymple, a distant cousin of the earl’s, was announced by the butler. Kate took particular note of him, as he had written to Lord Barton a few days before asking if he might bring another guest with him. And indeed the butler also announced Sir Harry Tate.
Mr. Dalrymple was a tall thin young man, rather stooped in the shoulders, as if he were conscious of his height. He had sharp features and an aristocratic air. But he had kindly eyes, Kate noticed. She always noticed people’s eyes, as she believed firmly that they were a mirror of the soul. She rose to her feet when the two gentlemen were announced, as indeed did everyone else. She curtsied when she was presented.
She turned her attention in some curiosity to the mysterious Sir Harry Tate. Neither Lord Barton nor Lord Stoughton had ever met him, but of course good breeding had dictated that they reply to Mr. Dalrymple’s letter assuring him that his friend would be very welcome at Barton Abbey. Kate secretly thought it rather forward of the man to push himself thus into a house party where he knew no one, including the host. Surely a normally sensitive gentleman would have insisted to his friend that he would return home or direct his travels elsewhere under such circumstances.
Having looked rather hard at Sir Harry for a few minutes, however, during the bustle of everyone’s sitting down again and Thelma pouring tea for the newcomers, Kate was less surprised. The man was extremely handsome, having a physique and facial features in which it would be difficult to find a single fault, and thick dark hair to boot. But he clearly was well aware of his good looks and had a noticeable air of conceit. He was dressed impeccably, his Hessian boots shining like a mirror though he must have worn them during his journey, his coat of dark green superfine tightly fitting at shoulders that obviously need no padding, his neckcloth knotted to perfection and yet not over fussy, his shirt points high and starched and yet not quite high enough to restrict the movement of his head. His shining dark hair was short and fashionably disheveled.
She could not find fault with any of these details, Kate admitted to herself. One could not blame a gentleman for dressing well or accuse him of conceit merely because he had good taste. It was his face that made her immediately dislike him. He looked at the company in the drawing room along a straight and well-shaped nose with cynical blue eyes, their lids half-lowered to give him a bored expression. His mouth, which was not at all misshapen by nature, was marred by the suggestion of a sneer that drew it up slightly at one corner. His voice, when he had greeted Lord Barton and the other people present, had drawled a little, again as if he found the whole procedure tedious.
His whole attitude suggested an air of superiority. How could he have had the effrontery to come here with such an attitude when he had not even been invited? Kate wondered indignantly. She felt like shaking the Misses Barr-Smythe and Carstairs, who were seated close together and were in the process of nudging each other significantly and stealing glances at the very handsome figure of the sneering guest.
Well, she did not like him anyway, Kate decided, and she was not going to humble herself before the likes of him, servant though she was in this house. She rose to her feet to take Lady Toucher’s cup across to the tea tray in order to fill it again. She could almost feel the eyes of the man on her and looked defiantly at him as she sat down again, chin in the air. He was viewing her with that bored expression. When he met her look, he deliberately let his eyes roam over her from head to foot, one of his hands playing with the riband of his quizzing glass, and lifted one cynical eyebrow as he looked up into her face again. Kate’s nostrils flared, and she refused to break the eye contact. He looked away eventually with a slight half-smile.
“It must be thirty years and more since I was here last, Clive,” Lady Toucher was saying. “It is hard to believe. The place has not changed a great deal, has it?”
“Uncle was always at pains to keep everything in good order,” the earl replied, “after creating the library out of the state bedchamber, of course. But that was before our time, Alice.”
“I am so looking forward to being shown the house and park, Clive,” Lady Barbara Lacey said. “Barton Abbey is so renowned for its magnificence. I am quite delighted that it now belongs to Peregrine’s cousin and we have a reason to visit. If the grand hall and the staircase and this room are any indication, then the stories have not been exaggerated.”
“Tomorrow morning will be the best time for a tour,” Lord Barton said, acknowledging the compliment with a gracious nod of the head. “Today I am sure you will all wish to rest before dinner. And a few of our guests are still to arrive.”
“I really should have come down to visit Uncle when he was still alive,” the earl’s sister said. “But Toucher always opposed my wish, you know, after our marriage. He did not want me exposed to the awkward situation of having to meet that son of poor Jonathan’s.”
“Quite so,” the earl agreed.
“Whatever happened to him, Clive?” she asked.
“Took himself off to Shropshire, I imagine,” Lord Barton said. “Uncle left him some property there, you know.”
“Well, I am glad to hear it,” Lady Toucher said, “Poor boy. I always felt that he was not to blame for the circumstances of his birth.”
“Do you speak of Nicholas Seyton?” Charles Dalrymple asked. “I knew him at Cambridge, you know. Splendid fellow.”
Kate directed her gaze and the whole of her attention on Mr. Dalrymple.
“Oh, did you?” Lady Toucher said. “I am so glad.”
“I had hoped to see him here again,” Dalrymple continued, looking politely at Lord Barton. “I had not realized he had moved away. He was very attached to both the Abbey and his grandfather, as I remember.”
