Kate sighed. It was all very provoking. But quite marvelously challenging, she thought, brightening again and looking up to the top shelf of books. She had work to do.
The Marquess of Uppington and Sir Harry Tate were riding a little apart from the rest of the gentlemen. They had observed the crops, questioned some tenants, directed their eyes toward a wood which the earl remembered to be an excellent place for shooting when that sport was in season. They were making their way back to the Abbey at a leisurely pace.
“This is all quite impressive for an out-of-the-way part of England, would you not agree, Tate?” Uppington said.
“Oh, quite, quite,” Sir Harry agreed. “It has had a reputation for years.”
“I consider it quite consistent with my consequence to ally myself to the family,” Uppington continued.
“Lady Thelma?” Sir Harry said, sounding bored. “Yes, sometimes such alliances become a necessity, Uppington.”
The marquess shrugged. “We all know the rules from an early age, do we not?” he said.
“Oh, quite,” Sir Harry agreed. “I have always considered myself singularly blessed not to have been born to the high aristocracy. What an utter bore to have to do what is expected of one even when choosing a bedfellow.”
“I suppose you would not know some of the more tedious duties of rank,” Uppington said, contriving somehow to look at Sir Harry along the length of his very aristocratic nose. “In fact, Tate, you must have been keeping yourself very much to yourself for the last several years. I confess I have never come across either you or your family until this week.”
Sir Harry yawned. “London, Bath, Tunbridge, Brighton,” he said with a sigh. “Such a bore, Uppington. Who could stand it? I find even the exertions of such a house party quite too taxing on my energies.”
“And talking of exertion,” Lord Uppington said, “your interest in Mrs. Mannering has not escaped my attention, Tate.”
“Mrs. Mannering?’ Sir Harry exerted himself sufficiently to raise both eyebrows and turn lazy eyes on his riding companion.
“She is a delectable armful, I grant you,” Lord Uppington continued, “and of course her position as a type of servant makes her . . . shall we say, accessible? I would remind you, though, that since I am about to ally myself to the mistress, I must also show concern for the servant.”
“Meaning that Mrs. Mannering is already earmarked for your bed and you would prefer not to have to deal with overused goods?” asked Sir Harry.
“Precisely, my dear fellow,” Lord Uppington said. “I see you understand me. Now, there is a very accommodating upstairs maid whom I would gladly pass your way if you feel the need for a cure for that insomnia of yours. She would come highly recommended.”
“Thank you, but no,” Sir Harry said. “I make it a rule never to consort with upstairs maids or scullery maids or any maids in between, Uppington. Too much regard for my health, old chap. As for Mrs. Mannering, I believe you have discovered for yourself that she is one of those tedious beings known as a virtuous lady. I believe you would do well to lay siege to someone more amenable, Uppington. Or keep to your upstairs maid, since a siege there seems totally unnecessary.”
“Let me make myself clear.” The marquess’s voice was as pleasant as it had been from the start of the conversation. “I do not believe your appearance in the library a few evenings ago and in that hermit’s cave the following afternoon were accidental, Tate. And I was not hoodwinked by the fact that you allowed Mrs. Mannering to cross the rocks yesterday before you followed after. I do not know if she favors your pursuit or not. That is quite immaterial. The point is, dear fellow, that it must stop. She is to be mine, and I do not take kindly to being kept waiting for what I desire. There are to be no more ‘interruptions’ to our tête-à-têtes. Now do I make myself understood?”
Sir Harry stared ahead, a slight crease between his brow. Then he looked across at the marquess, his eyebrows rising again. “I believe you do, Uppington,” he said with a heavy drawl. “In fact—forgive me if I misunderstand—I almost feel that you are threatening me. Is there the possibility of a duel on the horizon? What a bore!”
“I do not believe I would condescend to duel with a baronet of whom no one seems ever to have heard,” Lord Uppington said, his look both haughty and penetrating. “At least”—he paused for effect—“I would want to do a little more investigation of your credentials before I would honor you with a challenge.”
“Ah.” Sir Harry removed his glance and looked ahead again. “Now I perceive the full sting of the threat. You are going to dig up all the murky past of the Tate family, I see. All the skeletons in the closet will be dragged into the light. I must warn my estimable mama. Perhaps you will even unearth the carefully guarded family secret that her grandfather was a butcher and her grandmother an actress. I am in fear and trembling, Uppington. If Mrs. Mannering were mine to dispose of, I might even be tempted for one whole second to relinquish my claim to you.”
“You are a quite obnoxious worm, are you not?” Uppington asked pleasantly. “I cannot imagine where Dalrymple dug you up. He gives the impression of being something of a gentleman.”
“In reality I am his bootblacking boy,” Sir Harry said with a sigh. “We thought it might be amusing to try to pass me off as a baronet.”
“Be warned anyway, my dear fellow,” the marquess said before urging his horse forward to join Lord Barton and his brother-in-law. “Mrs. Mannering is not for the likes of you.”
Nicholas kept his horse to the same pace. He made no attempt to join Dalrymple and Moreton, who were riding close by, or any other member of the group. He had rather enjoyed that exchange, if the truth were known, though he realized that it had raised some very serious issues. Very serious. He seemed to be landing himself in quite a mess, in fact.
His idea to get himself inside Barton Abbey with the freedom to move around as he chose had seemed an excellent one when it was first conceived. And it had been surprisingly easy to execute his plan. But what, really, had he accomplished by it? He had been at the Abbey for several days already and his every attempt to discover some fact that might be the key to unlock the mystery of his past had been frustrated. He had talked to all the servants at the house who had been in service there five-and-twenty years before, and that morning he had also talked to both Mr. and Mrs. Pickering at the lodge. But nowhere had he been able to discover anything that would provide him with a lead.
There was still, of course, the other plan that he had begun to put into operation. He would need Dalrymple’s cooperation if that were to work well, and his friend was bound to come up with a hundred and one objections. All of them perfectly reasonable.
Now he was confronted by a definite problem, though. Uppington was suspicious. And Nicholas had offended him deeply enough to cause the marquess to investigate this mysterious Sir Harry Tate. Of course, it would take him time. It was a frustrating and time-consuming task to trace the home and ancestry of someone who did not exist. But sooner or later, Nicholas knew, he ran the risk of being exposed as an impostor. He supposed he should have been content to arrive as a mere mister. Uppington would not be so concerned about never having heard of a Mr. Harry Tate. Well, it was too late now.
It was not in Nicholas’ nature to back down from a challenge, no matter how dangerous. In this particular instance, he could not back down even if he wanted to. And in the interests of his search, perhaps he would normally have thought twice about antagonizing Uppington. But giving in to the marquess involved sacrificing Katherine. She was a strong and aggressive young lady who did not need his protection in the ordinary events of life. But there was nothing ordinary about Uppington. He was a powerful and ruthless man, one who was accustomed to having his own way. And one who was totally insensitive to the feelings of others.
Katherine would not have a chance with him. It would not matter to Uppington if the only way he could have her was by ravishment. In fact, he would probably enjoy a rape more than an encounter with a willing bedfellow. It was quite out of the question, then, for Nicholas to avoid provoking the anger of Uppington by abandoning Katherine to her fate. Indeed, after this afternoon’s encounter, Nicholas decided that he must redouble his watch over her.
Not that that prospect was the chief of his worries. He would quite cheerfully take his chances with Uppington. What was far more disturbing was the marquess’s belief that Sir Harry himself was involved in some affair with Katherine. If Uppington could believe so, could not other people do the same? One of his main concerns since he first met Katherine was to ensure that she was not involved with him, to make sure that no one could accuse her of anything if for some reason the investigation of his past became nasty. His concern for her safety had been his main reason for sending himself away to Shropshire and for keeping his real identity a secret from her. It had also dictated the very unpleasant character he had given poor Sir Harry.
