“Thank you,” she said, “but I think not.”
Before she could turn to leave, Sir Harry slid his hands up to her elbows and lowered his lips to hers. Very briefly. Very tenderly.
“Slip your arm through mine,” he said, “carefully so that your hand does not touch. And do not be ashamed to lean your weight on me. We are all weak at times in our lives, Mrs. Mannering. I shall escort you to your room.”
Kate did as she was bidden, but she kept her weary weight poised over her own feet. She was not dead yet, or decrepit with age, for goodness’ sake.
Chapter 19
When Audrey brought Kate a pitcher of warm water for washing the following morning, she also brought the request that Mrs. Mannering attend Lord Barton in his cabinet at her earliest convenience. Kate washed and dressed quickly in her gray cotton dress, trying to ignore the tenderness of her palms. She had not gone down to dinner the evening before, but had sent word that she was indisposed. Lady Thelma had come to her even before dinner began to ask what was the matter. Kate, unable to hide her hands, which Audrey had bandaged after applying ointment, said that she had had a nasty fall while running up the driveway, afraid that she would be late for tea, and was feeling somewhat shaken as well as foolish.
But this morning she was determined to make the effort to carry on as usual. She was in her shift and brushing out her long hair even before Audrey appeared. She did not know quite how she was going to look at either Lord Uppington or Sir Harry. But she did know that she had no intention of following the latter’s advice. Complaining to the Earl of Barton would solve nothing, and only cause herself embarrassment. The marquess was of higher rank than the earl, and he was being courted for Thelma. It was expected that a man of Lord Uppington’s rank would have mistresses. It would be nothing surprising to most people that he sometimes abused those mistresses physically. Who was to prevent him? It was absurd to expect that an enraged Lord Barton would order the man from his house for merely threatening an impoverished, employed widow with a whip when she had had the audacity to defy his wishes.
No, Kate had decided, she would keep her mouth shut. But she would get her revenge. She had promised herself that. She did not know yet how she would do it, but her brain was at work on the matter already. Unfortunately, she did not have the physical strength either to challenge the marquess or to attack him without the courtesy of a warning. And it was not in her nature to take a gun and shoot him when his back was turned, though there was a definite temptation to do just that. She would think of something.
In the meanwhile Lord Barton wished to speak to her. She would go to him immediately. Perhaps if she were later than usual for breakfast, she would avoid having too much company. She would find questions about her “fall” rather embarrassing.
When the earl’s valet opened the door to admit Kate to the cabinet, she was somewhat taken aback to find that Lord Barton was not alone. The Marquess of Uppington stood with his back to the room, staring out of the window. Lady Thelma sat on the opposite side of the desk from her father, looking pale enough to faint. Poor girl, Kate thought immediately, they have been coercing her again. And what is my part to be in such persuasion, I wonder.
Then the marquess turned around.
Kate gaped. His face was almost unrecognizable. One eye was swollen completely shut, and the other seemed in little better case. His long aristocratic nose looked to be broken, and his upper lip was swollen to such an extent that the lower was invisible. His chin and both cheeks looked more like raw meat than anything else. He stared coldly at her from his half eye, his hands clasped behind his back.
“Well, Mrs. Mannering.” Lord Barton’s voice matched the marquess’s half an eye. “Do you approve of the handiwork of your lover?”
Kate looked at him, startled. Sir Harry? “I beg your pardon, my lord?” she asked.
Lord Barton’s elbows rested on the arms of his chair. His fingers were steepled beneath his chin. “Your lover— whoever he might be—did this to Lord Uppington last night while two other thugs held his arms,” he said. “I wish to know his identity, Mrs. Mannering.”
Kate frowned. “What is this all about, my lord?” she asked.
“Oh, come now.” The earl leaned forward in his chair suddenly and banged his fist on the desk, causing Kate to jump. “Do you deny that Lord Uppington caught you in the arms of a lover yesterday afternoon while that idiot son of the Pickerings kept watch?”
Kate looked incredulously at Lord Uppington. “I most certainly do deny it,” she said.
“I told you she would,” Lord Uppington said with some difficulty. “In her place, so would I.”
“It seems you have very low tastes, Mrs. Mannering,” Lord Barton continued, “choosing a lover from among the fishermen, I suppose, and inviting him onto my land so that you could satisfy your,”—he glanced at his white faced daughter—“desires.”
“Is it true, Kate?” Lady Thelma asked, sounding utterly miserable. “I can scarce believe it.”
“No, it is not true,” Kate assured her calmly.
“The Pickering half-wit has already admitted it,” Lord Barton said with another bang of his fist on the desk.
“Has admitted what, my lord?’ Kate asked.
“That he was with you yesterday afternoon, Mrs. Mannering, when his lordship came upon you and attempted to drive your lover away with a whip. It seems Lord Uppington did not realize you were a willing partner in what was transpiring, until you threw yourself in the path of the whip to protect your lover and were struck by it across your hands.”
“That was regrettable,” Lord Uppington said with a slight bow of the head toward Kate. “I would not knowingly have struck a woman.”
“I see,” Kate said. “And in his testimony, my lord, did Josh mention the presence of a . . . er . . . lover?”
“Unfortunately, the man does not have a clear mind at the best of times,” Lord Barton said. “But his evidence was clear enough. I do not believe you can deny you were there, Mrs. Mannering. Would you care to show us your hands?”
“Oh, yes,” Kate said, nodding, a half-smile on her lips. “Certainly, my lord. And as you will see, I can no longer pretend that they were injured in a fall on the driveway. The marks are clearly the result of a cut with a whip. Lord Uppington’s whip, as he says.”
“Then you confess all?” Lord Barton said, getting to his feet and inspecting the hands that Kate held palm-up in front of her.
