Sandra Madden (8 page)

Wearing the simply styled gown of a merchant-class woman, Kate's overdress of peach sarcenet with its snug bodice and slim sleeves flattered her tall, graceful figure. The soft shade of her gown heightened her roses-and-cream complexion. With every movement, her underskirt of ivory silk rustled gently like the song of a siren.

Kate's natural beauty captivated. She required no ruff, farthingale, or ropes of pearls to capture a man's eye. More than likely Digby had already fallen in love with her.

From across the room, her wide-eyed gaze met his, causing his heart to bolt. 'Twas as if he'd been thumped by a tilting lance during a jousting contest, though he seldom took part in the tournaments any longer. He considered them old and tired competitions.

Was that promise gleaming in the deep amber pools of Kate's eyes? Nay, not for him. There could be no promise of anything between the Earl of Stamford and the gardener's daughter.

With great effort, he dragged his gaze away, turning to his sister, who jostled him as she sailed toward their ever-suffering relative.

Jane had reached her full height at the age of fourteen, and she'd had the misfortune to have doubled in weight since the birth of her daughter, Frances. As a consequence, she moved more like a wherry than a sleek seagoing vessel.

"My dear aunt, it gladdens my heart to see you," she fawned.

" 'Tis been too long, dear Jane, eh?"

Cordelia shifted half her weight from Kate to Jane, allowing both women to escort her to the table.

Edmund quickly stepped up to assist. "Do you remember Kate, Sister?"

"Kate?" Jane regarded Kate with a tilt of her head and a blank stare. "I do not believe so."

"By your leave, allow me to make introductions, as Mistress Kate Beadle is serving as Aunt Cordelia's gentlewoman."

Jane's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she leaned across her aunt to examine Kate. She applied the same sharp scrutiny she might to a strand of pearls she considered acquiring.

"Kate Beadle." Jane said the name slowly, as if searching her memory. "Surely you are not the gardener's daughter?"

"Aye, Lady Chumley. I am the gardener's daughter."

Edmund's throat went dry. Every muscle in his body tightened. Dismissing his tension as natural with a new game, in this instance matchmaking, Edmund made fast work of finishing the introductions, drawing both Kate and Digby together.

As they made for the table, Jane drew him aside. Her dark, highly arched brows gathered in a menacing frown. "Could you find no other suitable to serve as Aunt Cordelia's gentlewoman?" she hissed beneath her breath.

"Kate is suitable," Edmund informed his sister softly. He did not wish to make a scene in front of Digby and hurt Kate's chances with the man. "She has earned our aunt's affection."

Pulling away, he directed his guests to their seats at the table. Digby was seated next to Kate, and opposite them, Jane and her husband. Edmund sat at the head of the table with Aunt Cordelia to his right, so that she might readily converse with Jane.

A white cloth covered the oak table set with salt cellars, trenchers, silver tankards, goblets, and spoons. Placed in the center of the table, long tapers of beeswax shed flickering candlelight. Roasted beef and pheasant were served on pewter platters along with bread, cheese, and berries, all supervised by the chief usher. The yeoman of the buttery and the cellar stood at the ready with beer and ale, and sack for the ladies.

‘Twas a sumptuous display, yet Edmund lacked appetite. He experienced a curious rocking sensation in the pit of his stomach as his gaze shifted between Kate and Digby searching for signs of attraction. Bloody hell! Matchmaking was proving to be more delicate than a chess game played with a master.

"Following our meal, mayhap Kate will entertain us," he suggested, ignoring Kate's start. Her eyes widened as he directed his comments to Digby. "She plays the lute so fine you would believe the angels were singing."

"Another artith!" Digby declared with an unmistakable lisp.

"Pray, sir, not quite," Kate demurred.

Kate would never find a husband displaying such modesty. Edmund felt quite right in coming to her aid. "By your leave, you are too modest, Kate, you have much in common with Digby here, who is an accomplished limner. He has painted our portraits of late, Jane and mine and Viscount Chumley's. Digby's artistry is oft likened to that of Sir William Segar and Isaac Oliver."

"I will look forward to viewing your paintings," Kate said, casting a hesitant smile at the artist.

Ah, such a sweet smile. Edmund felt certain the limner's heart had already been lost. What man could resist Kate's smile?

Flashing an impish grin, Digby flicked a wrist. "Fair maiden, pray allow me to capture your thmile upon my canvas."

The poor artist had a speech impediment. Edmund had forgotten. He wondered if Kate noticed.

A matchmaker's road was strewn with obstacles.

"I doubt Kate will be staying in London long enough to sit for a portrait," Jane remarked offhandedly. "How long do you intend to stay in London, Aunt Cordelia? You understand the city air cannot be advantageous for your... conditions."

"I shall consult several physicians and seek out a fortune teller, eh? As well, I should like to shop at the Royal Exchange and visit with my friend, Lady Mason."

"Ten days should be quite long enough," Edmund's sister declared.

But Aunt Cordelia paid no mind. "Did
I
mention court? I must be presented at court. You will make arrangements, will you not, Edmund?"

"Certainly, Aunt," Edmund said, uncertain what he'd agreed to. His attention had been on Kate and Digby, who were engaged in whispered conversation.

Once again Jane cut Kate and gave Edmund a set down. "You understand Kate will not be allowed at court?"

"She has expressed no desire to attend court."

"Brother, do not be taken in by a comely face." Jane lowered her voice to warn him in a whisper, "There is no doubt Kate is a beauty, but meant only for meaningless dalliance."

"I do not dally," Edmund bit back between his teeth, understanding her insinuation full well.

"Why did you not invite Alicia Witherspoon this evening?"

"I thought to enjoy family on this night,"

"Yet you invited Digby?"

"Do you not consider the limner family? He has been in our homes for months, painting our portraits."

Jane's lips withered to two narrowed, murrey lines. "No, Digby is not family."

"Ah, but Frances is family," Edmund said in a smooth change of subject, one he knew his sister could not resist. "If you please, tell me how your daughter fares."

Jane told him in minute detail for the remainder of the meal.

After dinner, the gentleman usher provided basins, ewers, and a towel for the lords' and ladies' ablutions. Edmund then led the way to the music room.

Jane, Aunt Cordelia, and the viscount drifted to the far corner where a harp, yet to be played, stood in waiting. The small group discussed plans for how best to spend time between Cordelia's visits to city physicians. Instead of listening to their ruminations, Edmund strained to hear what passed between Digby and Kate, who sat on stools in the opposite corner.

Unable to hear a word of their conversation, he chafed with frustration. He detected an intimacy had sprung up between them. A favorable sign for a matchmaker. But he felt no elation. Unwilling to interrupt only to ask Kate to play the lute, Edmund nonetheless felt out of sorts. Disgruntled. 'Twas disconcerting how quickly and easily Kate and Digby got on together.

Having little choice but to join his family, Edmund ambled in their direction. He wondered if Kate might be put off by the portrait artist's foppish manner of dress? Perchance he could find a better husband for Kate than the limner—someone without a speech impediment. Richard Digby had been the first eligible man to come to mind. With further thought, Edmund felt certain he could do better. Kate deserved better. Digby dressed and strutted like a peacock.

The music chamber boasted a harp in the back corner and a virginal in the front corner. A lute, dulcimer, tabors, and a viol occupied places of prominence.

Kate was enamored of the room at once, though she thought it unlikely, from the looks of them, that any of the musical instruments had ever been used.

Several high-backed benches and low stools provided seating. A rich, multicolored Turkish carpet covered the polished oak floors, and thick, deep blue velvet draperies framed the lone, tall window standing partially opened.

Still, the chamber felt close and Kate uncomfortably warm. She'd misplaced her best, and only, fan. 'Twas a disagreeable habit of hers, forever misplacing the very item she needed most.

Digby flicked his parrot-green feather fan in rapid motions. The artist's finery would put a peacock to shame. Kate was hard-pressed where to look. His snug, paned trunk hose and overly decorous canions would not permit the eye to rest. His screeching green satin doublet, studded with gold points and pearls, caused Kate to blink in the habit of Lady Cordelia.

And much to her surprise, Digby wore a codpiece, which was no longer fashionable. From its rather alarming size, Kate could only think a great deal of horsehair padded the piece. As a final dramatic touch, from his shoulders Digby had flung a collarless short coat of searing orange velvet around his high, stiff ruff.

A gleaming assortment of accessories and jewels dangled from his gold-link girdle. Rings encircled every finger.

The limner's mules were fashioned of the same green silk as his doublet but adorned with orange rosettes.

"I thall give you the names of the finethst milliner and theamstreth in London," Digby said. "With the proper gownth you will dathle all of London, my dear."

"You are too kind, Master Digby."

Kate did not wish to offend Edmund's friend, but she did not care to meet either his milliner or his tailor. She had no wish to emulate an artist's affectation.

"You thall have knights and nobleth falling at your feet, Mithtress Kate."

"But I do not care for men falling at my feet."

The artist's darting, otter eyes appeared startled. He leaned closer to Kate. "Do you not favor men?"

His breath smelled of ale. While not ill featured, Kate could not find him attractive. The limner wore his wispy walnut-brown hair long but with a fringe cut along his high forehead. A trim moustache grew below his narrow, turned-up nose. His beard consisted of a tuft of hair on the point of his chin.

"Indeed, I favor men," she assured him, marveling at the question.

Digby appeared to relax. "Ath do I. Women ath well. But Lord Thtamford ith above all a most thtriking male."

"Aye, he is exceedingly handsome," Kate agreed. "I have always thought thus."

"Lovely eyes."

"Aye." She sighed, studying Edmund's invincible presence. His sensuous mouth, his remarkable eyes.

Unmindful of Kate's observation, Edmund stood across the room, arms folded, deep in conversation with Viscount Chumley. Did they discuss wood lark or warbler?

"Lord Stamford's eyes remind me of glistening emeralds," she murmured at last.

"Exthellent dithcription! You do potheth an artith eye."

Digby's girlish enthusiasm made Kate feel as if she were sharing observations with one of her own gender. However odd, she was thankful not to be forced into conversation with Jane, who'd sent disapproving glances her way all evening.

"And my lord cuts a dashing figure," Digby added, still waxing poetic over their host.

"Aye."

"His thoulderth are ath broad ath an armored tholdier." The limner sighed. "His legth beyond compare."

Kate could not but agree. Edmund's black stockings displayed shapely, muscular legs to full advantage. She felt certain that the Earl of Stamford's well-honed physique had been enhanced by his devotion to sports. His body shimmered with masculinity, virility.

Kate's breath caught in her throat.

She smoldered and burned, stunned to realize she could no longer ruminate upon Edmund's attributes, it seemed, without suffering consequences. Of all times to be without a fan! Resisting the impulse to snatch Digby's, she inhaled deeply.

"Do you not apprecthiate Lord Thtamford's legth?"

"Oh, aye. Aye."

Kate appreciated everything about Edmund, including the cut and color of his garments. He oft wore black, and the darkness of his figure alluded to a potent force. But he was never without a touch of color. This eve, Edmund's gold brocade doublet relieved the black.

"Methinkth I thould like to paint another portrait of Lord Thtamford. A full-length pothe."

A portrait Kate should like to own.

Fearing further conversation with the limner might give her feelings for Edmund away if she hadn’t already, she shook off her dreamy reverie.

"Would you like me to play the lute?" she asked.

"Aye, Mithtreth Kate. 'Twould make a pleathing interlude. I thall join Lord Thtamford and hith family to lithten."

Soon, all conversation ended, and the music chamber filled with music.

* * * *

Long after the guests departed and Aunt Cordelia had settled in her chamber, Kate still could not sleep. A restless mixture of weariness and excitement kept her awake.

Donning her cloak over her shift, she made her way to the small, gone-to-weed back garden. Although the candle she carried shed little light, 'twas enough to detect a mass of tangled, twisted dead bushes and dried grass. The garden suffered more than Lady Cordelia. Kate thought to take it upon herself to transform the neglected patch, thereby occupying herself with thoughts that did not flit between finding her mother and seducing Edmund. She blushed in the dark.

A trying evening had Lady Jane attempting to cut Kate down at every turn, Edmund paying her no mind at all, and Richard Digby apparently unable to talk about anything or anyone except the riveting earl.

Kate clutched her worn cloak tightly around her as she sat on the cold stone stoop to contemplate the stars. The city noise had quieted to muted sounds of horse hooves on cobblestones, babies crying, and drunken exclamations drifting on a cool breeze. The moon was merely a narrow crescent of hazy silver in the sky. A blurred spray of stars winked in the blackness.