The Perfect Impostor (9 page)

“The maid ain’t likely to tell me so you’ll have to use your charm on her mistress.”

“And ask her why her maid was in attendance whilst she entertained her husband?” Leo dealt his man a withering glance.

“Well, put like that…” Boscombe grinned. “Still, I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“Keep an eye out in the morning. Let me know if Dupont leaves at first light, as intended.”

“And if he does?”

“See if you can get into his room before the maids clear it.”

“And what would I be looking for?”

“How should I know?” Leo shrugged. “You’re the one who’s going to find it. Evidence of a struggle, disruption to the furniture, perhaps. Anything that might shed some light on their activities.”

“Right you are.”

“Oh, and Boscombe, concentrate entirely on Celia tomorrow. Keep her in sight as much as you can without making it obvious.”

“Yes, milord. You reckon it’s Lady Dupont behind it all then?”

“I don’t know what to think but those two are up to something. I’d stake my reputation on that and I’d very much like to know what game they’re playing.”

* * *

Amos had done the unthinkable. He’d taken paid employment in the inn where his lady friend plied her trade. The chap who owed him money had taken the king’s shilling, and his little doxy wasn’t nearly as welcoming as he’d hoped. Oh, she was willing enough to spread her legs. Meg still enjoyed that side of things with him and didn’t charge him for her favours. But she made it clear that she wasn’t about to keep him. The landlord was short-handed and if Amos wanted a roof over his head then he’d have to work for it, just like she did. Well, not like she did, she pointed out giggling. No one else was going to have the benefit of his generous length, thank you very much, but she’d kept one man during her lifetime and that was more than enough.

At first humiliated at having to fill tankards, rake out fires and bang heads together when fights broke out, Amos quickly realised that he’d been dealt a pretty useful hand. Male members of the house party dropped in from time to time and there was talk of the ladies coming to Tunbridge on the morrow. A private parlour had been set aside in the inn so they could take luncheon there, away from curious eyes. The inn was doing a brisk trade, news of the party bringing in people from miles around. When word got out that the marquess had arrived fresh from Brighton, Amos was rushed off his feet.

He winked at Meg, who was sitting on some cove’s knee, encouraging him to part with his blunt in return for an hour of her company. She was a good girl, was Meg. Pretty and not above herself like that Katrina. Just the thought of the bitch who’d put him to so much trouble caused him to see red but he took several deep calming breaths, reminding himself that his day of retribution was close at hand.

He could sense it in his bones.

It was impossible to sleep. Every time Katrina closed her eyes she was plagued by images of Lord Dupont’s face. The recollection of the glint in his eyes as they regarded her with possessive carnality caused her entire body to tremble. Thank goodness the laudanum had taken effect when it had, because she’d discovered something about herself this night. She
would
have crowned him with the chamber pot if necessary. Without hesitation. Her determination to ensure that no man ever took advantage of her again had done that to her, and she didn’t altogether like the person she’d become.

Her skin crawled in the places where Dupont had groped it. She felt in dire need of a bath to scrub away all traces of his loathsome hands. The whole episode had been a graphic reminder of everything she was seeking to put behind her, and she resented Julia for placing her in such a situation. The trusting, dutiful Katrina who would do anything for the few people she loved was changing. That Katrina would have ignored her growing certainty that she was being used for reasons that were not entirely apparent. The person she was now resolved to find some answers.

She swung her legs out of bed and went into the sitting room, placing her ear against the door to the marquess’s room. It was deathly quiet in there. No sound of snoring. No heavy breathing, tossing and turning or movement of any sort. It didn’t seem natural. No one slept as peacefully as that. Perhaps it was a result of being drugged. Should she risk going in there to make sure he was all right?

What if she had given him too much laudanum? The mere possibility terrified her. Celia had assured her that he would have nothing more than a mild headache this morning and no recollection of not bedding her. But how could Celia make such a confident prediction? And for that matter, how did a lady’s maid get to learn so much about the precise powers of opiates?

Katrina’s suspicions were aroused. She had already survived one charge of murder. Not everyone believed she was innocent and, as a consequence, she still lived under a cloud of suspicion. She would not be so fortunate a second time, especially if the victim was a marquess. Regardless of what it would do to Julia’s reputation, she owed it to her conscience, and sense of self-preservation, to ensure that Lord Dupont was still alive. If he appeared distressed, or in pain, she would rouse the household and admit to everything she’d done.

Her hand hesitated over the key. The thought of voluntarily setting foot in that room again was repellent but she forced herself to disregard her own feelings. About to turn the handle, she heard the marquess stir. Spluttered coughing, a few muttered curses, the sound of the mattress creaking under his weight reached her ears. Then steady, rhythmic snoring.

Reassured, Katrina returned to bed and stared at the ceiling. Her mind drifted to Celia. Last night she’d seen a different side to her. At first grateful for her intervention, she now wondered about her intransigent attitude. An attitude which she sensed went beyond protecting her mistress. But in that case, who exactly was she protecting?

Despite knowing Celia for the twelve years she’d served Julia, Katrina knew very little about her, other than that she was the daughter of one of the tenants on Julia’s father’s estate. A bit like herself, she supposed. She and Julia had become intimate in spite of the differences in their situations. Julia’s father, the Earl of Daventree, had insisted that Katrina act as playmate to his only daughter, culminating in their sharing an education.

Perhaps that was why her life had gone so wrong. She grew up between the classes with no clear idea of who she was supposed to be. And, to her detriment, she’d been wary of Celia in the early days when she became an important part of her friend’s life. As Julia was groomed for her come-out, Katrina had lost touch with her, and their lives went separate ways. Julia had the
ton
worshipping at her feet and Celia had been there, on the sidelines, making sure her mistress was turned out to perfection. Katrina’s own future had been far less easy to define but nothing could have prepared her for the brutal reality.

Her mind was still full of past recollections when she heard movement in Lord Dupont’s room, and only then did the tension leave her body. Even though their rooms were separated by a sitting room, she could clearly hear the marquess’s gruff voice demanding something or other and his man’s subservient response. She waited until the heavy tread of his boots on the boarded hall floor reverberated through the walls. Even though it was before full light, as he made his way downstairs, he seemed to take a perverse sort of pleasure in avoiding the rugs and making enough noise to disturb the entire household.

When the sound of carriage wheels on gravel faded, Katrina got out of bed, feeling safe enough to unlock her doors. Secure enough to try to rest. But even then sleep eluded her. She wasn’t entirely sure how she’d become embroiled in this farrago. How she’d been so easily persuaded. But she simply couldn’t continue. Her nerves were in tatters following the incident with Dupont and she could take no more. She would invent a convincing reason to leave immediately. She had to. Even if she wanted to stay, she couldn’t, because the business with the waltz would be her undoing. Better to leave before she was exposed for a fraud.

With that decision made, she finally drifted into a light sleep.

* * *

“Good morning, milady.” Celia woke her what seemed like five minutes later. She pulled back the curtains to reveal that the sun was already well up, and placed a cup of steaming chocolate beside the bed. “Did you sleep well?”

“What a ridiculous question!” Katrina’s head was throbbing. “Of course I didn’t sleep well. I barely slept at all. I lay here, terrified that that brute would barge through the door at any moment and demand an explanation.” She shuddered. “Or worse.”

“His lordship left some time ago.” Celia remained implacably calm. “He suspects nothing.”

“Yes, I heard him. As did the entire household, I dare say. And we shall be leaving this morning, as well. Urgent business calls me away.”

“Leave, madam?” Celia looked totally flummoxed. “You can’t possibly leave yet.”

“Thank you, Celia, but I can and I certainly shall.”

“But why? You came through the business with Lord Dupont unscathed.”

“Unscathed, you call it!” Katrina glanced at the bruises forming on her forearm where he’d pulled her towards him so violently. She waved the damaged limb beneath Celia’s nose. “I shall never be able to shake off the feel of his lips all over me either.” She shuddered.

“But there are only three more days to go, including the ball. Why give in now? You’ve done so well. Besides, you’ll be able to wear that fabulous ball gown and refer all the other ladies, when they ask about it, to…well, to you.”

“Celia, enough! We’re leaving.”

“But why?”

“Your mistress is an expert at the waltz, is that right?”

“Aye, but I don’t see—”

“Apparently at the charity auction I shall be the main attraction. Surely you’ve heard?”

“No, I was up here all last night, helping you.”

If that was supposed to make Katrina feel guilty, it singularly failed. “Gentlemen will be asked to bid for the privilege of waltzing with me.”

“Ah, I see.”

“And since I have never waltzed a step in my life, I think it probably wiser to invent a reason to leave before I’m found out.”

“There’s no need for that.”

“I beg to differ. I think there’s a very pressing need.”

“Now don’t fret. I was there when the dancing master taught Lady Dupont to waltz. I learned the dance too because my young man wanted to know how it was done. And I practised with my mistress because she wanted to become proficient before anyone else, so I’ll be able to teach you very easily.”

Katrina quirked a brow. “In two days?”

“Oh, yes. It isn’t that complicated.”

“You seem to forget that we can hardly use the ballroom here to practise without being observed.”

“I shall find somewhere private for us, milady. Never fear.”

But Katrina did fear. She feared all manner of things and wanted to insist upon leaving. Once again Celia, a hard edge to her expression, took matters into her own hands. By the time Katrina had formulated her next argument Celia was halfway out the door, promising to return with Katrina’s breakfast. Short of doing her own packing and ordering up her carriage herself, she would just have to wait to remove herself from this place, at least until after she had broken her fast.

Celia returned, cheerful and competent as always, but with a fierce light of determination shining in her eyes. She placed a tray across Katrina’s knees and started fussing about which gown she intended to wear that morning.

“I have discovered a flat piece of ground beyond the vegetable garden, concealed behind the orchard, milady,” she said. “It isn’t visible from the house and no one has occasion to go into that part of the grounds. Not the servants and certainly not the guests. If you slip away midmorning and meet me there, it will be ideal for our purposes.”

“No, Celia.” Katrina was determined to exert herself. “I don’t believe I can achieve the level of competence necessary to excel with just a few hours’ practise in a meadow. We’re leaving. I’ve quite made up my mind.”

Celia regarded her with an openly hostile expression. “Why are you so determined to ruin my mistress?”

“She’s more likely to be ruined if I’m discovered to be a fraud. If we leave now, word of my early departure surely won’t reach the marquess until Julia is safely home again.”

“Don’t be so sure. His lordship has spies everywhere. And he will be especially vigilant since he knows Lord Kincade is here.” Celia lifted her shoulders. “But if you’re determined to cause her ladyship’s downfall, then I must defer to your wishes.”

This was blackmail in its basest form. Celia had no business speaking to her in such a fashion. But such fierce loyalty didn’t deserve the reprimand she was formulating, and so she bit back the words. And Celia was right, of course. Without Julia’s father’s intervention, Katrina would almost certainly have been found guilty for the murder of her husband. Her husband’s brother would have made sure of that.

She sighed. “All right, Celia, we’ll leave it another day. I’ll try this newfangled dance with you later and see how we progress.”

Celia beamed, all friendly good nature again. “The dance really is easy, especially when performed with a man who knows what he’s doing.”

“That’s what worries me.”

Celia clapped her hands. “Now, which gown shall you wear this morning?”

“What activities are planned?”

“Some of the gentlemen are to fish but the young ladies have persuaded the others to set up the archery targets.”

Katrina groaned. “Very well. The sprigged muslin morning gown then. And the bonnet with the concealing veil I sewed into it yesterday.”

“I suggest you try your hand at some archery, just to ensure that you’re seen by everyone, and then slip away. We can have our first lesson before luncheon.”

“Very well.”

Katrina strolled the lawns as though she didn’t have a care in the world. A parasol was tipped over one shoulder, and a straw poke bonnet trimmed with ribbons and festoons of silk flowers was perched on top of her wayward curls, the netted veil concealing her features. With a light shawl in contrasting colours draped over her arms, the outfit was different enough to occasion favourable comment. If she had to be here, at least she could use the opportunity to drum up more business. And set an unplanned trend for veiled bonnets.

She did her best to avoid Charles Chester and Peter Nugent, both of whom appeared doggedly determined to vie for her attention. She noticed both of them close to the area where the targets had been erected, surrounded by the younger ladies eager to receive instruction. The young men puffed out their chests, flattered by the attention as they demonstrated their skills with a bow.

Katrina let out a slow breath before approaching a group of the ladies seated on the terrace. They remarked upon her gown and she exchanged a few words with them but declined to join them, expressing a desire to take a turn around the lake instead.

* * *

Leo stood in front of the glass and tied his neckcloth. “I heard Dupont leave at cockcrow. Did anything interesting come to light in his room?”

“Just the usual disorder of departure.” Boscombe grinned lasciviously. “Oh, and Lady Dupont’s cap in the middle of the bed.”

This intelligence caused Leo a pang and he missed a vital fold in his neckcloth. He threw the spoiled linen aside with a muttered curse. Boscombe handed him another without making any comment.

“Anything else?” Leo asked.

“Yes, a shattered champagne flute that hadn’t been properly cleared up.”

“A night of real passion then.”

“Well, whatever the two of them did in there it can’t have lasted for long. One side of the bed was barely touched, and there were none of the giveaway odours one would expect after their activities, if you get my drift. And the linen didn’t bear any telltale signs either, if you want specifics.”

Leo wasn’t sure if he required such graphic information any more than he knew what to make of it. He concentrated upon making a better fist of his second neckcloth.

“Keep Celia in your sights today, Boscombe. Let me know where she goes and what she does. I shall do the same with her mistress.”

“She’s outside with the others, just heading for the lake. On her own.”

“Is she now.”

By the time Leo got outside, Julia was halfway along the walkway that skirted the lake. She had just passed the Italian garden when he caught up with her.

“Julia.” He lifted his hat. “All alone.”

“Is that so unusual?”

“In your case I would say unheard of. You were never one for your own company.”

“I have a headache.”

“I am sorry to hear you say so.” He screwed up his eyes, observing her as best he could through that ridiculous veil, and frowned. “You do look a trifle pale. Perhaps you’re disappointed that your lord couldn’t stay longer.” The suggestion made her shudder but she covered it well. “I’m surprised he didn’t persuade you to accompany him back to Court. Is that not where you would prefer to be? Nothing interesting ever happens in the country and not many people can admire you here.”