What a Lady Needs

“I met you for five minutes in Perceval’s office, and told you then I’m not happy about this ridiculous playacting.”

“So you did,” Valentine said, draping a companionable arm around Simon’s shoulder and walking him away from the open front door. “I advised you to learn to like it, which you better have done, because Lady Katherine is about to do some playacting of her own, which might put you a little off your game unless you apply yourself.”

Simon stepped away from the man. “Excuse me? She knows about the deception?”

“Not quite. She leaped to an erroneous conclusion this morning and I allowed her to leap, even pointed her more firmly in that direction one might say. Kate’s a stickler for the why of things, so it seemed best to have her think she’d guessed correctly.” Valentine hesitated a moment before continuing. “Oh, about that. She thinks I invited you here so she can ‘practice’ on you. Let me explain. Some would say she didn’t fare well during her first foray into society. You may have heard of it?”

A truly splendidly delivered right cross, Singleton. You should have seen it. “I may have heard a few whispered words at one of my clubs. Should I consider wearing some sort of protection?”

Valentine immediately glanced down at Simon’s crotch, which unnerved the marquis just a little bit. “No, of course not. Look, Simon, it’s simple. I told her you’re my friend, we’re both bored with London, I invited you here for some respite and, hopefully, to let her practice her feminine wiles a tad before we haul her back to the city next season. It was too soon to take her back this year. You, however, have no idea you’re here to act the role of interested parti in between searches for those damn journals and hopefully, a cave or tunnel that hasn’t yet collapsed from age.”

“Have you poked around that statue? It could be the portal to the underworld.” Simon wasn’t feeling particularly cooperative.

Valentine laughed. “Good point, we’ll have to give it a look. Maybe one of the hound’s heads swivels and opens a stairway or some such thing? We call him Henry, by the way. Hades, not the hound. String him with holly at Christmastime. Our grandmother told us, in the old days it served to keep the locals on their best behavior, but now Henry is mostly a family joke.”

“Do you have many such jokes about the place?” Simon asked.

“Well, there’s the ha-ha, but that’s only funny if you’re not sixteen and don’t attempt to climb it after you’ve stayed out past the time the gates are locked, enjoying the company of the extremely accommodating barmaid at the Eagle.” Valentine looked down at his palm. “I can still make out a few of the scars.”

“From the broken glass embedded in the top of the wall, or the extremely accommodating barmaid?”

Valentine threw back his head and laughed. “No, she left her marks on my back, as I recall the thing.”

Damn. Simon was beginning to like the fellow. Probably because that’s what he was supposed to do. “All right,” he said, deliberately turning back toward the open front door. “So I’m playacting as your friend, brought here by you to distract your sister, hiding the fact I’m really here to find the journals—which she doesn’t know. In her turn, Lady Katherine is set on finding the journals, but now she’s also playacting as a—what?”

Valentine sighed. “Much as it pains me to say it, she’ll be playacting as a lady.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t concern yourself. I’ll soon be saying those same words to you, if you aren’t careful. The thing is, it’s imperative she stops searching for those godawful journals on her own. Imperative. One of us has to be with her at all times. She cannot read them, not so much as a single page. Remember, Simon, I’ve read one of them.”

“I haven’t. Your brother didn’t pass it along to us.”

“As Gideon convinced Perceval, there was no need. That journal is only the first small piece of a very large puzzle. But since we can’t stop her, I could be called away at any time, and nothing less than binding her hand and foot and shipping her off to one of Gideon’s other estates will even begin to put a spoke in her wheel—like a pigeon, she’d somehow find her way back here again—we’re doing three things. Distracting her with your handsome face—but carefully, my friend, or I’ll be constrained to hurt you—keeping her on her toes as she attempts to impress me with her ladylike accomplishments and accompanying her on any searches. Those are our goals. She’s really quite acute, Simon, and beyond tenacious. If those journals still exist, she’ll find them better and faster than any dozen hounds we could put on the scent. Gideon will have both our heads on a platter if she finds them without us.”

“I think I might be able to do with a glass of wine before you introduce me to your sister,” Simon said as they neared the wide steps to the mansion. “Perhaps more than one.”

“That’s strange. My interlude with Kate this morning ended much the same way. She can have that effect on people.”

“Well, if nothing else, Val, you’ve certainly piqued my interest.”

Valentine grinned. “Yes, she has that effect on people, as well.”

Simon was impressed with the house the moment he entered it. Massive. Everything about it was massive, from the size of the entrance hall to the height of the dark, polished oak paneling and woodwork in the fashion of another time. The heavy wooden staircase, again massive, began with three steps up to a landing, then turned toward a full flight, currently blocked by a sturdy yet ornate wooden dog gate that told him the Redgraves loved their animals, but they didn’t love them everywhere.

He directed his eyes upward and saw the staircase had another landing, another turn, and then the railing seemed to wrap itself about three sides of the hallway before rising again to the next floor.

“Impressive, isn’t it? All that magnificent oak is from our own lands, when they were cleared to build this pile. Horribly out of the current style, but we like it, although the maids tend to grumble while they’re polishing that staircase.”

“Beauty being in the eye of the beholder, as opposed to the labor of the worker.”

“Oh, we’ve all polished that staircase at one time or another. Our grandmother considered it the perfect punishment. I was given the job for one day each week for six months after I had the happy notion to slide down the entire staircase on a large silver tray. If the dog gate hadn’t been closed, I might have made it all the way to the tiles.”

Simon gave another look to the sheer height and tricky landings. “How did the tray fare?”

Valentine grinned. “That was sent off to the blacksmith, to be hammered back into some semblance of its former self. Now, about that drink...”

But Simon was still looking at the staircase, which meant he was the first to see the exotic vision that had just appeared at the wooden railing to peer down at them, her long black curls hanging slightly over the railing. “My God,” he breathed quietly.

Valentine looked up, as well. “Oh. It’s only Kate.” He waved his arm at her. “Come on down, Kate. Our guest has arrived.”

Lady Katherine turned toward the stairs, keeping her right hand on the railing, using her left to hike up her hem a few inches as she took on the first few steps. Then she stopped, took a breath, let go of her skirt and continued her descent, this time with her head held high, and at a much more sedate pace.

Simon prayed she’d continue to take her time, stretching out the moments he could simply stand and stare at her. And hopefully figure out a way to get his tongue unstuck from the roof of his suddenly dry mouth. Please let her open her mouth and squawk like a parrot. Otherwise, I’m doomed.

“So?” Valentine asked.

“Hmm?”

“So, do you think you can do it?”

“Do what?” Simon asked, finding it difficult to believe the beautiful creature had just winked at him.

“You know, Singleton, I don’t think I thought this new twist on our little game through as well as I could have, and should have just let Kate be Kate,” Valentine said on a sigh. “Because this is beginning to show all the hallmarks of a bad, bad idea.”

* * *

KATE HAD ALREADY lifted her right leg to cross over her left before she caught herself in time and carefully placed her foot back down on the carpet. Five minutes into the thing, and she had almost proved Valentine correct—she didn’t know how to behave as a lady. It would have been thirty seconds into the thing, if her brother had seen her wink at the marquis, but he hadn’t, so that didn’t count.

But she hadn’t been able to resist. The marquis had looked so adorably flustered as he watched her descend the staircase, yes, like a lady. It was just as Trixie had promised: men were lamentably easy, as they rarely thought with their brains. She probably should have asked her what they used instead, but Trixie had seemed to think she understood, and she hadn’t wanted to appear blockheaded. Still, she believed she was beginning to get an idea.

Now here they were, all cozy in the enormous main drawing room, the introductions behind them, and she was wondering why she continued to find his lordship so appealing.

Perhaps it was his coloring. Her brothers were dark-haired, and none of them had such startlingly green eyes. Perhaps that was it—the marquis was a new experience for her. Not that she hadn’t seen her share of light-eyed, blond-haired men. It’s just that none of them had looked anything like Simon Ravenbill, or dressed half so well. In fact, although his clothing was more than two decades out of date, the man the marquis put her in mind of most was her father, and the portrait that hung in the long gallery.

Maybe it was fate, sending her a warning. Was there something hidden beneath the appealing surface of the marquis, as there had been evil lurking behind the smiling face depicted in that portrait? It still didn’t seem sensible to her that Valentine would have invited a guest to Redgrave Manor now, of all times. Was her brother playing her for a fool? Why?

“Kate?”

She shook herself back to attention. It wasn’t like her to allow her mind to drift. The marquis must think her rude, or shallow...or simple. “A thousand apologies, Val,” she cooed sweetly; she’d learned at Trixie’s feet how to deliver a cutting line with an accompanying smile. “Did you say something of interest, and I missed it?”

The marquis, just then in the midst of taking a sip of wine, gave a short cough and then swallowed, seemingly with some difficulty.

Kate could like this man. If she wasn’t so suspicious of him.

“I was saying, Kate,” Valentine pressed on, ignoring the jab, “I think Simon would enjoy joining us in our small treasure hunt. You know, the jewels supposedly hidden somewhere on the estate by that band of smugglers who then set out on another run, only to drown to the last man in a storm.”

Oh, that was fairly good. Valentine must have put some thought into that fib; to mention the golden rose by name would have been a mistake. Still, it was a lengthy explanation of his lie, and he probably should have kept it shorter. And probably would have, if she’d been paying him the least attention when he first uttered it.

“Really?” she asked, turning to the marquis. “I doubt there’s any truth to the legend, but I will admit to being intrigued ever since I heard the tale a few weeks ago. My brother Gideon thinks it all a great hum, but Val here has promised to help. You don’t think us incredibly silly?”

“Not at all. There isn’t a little boy in all of England who hasn’t dreamt of finding buried treasure. I don’t see why it should be so different for the fairer sex.”

She smiled at him, careful to bat her eyelids, just the once. “La, my lord, how forward-thinking of you. Many would suggest we of the fairer sex are too fragile for such undertakings.”

“Not true. But I would be remiss if I didn’t add joining you and Val here will also afford me an excuse to spend more time in your fair company.”

Oh, now I know I’m being led by the nose! Such stuff and nonsense, and laid on with a trowel, it’s so thick! “You put me to the blush, my lord.”

She sensed Valentine looking from the marquis, to her, and then back again. He then got to his feet, rubbing his palms together. “Good! That’s settled, then. Kate, isn’t it soon time for some afternoon refreshment? I’m sure Simon is hungry for a little something before dinner.”

“Yes, of course. A poor hostess I’d be, indeed, if I hadn’t thought of that myself.” Don’t ask me to be perfect and then continually test me, Val, or you’ll be sorry you ever began this farce. Although I suspect you already are!

As if he’d been hovering outside the door awaiting his cue to enter, Dearborn stepped into the room to announce the arrival of refreshments, “as requested by Lady Katherine” (she’d asked him to add that last part). In marched a trio of maids, all carrying silver trays laden with sandwiches, cakes and a large pitcher of lemonade. They could have fed a half-dozen ravenous men with this display of food, but then, the Redgraves did nothing in a small way...and the servants would enjoy the remnants that returned to the kitchens.

The marquis surprised Kate by taking on the role of mother, pouring them each a tall tumbler of lemonade. “So you don’t have to strain to lift such a heavy pitcher,” he told her, handing her one of the glasses.

“Oh, too kind, too kind,” she purred, smiling around gritted teeth, mentally exchanging that trowel for a shovel. “We’re quite informal here, my lord. Please feel free to help yourself to anything you’d like.”

“Yes,” the marquis said slowly, his back to Valentine, looking at her rather than the trays of sandwiches and decorative cakes. “I’ll do that.”

Kate felt herself being put to the blush, an occurrence so rare in her experience she couldn’t remember the last time it had happened. “Val? Aren’t you hungry?” she asked quickly.

Valentine was looking at his own glass with barely veiled horror. Kate believed she could read his mind: Lemonade? Is the man mad? What in bloody hell am I supposed to do with lemonade?

“Not anymore,” he grumbled, eyeing the drinks table.

Kate had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. She didn’t know how long she could last with this ridiculousness, but she was certain she could hang on longer than her brother. Besides, it was rather fun being flirted with, even if the man was doing it on orders from his new friend—because that had to be the answer, it was the only answer that fit. Val had told both of them to flirt, his lordship in order to do his friend a favor, and Kate in order to play at being somebody other than herself. Or could her brother actually have brought them both together, spinning lies for both of them, all in order to matchmake? Clearly her brother had no head for intrigue. No matter what, Valentine was in trouble!

Kate reached for one of the plates holding a cake iced with some lovely pink confection. It was time to learn more about their guest. “Valentine tells me London is very flat this season, my lord. Is that true?”

“London is London, my lady, and in the end, I suppose what you make of it,” he answered, having somehow already downed half his sandwich, rather like a person who has learned to feed his belly as quickly and efficiently as possible. Someone like a soldier, perhaps?

“Yes, and I made a shambles of it last year. It was really quite enjoyable.”

“Kate,” Valentine said warningly.

“There’s no sense in pretending it didn’t happen, Valentine. Now is there, my lord?”

“I’m certain you were quite justified in your actions, my lady.”

“No, I wasn’t. I could have done any number of things. Walked off the floor, for one, cutting the man dead. Claimed a sudden indisposition and asked him to return me to my grandmother. Feigned an overturned ankle. Any number of things. I simply preferred my chosen rebuttal to his statement.”

“Again, may I say I’m certain you were quite justified.”

“Thank you.” She turned to Valentine. “Now, see how simple that was? Rough ground gotten over swiftly and smoothly. It had to be said, didn’t it? Elsewise, it would hang over us all. My goodness, she’s the barbarian who bloodied that man’s nose last year at Almacks.” She gave a slight toss of her head. “I feel much better now. Shall we cry friends, my lord, as you and Val have already done? We prefer to be informal here at Redgrave Manor.”

“I would be honored,” the marquis said with an inclination of his handsome head. “Kate.”

“Simon,” she answered, again feeling heat climbing into her cheeks. She was going to have to be extremely careful around this so pretty, so pleasing man. “I’m certain Dearborn is waiting outside, to show you to your rooms.”

As Kate rose, he stood up, as well. “I would like to change out of my traveling clothes, thank you.”

“We keep country hours, Simon,” Valentine told him. “Dinner gong goes at six, tea at ten and then early to rise. We might think about a ride over the estate in the morning?”

Simon looked to Kate. “Do you ride?” His tone implied if she didn’t, he wouldn’t, either.

“I do,” she said, “thank you for asking.”

He inclined his head to her once more. “My mount will be arriving shortly, if it hasn’t already, along with my coach and valet. I eagerly anticipate the dinner gong, so that we may become more acquainted.”

She dropped him a small curtsy, then watched as he strode out of the room. Grabbing up one of the well-cut sandwiches, she plunked herself back down on the soft couch and clunked her heels, one after the other, on the low table before crossing her legs at the ankle. “All right, where did you meet him?”

“Is it impossible for you to employ correct posture for more than ten minutes?” Val asked, seating himself on the opposite couch and repeating her action with his own legs.

She spoke around a bite of ham shoved between a split roll spread with their own homemade mustard. “No, but that doesn’t answer my question, does it?”

“Sussex. Somewhere in Sussex, I disremember where. We met again in London, at some insipid affair, and soon I was regaling him with the beauty of Kent. Did you have to bring up Almacks?”

“Of course I did. Everyone knows, even if Gideon made it clear no one was to talk about it. You can’t stop gossip, Val, you can only make it whisper instead of shout. Why else did you all decide I shouldn’t return for another year? Simon was sure to have heard, so why not admit it and be done?”

“I’m not certain I like you addressing him as Simon.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “I’m not overjoyed with his blatant flirting. You might consider advising him to not lay it on so thick and rare.”

“You don’t use cant expressions like thick and rare,” Valentine said, almost as if the correction was by habit, without having to think about it. “And I did not invite him here to flirt with you. You’re to be practicing on him, remember?”

Poor Valentine, trying so hard to elude the ensnaring net of his lies. “Yes, certainly. Such deep intrigue confuses me. Poor Simon has simply taken one look at me and succumbed. Much like Jeremy, except he can still speak. Being older, he probably knows Step Three, as well, don’t you think? Or should I say, shouldn’t you have thought of that before starting this? I mean, as it would appear your hoyden of a sister is irresistible when playing the lady.” Then she grinned at him.

Val sighed theatrically. “I never should have mentioned Jeremy. I think we need Trixie here, but she refuses to leave London, saying you’ve more than enough guardians here without dragging her away from her fun.”

“Fun? Jessica told me she was off to the countryside to attend a funeral.”

“Two funerals, actually. As I said, our grandmother didn’t want to be dragged away from her fun. And, no, I’m not going to explain that. It’s enough you were there to see—”

Kate held up one hand. “Ah-ah, I thought we weren’t going to talk about that. Although it was all rather jolly, except, of course, for that poor old fellow. You should have seen Gideon’s face, he was that appalled. I laughed so hard I ended up with a bout of the hiccups.”

“Dead men in our grandmother’s bed amuse you. Wonderful. May I now critique your first attempt at behaving like a lady?”

“No, I don’t think so. Was Simon in the army?”

“Now why the devil would you ask that?”

Kate shrugged, and sank a little lower on her spine. “I don’t know. Trixie trained us all to be observant. He eats like a man used to consuming his meals in a rush, and he walks with some command to his step. It seemed a logical conclusion.”

“Logical, but not completely correct. He served in the Royal Navy. Had his own command as a matter of fact. But his brother...died last year, so now he’s the marquis.”

Kate sat up a bit straighter. Aha, now she’d stumbled onto something. “You hesitated before you said died. Why?”

“Once in a while, I wish you wouldn’t be so awake on all suits. The man hanged himself. Nobody speaks of it, just as nobody speaks of that right cross of yours or the Redgrave family scandals, but everyone knows of it. Holbrook Ravenbill wasn’t in debt, a victim of some new heartbreak—any of the usual reasons for putting a period to one’s own existence, not as far as anyone knows. If he left behind any sort of explanation, Simon’s the only one who knows it, and no, I didn’t ask him. And neither will you.”

“Your confidence in me is sadly lacking, brother mine. I would never be so rude as to ask a grieving brother such a thing.” But he’ll tell me, eventually. “Now I suppose you’ll want me to change my clothes yet again before dinner, which is a sad waste of time.”

“Nobody said being a lady is easy,” Valentine quipped as she got to her feet.

“Nobody said it was logical, either. Just be grateful I have all those gowns upstairs that never got to see the light of day in London. But for now, I’m off to the west wing. Liam told me his grandfather told him old houses were sometimes built with hidden staircases that could lead all the way from the attics to secret rooms in the cellars, but with no other openings along the way. Odd, isn’t it? Since our grandfather ordered the construction of the west wing, I’ve been thinking perhaps Liam’s grandfather might know something about that construction, that it isn’t just a tale he told to entertain Liam.”

“You think our grandfather and father had everyone climb up to the attics just to descend four floors into the cellars? In a parade of masks and cloaks, I’d suppose, dragging a braying goat behind them?”

Kate pulled a face. “I didn’t say I was positive. And I would think only the journals could be hidden in such a place. I doubt they performed their silly rites in a cellar. But now that I don’t have to ask you and your friend Simon to move every heavy bed and couch pressed up against a wall, I thought I’d give it try.”

“There’s dedicated, Kate, and then there’s— Bloody hell, I don’t know what to call it.”

She put a finger to her chin. “You know, just because couches and beds and chests are where they are now doesn’t mean they were there all those years ago. A secret panel could still be hidden behind one of them, somewhere. Seventy rooms. Quite a task. But perhaps we should—”

Valentine held up both his hands. “No. No, no, no. I think you and Liam’s grandfather might have stumbled onto something here. Go. Crawl around the attics of the west wing, tapping your little hammer. Really. Enjoy yourself.”

“And what are you going to do, that you can’t join me?”

“I, um, I haven’t yet looked at today’s post. I may have letters to answer.”

“What a hum. You couldn’t come up with a better excuse?” Kate rolled her eyes. “You know, Val, it’s just as Trixie says, a real conundrum that women don’t rule the world. And, also according to Trixie, that’s only because we don’t have—”

But Val was already stalking out of the room, his ears looking faintly red.

“Power!” she called after him. “Only because women don’t have power.” And then she ended quietly, “Or some other word beginning with P...”