Blame It on Bath Page 0,82
Her mother’s blue eyes rounded, and her lips parted. She managed to look hurt and irked at the same time. “Oh, Katherine . . . You won’t change your plan even to see your own mother?”
“I’m very sorry, Mama. If you’d sent word you were arriving, I would have been better prepared to entertain you. But our engagement is with dear friends, and neither the captain nor I will offend them by breaking it.” She looked away from her mother’s expression of tragic betrayal and glanced at Lucien, who was watching her with an unfamiliar interest. “If you haven’t taken rooms yet, our man Bragg will be happy to help secure lodgings for you.”
“We are at the White Hart Inn. We should go there and settle in, now that your things are delivered.” He contemplated her speculatively for a moment. “When Captain de Lacey returns, please give him my regards. I should like to have a word with him at some time.”
“Of course.” Kate hid her surprise with a polite nod. “Thank you for bringing my things.”
When her mother and Lucien left, Mama gazing at her with disapproval and disappointment, Kate sank down on the lid of a nearby trunk and drew in an unsteady breath. Part of her was amazed she’d actually defied her mother’s wishes and held firm. Until that moment she hadn’t realized how much her mother had controlled her life, but suddenly it became apparent that the last few weeks had been the first period of real independence in her life. Her mother had hovered over her when she was a child, constantly correcting and gently directing her in everything. Howe had imposed rules on her, although he left her much to her own devices so long as she obeyed them. Lucien was so intent on securing her money, he’d kept her a virtual prisoner. Only in Bath, away from her former life, did she feel bold enough—and even encouraged—to do as she wished. To visit the lending library whenever she liked. To buy a red dress. To lift her skirt in the dining room and make love to her husband on a chair.
She was still sitting there, smiling a little in memory of the last, when the door opened and the man in question walked in. Kate jumped to her feet, flushing at the indecency of her thoughts. “You’re home early,” she exclaimed.
“But welcome, I hope.” He winked at her as he doffed his hat and tossed his gloves on the table, then frowned at the trunks still blocking the hall. “What the devil is this?”
“My trunks.” She waved one hand helplessly. “All my things.”
“Ah. Bragg!” His man popped out of the door at the rear of the hall. “Let’s take these upstairs.”
“They didn’t arrive alone.” Kate watched with slight shock as her husband stripped off his coat and hefted one end of the largest trunk himself as Bragg took the other end. “My mother and Lucien brought them to Bath personally.”
Gerard shot her a sharp glance but said nothing. He and Bragg carried the trunk up the stairs and deposited it in her dressing room. Kate trailed along behind, watching with hidden admiration as her husband maneuvered the heavy trunk so easily.
“We’ll get the other in a moment,” he said to Bragg, waving his man out the door. When Birdie appeared in the open doorway with a dust cloth in her hand, Gerard held up a hand. “A moment, Mrs. Dennis.” Then he closed the door and turned to Kate. “Is there a particular reason your mother and Lucien Howe felt compelled to journey all the way to Bath when a servant might have brought your trunks?”
She twisted her hands together. “I don’t know. Lucien asked me to extend his best regards to you and indicated he would like a private word sometime.”
“No doubt,” he said dryly. “And your mother?”
Kate nibbled the inside of her lip. “She wishes to become better acquainted with you, she said.”
He looked at her for a long moment. “I believe a little of your mother’s company goes a long way.”
She blushed. “I already invited them to dine tomorrow evening. I’m sorry.”
“No, that’s not what I meant.” He came across the room and tipped up her chin until she looked at him. “I will see her as much as you wish to. Or as little.”
“I cannot refuse to see my own mother.”
“You don’t have to. But if you wish to find yourself otherwise engaged most evenings . . .”
She bit