A Regency Baron's Bride: To Catch a Husband... / The Wicked Baron. Sarah Mallory

Ann looked up, surprised. ‘But when we met him in Oxford Street you said—’

      ‘Yes, but we do not move in the same circles.’

      Kitty hoped in vain that her words had not carried across the table to Daniel. She saw his dark frown descend.

      ‘I told you, my lord,’ he said, ‘Miss Wythenshawe is far above my touch.’

      The icy words coincided with a small cloud crossing in front of the sun and a sudden, uneasy hush fell over the company. It lasted only a couple of seconds, but Kitty was mortified.

      ‘No, no, I never meant—’

      Her anguished protest was no more than a whisper and it was lost as Lady Harworth rose from the table, signalling the end of the meal. There was a sudden flurry of activity as everyone followed suit and Kitty looked towards Daniel, hoping she might be able to apologise and explain herself, but he was already moving away, giving his arm to a dashing young matron.

      ‘Miss Wythenshawe?’ Lord Harworth was holding his arm out to her. ‘Shall we walk?’

      Silently she put her fingers on his arm, responding mechanically to his remarks while inwardly berating herself. It was so difficult! In trying to please her godmother and conceal her impoverished circumstances she appeared proud and conceited. Suddenly she could restrain herself no longer; she burst out, ‘My lord, when I spoke just now, about my family in the north, I fear I offended Mr Blackwood—’

      ‘Blackwood, offended?’ exclaimed Lord Harworth. ‘No, no, I am sure he is not. After all there is no denying that he is a manufacturer and while you might bump into him at Harrogate, perhaps, it is not surprising that you have not met him at any of the grander houses. Not but that the situation might change in the future,’ he added and when Kitty looked an enquiry he tapped his nose. ‘Meetings in Whitehall, m’dear! Can’t say more, but let us just say that I am not averse to furthering my acquaintance with the Blackwood family.

      ‘Now, Miss Wythenshawe, if we take this path you will find we have a very good view of the house across the lake … well, what do you think of that? Magnificent, eh?’

      Kitty duly admired the view, but even while she was conversing with her escort she was thinking of Daniel. She must talk to him. Despite their past differences and the fact that he had treated her abominably, her conscience would not allow her to rest until she had explained herself. However, Lord Harworth and his guests were in no hurry to conclude their rambles through the woods and it was a good hour before the party gathered again at the house and carriages were summoned. Kitty spotted Daniel standing by himself and resolutely made her way across to him, steeling herself for her apology. She needed all her nerve to keep going, for the look he bestowed upon her when he saw her approaching was not at all encouraging. Kitty squared her shoulders, bracing herself to meet his harsh stare.

      ‘Mr Blackwood, if I may have a word with you.’ He regarded her with eyes as hard as stone. She took a breath. ‘I w-wanted to beg your pardon. I think my words earlier might have been misconstrued.’

      ‘Oh, I understood you perfectly, Miss Wythenshawe.’

      ‘No! I never meant to imply that my family was above yours,’ she told him earnestly. ‘I know nothing of your circumstances.’

      ‘That much is very true!’

      ‘And you know nothing about me!’ she retorted. ‘I am sorry for it if I appear to you to be bent upon nothing but pleasure.’

      His lip curled.

      ‘Why should you be any different from all the other fashionable young females in Town? And do not think that your attendance at Clarkson’s meeting gives you any reason to feel especially self-righteous: I am well aware that it is currently a fashionable cause.’

      Kitty’s cheeks flamed. She said angrily, ‘Not for me!’

      She saw the disbelief in his eyes and was surprised at how much his contempt stung her. She hated arguments and wanted desperately to turn and walk away: after all, what did it matter what he thought of her? But she found it did matter. She forced herself to speak.

      ‘My father died ten years ago, Mr Blackwood, when I was but a child, yet I remember his liberal views, and his correspondence with like-minded acquaintances on the subject of slavery. A number of pamphlets on the subject remain amongst my father’s papers. I have always considered the plight of those less fortunate than ourselves to be of the utmost concern.’

      Kitty held her ground, steadily meeting his dark, unfathomable gaze. At last he said coldly, ‘Then perhaps you should be committing your energies to the cause of abolition, madam, rather than looking out for a rich husband!’

      Daniel turned on his heel and strode away. Hell and damnation, could he never meet the woman without quarrelling? She had come to him to apologise for her ill-chosen remarks. He should have received her apology with a dignified silence. After all, he was used to being snubbed by those who considered themselves to be his superiors, regardless of the fact that they had little to their name except a title. Their ancient houses were for the most part crumbling and impoverished. He had thought himself above such considerations, proud of his heritage, knowing that his father had earned his money with honest toil and now held the welfare of hundreds, if not thousands, in his hands: spinners, weavers, carders, combers and silverers—the list of those involved in the manufacture of cloth was endless. As he himself became more involved then the responsibility fell upon his shoulders, too.

      He strode through the ornamental gardens and on around the side of the house, and as he worked off his anger in exertion, he found himself considering the situation more rationally. He stopped, his head coming up as the realisation hit him. It was not Miss Wythenshawe’s comments that had angered him, but seeing her hanging on Harworth’s arm. By God, he was jealous!

      Daniel began to walk again, more slowly this time, while he tried to understand this new emotion. Damnation, Miss Katherine Wythenshawe had got under his skin. She was nothing like the ripe beauties who had caught his eye when he had first come to Town, women with whom it was possible to pass an enjoyable hour or so, but who were then so easy to forget. No. Katherine—Kitty—was proud, self-opinionated and extremely annoying, but one could not forget her!

      He had reached the stable block by this time. Through the arch he could see the yard was full of activity as the teams of horses were brought out from the stables and harnessed to the respective carriages, each one under the watchful eye of the coachman. It had been agreed that Daniel would accompany Lord Harworth and his party back to Town later, when the rest of the guests had departed, so he saw no reason to add to the workload of the grooms by demanding his horse should be saddled up immediately. He perched himself on a mounting block just outside the entrance to the yard, intending to regain his composure in this shady spot before rejoining the main party. The noise from the stables spilled out of the yard and the clatter of hooves echoing under the arch told him that the first of the carriages was about to leave. He turned to watch Lady Leaconham’s coachman overseeing the stable boys as they pulled up and secured the hoods of the landau, while the two outriders stood to one side, drawing on their gloves. None of them noticed Daniel, sitting still and silent in the shadow of the wall.

      ‘So we’re to pick up his lordship at the Rising Sun,’ said one of the outriders.

      The other gave a short laugh.

      ‘That’s what ‘er ladyship thinks.’ He turned to spit on the ground. ‘I’d wager he’s caught a fox by now!’

      ‘The mistress won’t like that,’ growled the coachman. ‘She told him to be ready to come home at six o’clock.’

      ‘Aye, she might’ve told ‘im but he’ll have been drinking since she set ‘im down. And let’s be honest, his lordship ain’t one to hold his drink well.’

      The coachman chuckled.

      ‘There’ll be fireworks at Barnet, then,’ he said, climbing up onto the box. ‘Come on, lads, mount up, else ‘er ladyship will be after your hides, too!’