Regency Surrender: Scandal And Deception. Marguerite Kaye
has been kind enough to chaperon me on most occasions. Other times I have my maid, who has been with me for many years.’
‘I assume having other Americans around you has eased your adjustment somewhat?’
‘It has.’ Katrina could tell she was being measured by the Duke of Lyonsdale’s grandmother. She just wasn’t sure why.
‘I find it surprising that your father will be involved in negotiating a treaty between our two countries. I doubt anyone here would ask Byron or Scott to do such a thing.’
‘My father is a barrister as well as an author. He has presented cases to our Supreme Court and performed services for President Monroe.’
‘I see.’ The Dowager was silent as she openly took in her surroundings. ‘Will your father remain with the American delegation in London after the negotiations are complete?’
‘As yet he has not been asked to do so.’
How long did it take to make tea?
The Dowager nodded thoughtfully and clasped her hands on her lap. ‘You must convey my appreciation to your father for the book he sent me.’
‘I will let him know when he returns home today. Are you a great reader?’
The Dowager inclined her head. ‘In my youth I read often. I fear that with age my eyes are not what they once were. Most days I have my maid read to me. It is easier on my eyes.’
Finally Wilkins entered with the tea tray. ‘Will there be anything else, miss?’
Katrina had taken note of the Dowager’s slight frame. ‘Yes, Wilkins, I believe a nice log on the fire will do, on such a dreary day.’
The Dowager’s body appeared to relax slightly as the cosy fire warmed the room.
‘How would you care to have your tea?’
‘With some milk and four lumps of sugar, please.’
Before she caught herself, Katrina’s brows rose in surprise. Her Great-Aunt Augusta had enjoyed her tea very sweet, as well. Preparing the cup brought back fond memories of the times when she’d used to sit with the woman who had raised her. She had been her mother’s aunt, and of a similar age to the Dowager. There was something in the Dowager’s eyes that reminded her of her aunt.
‘An extra sweet or two never hurt anyone,’ the Dowager explained, with the faintest hint of a smile.
Katrina grinned and inclined her head. ‘My Great-Aunt Augusta would certainly have agreed.’
‘Then your great-aunt had exceptional taste,’ she said with a sparkle in her eye. She accepted the Wedgwood cup from Katrina. ‘I understand you are acquainted with my grandson?’
Knowing this was the true intention behind the unexpected visit, Katrina focused her attention on pouring herself tea. ‘I am.’
‘I assume you have seen the papers today?’
Katrina placed her cup on the table in case the Dowager’s words left her with shaking hands. ‘Yes, I have.’
‘What are your feelings on the speculation, Miss Vandenberg?’
‘His Grace showed a polite courtesy in asking me to dance. There is nothing more to it. The papers seek to sensationalise the mundane to sell copies. In truth, my only concern is how my actions reflect on my father and his work here.’
The Dowager’s features softened and she took a sip of her tea. ‘You’ll have to acquire a thick skin to live among us. The papers have something to say about everyone. Do not let what they print concern you.’
‘Thank you, but I believe my actions will not warrant comment in the future. I am not an outrageous creature to garner their attention.’ And for that Katrina was grateful.
Her comment seemed to appease the Dowager, and the remainder of her visit was spent discussing their shared love of reading and Katrina’s tour of the Waterloo Battlefield.
By the time the Dowager left, Katrina knew her to be not only elegant in manner, but kind-hearted as well. She had extended an invitation to Katrina to call on her at Lyonsdale House, and even informed her that on Monday afternoons at two she was always at home to receive calls. She had also informed Katrina there was no need to bring a chaperon.
It would be rude not to return the call, and if Katrina was honest with herself she was curious to see Lyonsdale’s home...
Katrina stood at the front door of Lyonsdale House and studied the wavy grain of the polished wood. While this door was similar in size to the door of her own London home, this building was much larger. All she needed to do was lift the brass knocker. And yet she couldn’t manage to raise her hand above her waist.
The Dowager had invited Katrina to call on her. She’d even specified a time that would be most convenient for her. And, while it wasn’t exactly a normal calling hour, it did show she had been sincere in her invitation. Didn’t it?
If Katrina didn’t knock soon, the posy of violets in her hand would be reduced to a wilted mess. She glanced down and wondered if she should have brought them. Her Great-Aunt Augusta had always enjoyed it when Katrina had brought her flowers from the garden. It had seemed to brighten her spirits. But this woman was a dowager duchess. Maybe it simply wasn’t done. She was about to toss the bouquet into a row of nearby boxwoods when the door suddenly opened.
Standing before her was a slim, grey-haired man that Katrina assumed was Lyonsdale’s butler. He eyed her with a speculative gaze, before his focus dropped to the flowers in her hand. ‘May I help you, miss?’
Katrina straightened her shoulders and gave him a polite smile. ‘Yes, thank you. I was wondering if the Dowager Duchess of Lyonsdale is receiving.’
His gaze dropped once again to the flowers. ‘Do you have a card?’
There was little question that she should have tossed the flowers. It was too late now. The man had made it a point to let her know he had seen them.
There was almost a look of recognition when he read her card. ‘This way, miss,’ he said, allowing her to step foot inside the hallowed hall of Lyonsdale’s grand home. ‘I will inform Her Grace that you are here.’
Katrina’s footsteps echoed down the hall as she was shown into an ornately decorated drawing room. Gold cherubs flew along the gilded mouldings that ran along the high ceiling, and life-size portraits of past generations stared down at her from their lofty positions on the crimson silk walls. The room smelled of almond oil, no doubt from the freshly polished doors and furniture.
Not certain where to sit, Katrina decided on a bergère chair in the grouping of seats closest to the door. She stared at the portrait of an austere gentleman across from her, who wore a ruffled collar. From his perch on the wall, he didn’t seem to like her flowers either.
She was beginning to believe the butler had forgotten about her when she was greeted by the warm smile of the Dowager.
‘Miss Vandenberg, this is an unexpected surprise.’ The Dowager took a seat opposite Katrina and her gaze dropped to the flowers. ‘What do you have there?’
Katrina handed her the posy that had reminded her of home. ‘These were growing in our garden. They were so lovely I thought I’d share them with you.’
The Dowager’s eyes grew misty. ‘My son would pick violets for me when he was a small child. They bring to mind such cherished memories. Thank you.’
At least she hadn’t committed another faux pas. ‘You are most welcome. I’m glad they give you pleasure.’
Their conversation was interrupted when the butler entered the room, carrying a tea tray.
‘I