As she watched, he procured a coach while the rain utterly soaked him, the passing wheels of a carriage splashing mud across his boots and trousers. The hackney coach pulled up with its mismatched horses, one dull brown, one a dirty white colour. Escorting her to it, he quickly gave up his jacket altogether, laying it down so she could sit on its dry lining to preserve her dress from the muddy seat. They clambered in together. The coach driver gave a flick of his whip, calling, ‘Walk on!’
Inside, she felt safe at last. She was on her way home, and the threat to her reputation was over. The rain had turned the carriage windows into a blur of liquid. Enclosed inside its bubble, she was dry and warm. The young man opposite her was soaked, his wet shirt transparent and clinging, his trousers ruined with mud. His garments were secondhand, but had been repaired so exquisitely the eye barely noticed. He looked like an aristocratic young suitor, his obvious breeding belying the clothes. She was struck again by his vivid good looks, the fall of his dark hair like the subject of a romantic painting.
He was gallant enough to say, ‘This is an adventure.’
‘May I ask your name?’
‘Kempen,’ he said. ‘Will Kempen.’
‘I hope I’m not taking you too far out of your way, Mr Kempen.’
He was looking back at her with evident curiosity, though he had been too much of a gentleman to ask her any questions. So when he merely said, ‘Not at all; I’m happy to accompany you,’ Katherine found herself relenting, telling the whole story in a rush.
‘The truth is, Mrs Dupont – she’s my lady’s maid – was out with me, but a man came into the shop while I was being fitted for some shoes.’
Martin’s was one of London’s most exclusive shoemakers, and Katherine had been looking forward to the excursion all week. Until the disappearance of Mrs Dupont, the outing had exceeded her expectations. She had been measured, then looked at delightful samples, with Mrs Dupont pointing out the most fashionable ones, telling her, Lord Crenshaw thinks the colour pink suits you.
‘He wasn’t one of our servants. I’d never seen him before. He came and spoke to her. I don’t know what he said, but she seemed to think it was urgent, and left right away!’ The disturbing feelings of earlier came back to her, that sense of being abandoned. ‘And then, when I came out to look for the carriage, it had gone. Mrs Dupont must have taken it, or – all I can think is that my fiancé called them away on business, not realising I was with them.’
‘Your fiancé?’ said Will mildly.
He was gazing across at her. Droplets of water still clung to the hollow of his throat and wet his waistcoat and shirt. But he had a way of ignoring the discomfort, as if it was all just part of the adventure, that of course he’d get drenched rescuing my lady from a social dilemma.
Looking back at him, it was easy to forget the disturbing feelings of earlier. It was occurring to her that this whole thing was rather dashing. Will looked just like the sort of handsome young lord’s son she had always imagined asking her to dance at a ball. I always knew I’d meet you, came the thought, out of nowhere. Of course, her aunt wouldn’t approve. This was one of those ‘unnecessary youthful experiences’ her aunt wished her to avoid.
One she never thought she’d have. She was conscious of her own pulse.
‘Lord Crenshaw,’ said Katherine. ‘Do you know him?’
The words were conversational. ‘I’ve heard of him. He owns ships, doesn’t he?’
‘Yes, that’s him.’ Of course, everyone knew of Lord Crenshaw.
Will spoke with polite interest. ‘And he collects antiquities – or is that his father?’
‘They both do. But Lord Crenshaw has a passion for it. They say he dredged the whole Thames in summer just to recover a sword that he wanted.’ Katherine liked the wealth and power this displayed. Annabel had later said it was the talk of the town. An extravagance that only a man of his fortune could afford.
‘Did he find it?’ said Will.
‘Apparently. Annabel – that’s my aunt’s maid – she said that—’
‘Whoa!’ came the call from the coachman outside, and she broke off as the coach pulled up at the address she had given.
‘Oh! We’ve arrived,’ she said.
She suddenly realised that it was the last she would see of her rescuer. This had not been a meeting at a ball where he might leave a card and come to call on her family a week later. This meeting had been a secret, a glimpse of a life she didn’t have, and it would not be repeated. She felt again that connection to him, and the excitement of their adventure. She wasn’t ready for it to end.