Behind the Marquess's Mask (The Lords of Whitehall Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

quietly.
    “Kathryn, please rest,” she said softly. “Just ring if you need anything. I must go for a while. I have letters to write.” She smiled and gently squeezed Kathryn’s hand.
    If Kathryn had any thoughts of stopping her mother from leaving, they were overridden by the drowsy and disorienting effects of the laudanum beginning to set in. Her eyes closed and her body completely relaxed as she lay there, surrendering to the intoxicating pull of whatever peaceful rest awaited.
    For a week, Kathryn built up her strength. Eventually, she was strong enough to take her meals with her mother. She had even ventured out into the garden for a stroll and read in the parlor whilst Lady Grenville embroidered. She was getting stronger every day, but her memories were still as elusive as ever.
    Kathryn was writing down the most recent memory she could recall completely, or nearly completely, which was her riding her father’s hunter at eight-years-old. If her father had known, he would have been terribly upset. There was someone riding beside her, a boy maybe…?
    Lady Grenville swept into the room, pulling her out of the thought.
    “Today is the Garson Ball. They have a lovely ballroom, and everyone will be far too occupied with the youngest Garson girl entering the season to pay any attention to you. It will be perfect.” Lady Grenville beamed as she began pulling out shawls and ribbons.
    “A ball?” Kathryn tucked the written memory into the writing table.
    “Emily will help you dress, and she is brilliant with hair,” Lady Grenville added as she began piling the clothing on the bed.
    Kathryn sat with pursed lips and a knit brow.
    “Not that you will be dancing. I expect you to sit out every one. You are not quite strong enough yet for the exertion.”
    “Mama, I can’t.”
    Lady Grenville looked up blankly at Kathryn. “Can’t what? Sit out a dance? You can and you will! I shall not have you fainting on the ballroom floor.”
    “No, I doubt I am ready to go at all.”
    “Oh.” Lady Grenville smiled warmly and stepped toward Kathryn. “My dear, you are strong enough to sit. All I want you to do is watch everyone else so you might remember. You may join in conversation only if you wish to.”
    “Sit?” Kathryn asked suspiciously.
    Her mother nodded.
    “Watch?”
    Again, Lady Grenville nodded.
    “What if—”
    “Don’t worry. It’s a small gathering, that’s all,” Lady Grenville said, dismissing Kathryn’s anxieties with a wave of her hand.
    Kathryn nodded reluctantly. She knew she was not getting out of this one, but something in her mother’s eyes had Kathryn questioning her definition of small gathering.
    “I shall see you when the carriage is ready.” Then Lady Grenville was gone, and Kathryn was left ill with dread.
    She could only hope none of the guests got the inclination to speak to her. They would think her simple due to her lack of being able to converse on anything except the weather. She would be the laughing stock of London in a matter of hours.
    Kathryn rested her head on the table. She had a handful of memories she had written down and tucked into her writing table, but not nearly enough to keep up conversation for an entire night. Perhaps members of the haut ton enjoyed talking about themselves more than anything else. A girl could hope.

    * * *
    “ G reydon , I shall not have any more of your nonsense!”
    The dowager Lady Ainsley glared daggers at her son as they argued in his drawing room. The walls were carved wooden panels connecting to a ceiling of crisscrossed mahogany planks. The paintings and Aubusson rug underfoot were the only bits of color, dotted as they were with white and yellow. Though, the rug was mostly a mass of dark red.
    The dowager looked terribly out of place in her frilly, light yellow muslin. Still, her eyes flashed, and that was all Grey needed to remind him it was his mother beneath all the silly lace. Moreover, she was rather upset.
    “Mrs. Garson is