by Vikki Vaught
The next morning, Kathleen awoke early. When she pushed open the drapes, the sun shone brightly into her room. Thank goodness, they had clear weather for the start of their trip. She hoped it would hold out. Travel could be much more dangerous in winds and rain. After her maid helped her into her carriage dress, she rushed through the rest of her morning ritual so she would be ready to depart on her journey.
The duke and duchess arrived at eight o’clock, and soon they were off. To give Kathleen and her grace plenty of room in the carriage, the duke chose to ride his stallion. She found the duchess easy to talk with, far less reserved than she had expected. Although she shouldn’t be surprised, the kind woman was only in her mid-twenties and had generously welcomed them when they stayed with them the previous fall.
As the carriage traveled ever closer to town, they chatted about the many amusements in London, and she looked forward to going to the museums and art galleries. While she might not be interested in meeting any London gentlemen, she did want to have an enjoyable time, and planned to make the best of her season in town.
The trip proved uneventful, and since the weather remained fair, they reached the outskirts of London shortly before dark on the fourth day. The traffic grew heavier as they traveled through a less savory part of the city. The stench of garbage, intermingled with the usual odors of humanity, filtered into the carriage to the point Kathleen held a handkerchief to her nose. Finally, they entered Mayfair, where Chilton House was located, and the air entering the carriage improved dramatically.
The coachman brought their conveyance to a halt in front of the mansion, and a footman came out and lowered the steps. The duke had already dismounted, so he assisted his duchess from the carriage, then offered Kathleen his hand and helped her out as well. After traveling for days, she was more than ready to go to her rooms and enjoy a hot bath. The housekeeper showed her to the same chamber she had occupied when she stayed at Chilton House before.
After a full night’s rest, Kathleen awakened early the next day. The duchess had assigned a maid to help her and soon she was dressed. Taking the servant with her for propriety’s sake, she made her way to Hyde Park for her early morning constitutional. While it wasn’t as enjoyable as her solitary walks on the beach, nonetheless, it gave her a chance to walk off her excess energy.
While briskly walking along one of the many paths in the park, she almost ran into, of all people, Lord Billingsley. That same feeling started in the pit of her belly. She did not understand why this man affected her so. When their hands had touched during the dance they shared last fall, her palms tingled and grew clammy, and her breath quickened, just as it was doing now.
She tried to shake off her body’s reaction as she stopped to allow the baron to pass. She couldn’t help noticing the man looked as if he’d spent the night somewhere other than his bed. His cravat hung loosely around his neck, his bottleneck green evening jacket had a tear at the shoulder and a smudge of dirt marred the sleeve. His red-gold hair looked tousled as well. Obviously, he was returning home from a night of carousing with his reprobate friends.
He swept off his top hat and bowed. “Well, if it isn’t the lovely Miss Hawks,” he declared, his speech slightly slurred. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, but I thought you were in Devonshire. When did you return to London, my beauty?”
Irritated beyond endurance by Lord Billingsley’s inebriated condition and outrageous comments, all thoughts of propriety fled from her mind, and Kathleen stamped her slender foot. “It’s none of your business when I arrived. I dare say you’re returning from a night of debauchery. Don’t you care that you’re ruining your life?”
The baron straightened up. “I do not see where it’s any of your business how I choose to live my life. I’m a young man about town, and I’m going to enjoy myself. I can see your time in the country has not improved your sanctimonious attitude.”
“Oh, there’s no use talking to you,” she retorted, “If you will move out of my way, so I can continue my walk, I would relish it.”
Swaying slightly, the obnoxious lord grabbed the lamppost, laughing. “Of course, don’t let me stop you.” Then giving her a sly smile, he added, “You know, it’s a shame such a pretty little thing like you is such a...prude.”
“Well, I never!” Kathleen grabbed her maid’s arm and marched off.
CHAPTER TWO
Oh, that man infuriates me.
He was the perfect example of a London rake and wastrel. So what if he was so handsome he had women throwing themselves at him at every turn? Of course, he was gorgeous with his refined features and dimples a woman would kill for. What did it matter if his broad shoulders, narrow hips, and defined thighs were attractive? Physical appearance wasn’t everything. While William might not be what one would call handsome, nonetheless, he was very pleasant-looking, and he never drank too much or caroused around with his friends at all hours of the night and morning as Lord Billingsley did. No, William was worth ten of the worthless baron.
Oh, why do I let him affect me!
While high-spirited, she never said unkind words to anyone. She should never have ranted at the baron as she had. Her mother would be appalled if she had heard her harsh words.
By the end of her walk, her outburst shamed her. It had been unfair of her to be so nasty to the man. It wasn’t his fault he had no direction; it was the fault of the aristocratic system.
Kathleen had regained her composure by the time she arrived back at Chilton House and vowed to be less judgmental in the future. After a quick tidy-up, she went to the breakfast room. The sideboard had a wealth of choices, and she filled her plate. She missed Mina’s biscuits and gravy and her wonderful pancakes, although she did enjoy the lovely croissants. Picking one up, she added it to her plate as the aroma of freshly baked bread wafted around her, making her mouth water.
Turning back to the table, she took her seat, and the footman poured her a cup of hot chocolate. While the chocolate tasted delicious, she would prefer coffee, but the English didn’t normally serve it to ladies. There were so many dos and don’ts in England. A bit of homesickness ebbed through her. Although her time in this country was a chance of a lifetime, she missed the more relaxed attitude of her own homeland.
While eating her meal, Kathleen’s mind flitted to her encounter with Lord Billingsley. Embarrassment at her behavior sent heat rushing to her cheeks. It bothered her that she had allowed him to get under her skin. While she would be much better off if she ignored him, for some reason she could not.
Lord, here I am thinking of that man again.
Why am I fixated on him?
This had to stop. She should be thinking of how wonderful it would be when she finally became William’s wife. They were going to have such a splendid life together. William owned a lovely home in Baltimore. As the wife of a bank president, she would be able to hold dinner parties and luncheons for the wives of his business colleagues. She loved the idea of that. There wasn’t anything she enjoyed more than being surrounded by her friends and family.
She sighed. She would no longer be able to take her morning walks on the beach. At least a pretty park lay within walking distance of her future husband’s home, but it would not be as satisfying. Kathleen did wish William had purchased a house with some property attached to it.
At least here, Hyde Park had plenty of riding paths, and of course, Rotten Row. Richmond wasn’t too far away, allowing one an opportunity to view the English countryside with its verdant foliage and abundance of wild flowers. Of course, she would still be able to visit her childhood home sometimes, since it was only a short distance from town.
She sighed even deeper as she realized she would not be able to keep her horse at her new home. It didn’t have a stable. Her beloved mare, Ellie, would need to stay at her mother’s house.
Oh, what am I doing?
Why am I finding things wrong with marriage to William?
No more of that.
Kathleen needed to di
smiss these pessimistic thoughts from her mind and concentrate on how much she loved her betrothed, and how happy she would be as his wife. All her friends were going to be so envious of her marriage to William. She would be the wife of a bank president. For now, she would enjoy having a London season, and when she returned to Baltimore, she would convince her brother and William to agree to a splendid Christmas wedding.
Before she finished her meal, the duchess entered the room. “Good morning, dear. I hope you are ready for a full day of shopping. You will need a new wardrobe for the season. The gowns you purchased last fall will not work now that it is spring.”
“Goodness,” she replied, “I thought those gowns were lovely. Since arriving in England, I’ve bought more clothes than I would have in three years in Baltimore. Albeit, I’m sure you know best what I will need. Will we go to Madame Clarisse again?”
“Certainly, she has the best designs in London. I understand you went for an early morning walk. I’m pleased you remembered to take a maid with you. I know you are used to much more freedom in America, but here in town, especially, a young lady must be chaperoned at all times. Did you enjoy your walk?”
Sitting her cup aside, she shrugged. “I did. Until I ran into that scandalous Baron Billingsley. Obviously, he hadn’t been home yet, even though it is morning. I believe he must have caroused around with his reprobate friends all night. I think I may have been too outspoken, but he gets my back up.”
Her Grace looked over at her and gave her an appraising look. “You seem to be quite preoccupied with Lord Billingsley. You mentioned his behavior several times on the drive here from Devonshire. Something about him must interest you, even if it is negative.”
“Interested? In him? Hardly, Your Grace.” Kathleen exclaimed. “He’s the epitome of everything I despise. I’m sure he’s never done an honest day’s work in his life.”
“Why should he?” she replied. “He is one of the wealthiest young men in England. From what I understand, he has made some very wise investments since his father died and has tripled his inheritance. Just because he likes to go out and indulge with his friends does not mean he shirks his responsibilities.”
“You may be correct, but I still don’t like him, or his outrageous behavior.”
“What does it matter to you what he does, since you insist you are not interested in him?”
“I could care less what he does.” She felt her face flush. Why did she react so strongly to the man? Then it dawned on her. Some of her comments might offend. “I apologize, Your Grace. I didn’t mean to come on so strong, especially with you, but I detest the way he’s always watching me. I don’t like it one bit.” Some of her anger from the morning’s encounter returned. “Do you know he had the nerve to call me a prude? I don’t want to discuss him any longer. In fact, I would be happy if I never had to see him again. Although, that will not happen, I’m sure he will be at most of the parties we will be attending.”
The duchess raised her brow. “I dare say you are right. Albeit…think of the enjoyment you will have at those parties, watching the scandalous baron.”
“Pardon? Why would I want to watch him?” Then realizing she had possibly crossed the line and sounded rude, she mellowed her tone. “Oh, dear. I’m being too forward again. I do apologize. If we’re going shopping, I need to change my gown. May I ask your permission to leave the table, Your Grace?”
“You may, my dear.” Then she reminded her, “Do remember to put on your most fetching gown. You never know who you may see while out shopping. You could easily come upon your baron.”
Kathleen’s ire rose again, but she kept her composure. She stiffly rose from her seat as she said evenly, “He is not my baron. Excuse me, Your Grace.” Then curtsying, she rushed from the room, leaving a laughing duchess behind.
Bemused and bewildered, Kathleen rushed upstairs. She could not understand what the duchess found so amusing.
****
Rolling onto his back, Andrew Grainger, Baron Billingsley, cracked open his eyes and looked at the heavy brass clock on the mantel. Ah, after two o’clock in the afternoon and past time to rise. He had an appointment to meet his three best friends—Brian Effinger, George Howard, the Earl of Renwick, and Charles Fortner, Viscount Blythe—at Angelo’s Salle d’Armes, their favorite Fencing establishment.
Exactly what I want to do today…have a rousing good fencing match.
All his daily training had reaped great benefits, and now Andrew was an expert swordsman and enjoyed the sport immensely. Fortunately for him, he had inherited his father’s physique, perfect for fencing, the one trait he was glad he had inherited from the despicable man. He worked hard to keep his long, lean body in great condition, his muscles defined without developing too much bulk, enabling him to be quick and light on his feet.
Fumbling with his robe, he summoned his valet. Soon, Ensley had him shaved and dressed. After eating an enormous breakfast, he ordered his carriage, and set off for the salon. As he passed Hyde Park, he recalled his meeting with the intriguing Kathleen Hawks.
What a spitfire.
He could still picture her in his mind, her brilliant green eyes flashing as she rained down her tirade on him. Although her outspoken behavior should have been unappealing, that was not the case at all. He found her show of emotion refreshing. Most young ladies were too afraid to voice an opinion, lest they offend someone. Not so with the enticing Miss Hawks. With her mass of dark blonde hair—it had to fall past her waist—and generous curves, he could imagine she would be a fiery temptress in bed. Too bad she was such an innocent and a prude.
That was where he drew the line. He never dallied with virgins, having no desire to marry. Of course, he would eventually need to wed to secure his title, but at four and twenty, he had at least another ten years before that became necessary.
Andrew had nothing against marriage in particular, he just enjoyed his carefree life too much to settle down yet, and besides, he liked variety when it came to women. If he married, that would come to a halt. As strange as it would sound to his acquaintances, considering his reputation as a notorious rake, he did not believe in adultery, not after what he had witnessed as a child. That was why he chose merry widows and courtesans for his sexual escapades.
He’d never kept a mistress—well, except that time last year—and it had turned out badly, to say the least. A ballet dancer in the chorus of an opera he’d attended had caught his eye. Unfortunately, she would not give in to him without a contract. He’d been so enthralled with Arlene he had agreed to her terms, against his better judgment.
A striking woman with her long, black hair and bright amber eyes, her body as graceful as a doe, Arlene had enticed him. Although petite, she’d had sleek, well-defined, long legs. She had wrapped them around him, pulling him close during bed sport. Sex with her had been incredible in the beginning. At first everything went well, but then she became demanding, wanting fine jewels and constant attention. He had broken the liaison off at once and sent her on her way with a diamond choker and a thousand pounds. Arlene had left town shortly after, and he hadn’t seen her since.
Good riddance.
As the carriage slowed, Andrew gazed out the window. Angelo’s came into view. When his coach stopped, he jumped out and hurried inside. Scanning the area, he spied his friends across the room already shedding their jackets and waistcoats. They looked up and called to him.
“It’s about time you showed up,” Blythe retorted. “We were beginning to think we would need to find someone to take your place.”
Andrew scoffed, “You wish. I promised you a rematch, and I do not renege on my promises. Let me remove my jacket, and we can start.”
Andrew and Blythe saluted with their foils and the match began. Playing with his opponent, he danced around the arena, never letting him get in to earn a point. Advancing, he feinted to the right. Blythe parried the attack. Andrew immediately riposted and the match quickly escalated to a full-scale attack. After several s
wift swishes of his foil, he moved in for the strike that would give him the point and end the match. With a final thrust, straight to the heart—if guards weren’t on the tip of their foils—he finished the fight.
“Great match, Blythe.” He offered his friend his hand. “You gave me an exceedingly enjoyable run for my money with that one. If you keep practicing, you may achieve victory over me yet. Shall we make our way to White’s for dinner? I’m famished.”
“You’re always hungry,” Effinger complained. “I don’t know how you stay slim with as much as you eat, old friend.”
His friend had always been solidly built, but shorter than the rest of them. Effie had already started getting a paunch, although only a year older than him. Andrew had met Effinger when he attended Eton, and they’d been great friends ever since. He was always there for him while they were growing into manhood and still was.
Renwick interrupted, “I’ve heard of a new gaming hell. I thought we might want to go there later. It is supposed to have good odds at the tables, and they offer some fine female companions. Don’t know about you, but I could do with a good night of drinking and gambling. Add some enticing women and that will make this a perfect evening.”
Andrew jostled Renwick’s shoulder. “You’re always ready for that, my friend. I’m sure we shall all want to indulge ourselves at this new establishment. Come. Let us depart for our club and assuage our hunger.”
After dining at White’s, and enjoying a rousing political discussion with some of his peers in the House of Lords, Andrew and his friends made their way to the Devil’s Snare, the new gaming hell, where they spent too many hours to count playing faro. While his luck had him winning well over a hundred pounds, Effie had lost as much.
Andrew motioned to Effinger and leaned in, so he could be heard over the noise from the shouts of excitement in the club. “Come, my friend. Shall we call it a night?”
