Enticed

by Virginia Henley

  Big Jim let out a bellow of laughter that was deafening. "What in Christ's name are you laughing at, you bloody fool?"

  "A slave! That's bloody rich, that is! Well, the laugh's on both of us, boyo. She wasn't good enough for me, and by the looks of it she wasn't good enough for you, either. She sold out to the highest bidder, Patrick, my lad. She's a bloody duchess!"

  "Duchess? Make sense, man!" Patrick demanded angrily. "

  "Two months back I made port at St. Kitts, and who was sailing for England but the Duke of Manchester and his duchess. Traveling like a bloody queen, she was, with enough sodding baggage to sink a freighter."

  Patrick sat stunned.

  "What you need is a woman. Come on, I was just on my way to Dirty Annie's."

  "Dirty Annie's be damned!" replied Patrick. "I'll take you to the fanciest goddamned whorehouse in Charleston La Maison de Joie."

  Chapter 24

  After a week's rest in London, Kitty was launched into a whirlwind of social activities that dispelled forever her fear about being accepted. They were immediately deluged with invitations by those who were vying for a return invitation to the Duke and Duchess of Manchester's. Charles couldn't resist showing off his son for all their visitors. Kitty allowed him to show off his new son because it gave him obvious pleasure and pride.

  The first thing Kitty had done on her return was to make sure Terry took their grandfather to her estate in Ireland. After that every moment was taken up with fittings for new Clothes, making the rounds of the shops for new pieces for the house and entertaining Charles' friends. They went to the ballet, the opera and the theaters. Kitty began to enjoy herself. At first she had been nervous of society, but Charles encouraged her to be herself and she bloomed under this encouragement. She didn't affect any airs, but spoke to any and all with her natural exuberance. Charles chuckled to himself when he heard two of his friends discussing her at a party. "Remember this: The bluer the blood, the bluer the language, I say. The girl's descended from royalty-wrong side of the blanket, of course." Sometimes Charles accompanied her shopping and she became very familiar with Hatton Garden off Bond Street

  . It was a dark shop with a room behind where they kept their stock of diamonds, and the tellers in Coutts' Bank knew her on sight. Men were very attracted to Kitty, but soon she acquired a witty repartee that kept them in their place. However, there were one or two ready to step over the line the moment she gave them the slightest encouragement. At buffet suppers, they rushed to help her select the tastiest dishes.

  "Do try some of the cucumber salad, my dear," said Lord Macklesfield, standing much closer than he needed to.

  She fixed him with a direct look and answered, "A cucumber should be well sliced, dressed with pepper and vinegar and thrown away."

  “Touche, my dear," he said with an appreciative twinkle.

  "You can't blame a chap for trying!"

  Granville, a rather small man, overheard them and cautioned Lord Macklesfield, "Patience is bitter, but it bears sweet fruit."

  Kitty winked at Lord Macklesfield and said, "Never listen to a man with short legs-brains too near his bottom."

  "I won't tangle with you, your Grace; your tongue has a decidedly sharp edge to it," he said and laughed.

  The Duke of Portland, whose job it was to engage all the royal footmen, saw Kitty coming toward him. He turned to Lady Chatham and said, "Here comes an angel, and by God I'd like to clip her wings. I do believe she fancies me, you know. She always singles me out for a compliment or two."

  Kitty gave him a dazzling smile, "How do you do it?" she asked sweetly.

  "Do what, my dear?" he bridled.

  "Delude yourself practically every day of your life." Lady Chatham hooted with laughter. "You're incorrigible! Come, let's find that husband of yours. I think he went into the card room with the dowager Duchess Gresham."

  "Good God, not that horsey woman! Did she have Mr. Weatherley's stud book under her arm?" asked Kitty with horror.

  "She doesn't go anywhere without it, does she?" laughed Isobel Chatham.

  "We must rescue him at all costs. The last time she cornered me I had to get away from her before I was wormed or served!"

  Kitty slipped behind Charles' chair and put her hands on his shoulders.

  "Darling, I was hoping you'd take me home. It's a terrible crush tonight."

  "Excuse me, Maude, duty calls," he said politely.

  After the theater, they often invited a few friends back for a light supper. Kitty enjoyed these intimate evenings because the conversation always was lively and interesting. She became famous for her devastating imitations of people in the inner circle.

  "Where were you last evening? I missed you at the opera," said Lady Derby.

  "Viscountess Palmerston's soiree in Charlton Gardens," answered Charles.

  "Oh, it was lovely," said Kitty, "except I got cornered by the Duchess of Sutherland. She uses all those double words. What do you call it, Charles?"

  "Reduplicative," he said with a smile, knowing what was coming.

  Kitty mimicked, "Pish tush, I say! The whippersnapper talks claptrap. He's a wishy-washy, namby-pamby nitwit. What a mishmash it is tonight, nothing but riffraff and ragtag. Tut-tut, girl, drink up, chin-chin, no more chitchat, don't shilly-shally. Oh, fiddle-fiddle, here's the major so I'll say ta-ta."

  Her appreciative audience clapped their delight at her takeoff.

  "Isn't she marvelous? Kitty, do the Foreign Secretary." Charles cut in smoothly, "I don't think that would be wise. Kathleen is to be presented to Her Majesty next week."

  "Oh, marvelous; she'll take an instant dislike to you of

  Patrick's sister Julia lost no time rekindling her friendship. Kitty suspected it had a great deal to do with her new status but she did find Julia's social advice invaluable. The London Season was upon them, and social activities reached a frenzied peak. Charles paid careful attention to dressing the evening his wife was to be presented to the Queen. He was going for a new appointment, and although he didn't think he'd get to be Chancellor of the Exchequer, he thought he stood a good chance for customs collector for the Port of London.

  Inside the anteroom the gentlemen handed their capes and top hats to footmen on the right, while ladies went to the left to remove their cloaks. They came together again to be announced as they entered the state ballroom. As he turned, Charles was shocked to see Kitty standing resplendent in flame-colored silk with crimson poppies in her hair.

  He thought wryly, There goes my appointment.

  "Their Graces, the Duke and Duchess of Manchester," rang out across the room, followed by a shocked silence that seemed to stretch out for minutes. Inwardly she wished with all her heart that she hadn't done this stupid, impulsive thing. !hen a gentleman separated himself from a group of courtiers and walked down the ballroom toward Kitty. He bowed low in front of her.

  "May I have the next dance, madame?"

  "Thank you, Prince Albert, You are the most courageous man in the room." He raised her quickly and everyone around them gave a collective sigh that she had been accepted.

  Later, when she danced with Charles, she told him she regretted her whim. "Now I shall have to learn how to dismount gracefully from my high horse. Darling, I'm sorry if this queers your chances with the Queen."

  "Nonsense; she'll probably take pity on an old man like Jibe, saddled with such an incorrigible snip of a girl for his wife," and he squeezed her hard before letting her go. She dreaded the moment coming and when at last she was face to face with Victoria, Kitty sank into a curtsy and waited to be spoken to first.

  "Irish, are you not?" inquired the Queen.

  Kitty nodded and began. "Your Majesty, I'm sorry…”

  "No need to apologize; you'd stand out anywhere, rather like a tiger lily at a funeral"

  Kitty had many offers to take her in to supper. She chose Lord Liverpool, who joked that Liverpool and Manchester should always go arm in arm. "Here comes the Prime Minister," hissed Lord L
iverpool.

  Lord Palmerston, with a fatuous look toward Queen Victoria, said, “Ah, ladies, your cause has come a long way because of our gracious Queen Victoria. Because one of your own fair-sex rules, womanhood has come out of the dark ages."

  "I don't agree, Mr. Prime Minister," said Kitty. "The Regency and the Georgians were frankly bawdy. Victoria's suppressions have turned us all into hypocrites."

  "However do you mean, madame?"

  "Well, for example, take an innocent thing like afternoon

  "My dear lady, you aren't suggesting ..."

  "Of course I'm suggesting! Big overstuffed sofas are more comfortable than featherbeds! Now, here's where the hypocrisy comes in. The Victorian woman is one mass of pads, cushions and corsets from head to foot. Frilled trailing skirts prevent a man from going up and boned necklines prevent him from going down, so what is the very latest fashion? Why, the tea gown, of course! That miracle garment which falls loosely about the figure and can be discarded in a trice. Our society is based on the hypocrisy of not being found out. Why, the last weekend we had in the country I needed a bloody program to keep the players straight as they went from one bedroom to another!"

  "Brava, brava, my girl," cheered Lady Derby. "Taking tea with other men's wives is a shameful custom."

  Lord Palmerston bowed to Kitty with a twinkle in his eye.

  "Your husband is a lucky man, and I shall tell him so when I confirm his new appointment."

  The London House in Strand Lane

  had lawns that sloped down to the river. Kitty and Charles Patrick were running back up to the house. His shoes were muddy from the riverbank and he played tag so fiercely with his mother that his hair stood on end. The dampness had given them both a wild look. She took tea in the nursery with him and by the time he was finished, jam had smeared up his cheek and into his curls. His mouth opened in a cavernous yawn.

  "I think you're tired," she said.

  "Not!" he protested stubbornly, but at the same time he yawned again.

  "Look, you be a good boy and have a nap now, and later, when nurse gives you your bath, I'll come up and watch."

  "Can I splash you?"

  "No, not in this velvet dress you can't."

  "I'll splash nurse," he countered.

  "You little bugger, I bet you will," she said and laughed.

  "Daddy?" he asked hopefully.

  “I suppose he'll let you," she agreed and lifted him into bed, fully dressed, minus the muddy shoes.

  "I love you," she whispered.

  ''Love you," he answered sweetly.

  She slipped into her bedroom to smooth her hair before Charles arrived. It was almost five and she could count on his arrival like clockwork. She was on the upstairs hall landing when she heard him.

  “Kathleen, come and see the surprise I have for you!" he shouted happily.

  She lifted her skirt and began a rapid descent when his next words caused her to hesitate.

  "Can you imagine the damned fellow being in England months and not visiting us?"

  Her eyes sought out the dark figure beyond Charles, and stopped dead from the sudden shock."

  "You're not seeing a ghost-it's your cousin Patrick.

  He looked as reluctant as she was for this meeting as he took a stiff, tentative step forward.

  "Bumped into him this afternoon and practically had to drag him here," continued Charles in a hearty tone.

  She swayed visibly and caught hold of the banister to steady herself. Time stood still as she confronted the man who stood before her. His mouth was set in a grim line, his body tense. His eyes were sharp as a hawk's; they would miss nothing. His aristocratic face tilted arrogantly and he said in a deliberately bored voice, “How are you, cousin?”

  Anger began to swell inside her and she moved down the staircase with eyes blazing. "Weren't you able to pull off marriage with the American, then?" she asked cuttingly.

  "I leave marriage to others," he said dangerously.

  "Ah, you don't know what you are missing, my boy," said Charles, who had no idea how inflammatory the remark was.

  Patrick stiffened visibly as he watched Kitty through narrowed eyes. She could feel his hatred but could not comprehend it. It was she who had the right to hate him after what he had done to her.

  Charles was putting glasses of sherry in their hands and ushering them into the drawing room. "Here's the best part. Wait till you see my son. You'll be jealous as the very devil," he said and laughed, already heading toward the stairs.

  "Charles, no!" cried Kitty. "He's having a nap and you know how I hate you to disturb him," she pleaded.

  "Nonsense; whatever's gotten into you? You know I can't resist showing him off to all and sundry." He winked at Patrick affectionately. Patrick murmured, politely, "I heard you'd had a child."

  They stood alone like two protagonists unable to control events that swirled about them. Neither spoke. The muscles in Patrick's jaw clenched like a lump of iron. Kitty's bottom lip trembled until she caught it between her teeth. Each could feel the heat of the other's anger.

  "Here we are. Come and see your Uncle Patrick.- He's come all the way from America," urged Charles.

  Patrick looked up and saw the little boy walking down the stairs dragging a dirty stuffed donkey with its tail missing. His eyes narrowed, puzzled at the child's age. Kitty, thinking her son would be terrified at the dark, forbidding figure, picked him up protectively and Patrick said, "Good God, I thought he was a baby."

  "Not a baby!" cried Charles Patrick, soundly thumping Patrick with a jam-smeared fist.

  Patrick's eyes widened in comprehension as he looked over the black curls into Kitty's eyes. God help me, he knows! thought Kitty.

  Patrick's face softened as he gazed at the child with wonder. He finally realized Charles Patrick was using his finger to make a sticky jam pattern on his velvet lapel. "I don't suppose they beat you, but they ought to," he said softly. The boy gave him such a sweet smile that he had to resist the impulse to take his child in his arms.

  Kitty said hurriedly, "Charles, please take him to bed; it's wicked of us to spoil him like this."

  "Come on then, old son, Mother's all straitlaced disapproval tonight." Charles flashed an apologetic look at Patrick. "Usually she's off and running at the first madcap suggestion."

  "I remember," said Patrick acidly.

  When they were alone again, Patrick said, "I shall be at Half-Moon Street

  tomorrow evening. I demand a reckoning."

  "I shan't come!" she retorted with outrage.

  "I don't believe I heard you correctly," he said in a tone so quiet and menacing she felt her blood run cold.

  Charles returned. "Well, what do you think of him?" "He's a fine young cockerel, to be sure," answered Patrick truthfully.

  "Stay for dinner. Believe it or not we're entertaining Julia and Jeffrey tonight," invited Charles.

  "Can't be done, Charles. Like nothing better, but there it is, old man," he lied desperately.

  "All right, I know you've probably got so many irons in the fire you haven't time for your old friends, but I'm warning you, we'll catch up with you one of these days and spend the whole evening together."

  Patrick shot Kitty a meaningful look. "Yes, very soon, the whole evening."

  That night at dinner Kitty changed the subject every time Patrick's name was mentioned. Although she pretended to listen to Julia, her ears strained to catch what Jeffrey and Charles were saying.

  “He's sold all three mills. He's finally out of the cotton business for good," said Jeffrey.

  “I wonder what he'll invest the money in? I only ask because if we followed Patrick's lead, we wouldn't go wrong," said Charles.

  Julia said, "He has vast shipping interests these days with that Bolt fellow in Liverpool. I hope he puts the money into slaves. The profits are unheard of."

  Kitty went cold. She put her fork down and pressed her napkin to her lips. When she was able to speak she said, "Charles, you d
on't believe he would do such a thing, do you?"

  "Darling, I can understand your repugnance for such dealings, but in the past I haven't been above a bit of slave trade myself; as Julia says, it's very profitable."

  She wanted to walk out on them all, but instead she politely changed the subject. Later Jeffrey put his hand on her arm and said quietly, "She's only speculating, you know. You don't think for one moment Patrick consults Julia about his dealings, do you?"

  “Of course not." She gave him a quick, reassuring smile, but she was far from reassured. She'd have to see him now. She had sworn she wouldn't attend the command performance Patrick had ordered her to, but now she knew she had no choice.

  She knew before she opened her wardrobe door what she would wear. It was a burnt-orange walking suit edged in deep brown sable. It had cost the earth. She brushed her hair until the black curls cascaded down her back, and perched the matching fur hat on a saucy angle. She took a parcel from the bottom bureau drawer and marched forth to do battle.

  Patrick opened the door himself; she noted there were no servants in evidence. An expression of satisfaction, quickly veiled, came into his face when he saw her. "I knew you'd come."

  "You infuriating bastard, I didn't come because you ordered me to," she spat. He looked at her with distaste. "If you live to be a thousand, you'll never become a lady," he said quietly. "At least wait until you're over the threshold before you start screaming like a banshee."

  She trembled with rage, but at the same time realized he had the advantage so long as he kept rigid control of his temper.

  More calmly she stepped inside. “It appears you delude yourself with the idea that you are the aggrieved party and deserve some sort of explanation. Let me quickly disabuse you of any such notion, Mr. O'Reilly."

  His temper flared. "You shallow little bitch, you think a simple explanation on your part is enough to set everything right when you've done your damndest to destroy me and almost succeeded."

  She looked around for a seat. "I might as well make myself comfortable while you bore me with an interminable catalog of grievances."