by Julia London
“I will beg you to tell me that it was not that courtesan,” his mother said stiffly.
“Beg all you like,” he said roughly.
She gasped. “God in heaven, I cannot believe it!”
“For heaven’s sake, Mother—”
“Do not speak to me!” she said angrily. “You have shamed me before our family and friends and all of London! There is nothing you can say that will improve it!”
“It was never my intent to shame you, madam,” he said evenly. “But neither do I feel a need to improve anything.”
“Grayson Robert Henry Christopher!” she exclaimed with great exasperation. “There are young women who would fall at your feet but for a single look from you! There are lovely debutantes who would make you a proud and dutiful wife, who would deliver the heirs you surely must want. Why, therefore, must you consort with… with an immoral woman?”
Grayson loved his mother dearly, but her elitism had pushed him to his limit. He stood abruptly from his seat, startling her. “Katharine Bergeron is not an immoral woman,” he said, and threw up a hand when his mother gasped. “Furthermore, I think you might actually find her very agreeable if you could ever step off your pedestal to make her acquaintance.”
“You wouldn’t dare do such a wretched thing!”
“You cannot fault the woman for the circumstances of her birth, Mother, nor, I daresay, for the circumstances of her life. She did not choose her profession, but she did choose to survive in a world that can be quite cruel at times, and particularly to women and the disadvantaged. So I will ask you to please find a bit of compassion in your heart and stop fretting about my bloody reputation!”
“You are speaking to me in a most reprehensible manner!” she said hotly. “I would not have thought it at all possible!”
“I am speaking to you quite honestly. I did not seek Miss Bergeron’s acquaintance; the Prince of Wales pressed it upon me. But I can assure you that once I could see past my own prejudices, I found a very delightful companion in her. And I will not stand for her to be derided by you or anyone else because of her unfortunate circumstance.”
The duchess gaped at him. She slowly gained her feet. “I will not sit here and subject myself to this.”
Grayson shrugged. “As you wish.”
His mother marched from the room, almost bowling over the footman who hurried to open the door for her. When she had gone, Grayson calmly resumed his seat, but internally, he was working very hard to keep his rage in check. He loved his mother—she was no more and no less a product of her upbringing than was Kate—or himself for that matter. But he could not abide her prejudice or her complete censure of Kate. Or her presumption that she had the right to lecture him as to whom he would or would not befriend.
Grayson stood and walked to the windows overlooking the grounds. He’d been thinking of Kate ever since they’d returned to London two days ago. He was a blessed fool for taking her to Kitridge. He’d let his emotions rule him, let his fantasies consume him, and now he worried that Kate was suffering the consequences. And that, he could scarcely bear.
Yet his hands were tied. What could he do, take her and risk the damage George could do to the Christophers? George had expressed his ire quite clearly last night, when he’d summoned Grayson to Carlton House.
When Grayson arrived, he found the prince in an inebriated and irate state. “You have astounded me!” the prince ranted. “Did I not make clear to you that I wanted her for myself?”
Grayson chafed at being spoken to as if he were a naughty child. “You did,” he said curtly.
“I cannot fathom why you, of all men, would attempt to make a fool of me,” the prince continued to rail. “My position is precarious, Darlington, you know that very well. I trusted you, but you have disappointed me like so many others. First Wilkes, then Lambourne, now you!”
It was all Grayson could do to keep from lashing out at him. Wilkes had hanged for his treachery. As for Lam-bourne… Grayson believed Lambourne was innocent of the accusations of adultery with George’s wife, the Princess of Wales, but nevertheless he did not care to be compared to him.
“Don’t go near her, Darlington,” George snarled. “Do not go near her again, lest you desire to see her fend for herself on the street like a common whore!”
Grayson blanched. “You would exact your displeasure with me from a woman?”
“She is not so innocent!” George snapped. “Let me remind you that your brother requires a few pivotal votes to see his precious abolition bill passed!”
Grayson’s eyes narrowed. “What has that to do with it?”
“Your brother can scarcely cobble the votes together as it is. One word from me—one word—and he and Wilber-force will lose. That word shall come if you do not keep your distance from my mistress.”
“By God, if you were not my prince—how could you allow a practice as abominable as the slave trade to continue just so that you might make a bloody point with me?” he demanded loudly.
“Look at you now, Grayson, so high and mighty,” George said mockingly. “What will it be, then? Will you have the slave trade on your conscience for the sake of a poke?”
Grayson had never despised a man as he did in that moment. “With all due respect, Your Highness,” Grayson said heatedly, “you disgust me.”
“Spare me your indignation! I trusted you!” George thundered. “Leave me!”
“Gladly,” Grayson said, and walked out of his privy chambers.
He fought the urge to go to her then, but the prince’s threats against Merrick echoed in his brain, dogging his every step. While he would not stand to see Kate cast out of her house, at least he could do something about it. But Merrick… Merrick had devoted the last two years to working with Wilberforce to bring about an end to the British slave trade. It was very important to Merrick and their nation, and Grayson could not, under any circumstance, derail that effort.
Yet his worry for Kate loomed in his mind. What Grayson feared most was that George would take his pleasure from Kate, a thought so abhorrent to him that even now, he clenched his fist and swiped at the oil lamp on his desk. It crashed to the ground, spilling oil across the carpet.
A footman hurried to retrieve the lamp. Grayson stepped around him and walked out of his study. He couldn’t bear the thought of George’s hands or mouth on her. He’d worried so much, in fact, that he’d sent a footman to keep an eye on the house on King Street. The footman assured Grayson she was still there and the prince had not called on her.
This abominable situation was making him mad. Grayson had never felt so impotent, had never felt the mantle of his title weigh as heavily as it did now.
Grayson found himself at his sister Mary’s house. Mary was young and spirited, and he enjoyed her company. If anyone could cheer him, it was Mary. He’d not seen her in more than a week, as she had been, according to Prudence, busily putting together her Season’s wardrobe and making a list of suitable matches for her brothers.
When Grayson was shown into Mary’s salon, however, he was rudely surprised to find Mary in the company of Prudence and Diana. Dear God.
“What a pleasure!” Mary cried, hurrying to place a kiss on his cheek. “You never call here at Wallace House—you are always off to Pru’s.”
“I am very happy to see you, Mary,” he said fondly, and kissed her cheek and gave Prudence a hug. “Lady Eustis,” he said, bowing.
She curtsied, her gaze cold.
“Christie, what have you gone and done?” Prudence exclaimed. “Everyone is speaking of it. It is one thing to be seen around London with certain ladies, but quite another to take them all the way to the lodge.”
There would be no end to the opinions about his life, Grayson supposed, but for once in his blessed life, he resented the hell out of it. “And when did you become the arbiter of such matters, Pru?”
His abrupt comment took her aback; she and Mary exchanged wide-eyed looks.
“Well. If I had done something
like that before I was married, I would have been sent to live with some spinster aunt,” Mary said.
“We don’t have a spinster aunt, Mary. And as for you, my darling sister,” Grayson said to Prudence, “I shall thank you to mind your own affairs. This is not your concern.” He’d come here for some relief from his dilemma with the prince and the stifling rules in London, but he found the same judgmental attitudes, the same expectations of a life that was feeling less and less like his own.
“Look here, Christie, look what was just this moment delivered to me,” Mary said, whirling around to a large box. She took off the lid and pulled out a beautiful ivory gown. She held it up to her body and twirled around with it, just as she used to do when she was a girl playing in their mother’s wardrobe. Mary prattled on about the gowns she’d commissioned in excruciating detail.
Grayson tried to listen, but with the exception of Mary, who was blessedly unaware, it was very uncomfortable. Prudence was pouting and Grayson could sense Diana’s bitterness.
He stayed as long as he could bear it. He thought of Brooks, of whiskey, of sanctuary. The moment he could gracefully make his exit, he did. He bid them all a good afternoon, insisted to Mary that she need not see him out, and strode to the foyer, anxious to be on his way. He’d donned his cloak and hat and was fitting his hands into his gloves when he saw Diana from the corner of his eye.
“Your Grace, wait, please,” she said.
Grayson stifled a groan of impatience; he could hardly deny her. There was a footman attending the door, so he gestured across the foyer into a receiving room just off the entrance. “I am sorry,” he said once he’d shut the door behind them. “I would that you had not seen or heard the gossip—”
“I don’t care,” Diana said instantly. “I don’t care even that you’ve been with her—I miss you. I have thought long and hard about our unique situation, and I want you to know that if you have two mistresses, so be it.”
Stunned, Grayson stepped back from her. “Diana! Do you realize what you are saying?”
“What possible difference can it make?” she exclaimed excitedly. “I have a husband and a lover—why shouldn’t you have two lovers?”
“Diana!”
“Please!” she cried, putting her hand on his chest. “I have missed you so, Grayson. I cannot bear your absence.”
Grayson took her hand and removed it from his coat. “You and I both knew from the beginning that our affair could not possibly last,” he said as calmly as he might. “It has come to its inevitable end, Diana. I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have, so I will ask you to please accept that.”
Diana pulled her hand free of his. “She is not what you think,” she said coldly.
Grayson turned away.
“She hails from St. Katharine’s and she is the daughter of a drunkard! She is as baseborn as one might possibly be, and you must know that she is not anyone your family will ever accept.”
“How in God’s name—” Grayson stopped himself from asking how she knew. He wouldn’t prolong this conversation as much as a moment. “It is no concern of yours,” he said angrily.
“If you were married, no one would care,” Diana desperately continued. “But you have not yet produced an heir, Grayson. Your family, and I dare say, society, would never accept a bastard child as your heir.”
Something brittle snapped inside Grayson and he grabbed Diana’s arm. “This is the second time you’ve attempted to tell me what society will or will not accept in my behavior. You were my lover, madam, not my wife. I suggest you go home to your husband and try to deliver the heir he so desperately needs.”
“Bastard!” she spat.
He let go of her arm and strode from the receiving room as his impotent fury raged in his veins.
Chapter Thirty-one
The week after her return from Kitridge Lodge had been one of the worst in Kate’s life, and that in and of itself was remarkable.
In addition to being effectively imprisoned by the prince and her secretly broken heart, Kate received some awful news.
After Fleming’s attack on her, Kate had sent Aldous to Holly with a note, warning her not to open the door to Fleming. She worried Fleming might take his revenge on them. After several days of trying to convince Digby to accompany her into St. Katharine’s to see about the women, he agreed to do so. When Kate arrived there, she found them all snugly resting in their rooms sharing a loaf of bread and some cheese.
“What did ye bring us?” Holly asked excitedly, eyeing Kate’s basket.
“Petits fours,” Kate said, and laughed when they all squealed with delight at once. “And some sundry things,” she added, although no one was listening, as they’d begun to devour the petits fours.
“They are as delicious as always,” Esmeralda said. “They were Meg’s favorite.” She paused. “A pity, isn’t it?”
“Mmm,” Lucy agreed.
“A pity?” Kate asked.
“Don’t ye know, mu’um?” Holly asked, wiping the crumbs from her lips.
“Know what?” Kate asked.
Holly suddenly paled and exchanged a look with Esmeralda.
“She’s gone,” Esmeralda said. “Found drowned in the Thames.”
Kate dropped the candles she’d just taken from her basket.
“Murdered,” Lucy whispered ominously as Esmeralda stooped to pick up the candles.
“Murdered!” Kate exclaimed, choking on the word. “But why? Who?”
“Billy Hopkins is who, if ye ask me,” Adele sniffed. “I told Meg he was a lout, but she’d not listen to me, she never did. She was too fond of her drink, that one, and Billy kept her belly full of it, didn’t he?”
“It’s the devil’s poison,” Esmeralda agreed.
A wave of nausea overcame Kate, and she put a hand to her belly. “What have they done with her?” she asked thickly.
“What they do with all paupers,” Holly said matter-of-factly.
“Oh dear God.” Kate closed her eyes and seemed to melt down onto her haunches, her arms folded tightly against her belly. She tried to banish the image of Meg drowning, of Meg lying cold and wet and dead on the banks of the Thames. As a child, Kate had seen a dead man who had washed up on the banks, and that memory, merging together with Meg’s pretty face in Kate’s mind, was her undoing—she was abruptly sick into a chamber pot.
“Miss Bergeron!” Esmeralda cried, hurrying to help her.
“I am so very sorry,” Kate said shakily. “I can’t bear the news of Meg.”
There was nothing any of them could say to help her feel better. Kate had failed Meg. Meg had failed herself. Another life had been destroyed by the brutality and poverty of St. Katharine’s.
Digby couldn’t console Kate, either. “There is nothing you might have done to prevent it. You know as well as I that Meg wasn’t long for this world,” he said on their way home.
“That’s not true! She might have lived a very long life if I had somehow removed her from this place,” Kate exclaimed, gesturing at the crowded street around them.
“Perhaps, but I suspect Meg would not have gone so easily. She liked men’s attentions. She liked her ale.” Digby put his arm around Kate’s shoulders. “There are some who are destined for this life, and others who are destined to leave it behind.”
“No one is destined for this wretched life, Digby,” Kate said irritably. ‘They are unvoluntarily brought into this world and without anything or anyone to guide them, they can’t leave it.”
“Involuntarily,” he corrected her. “Don’t be so mawkish, love! I know of at least one other person who has left this world but who will be returning shortly.”
Kate jerked her gaze to him. “Jude? It is Jude?”
He smiled broadly. “The ship has reached Deptford. But because of the cargo she carried—and by that I mean slaves—she was not allowed to moor. Another ship is en route to take her cargo, at which point The Princess will come into the West India docks for repairs.”
Kate stared at him, her mind dancing with the image of a fair-haired boy who had followed her about a tiny set of rooms. “Jude is really coming home?”
“I do believe he is.”
With a cry of delight, Kate grabbed Digby’s forearms. “When?”
“No more than a fortnight, I should think. I’ve a man watching at the shipyards. He’ll let me know as soon as she’s given the authority to sail.”
Kate threw her arms around Digby. “Thank you, Digby! This is the best news you possibly might have given me!”
But the happy news of Jude’s potential return did not boost Kate’s spirits for long. Aldous began to worry about her. Losing her lover and the girl Meg all in one week had obviously taken a toll on Kate. Aldous understood it—she was young and, in some respects, woefully inexperienced. She hadn’t understood how deeply a lost love could hurt, and there had never been any question, at least to Aldous, that she would lose her love.
Aldous understood how deep that sort of pain ran— when he’d lost the sea, he’d lost his heart.
That was perhaps the thing that surprised Aldous, for all the time he’d known Kate, she’d been inordinately guarded with her heart. Even he, one of her closest friends, could sense the distance between her and men. But for reasons Aldous would never understand, of all the men who admired her, Kate had allowed the duke into her heart.
It baffled Aldous as to why the duke. Aldous saw nothing special about him. He seemed like all the other men of privilege—arrogant and dismissive. Nor was he particularly handsome. Or even charming, for that matter. Yet Kate had seen something in the duke, and once the prince had discovered their ill-fated affair, Kate had discovered the pain of a broken heart.
She moped about the house, unsmiling, unwilling to talk. And she was dreadfully pale, too. By the end of the week, Aldous threatened to send a note around to the prince demanding a physician be sent to her.
“No!” Kate cried. “No, no, you mustn’t!”
“You are not well, Kate,” Aldous said. “I fear for your health.”
