by Claudia Dain
Kit had, by turns, looked startled, confused, and amused.
“I am to be given such complete control? That will be a new experience.”
“When one goes up to Town, one is assured of new experiences,” Emeline said.
“That is not quite what I said, Emeline,” Mama said.
“Wasn’t it?” Emeline said, staring at Kit. “Something very like it, as I recall.”
Kit twitched his lips against a smile and Emeline’s heart leapt within her bodice. He was not a congenial looking man; he was too Greek godlike for that. Kit had a stern face of sharp lines and angles. His thick curling hair was the only soft part of him. Now, in his coat of blue wool with a military cast to the lamb’s wool collar, he looked quite unbending indeed. But she knew him better than that. Kit had a gift for joy and play that his looks belied.
Would she have loved him if she met him now for the first time, at some formal event of her first Season?
What did it matter? She loved him, had loved him, and would always love him.
She had known and loved the lanky Kit who cuddled puppies and teased Pip at the dining table and carried Harry on his shoulders across the hay fields. She loved the Kit who ignored her, laughed at her, talked with her, and stood in silence beside her. He had to love her in return. He simply must.
“Certainly, when we are alone together, as we are now, we should and must continue on as we have done,” Mrs. Culley said.
“How like you, Mrs. Culley,” Mama said, giving Emeline a hard look. “You may always be relied upon for the gracious gesture.”
“It’s decided then,” Kit said. “Things shall go on as they have done.”
Things were most definitely not going to continue on as they had done. She would make Kit realize that he loved her, somehow. The how of it would come to her. Somehow. It had to. She would not consider a life as anyone other than Kit’s wife.
The problem, and how simple life would have been if there had been only one problem to solve, was that Mrs. Culley had higher aspirations for Kit’s wife than the girl who lived across the village. In everything he did, Kit bowed to his mother’s wish. Yes, of course, Mama wanted a titled gentleman for her, but she, unlike Kit, had the resolve to not bend to every word out of Mama’s mouth. Not every word.
“We were considering the ostrich feathers, Mr. Culley,” Mama said. “Perhaps they would suit for Lady Jordan’s this evening?”
“They may be too bold for me,” Mrs. Culley said.
“Hardly that,” Kit said.
The two older women moved off to discuss ostrich feathers with Madame Lacroix. Emeline snagged Kit by the wool at his wrist and whispered, “How like you to let your mother make all your decisions for you.”
Kit looked down at her, his blue eyes coolly bewildered. “I agree with her. Of course you must continue to call me Kit. Anything else would result in both of us feeling ill at ease.”
“I did not give you permission to speak for me or my feelings,” she said. “I don’t see any indication that you know what I think or what I feel.”
“Certainly, if you don’t want to call me Kit you may call me whatever suits you best.”
“I could not possibly call you the name that suits you best,” she snapped.
“What are you so angry about?”
“The fact that you don’t know is . . .” she stepped away from him to stare out the front window onto the street.
She was too angry at him, the stampede surrounding her drowned every soft noise that whispered she be mild and sweet and docile. Stampedes trounced docility. He was so attuned to his mother and not at all to her. Hadn’t it always been so? Had she expected being in London would change any of that?
“Don’t you like being in Town for the Season?” he asked, his breath just reaching her hair.
She resisted the pull to lean back against him. If they were at home, she might have. Being in London had changed things between them, but not in the way she wanted.
“Of course I like it,” she said. “Why shouldn’t I like it?”
“I didn’t say you shouldn’t like it,” he said.
“Don’t you like it?” she countered. “So many lovely young women to peruse. I don’t know how you find the time to stand about in millinery shops.”
“I was pulled into a millinery shop,” he said, his lips compressing in annoyance. She knew all of Kit’s expressions. She was intimidated by none of them. Entranced, yes. Overawed, no.
“You were summoned by your mother. What else could you do but obey?”
“Over the years, I have always been under the impression that you liked my mother.”
“Of course I like your mother!” she said, twitching in annoyance.
The milliner’s assistant looked over at them. That was nothing.
Mama looked over at them, which was another thing entirely.
“Mr. Culley, your dear mother cannot possibly decide if she can carry the elegance of ostrich feathers without your trusted judgement guiding her. Do come and tell us what you think.”
“Of course she can’t and of course you must,” Emeline breathed.
Kit ignored her and walked across the shop to his mother.
It was a metaphor of their entire relationship and it produced the most profound feeling of hopelessness within her. She had to do something, anything, or nothing would change between them. Kit would bow to his mother’s wishes and marry someone his mother deemed worthy of him. Without the hope of Kit, she would marry someone her mother found acceptable and that would be that.
Something must be done.
If only she knew what.
Kit was already at his mother’s side, mouthing assurances that she could, indeed, and should, most certainly, attempt the ostrich feathers for the musicale at Lady Jordan’s that evening when Lady Eleanor Kirkland entered the shop with Miss Elaine Montford in tow. In tow, most certainly. Eleanor Kirkland pulled all along in her wake, Miss Montford most specifically.
They were all, the three of them, Out this Season, the difference being that Lady Eleanor was the younger daughter of the Marquis of Melverley, a man of a most unsavory reputation, though, as he was a marquis, his reputation did him no harm whatsoever. Even Mama had nothing ill to say about the Marquis of Melverley, and Mama could think of ill things to say about nearly everybody.
How Emeline and Elaine had become caught up in Lady Eleanor’s grasp Emeline had not been able to puzzle out; she supposed that she should be thankful enough that Eleanor bothered with her at all, which was very nearly a direct quote from Mama, but she did wonder at it. Eleanor Kirkland was fast, a condition which almost certainly was a direct result of being her father’s daughter. Lady Eleanor was not ruined, not actually and not even circumstantially, which is why Mama encouraged the connection, but she did travel in fast circles and knew the most sophisticated people in the highest reaches of the ton, another reason why Mama strongly encouraged the connection. Mama was no one’s fool, as Papa liked to say.
“Emeline! I did not imagine we’d find you here,” Lady Eleanor said, her eyes sparkling.
Eleanor Kirkland’s eyes were a very dark blue and they were always sparkling with, if not exactly mischief, a glimmer of audacious action that should have resulted in mischief. That she was the daughter of a marquis most assuredly saved her from actual, documented mischief. Emeline could not have hoped to dare half of what Eleanor proposed over a tepid dish of tea.
“I have been bonnet shopping,” Emeline said, dipping her knee and her head to both Miss Montford and Lady Eleanor. They returned the gestures, all the proprieties maintained. “And now Mrs. Culley is bonnet shopping.”
“Ostrich feathers? Very daring,” Elaine Montford said.
“I am assured she has the bearing to carry them off,” Emeline said, feeling suddenly protective of Mrs. Culley, an absurd sensation.
“I think one must be quite regal to carry ostrich feathers,” Elaine said, casting a casual eye upon Mrs. Culley. Mrs. Cull
ey was tallish for a woman and she had quite a nice bust.
“I think a woman should wear whatever it is which makes her feel regal, and then she will appear regal to all who see her,” Eleanor said. Only the daughter of a marquis could make such a circular argument and make it sound triumphantly true.
“Do you wear ostrich feathers?” Emeline asked.
“Lady Jordan will not allow it,” Eleanor said. “She determines that I am too young and too ungainly for them.”
Lady Jordan was Eleanor’s aunt and chaperone, and a more slipshod chaperone would have been difficult to conjure. It was for this reason that Louisa, Eleanor’s older married sister, was also something of a chaperone. Also, all the many brothers of Louisa’s husband, and the male cousins of Louisa’s husband. Louisa Kirkland marrying Henry Blakesley had resulted in quite a lot of chaperones for Eleanor. Eleanor did not seem to mind in the slightest. Emeline would have minded greatly. A pile of chaperones would never have allowed her the free access to Kit that she had enjoyed until coming to Town.
“I don’t think you ungainly,” Elaine said loyally.
Emeline resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Eleanor Kirkland was slight and slim and fairly elfish in appearance. She had dark red hair and her fair skin was heavily dotted with freckles. She was no beauty. She did, however, have an engaging way about her. She was also the daughter of a marquis. Eleanor had nothing to worry about upon the Marriage Mart.
“Oh, I am,” Eleanor said, “but I hope to outgrow it. Louisa was ungainly and far too tall, and then she wasn’t. It happens that way with girls. I suspect the same will happen to me.” And if it didn’t, who would complain with the dowry the marquis was settling upon her? “Is that Mr. Culley?”
The three girls turned their eyes upon Kit. Emeline didn’t like it one bit. Eleanor was just the sort of girl that Mrs. Culley wanted for her son.
“It is,” Emeline said. “He is helping his mother with her selection.”
“How very agreeable of him,” Elaine said, making Kit sound the veriest bore.
“He is a very devoted son,” Emeline said, making it sound complimentary.
“And those are not thick upon the ground,” Eleanor said, making it sound quite insulting, as if Kit were some vile deviant of proper male etiquette.
“I suppose not,” Emeline said. “She quite depends upon him. She has long been a widow.”
“How lovely of him,” Elaine said.
Everything Elaine Montford said sounded like an insult to Kit. Emeline did not know what was wrong with her; Elaine did not even know Kit.
“Will you make the introductions?” Eleanor said.
And, of course, one did not refuse the daughter of a marquis, not when one was in the first steps of one’s first Season.
“Of course,” Emeline said, leading the way across the shop. It was not a very large shop; it was not impossible that Mrs. Culley, Kit, and Mama had heard nearly every word of their exchange. Even every other word would have been mortifying. Emeline had learned from an early age not to mention Kit much in Mama’s hearing. If Mama suspected that she was violently in love with Kit, the connection would have been promptly severed. “Mr. Christopher Culley and Mrs. Culley, Lady Eleanor Kirkland. I believe you have previously met Miss Elaine Montford.”
The bows and curtseys were performed, Kit looking rakishly godlike throughout. He might be tied rather too tightly to his mother’s strings, but he didn’t look the part.
“Lady Eleanor,” Kit said, his voice a soothing rumble, “it is a delight to make your acquaintance. Miss Montford.” He bowed. “Your names are hardly strange to me as Emeline has told me something of your adventures.”
“Adventures?” Mama said. “I was aware only of tea taken at Miss Montford’s and a chaperoned walk through the more populated areas of Hyde Park.”
Kit had used the word on purpose, she was certain of it. It was a revenge for her making comments about his mother, or more to the point, his attachment to his mother.
“With the proper company, even Hyde Park can seem an adventure,” Eleanor said, her dark blue eyes sparkling as they always did. Mama seemed slightly settled by that sparkle. Emeline supposed that it was too late in life for her to learn how to sparkle Mama into compliance. “I am so delighted that I have made the proper friends this Season, Mrs. Harlow. I would so hate for any of us to have a dull Season.”
A dull Season, defined as a Season without at least one solid offer of marriage, was Mama’s personal nightmare.
“Of course a dull Season would be the worst of outcomes,” Mama said.
“I hardly think that the three of you should fear to suffer such a fate,” Kit said.
“Oh? Do we look adventurous to you, Mr. Culley?” Eleanor asked.
“Of course my son did not mean to imply any insult,” Mrs. Culley said.
“I should take it as a compliment, Mrs. Culley,” Eleanor said. “I have always wanted to be thought adventurous.”
“Then I find you very adventurous, indeed,” Kit said.
This was far too much for Emeline. They sounded moments away from posting the bans.
“Yes, I suppose some might find taking tea to be an adventure,” Emeline said. She stared at Kit as she said it.
“Not quite of the homeric standard,” Eleanor said.
“But then, Homer did not sacrifice his ink on tales of women,” Elaine said.
“You’ve read Homer, Miss Montford?” Kit asked.
“Yes, though only one book,” Elaine answered. “I don’t suppose I should admit that, should I? It’s likely not the sort of thing a . . . ” and here she trailed off, clearly realizing that it was not the thing to admit to being on the Marriage Mart, even if it were quite, quite obvious to everyone.
“It’s quite an adventurous thing,” Eleanor said. “I think it quite wonderful of you to admit to Homer. I wish I had read Homer. I’ve only read Shakespeare and Fielding.”
“I can claim Moliere,” Emeline said.
“Emeline!” Mama said.
Kit smiled.
“It’s the truth. Should I deny it?”
“Deny it, no, but it’s also not necessary to admit it without provocation,” Mama said.
“Oh? Was I not being provoked? How stupid of me. I thought that’s exactly what I was being,” Emeline said.
Kit grinned, his teeth showing white against his lips.
“I don’t suppose you read your Homer in Greek, Miss Montford?” Kit said.
She was being provoked, most definitely.
“What answer will make me sound most adventurous, Mr. Culley?” Elaine said, smiling at Kit, as if she had every right to do so.
“On the original scrolls, I should think,” Emeline said.
Eleanor laughed. Kit stared at her. Mama scowled. Elaine kept her tongue behind her teeth. All in all, a most satisfying moment.
“Rather too bookish, I should think,” Mama said, “but, of course, Mrs. Montford will be the best judge of what you should reveal whilst in Town, Miss Montford.”
Mama was quite remarkably good at the most cordial sounding set-downs. She had made not only Elaine Montford look spectacularly lacking, but had thrown doubt upon Mrs. Montford’s parenting skills. It was in moments such as these that Emeline felt that Mama truly did deserve to have an earl or marquis in her immediate family circle.
“Yes, that is certainly true, Mrs. Harlow,” Elaine said. “I will, of course, follow my mother’s every word of wise counsel.”
Emeline struggled to suppress a chuckle. Elaine Montford was also quite adept at the cordial insult. It was a most impressive and useful talent during the London Season.
Mama clenched her jaw. Eleanor sparkled. Mrs. Culley frowned and looked most uncomfortable. Kit compressed his lips, something he always did whenever he was trying not to laugh.
Emeline caught his eye, he would not do anything so convenient as bother to try and catch her eye, and they shared a moment of silent amusement. Then his mother broke into
the moment, as usual, and said, “Christopher, do let’s get home and take our tea. I do so want to be at my best tonight for Lady Jordan.”
“How lovely to know that we shall meet again so soon,” Eleanor said. “I do hope we may continue our conversation on Homer, or was it Moliere?”
No one answered. No one dared.
Emeline was caught up in Mama’s grip, Kit in his mother’s firm grasp, Miss Montford and Lady Eleanor lingering in the milliner’s, casually perusing ostrich feathers. If there was anyone who was capable of defying her chaperone, it was Lady Eleanor. The daughter of a marquis could get away with anything.
“I think you are too young to marry.”
Kit looked at his mother and continued to stir his tea.
“Then why am I in Town for the Season?”
“It was a mistaken idea of mine. I think hearing Mrs. Harlow speak so often about Emeline having her Season, the hopes she holds for Emeline to make a stellar match, put the thought in my mind.”
“You seemed very certain.” Kit laid aside his spoon.
His mother took a sip of her tea and sighed, looking out the front window onto the street. “Mrs. Harlow is so very certain of everything. It is difficult not to become caught up in her certainties.”
Kit nodded. How true that was. Just look at Emeline, all set to marry whomever showed the slightest interest in her just because her mother had decided it was time for her to marry.
“She is so very certain Emeline will marry this Season?” he asked. The thought was a cold knot in his throat.
“Perhaps not marriage, but a betrothal, certainly. Mrs. Harlow has her heart set upon an earl, at the very least. For myself, I think she is over-reaching. Emeline is a nice looking girl, but nothing spectacular. As her dowry is not spectacular, I think she would do well to achieve a well-established gentleman of good family.”
Such as he.
No, not such as he.
He was not interested in marrying Emeline Harlow. He had spent his childhood mucking about in streams with her. One did not marry a girl one had seen barelegged and muddy to her knees.
