When she returned to the house Mrs. Hopkins announced with a dour look that there were no calling cards from any earls on the foyer tray. The day before he had not called either. He had given up, and quite swiftly at that, which was for the best. Kitty wondered how a man could switch his affections from one woman to another with such ease. Certainly if she were a gentleman she would now be at her club, deep in her cups, and likely to remain so for many weeks to come.
But Lambert had taught her that men were a different sort of creature, a sort she would never understand. And anyway if she were a man she would not be where she was now, wishing to be deep in her cups and happy to remain so forever but unfortunately without that recourse to grief.
Chapter 25
“Wouldn’t you rather leave that bottle to me, old man?”
Leam’s boot tips bumped the edge of the sideboard. Hefting the crystal decanter, he set it unsteadily to the rim of his glass, then lifted the glass and took a long swallow before swinging his gaze to the Welshman at the parlor door.
“Welcome tae share it. Plenty more in the cellar.” He shuffled back to his chair before the hearth.
Through half-lidded eyes he glanced at the page of foolscap on the table beside him.
Yale sauntered over and took up a glass. “I cannot recall the last time I saw you disguised.”
“S’ time ago.” Leam shifted his gaze into the flames, the smoke curling into his senses. Outside it might be daytime, but the curtains were drawn and he was dead drunk. Finally, after ten days. Drunk as an emperor. In the gun, with no intention of ever climbing out again.
Yale took a seat across from him. He sipped. “Fine year.”
Leam grunted.
“What’s this?” The Welshman picked up the paper. He made a sound under his breath. “Hm.
Chamberlayne is freed from all guilt, and his rebel son too. Did you have a hand in it?”
“They needed hard proof. I found it.” He’d spent the past sennight in every hellhole in London, not to mention a dozen clubs, hounding down the owners of that ship. Through contacts he and his solicitor had made at Lloyd’s while searching for Cox, he met with success. “Cargo wasn’t anything of note.”
“Not British tactical secrets after all?”
Leam shook his head. “Just contraband. Illegal goods. Home Office’s informant at Newcastle Upon Tyne was getting a cut o the profit.”
“Ah. And he tried to cover up the operation with alarmist talk of Scottish rebels and French spies?
Clever of him. More clever of you to have unearthed it. ” Yale paused. “And here I thought you had quit.”
He’d quit now. The man soon to be Kitty’s stepfather was now fully exonerated.
He tilted a glance at his friend. “Come tae convince me tae stay?”
Yale regarded him steadily. “I have come to help, of course.”
“As ye did when ye dragged her into this business?”
“You are foxed. Usually I’m the one that must introduce the lady into conversation.”
Leam closed his eyes.
“There’s no help for it.” He sounded exhausted. He hadn’t slept in days. For years he’d thought himself a widower. Now he was a husband, he’d made Kitty an adulteress, and she would not see him.
Drink seemed the only option. Probably until death.
“There must be something we can do,” Yale murmured.
He shook his head, passing his hand across his stubbled jaw and blinking, but his vision would not clear. Good. Let it remain foggy forevermore.
“Parents support her story,” he muttered. “Been safe in the companionship of a bloodhound of an Italian duenna. A Catholic no less. Lived in a convent.”
“Don’t tell me she became a nun!”
Leam swung his gaze to his friend. “If ye find my life’s tragedy amusing, Yale, feel free to leave nou. Won’t mind a’tall.”
“You have entirely lost your sense of humor. In the abysmals, indeed.”
He had lost his heart. One in the same.
“I’ve no grounds for divorcing her, even were I such a man to do so. She’s not been unfaithful.”
Yale did not reply.
“She wants tae go home.”
“To her parents’?”
“Alvamoor.”
“To see young Jamie,” the Welshman murmured. “Will you allow it?”
Leam ran his hands up his face and sank them into his hair. “I canna bear the thought o it.”
“Then we must devise an alternative.”
Leam shifted his gaze up. “Frae where comes the optimism?”
Yale stood. “Frankly, I cannot bear to see you like this. Neither can Constance.”
“Did someone say my name?” His cousin sailed into the chamber, the scent of white roses attending her. Leam had never noticed the scent she wore. Before knowing Kitty, he’d noticed precious little of anything pleasing or colorful. He’d been cold. Asleep. Now he was awake, alive, smelling and hearing and seeing everything, and he wanted it all cold again. All gray. But the grayness was like her eyes, and so even in his fantasies of reclaiming living death she haunted him.
His cousin kissed him on the cheek, then moved away to perch on a chair. “You wish to see Lady Katherine, don’t you?”
As he’d never wished for anything else. But she had been wise in refusing his calls. He had nothing to say to her save those declarations that his wedding vows now made dishonorable.
“Aye.” He wished to see her and touch her and have her as his own. And now he could not.
But he could still protect her. Tomorrow when he regained his sobriety and wits, he would redouble his efforts to find the fox that hadn’t yet come out of his hiding hole. Cox.
“Then listen to this gossip.” Constance leaned in. “The dowager Lady Savege and her daughter are expected at Lady Beaufetheringstone’s ball tonight. I heard it from the dowager herself, via two other ladies, of course.”
Leam’s head came up. “A ball?”
“Lord and Lady B. You were invited.”
Momentarily his vision became crystal clear. He mustn’t go. It would not do either of them any good.
Constance surveyed his appearance. “Lady B is exceptional ton. You will have to tidy yourself up.
Would you like to escort me?”
“Aye.”
As soon as they stepped onto the landing, he scanned the crowded ballroom as he had nearly a fortnight earlier, searching. Constance drew her hand from him and leaned close.
“Good luck,” she whispered, and left him on the step.
Despite the crowd, he found Kitty swiftly. Surrounded by friends, elegant, intelligent people, she appeared perfectly at ease. Her gown shimmered, soft gray and sparkling through some artifice that on her seemed like stardust, revealing her graceful shoulders and beautiful curves. Her hair was dressed simply with diamond-studded combs. She was exquisite, and she deserved everything he could not give her, and more.
He went forward, ignoring the stares and titters. He had not been out in society since Cornelia’s return. He did not plan on being so for longer than the moments it would require to speak to Kitty. Not long enough.
She turned and looked directly at him. Her wide, thundercloud eyes were not clear, but tinted with pink, delicate smudges of gray nesting beneath them. She looked thin—too thin—as though she had been ill, yet she held her chin high.
She moved from her cluster of friends straight to him.
“I had hoped you would not seek me out in public,” she said quietly as soon as she stood before him. “I thought you had given up and I was glad of it.” Her full lips were a line.
His mouth was dry. The orchestra lilted, a waltz, by God. Only one out of ten households allowed the dance, and of all the houses in London this should be one of them. Fate tormented at every turn.
“Dance with me.”
“No.” Her eyelids flickered. “I mean to say, thank you, my lord, but I do not care to dance.”
&
nbsp; “Allow me to hold you, Kitty, in the only manner in which I am permitted now.” It was wrong. He knew it and she did.
But she allowed it. On the floor he took her into his arms, and her touch, even so slight, bore into him the fire beneath her cool exterior. Her gaze fixed over his shoulder.
“Perhaps if you simply say to me what you wish to say we shall be able to get it out of the way,” she murmured. “As long as it is not an apology I will hear it. I do not believe I could bear an apology.”
For what could he apologize? For falling in love with her? For not having wed her instantly when he realized he was in love? Then their situation might have been entirely public now.
No. “No apology.”
“Well, that is a small relief.” For a moment she said nothing. “Will you tell me about Mr. Cox?”
She did not allow him the clasp of her fingers, only her gloved palm, her other hand holding the train of her gown. But through his palm upon her back he could feel the rush of her heat and beat of her heart. He would remember her shape and texture and the sweet thrum of life within her forever.
“Cox believes I possess something that belongs to him. I must assume he followed me to Shropshire in order to retrieve it, and he threatened you to ensure that I would return to London and give it to him. But as yet he has not come forward and I have not been able to find him.”
A muscle in his jaw contracted and Kitty knew this had been a mistake. She wanted to drink in his face, to touch his skin and feel again his heartbeat next to hers. She was not made for such teasing.
She would go to the country, at least as long as he lived in London. She could not continually meet him in society. But Serena would soon have her baby. She must remain for that. Then she would escape.
“I understand you were instrumental in freeing Lord Chamberlayne from all suspicion,” she said, casting her gaze away from the hollow planes and hardness of his face, the dark, feeling eyes she loved. “Thank you for that.”
He looked at her in the manner he had beneath the trees at Willows Hall, and her breath thinned.
“In any case,” she made herself say, “they are to be wed shortly, and everybody in my family is quite gay about the prospect. Unfortunately his son is not able to attend, although it is probably for the best that he does not come to London at this time, all things considered. Not knowing the whole story, my mother is somewhat disappointed. It seems that on the request of his father, he sent down from Scotland a beautiful silver necklace that Lord Chamberlayne then gave my mother as a gift at Christmas—” Her voice fumbled. She found her tongue, but Leam’s jaw had gone hard. “My mother is determined to thank him for his thoughtfulness in person, and hopes this summer to travel—”
“Kitty, I must ask you to cease this.” His voice was rough.
“Don’t, Leam. I must talk about inanities. Otherwise I will be obliged to leave you in the middle of the set. I would rather not make a scene, and as everyone is gossiping about you already I prefer not to draw attention to myself. But you asked and—” She dropped her gaze to the ground. “This was a remarkably bad idea.”
“Kitty—”
“Lord Chamberlayne gave that necklace to my mother out of affection. My father gave his mistress an amethyst necklace and earrings. She still wears those amethysts. Apparently she keeps them as a token.” She spoke swiftly to block the tears rising in her throat. “Because that is what we do.
We carry tokens of affection close to us, like your brother carrying your portrait onto the battlefield.
Even Mr. Cox said he always kept a cameo of his—”
“Kitty, stop.”
“I do not wish to carry around tokens of your affection, Leam. I do not wish anything from you any longer.” Except everything. “If you have sought me out in the hope that I might—”
“No. I would never ask that of you.”
“I am now going to make a scene.” She blinked rapidly, pulling out of his hold, and pushed her way through the other dancers, then the clusters of people beside the dance floor. She made it to the foyer before the first tears fell, but they would persist in coming against her will, and she hadn’t time to wait for her cloak. Into the cold she went, alone, seeking her carriage in the crush of vehicles along the block, the target of stares and muted whispers. But she didn’t mind those; they had been her closest companions for years.
Kitty slept, weary in every crevice of her body. But before dawn she awoke, her mind abruptly whirling.
Mr. Cox believed Leam possessed something of his so precious that he was willing to hurt her to retrieve it, but now he was playing hide and seek and refusing to come out into the open. Speaking of him with Leam had jogged her memory of Mr. Cox demanding that Mr. Milch help him find a valuable lost object. It seemed outrageously far-fetched, but Kitty believed she had seen that object.
She had complimented young Ned on it.
She lit a candle, went to her escritoire and pulled out two sheets of paper, one blank foolscap, the other her monogrammed stationery. When she had finished both missives, she sealed them and gave them to John with precise instructions.
Emily’s reply arrived before Kitty finished breakfast.
Dear Kitty, To your request—of course! Clarice is honored you asked. She will be ready promptly Thursday at one o’clock. I do wish I could go as well, but Papa is making a terrible stink about a visit I made last week to the London docks without a footman or maid. Mama will not leave my side now, and since she does not much like Clarice, this is perhaps the perfect moment for your journey.
You must tell me all the details on your return. Until then, of course, I shan’t breathe a word of it, even were the entire Roman army to insist.
Fondly, Boadicea Apparently Emily had chosen her new name. A Celtic princess who rebelled against the Roman Empire was at least as scandalously impressive as a guillotined French queen. Kitty smiled, but the sensation felt alien on her lips.
On the following day, the wedding day, Lord Chamberlayne arrived during lunch and met with her mother in private. When they emerged the dowager’s face was paler, but her hand rested snug in his elbow.
“Kitty,” he said, his light eyes softly relieved. “I have told your mother all.”
A breath of relief escaped her. “Mama, I am so sorry I kept this from you.”
The dowager came to her and set her fingertips to Kitty’s cheek.
“My dear, I am grateful you had the courage to see it through.”
She accepted her mother’s embrace.
Later she donned a gown of modest blue and attended her mother at her wedding. It was a small affair, only family and closest friends. Kitty put on smiles, wished her mother and stepfather happy, and fell into bed exhausted from her pretense.
In the morning she saw her mother and stepfather off in Lord Chamberlayne’s carriage to Brighton, where the newlyweds were to spend a sennight’s wedding holiday while Kitty finally moved into her brother’s house down the street.
She returned to her bedchamber to pack, then wrote a note and instructed John to deliver it to her brother and Serena once she had departed. John frowned in obvious disapproval. But Mrs. Hopkins seemed content with the subterfuge, and Monsieur Claude packed a cold supper to be eaten on the road.
In front of the Vales’ Berkeley Square house, Madame Roche climbed into the carriage and fell back onto the facing seat with a grand sigh.
“L’aventure! Lady Katrine, I commend you.”
“Thank you for coming with me, Madame. You are very kind to do so.” She was quite abandoned in terms of body and heart, but at least the Frenchwoman’s company would lend some propriety to her journey.
The carriage pulled away from the curb and Madame Roche arranged her filmy garments about her. “As there is no snow, we shall return within the fortnight, non?”
“Depending on the state of the roads.” She wished she were never returning. She wished, like the last time she had taken to the road, she were running away toward a
n adventure she had never imagined.
Throat tight, she turned to the window.
“Mon Dieu, but you are thin as a straw. You must eat, belle Katrine, to support the strength.”
“I haven’t the stomach for it lately, I’m afraid.”
“It is very sad, this news of the wife.” The Frenchwoman made a sort of spitting sound, then her red lips pursed, black eyes assessing. “But what does he do about le bébé?”
Kitty shook her head, an aching in the pit of her belly now. “What baby?” Was Lady Blackwood increasing? Was it another man’s? Was that why she had returned? Or…? No. Kitty could not think the other possibility. He could not have pretended his shock at seeing his wife for the first time in the park that day, and otherwise it was too soon for such a thing.
Her stomach churned. Oh, God, she must not dwell on him and his wife together.
“Ce bébé, la! ” Madame Roche pointed to Kitty’s lap. Kitty looked down and saw only her hands resting on her queasy stomach.
In an instant a sickening flush spread from her throat to her entire body. She struggled for breath.
“This baby?” she uttered.
Dear God, how naïve she was. How foolish. She had never imagined. Never questioned. She had believed—
“You cannot eat, ma petite says to me.” Madame Roche shook her head. “But you sleep tout le temps of the day, non?”
Kitty gaped. She had watched Serena go through this in her early months. Even uninstructed in matronly matters, she ought to have known. Instead she had attributed her illness to misery.
Swift, prickly panic swept through her. Then, twining with the panic, something else. Something warm and rich.
Elation.
She gripped the seat and tried to breathe. To think. But no thoughts would come, only feelings.
There were no tears left to cry, and anyway she no longer wished to. She pressed back into the soft squabs and closed her eyes. The carriage’s rocking made her ill, but now she did not fight it.
He had been right to mistrust her assurances. And she had never been happier and more terrified in her entire life.
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