Stirring Passions

by Maggi Andersen

  "How can you do that, Laurie?” Kate said, doubting the wisdom of it. “Lord Firth will never allow it."

  Laurie mounted his horse and grinned at her. “I'll think of a way."

  "I wish you wouldn't, Laurie.” Kate was torn between desire for a friendly face in London and discouraging him. “Most certainly not if it gets you into trouble."

  Laurie kicked his horse into a canter and took off down the avenue. “I say, you are becoming a scold in your old age, Kat,” he threw over his shoulder. “I'm determined to witness the hit you'll be at Almacks."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Three

  Kate's first social engagement was a dance at the assembly rooms in Canterbury.

  "This is an excellent introduction to society for you, Kate love,” said her mother, “before you go off to London."

  Kate wore her first ball gown, unadorned white muslin with cap sleeves and a scooped neck. The housemaid, Sarah-Kate's father kept only a small staff at Roseheath-dressed her hair in the latest, Grecian style. “Your natural curls are perfect for this, Miss Katherine,” Sarah murmured, as she coaxed ringlets around her finger, letting them fall to frame Kate's face.

  "You look quite charming, my love,” her mother said proudly, clasping her pearls around Kate's neck. “Simplicity is by far the best foil for a young woman."

  At the assembly rooms, Kate was soon swamped by friendly faces. She joined in with half a dozen enthusiastic couples to form a set for a country-dance, partnered by the solicitor's son, Samuel. It took ages to complete and Samuel stomped on her feet more than once, but it allowed Kate to chat to everyone as the groups formed and re-formed, from bottom to top.

  Several dances later, when Kate sat thirstily drinking a glass of lemonade beside a potted palm, a hush came over the gathering. Jason Broughton strolled through the door, elegantly dressed in black evening clothes, his hair brushed into the ‘Brutus'. A ruby pin glowed from the snowy folds of his cravat. After a pause, several women pushed their husband's forward, wishing an introduction to their daughters in what Kate thought a deplorably toad-eating fashion.

  "There's Lord Broughton,” her friend, Alice Berry hissed in her ear. “I heard Papa tell Mamma that he almost killed a man in a duel. I'll wager it was a matter of the heart."

  Alice had a fondness for her brother's colorful expressions. Kate nodded in Alice's direction. Turning back, she was surprised to see that after chatting briefly with those he knew and those who commanded his attention, Lord Broughton was making his way to her side. At that point, Alice was whisked away to dance with her brother-in-law and Kate was left alone.

  "Miss Kilgarth, it's nice to find you here,” Lord Broughton said in a dry tone that made Kate feel he was bemused by them all. “I'd resigned myself to a dull evening.” Kate studied his face. His manner always made her feel unsure of herself. She'd never met anyone like him. His years in Paris, she supposed, had made him quite unlike the country folk of a small, English village.

  "We are not so dull as all that, Lord Broughton,” she replied.

  "Ah. No. That sounded rude. And certainly not you, Kate,” he said. His enigmatic gray eyes studied her. “You look very well, this evening."

  "Thank you."

  A gleam appeared in his eyes. “Although you were quite fetching with that willow frond in your hair and with your lips kissed ... by blackberries."

  He had seen the kiss. Was it a challenge? She lifted her chin. “I'm just a country girl, Lord Broughton. I know you are at home in Parisian society. I'm aware of the brilliance of the repartee to be heard there. It is much too clever for me."

  "Oh, I think not, Miss Kilgarth,” he said unsteadily, “but I accept your reprimand and apologize again. It is I who am being boorish. Perhaps you could forgive me enough to save me the waltz? Or have one of the eager young bucks already claimed it?"

  As the few young men who bothered to make an appearance at the dance were more intent on playing cards, there remained a blank space beside the waltz. Kate felt suddenly nervous, wondering if she was good enough, but before she could debate the question, the decision was made for her. After studying the card from over her shoulder, he reached across and pointed. ‘I see you still have the waltz free. Were you saving it for someone?'

  "No...."

  He looked around the room. “I don't see young Wexley. Is he here?"

  "Viscount Wexley has returned to Cambridge,” she replied icily. “I don't waltz, Lord Broughton."

  "I'm sure you will make an exception this time, for me."

  He had neatly cornered her. To refuse him now would be rude and would bring censure from her mother, who was watching closely, she knew. “I'd be honoured, my Lord,” she said, writing his name beside the dance.

  "Thank you, Miss Kilgarth.” Lord Broughton bowed gracefully and left her alone to ponder why he wished to dance with her. She watched as Clara Green and her mother claimed his attention. She had heard Clara's gown discussed at length in whispered indignation. It seemed an unfair advantage to the lesser-endowed girls and those whose mothers demanded a more modest style of dress. Cut scandalously low, Clara's ample bosom heaved alarmingly as she fluttered her eyelashes up at Lord Broughton and simpered behind her fan.

  By the time the musicians struck up in waltz time, Kate had decided that Lord Broughton was merely fulfilling what society required of him.

  He appeared at her side. “I do enjoy a dance, Miss Kilgarth. Do not you?"

  She nodded, feeling strangely breathless as he took her in his arms. He ignored the general fashion of just touching and placed a firm hand at her waist. He turned her expertly as they sailed gracefully around the room. Kate felt as light as a dove's feather. It was much easier to dance with him than it had been with Laurie, who always ended up stumbling over her feet and collapsing into laughter. As the room spun, her gaze alighted briefly on her mother's smiling countenance, until she was too dizzy to look anywhere but shyly up into his face. The beleaguered expression she had seen in his eyes vanished as he smiled down at her.

  When the dance ended, he bowed. “That was delightful,” he said formally, the sparkle fading from his eyes. She thought his shoulders slumped as he made his way to the door, saying goodnight to those around him. It had been the last dance of the evening. The musicians began packing up and everyone was rushing to don bonnets, cloaks, and pelisses. Through the open doorway, rain began to fall.

  "Did you enjoy your first waltz, my pet?” her mother asked on the way home in the carriage.

  "Oh, it was lovely, Mamma,” Kate answered, leaning her head against her mother's shoulder. Lord Broughton was proving to be a fascinating addition to their small village. As she gazed out at the black night and pelting rain, she was quite sure that nothing in London could be quite as eventful as her first dance.

  * * * *

  Rising late the next morning, Kate opened the door to find a spaniel huddled on the doorstep.

  "Hello, girl! You must be Lord Broughton's lost dog. And very hungry I'll bet. Come to the kitchen.” Kate made sure the dog followed her around the back of the house where she implored cook to give her water and a meaty bone to chew.

  For some reason, Kate felt the need to take a little extra time with her hair and dressed in her spotted muslin before taking the dog back to Broughton Hall. Securing the animal with a long piece of twine, she began her trek over the fields. She picked some white snowdrops and tucked them into her sash before clambering over a sty. In a stop, start, process, as the dog sniffed here and there, they made their way towards the woods that spread over the hills at the rear of the great house. Kate was enjoying herself. It was a warm spring day and the daffodils were coming out, nodding their bright heads in the soft breeze.

  She entered the woods, finding them dark and so overgrown they were almost impenetrable. It would have been wiser, perhaps, to have taken the road. Thorns caught at her dress and she had to stop to untangle them, afraid they would tear the delicate material.
The spaniel's fur stood on end and she began to growl. “What's the matter, girl?” Kate asked, bending down to give her a pat. A squirrel probably, she thought uneasily. Ahead, a flock of pheasants flew into the air, squawking. Kate stopped, her heart beating fast. Laughing at herself, she continued on. She knew there were large numbers of pheasants and other game birds in the woods. It had been left undisturbed for years. Foxes, too, more than likely. The dog whined and propped, digging her paws into the ground. Kate pulled hard on the rope and coaxed her in a soft voice. She had to kneel down and stroke the dog to settle her before she got her moving again. When she rose, she gazed uneasily at the splashes of mud on her dress. “Come on, Girl,” she cried, losing her patience.

  It grew lighter. Kate walked across a carpet of bluebells and out into the welcome sunlight. She stopped. Broughton Hall sat on the next rise, its warm herringbone brick almost completely covered in ivy, its beauty marred by the scarred and blackened west wing. The dog lifted its nose to the breeze. Home was near. She took off, pulling Kate through nettles and undergrowth, along a path where moss-covered statues loomed from shrubbery in desperate need of trimming. They emerged from the bushes and Kate found herself in the front of the magnificent old manor house. It had been lived in for the past one hundred fifty years by Lord Broughton's descendants. She had never been inside, but had heard her mother talk of its fine works of art, its furniture crafted from oak, walnut and mahogany, its tapestries and porcelain.

  Kate took a deep breath. The air was filled with the scent of roses and freshly cut grass. A broad carriageway, bordered by an avenue of elms, circumnavigated the smooth stretch of newly scythed lawns.

  She had barely stepped out onto the gravel when a voice called to her. Turning, she saw Lord Broughton striding towards her, his face looking like thunder.

  "What the deuce were you doing, coming through the Homewood? I thought we'd agreed you would not cross my lands again."

  At this moment, the spaniel emerged from a clump of bushes and rushed to her master's side. Kate let the lead go as the dog, tongue lolling, placed its muddy paws on his thighs. “I believe that is your dog, Lord Broughton,” she said coolly.

  His expression softened as he stroked the dog's velvet head. “I thank you for bringing her to me, Miss Kilgarth,” he replied. “She's not used to her new surrounds as yet.” He straightened. “My rudeness is unforgivable. Please allow me to drive you home."

  "No, thank you, my lord.” Kate had had quite enough of the unpredictable Lord Broughton. “I enjoy walking."

  "Then I'll escort you to the front gates, Miss Kilgarth."

  "Please don't bother.” Kate was off down the drive before he could reply. She knew his over-excited dog would make it difficult for him should he decide to the follow her. She didn't look back.

  Kate walked in the door to find her mother frowning and tapping her foot. “Look at your gown! Katherine Kilgarth, did you take that dog back to Lord Broughton on your own? You are not a schoolroom miss any longer. I will not have you compromising your future with such rash actions. One more display of disobedience and you shall not go to London."

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter Four

  Kate's trip to her aunt in London pushed all thoughts of Lord Broughton from her mind. Aunt Abbey lived in a large house next to Hyde Park on Park Lane, a childless widow Kate found to be very set in her ways. The curtains remained closed in the daytime, casting a depressing gloom over the rooms. The drawing room mirrors and her uncle's framed likeness were draped in black cloth. Her aunt herself was draped in black from head to foot, in full mourning. She never left the house without a black veil covering her face.

  The melancholic surroundings of her new home didn't stifle Kate's irrepressible nature. She rushed to check the post every morning as invitations flowed in for balls and routs. The date of her first appearance at Almacks quickly drew near. They made many sojourns to dressmakers and the shops in Bond Street and Regent Street before Aunt Abbey felt satisfied that Kate had lost her countrified image.

  The night of her first dance, Kate gazed at her reflection in the mirror. Pulling the satin gloves high up her arms, she had to agree with Aunt Abbey's judgment. Her long hair was piled up into a bun and dressed with ribbons. Her aunt's diamond pendant nestled in the low neck of her white silk gown and more diamonds dangled from her ears. She felt sure she had taken on more than a hint of ‘town bronze'.

  Kate was pursued for every dance. In her cheerless way, Aunt Abbey seemed pleased. “You've made a good impression, Katherine,” she said.

  Sitting beside her aunt as the evening grew to a close, a familiar voice whispered in Kate's ear. “You do look a treat, Kat! I hardly recognized you."

  "Laurie!” Oddly, she had been feeling a tiny bit homesick and was delighted to see his friendly face. She introduced him to her aunt.

  "I've heard quite a bit about you, Laurence,” Aunt Abbey said smiling. “I'm being beckoned by Lady Jersey and I must comply. I'll leave you two young things together."

  Kate watched, pleased, as her aunt walked away with a sprightly step. She had discarded her black garb for a smart, plum-colored gown. Kate turned to lay her gloved hand on Laurie's arm. “I can't talk for very long. I have the next dance with Lord Dalgleish. Have you your father's permission to come down?"

  "Don't worry, Kat. Father knows I'm here. I'm returning to Cambridge in the morning."

  Relieved, Kate asked, “Where do you stay?"

  "Firth House. Father has come up to sort out Grandmother's affairs. I guess we don't get to dance together,” he said, eyeing her full dance card.

  "If I'd known, Laurie, I would have saved you some. Look, there's Lady Sally Pool. I could introduce you. I think you'll like her. Perhaps she has a dance free."

  "She's not you, Kat."

  Kate grabbed his sleeve. “Come on."

  Sally was a quiet girl with serious brown eyes. Kate liked her. They'd had an interesting conversation about Napoleon.

  As she danced with Lord Dalgleish, Kate looked over at Laurie, dancing with Sally. They managed to keep up quite a conversation despite the rigours of the dance. She saw that her hours of tutelage had come to fruition. Laurie made a good appearance on the dance floor, surprisingly graceful in fact. When had he filled out so? His shoulders looked quite broad in that coat.

  As Lord Dalgleish returned her to her seat, he screwed in his pince-nez and studied her, quite rudely she thought, as if inspecting a horse. “You're a fine looking gel, Miss Kilgarth. Your father is an Irishman I believe ... a country doctor...?” His voice faded. He removed the glass and waved it languidly back and forth.

  "Yes. A very good doctor, Lord Dalgleish."

  "Mm. Pity. You may triumph despite it."

  "I beg your pardon!” Kate gave him the full benefit of her flashing Irish eyes, but Lord Dalgleish, who she thought looked silly in his garishly striped waistcoat and stiff collar points high under his chin, merely bowed and retreated.

  * * * *

  The busy season progressed. Kate firmly refused to encourage the interest of two gentlemen, causing her aunt to go about sighing repeatedly.

  "They are both good men, Katherine. Mr. Swait is a personable man with a decent income, a trifle pale perhaps-I hope it's not the consumption-and bookish, but I thought you would like that?” She ignored Kate's horrified expression and continued. Mr. Bainscort is a man of some means. He possesses a house in town and a country manor house, to boot. He's a widower and a little older of course, close to forty, but you could have a secure life with him,” she advised. “And in a few years, who knows? You may well be free again."

  "No, thank you, Aunt.” Kate shuddered. “I'd rather live in a garret."

  "You are of the Romantic Persuasion, Katherine,” Aunt Abbey said, shaking her head. “I advise you to stop reading those poetry books of yours. Wordsworth and the like. Young women without fortune must have good sense. You will not be young forever."

  * * * *
/>
  Kate attended Lady Cunningham's ball. Her initial excitement at being in London was waning. She found herself quickly tiring of the falsity and shallowness of the Ton. Aunt Abbey was reluctant to escort her to places of interest. It seemed enough for her to shop and call on acquaintances during the day. She always slept late, leaving Kate to wander about, restless and bored, missing the freedom the country afforded her. She had begun to long for green fields and fresh air, the red poppies and purple foxgloves growing thick along the lanes.

  The dancing had ended. Kate wasn't interested in playing cards or gambling in the saloons where a hundred candles heated the air with stifling smoke fumes. She ambled down a hallway of the elegant townhouse, seeking a quiet spot to sit and wait until her aunt was ready to leave.

  She walked into a room, but the sound of harsh breathing caused her to falter. Lovers were locked in a passionate embrace. Kate stood transfixed as the man bent the woman back over the desk, his hand pinching a nipple where her bodice had been pulled down to expose a breast.

  "I beg your pardon,” Kate gasped, backing away, but they didn't acknowledge her presence. The man was urgently pulling up the woman's gown as Kate turned, her cheeks burning, and rushed from the room.

  She almost ran down the long hallway and cautiously went through another doorway. Relieved to find the library empty, she curled up in a high-backed chair by the fire, tucking her feet under her. Her mind was swirling with the vision of raw passion she had witnessed. Her heart pounded at the thought of provoking such a response in a man. It made her body yearn to feel a man's hands on her breasts and between her thighs. She took several deep breaths to calm herself. The flush had only just faded from her cheeks when the smell of cigar smoke and the sound of voices alerted her to two men entering the room. She sighed and began to reach for her sandals, but what she heard one man say, caused her to freeze.

  "Do you suspect Broughton is looking for the list?"

  "I know he hasn't found it. Yet. Spies tell me he is making a thorough itinerary of the house. Going from room to room."