by Stacy Reid
Another silence fell, broken only by the ticking of the large clock on the mantelpiece.
“The duke and I had no conversation regarding our…affianced state before I left McMullen Castle,” she answered with great discomfort, and not for the first time wondering if she should have stayed and fought more. But for what? To be slapped with a more humiliating truth, that she had been the only one to lose her heart to the reckless passion that had burned between them?
“Was it that you were compromised?” Lady Darling asked archly, anger flashing in her eyes.
It was as if the countess resented Kitty for leaving the duke. Her heart quaked as wicked memories seared her. She could still taste his kiss on her lips, still feel the unfamiliar ache between her thighs. Kitty’s composure began to desert her, and her entire body blushed red.
The countess’s eyes widened, and her mother appeared faint.
“Katherine!” Mamma cried in reproach, fanning herself vigorously with a delicate blue and silver hand-painted fan. Yet she shared a slyly triumphant glance with the countess before a facade of motherly concern settled on her face.
“My godson took liberties? I didn’t think he had it in him,” Lady Darling mused softly.
“I declared nothing of the sort,” Kitty retorted, lifting her chin. “My presence at McMullen Castle was improper and scandalous. I am home now, thankfully without society knowing where I have been unchaperoned. If you require any more information as to the state of my attachment to Alex…to His Grace, please confer with him, Lady Darling.” Her chin wobbled and she fought the impossible tears that smarted her eyes. “If you will excuse me, I have a headache. I shall retire to my chambers.”
Kitty stood, dipped into a slight curtsy, and hurried from the drawing room, up the stairs, and into her chamber. Once there, she flung herself on the bed and buried her face into the softness of the pillow. A cozy fire crackled on the hearth, warming the spacious bedchamber, yet there was a chill in her bones that she felt would never depart.
She curled into the thick blankets and tried to rest. Her lids closed and her breathing evened out. Kitty soon found herself plagued by another malady—dreams of the duke, or more like a collage of every tender and wicked moment they had shared.
“Why must you torment me when you are indifferent!” she cried into the pillow. With a raw sob, she pushed from the bed and sat at the very edge of it, gripping the sheets between her fingers.
A knock sounded on the door, and before Kitty answered, it was pushed open, and Anna barreled into the room. She appeared frazzled, almost frightened. Her bonnet was squashed between her two hands, and grass stains lined the hem of her dress.
Kitty lurched to her feet, her heart pounding. “Anna, what has happened?”
“Oh, Kitty,” she said, her eyes glistening. “I…I…” Then she laughed and burst into tears.
“Do not torment me so with your silence. Are you hurt?”
“No, far from it.” Anna tossed the bonnet onto the chaise longue by the fire and clasped her hands, a radiant smile curving her lips. “William asked me…to marry him!”
William? For a moment Kitty did not understand; then she gasped. “You are engaged to Lord Lynton?”
Anna nodded happily, her corkscrew curls bouncing on her cheek. “He asked me just now on our walk through the park. He will speak to his father tonight and then visit Mamma tomorrow morning. Oh, Kitty, I am a nervous wreck. What if his father should forbid the match because—?”
She hurried over and hugged her sister to her. “Because you are wonderful, charming, exceedingly kind and selfless, and so very pretty with the most amiable manners. You may not have a dowry, Anna, but that does not define the quality of wife you would be. The baron has seen that, and I daresay he fell in love with your incurable romantic nature.”
They broke apart laughing.
“Wouldn’t Papa have been so proud? You to marry a duke and me to marry a baron, a man whom I love with my whole heart. I daresay if there is a heaven, he is strutting around with his chest puffed with pride.”
“I am sure of it,” Kitty murmured, then appalled herself by bursting into tears. “Oh, Anna, forgive me!”
Concern darkened her sister’s eyes, and she gently led her over to the chaise, where they sat. “No, forgive me for thinking only of my happiness. I noticed last night there was a sadness in your eyes, but I thought to leave it alone until you were ready to confide in me.”
“Oh, it is nothing. My nerves are simply overwrought from all that ghastly traveling. With more rest, I shall be quite fine.”
Anna held her hand between hers. “Are we not as close as we once were?” she asked with a worried frown.
Kitty’s lips parted, and suddenly she could not bear to utter another falsehood to her sister. “The duke and I are not engaged,” she confessed on a rush, closing her eyes.
“No wonder you appear so wretched, after such a public—”
“We were never engaged,” she said hoarsely, fresh tears springing to her eyes. “I made it up, and then I went and stupidly fell in love with the man. For you see, I was with him in Scotland and not Derbyshire, and now everything is ruined. But we might be saved because you are engaged, and it might not be so awful once society knows there is no longer an attachment.” Then she spent a few minutes telling her sister of the scheme in its entirety.
“I…I…I’m astonished you would sacrifice so much for us,” Anna whispered. “I am certain without this mad scheme of yours, William and I would never have met.”
And Kitty’s heart was glad for it, even if the cost now felt exceedingly heavy. But she could never regret it; she would do it all over again for her family.
“I love you, and Mamma, Henrietta, and Judith,” Kitty said softly. “I’m not ashamed for what I did.”
“And I daresay you should not be,” Anna said with a wobbly smile. “This calls for me to sneak some port from the kitchens or a bottle of wine. For you must tell me everything that happened in Scotland.”
And they did just that. Drank a bottle of fine wine, becoming tipsy together as Kitty shared everything with her sister, who listened without condemnation.
…
Another week passed since Kitty’s return to London, and she had waited in dread for an announcement from the duke to appear in the papers. “The engagement of Miss Katherine Danvers and His Grace, the Duke of Thornton is invalid.” That was what she’d expected to read about and she had vowed fiercely to face the scandal with courage.
The only announcement had been the engagement of one Miss Annabelle Danvers and Baron William Lynton in the Times, Gazette, and Morning Chronicles. Of course the more sordid papers had also run their headlines, speculating on the suddenness of the engagement with lurid and outrageous suggestions. But nothing had been able to dim the happiness of her sisters and their mother, and that was all that mattered to Kitty.
Wedding plans were made with swift economy, and Anna would marry her love only three weeks from today at St. George’s Hanover Square. Her gown had already been commissioned, and the modiste worked tirelessly with her team of seamstresses so it would be ready in time.
Mamma and the girls excitedly chatted about the type of flowers Anna required for the day and where she and the baron would honeymoon. The majority vote was for Italy, and Kitty could not help the ache that bloomed in her heart whenever she looked upon her sister’s radiance. Then she felt entirely wretched for even feeling a moment of envy for her happiness.
Excusing herself from the breakfast room and their lively rowdiness, Kitty headed toward her room to collect her bonnet and shawl. A long walk to clear her head and a visit to her friends were well in order and were sure to help with the awful sadness that had been plaguing her. In the hallway she paused, momentarily startled at the exquisite arrangement of flowers in the footman’s hand.
“These arrived for you, Miss Kathe
rine,” he said, walking toward her.
Kitty frowned. “For me and not Anna?”
“Yes, miss. The delivery boy said Miss Katherine Danvers.”
She approached it cautiously, as if expecting one of the beautiful arrays of yellow roses with one white in the center to come alive and attack her. Kitty had never received flowers before, and she was entirely uncertain how to feel about the matter. A note was attached, and she plucked it from among the stems with trembling fingers.
Miss Danvers,
I regret I did not ask you of your favorite flowers. I have a particular fondness for the primrose.
Alexander.
Kitty stared at it, astonished. Her heart pounded with uncertainty, for she could not decipher his intentions. The note was decidedly unromantic. There were no expressions of apology or remorse for his hurtful words that had deeply wounded her heart and pride. Why had he sent her flowers? She pressed them to her face and inhaled the fragrance deep into her lungs.
She smiled at the footman. “Thank you, Morton.”
With a short bow, he made his way to the servants’ staircase. Heading toward the smaller parlor, Kitty placed the flowers on the walnut table by the window. She walked over to the writing desk, withdrew a sheaf of paper, dipped the quill into the inkpot, and scrawled:
Dear Alexander,
I like bluebells and lilacs.
Kitty.
There, it was just as flat and uninspired as his note. Polite, even. Yet she was quite aware she shared a small bit of her that he had not known.
Kitty desperately wanted to ask after his health and recovery, but he had not mentioned it, even knowing she might worry. She sensed he did not want to be defined by his injury or be inundated with sympathy, and she would respect that, though she desperately wanted to know how he fared. Surely Penny or Eugene would have written had Alexander’s prognosis worsened.
Kitty added the wafer and summoned a maid to instruct the butler to ensure her letter was posted immediately. And without dwelling for long on the matter, she vowed to visit her friends and not think of the duke at all.
A few days later, three to be precise, another beautiful bouquet of flowers and a small leather-wrapped book arrived for Kitty. Grateful her mother and sisters were at the gardens with Lady Darling, she took them from the butler with a tight smile and hurried to her room. Hating that her fingers trembled and her heart raced with such terrible uncertainty and anticipation, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it for several seconds.
Kitty ambled over to the padded window seat and opened the note.
Dear Katherine,
I enjoy the rain, and I oftentimes stand at the edge of the cliff that abuts my estate and allow its fierceness to pound against my skin. I hope you enjoy this volume of poetry by John Donne.
Alexander.
“You wretched man!” she cried. Kitty hardly knew what to make of it, but anger started to brew in her heart. Why did he toy with her emotions so cruelly? Nothing was resolved between them, yet he sent her flowers and ridiculous notes…ones that she read over and over until their papers were a wrinkled mess.
A most wonderful bouquet of flowers, this time bluebells and lilacs, arrived with another of his infuriating letters.
Dear Katherine,
I enjoy the color blue. It feels warm. It sounds warm. And reminds me of your smile.
Alexander.
Several days passed, and then at least eight letters came in a packet, as if he had written one daily but sent them together. She couldn’t help realizing that she had claimed to the ton when she had spun her falsehood that he had wooed her through letters and poems.
Are you wooing me, Alexander? she silently demanded.
Slowly, with shaking fingers and a pounding heart, she untied the blue ribbon holding them together and read the first letter.
Dear Katherine,
I miss our friendship, and I find myself wheeling out to our tree to simply sit and remember our foolish antics. I’ve been cloud watching, and I am astonished to say I noticed a twenty-set orchestra playing in the skies recently. I find that I miss your laughter and your smile. I daresay I even miss your impudence.
Alexander.
She read it twice before folding it closed and then opening another.
Dear Katherine,
Last night I dreamed of you. We danced and danced under the glittering candlelight in a large ballroom. We were the only people there, and you were resplendent. My heart wept when I woke and realized it was but a dream.
Alexander.
Dearest Katherine,
Her breath hitched at the change in his salutations. Somehow the duke now greeting her with a “dearest” felt sweeter…gentler, as if he had said “my beloved.”
She lowered her gaze to the body of the letter.
Last night I wished upon a star that streaked through the cold night air. Only my friendship with you could have inspired such foolhardiness.
Alexander.
Dearest Katherine,
Penny gifted me with a piglet today. I am not entirely sure why she believed this to be an appropriate gift, but my piglet, so adorably named “Hattie,” reminds me of you.
Alexander.
That letter had made her splutter with outrage and laughter; then she had wept. Other times he wrote her lengthy letters that made no promises and revealed nothing, but she read the words several times.
Then she had replied:
Dearest Alexander,
I pondered this for a bit, and I am at a loss as to how Hattie brings me to mind.
Katherine.
Her response was quite succinct, but she could not bear the notion of showing her heart any more when he did not speak of love. His reply had come so swiftly, she imagined he had several footmen waiting with horses, always prepared to send his response. The very idea made her heart ache but brought a smile to her lips.
Dearest Katherine,
You share a similar impudence. Hattie does not realize she is a piglet and insists on sleeping in my bed.
Alexander.
Then the shortest one, which had robbed her of breath for the longest time.
Dearest Katherine,
I am so sorry.
Alexander.
She tried to occupy her days by attending a few routs, the museums, and art galleries with her mother and Lady Darling, but Kitty grew more wretched and despondent. Her family noted her liveliness was dimmed and wondered too often to her if she were ill. Kitty tried to rally her spirits and had even attended a ball on the previous night.
She missed him so much that it was like a physical ache. Ridiculous, of course, for surely he did not endure a similar yearning. She had been a fleeting interest, one that bored him in too quick a time. Kitty had simply been silly enough to fall so deeply in love with his cynical charm and wickedness.
Except…why had he sent her flowers and letters if he thought of her no more? Crossly she prayed she haunted his dreams and every waking moment, for he surely vexed her spirit in all her sweet, heated memories.
The yearning to be with him sometimes felt as if it would tear her apart from the inside out until there was nothing left to give. Kitty could not understand it. Was this really love? This aching need to see, touch, and kiss him? To her shame and frustration, she sobbed into her pillows at night, hating that he had given up on the possibility of their being together so easily.
Why do you send me flowers and those maddening notes? She would not demand an explanation. And Kitty knew it was her pride that prevented her inquiry, but he had wounded her heart and dignity in a manner she had not forgiven, even if she loved him still.
She could not explain the savage pain tearing through her heart, though she did her best to be cheerful for her mother and sisters. Kitty skillfully deflected each query a
bout the duke and when he would appear again within society.
A few days later, Kitty stood in a sea of people at Lady Hadleigh’s midnight ball, feeling quite determined to have some fun. She had dressed in one of her best gowns, a dark yellow satin one draped with an overskirt of ivory lace with matching kid elbow gloves. Her hair had been caught in a simple but quite elegant chignon with tendrils artfully arranged to brush against her cheeks. Kitty had received several admiring glances from some of the most sought-after bachelors of the season, but no excitement had filled her at the attention.
To her alarm, the Marquess of Sands requested her hand in a dance. To be asked to dance by a man of his rank and fortune added to any female’s consequence, and his attentions would convince society further that her family was not to be overlooked. Yet Kitty could not imagine herself in his arms, even fleetingly, when it was Alexander she dreamed of every day.
“I thank you for the honor, my lord, but it is not my desire to dance this evening.”
His expression was inscrutable, and for a moment he said nothing. The marquess was a terribly handsome man with his raven-black hair and eyes as dark as the night itself. That uncomfortable penetrating gaze cut to Charlotte, who stood on the sidelines tapping her feet with a wistful look on her face as she observed the current dancers. For a moment his mask slipped, and the wild, haunting hunger that settled over his face like a second skin rendered Kitty’s mouth dry.
It took a few moments before she was able to regain some measure of composure. Lord Sands held a similar regard for Charlotte as she had for him.
“Perhaps you might show your favor to Miss Nelson instead,” she urged softly, not sure if her friend would be grateful or angry for Kitty’s meddling.
Those obsidian eyes clashed with hers once more, and a peculiar smile curved his lips. “A pity you will not dance, Miss Danvers. I bid you good night.” Then, after offering a clipped bow, the man melted into the crowd.
Charlotte watched his departure, her affection evident for the world to mock and speculate on.
Devil take it all.
Kitty wanted to curse love and the burden it had on the heart. Charlotte’s father had passed with a cloud of debt hanging over both her and her dear mamma’s head. She needed to make a well-connected match, but no gentleman of rank or fortune would consider a poor wallflower when so many heiresses peppered the ton. Charlotte’s mamma had spent the last of her juncture this season, in hopes her daughter would make a match that would save them.
