Kitty

‘It would be like Cinderella,’ Kitty told him. ‘You could change my life at a stroke. You have no notion how much I have yearned to go to parties and balls, and to wear such gowns as I have seen in the Ladies Magazine.’

Claud knew a cue when he heard one, and lost no time in pursuing his advantage. ‘So you may. In fact, you can do just as you like, provided you don’t expect me to change my way of life. As for gowns, I’ll buy you a dozen, if you wish.’

‘A dozen!’ Kitty’s pulses were rioting. She could not help a breathless question. ‘Are you rich?’

‘Don’t know what you’d call rich. Mean to say, in your situation, I should suppose anything above a thousand a year would be a fortune.’

‘A thousand a year? I would give my right arm for a thousand a year!’

Claud grinned. ‘No need for such a sacrifice. You may have twice that and more just for your pin money. I’ll stand the nonsense for any other gewgaws you choose to buy. Spend as much as you like.’

‘Oh, don’t,’ begged Kitty, a catch in her voice. ‘You must not tempt me so! Why, you must be as rich as Croesus!’

‘Since I don’t have a clue who he may be, I can’t comment. But I’ve a fair fortune to hand, and that’s without the Earldom. I’ve a place here in London of my own as well as the family house—which will be mine too at some distant date—and m’father gave me one of the smaller estates to live in when I came of age, so you won’t live with the family, never fear.’

‘How many estates are there?’ asked Kitty, awed.

‘Can’t remember offhand. Four or five, I think. Unless you count the hunting box as well. It’s why they’re content for me to marry Kate, for I don’t need more. The Countess knew what she was doing when she married m’father, that’s certain.’

It was more than Kitty could withstand. Dazzled by the vision of herself as mistress of all this wealth, she was no longer capable of clinging to the hideous reality. After all, she had a right to accept, had she not? She belonged in the family that contained Claud. How and why seemed less important now. Why should she not benefit? It was not as if she had looked for it. If her dream had come true, it must be what Fortune intended. The sneaking little voice of conscience that whispered of a horrible mistake was crushed. Opportunity was knocking on the door, and it might never come again. Fatal words fell from her lips.

‘It is of no use! I cannot possibly resist you!’

To her disappointment, Claud showed no sign either of pleasure or relief. ‘That’s settled, then.’ He dug a hand into his fob pocket and pulled out a watch, flipping open the lid. ‘Deuce take it, it’s past three! We’d best make a start as soon as may be. Only if I’m to go all the way to Gretna, I’ll need more luggage than I’ve got with me, for I only had enough for one night. We’ll be five or six days on the road there and back at the least. Ain’t even got my driving-coat, and I’m bound to need that. Never know what the weather’s going to do. Can’t start on a long journey without a bath and a change of clothes, what’s more. I’d best repair to my lodging and pick you up again later. I’ll have to forgo the party tonight, but it can’t be helped.’

Kitty listened to him in growing dudgeon. Had he no thought for anyone but himself? Did it not occur to him that she might have needs too? She lost no time in placing these before him.

‘Have you forgot that I have nothing but the clothes I stand up in?’

‘What are you talking about?’ demanded Claud. ‘Haven’t I bought you that spangled gown?’

‘If you suppose I can travel all the way to Scotland in a spangled gown, you must have windmills in your head! And what is more, you never got me the silk stockings you promised!’

‘We’ll pick them up from that Frenchwoman.’ But he scratched thoughtfully at his chin. ‘Pity we didn’t think of getting your clothes before we left Paddington.’

‘How should we have done so when you were abducting me?’ uttered Kitty with scorn. ‘Besides, none of my clothes are suitable for a viscountess. Indeed, there is little at the Seminary that I care to keep, except perhaps one or two personal items like the letters from my friends.’

‘We can fetch those after we’re married,’ said Claud, dismissing this. ‘Nothing for it but to get one or two more gowns from that mantua-maker.’

In the event, this programme proved inadequate. Repairing to the little salon off Bond Street, Kitty found herself in possession of two additional gowns, both muslin, one plain and one spotted in black, and a thick cloak to wear upon the journey. But Madame was able to supply neither silk stockings nor those essential items of underclothing of which a young lady going upon a journey stood in crying need. When Kitty, prompted by Madame, also mentioned hats and shoes, it was borne in upon Claud that his blithe intention to enter upon matrimony was going to prove a good deal more complicated than he had anticipated.

Already shaken by hints from the mantua-maker that she had divined his purpose, he came within an ace of abandoning it altogether. The remembrance of the inevitable confrontation with the Countess strengthened him, however, and he had the happy notion of paying one of Madame’s sewing-women to take Kitty beyond Bond Street and into a less fashionable arena further north where a plethora of shops of every description might furnish all she required. Meanwhile he could attend to his own needs.

Armed with a roll of bank notes—which was more money than she had ever dreamed of—Kitty spent an exhilarating, if bewildering, couple of hours shifting from one thoroughfare into another. The woman who accompanied her, delighted to be released from incarceration below stairs at the salon, entered into her requirements with great enthusiasm, bustling her from shop to shop and bargaining in a merry way with the tradesmen. Kitty could only be glad of her escort, for she had no idea where she was, nor how to choose of the myriad wares offered for sale. The streets were so busy that passers-by could not but jostle her, and her confusion grew as she was led past all manner of window displays and enticing signs. Fishmongers rubbed shoulders with snuff makers, and busts with glass eyes stared out at her to show off the wigs of the perruquier. The milliner she visited was placed beside an apothecary’s with curious bottles of remedies; the shoemaker was found beside a jeweller’s, and the discreet requirements of her toilette were next door to a shop selling exquisite lamps of glass and alabaster.

By the time Kitty returned to the salon, exhausted, both she and her companion were burdened with so many packages that she was unable to remember what was in them. She plonked down upon a chair proffered by Madame to wait for Claud’s return, daunted by the rapidly gathering apprehension that he would scold her for having spent so much money. But time passed, and his lordship put in no appearance.

Madame, whose expression became more pitying as the afternoon wore on, suffered her assistant to shift the packages out of sight behind a curtain while another customer was served, and at length had a dish of tea brought for Kitty’s refreshment. She sipped it gratefully, desperately trying to hide her growing dismay under a cheerful front. What would she do if Claud had chosen to abandon her? No matter how many times she told herself stoutly that this was unlikely, the horrid thought would keep obtruding.

But just as Madame was making noises about closing the shop, and Kitty had begun desperately to think of how she could get herself back to Paddington—never mind explaining the money she had left and the acquisition of so much finery!—a commotion below signalled the arrival of her betrothed.

Only it was not Claud, but his groom Docking, sent in his stead to collect Kitty and drive her to his lordship’s lodging in Charles Street. This proved to be a roomy apartment occupying the better part of one floor of a large mansion. Kitty was unloaded into it, together with all her packages, and into the hands of a disapproving individual who introduced himself as Mixon.

‘I am his lordship’s valet, miss.’

Mixon showed Kitty into a masculine bedchamber, with a dwarf bookcase and a whatnot, besides the bed and the press. It served, so the valet informed her, for accommodation for any of his lordship’s friends who might happen to stay the night. There was, to her chagrin, no sign of Claud himself.

‘Where is Lord Devenick?’

The valet bowed. ‘His lordship has gone out for the evening. He requested me to make you comfortable. A meal has been ordered and will be served presently.’

Kitty gazed at the man, stupefied. ‘Gone out for the evening? But we are supposed to be—’

She broke off, suddenly and acutely aware of the invidious nature of her position. She could scarcely discuss her elopement with his lordship’s valet!

Mixon coughed. ‘His lordship informed me that you are taking a journey, miss, but he thought it rather too late to set out. It is his wish that you rest yourself, ready for an early start in the morning. As for these, miss—’ indicating the packages littering the bed ‘—would you wish me to lend you one of his lordship’s portmanteaux?’

But Kitty was in no mood to think about packing. In vain did she strive to repress an enveloping sense of outrage and indignation. She was to rest, while his horrid lordship disported himself at some jollification! Had he not complained of having to miss a party? Not content with leaving her for hours to wait for him at the mantuamaker’s, he not only neglected to fetch her himself, but left her—a stranger to the town and his betrothed to boot!—without explanation or reassurance, to the ministrations of his valet and her own devices. He was the most selfish creature she had ever met in her life! And nothing would induce her to marry him.

Attired in silk breeches of his favourite green and a coat of similar hue over a fancy flowered waistcoat, Claud had just come off the floor after a dutiful country dance with his sister Lady Barbara Cheddon, just out this season, when he was accosted in the outer gallery by his cousin Kate.

‘Claud, I must talk to you alone!’

Lady Barbara pricked up her ears. A pretty, fair-haired creature, whose even features closely resembled those of her brother, she was correctly and demurely gowned, like her cousin, in the ubiquitous white thought suitable for debutantes, but augmented with a half-robe of lilac net. Noting how his cousin was similarly elegant in a vest of crimson velvet, Claud was assailed by a vision of that overblown spangled gown Kitty had insisted on buying. He made a mental vow to oversee her wardrobe for the future. His attention was drawn swiftly back to his sister.

‘Secrets? Fie, Kate! But if it is about your betrothal, you need not mind me, for I know all about it.’

‘That’ll do, Babs!’ scolded Claud, casting a quick glance about to make sure that his mother was nowhere within earshot. The gallery contained several odd groups seeking relief from the heat, who stood about chatting and fanning themselves, but there was no sign of the Countess of Blakemere. Relieved, Claud returned his attention to his sister. ‘It ain’t that at all. Besides, we are not going to be betrothed.’

Claud came under the beam of his sister’s questioning blue gaze. ‘But Mama says you are, and if she wants you to marry, I don’t see how you couldn’t.’

‘You’ll soon see how,’ he declared, with more force than he intended, impelled by the image that had been revolving in his mind all evening.

‘Even your mama cannot force us,’ Kate put in, her voice low.

Babs looked from one to the other, and Claud detected scepticism in her eye. ‘How will you withstand her? Mary and Kath couldn’t. And I should suppose I shall find myself obliged to marry whomever she chooses for me too.’

‘Never you mind how,’ said Claud dismissively.

‘But I do mind,’ objected his sister, ‘for if you have a means of holding out against Mama, I want to know of it. I feel sure she is thinking of Lady Chale’s youngest for me, and I can’t bear him.’

The Countess of Chale had the distinction of holding the last ball of the season, and the entire first floor of the mansion had been given over to the accommodation of her many guests. A vast saloon, done out in blue with white trimmings in the Adams style, had been formed into a ballroom, the furniture having been set apart in another room for the accommodation of those who were not dancing. The drawing room was as full as it could hold of chattering fashionables who had wandered in from the adjacent dining room next door, where the supper tables were laid out with a succulent feast of patties, sliced meats and a variety of sweets. And two further smaller rooms were given over to the dedicated card players, who could be seen from a distance, grouped around green baize tables.

Contrary to his expectation, Claud was not enjoying himself. Far too many members of his family were in attendance for his liking. There was all too much danger of making a slip and mentioning Kitty, and he was only too well aware that it was upon the subject of his disastrous mistake that Kate was clamouring to talk to him in private. Since he was determined to keep his intentions to himself, he had rather not engage in conversation about the chit. With a vague thought of holding his cousin at bay, he responded more sympathetically to his sister.

‘Don’t suppose the Countess is thinking of turning you off just yet, Babs. Only seventeen. Besides, she’ll be looking for a fellow a thought more eligible than a younger son.’ His tone took on sarcasm. ‘Never forget, m’dear, you’re not only the daughter of an earl, but the granddaughter of a duke.’

‘As if any of us cared for that,’ put in Kate scornfully.

‘No, Claud is right. It is exactly what Mama cares for. Only she says there are no eligible heirs just at present, and she is looking instead at a younger son with good prospects.’

‘You don’t say so!’ exclaimed Claud. ‘If that don’t beat all! Never knew she was so mercenary, as well as all else. It’s only Kate’s expectations from Grandmama that made her take the notion of our marrying into her head in the first place.’

‘Yes, and Lady Chale’s youngest son is to inherit his godmother’s money, which is said to be a fortune. Only besides having a face like a frog, he is the most tedious young man of my acquaintance!’

‘If you don’t choose to marry him, Babs, you need only hold fast to your refusal,’ said Kate, adding hastily, ‘But will you please excuse us? I have something urgent to discuss with Claud.’

‘It’s well for you to say that,’ retorted Babs, ignoring the request, ‘for Aunt Silvia would never go to the lengths Mama would, and I dare say Cousin Ralph could persuade her to let it alone if you asked him. Whereas Claud—’

‘Has more gumption than you give him credit for!’ he interrupted, incensed. ‘Only it ain’t a particle of use thinking the Countess would take notice of anything I said, for she won’t.’

His sister clasped both hands fondly about his arm. ‘That’s what I meant to say, Claud. I know you can’t be blamed if she won’t listen to you. Why, she calls you a nincompoop and says you haven’t a brain in your head.’

Claud removed her hands from his arm. ‘Obliged to her! And I’ll thank her to keep her insulting opinions to herself, the insufferable witch!’

‘Hush!’ warned Kate, leaning close. ‘She is coming out of the ballroom.’

Lady Barbara promptly left them, slipping through two groups of guests to enter the drawing room by a door around the corner of the gallery and diving out of sight among a coterie of chattering maidens.

‘She has seen us!’ uttered Kate, sotto voce. ‘She is coming this way.’

Wishing he might follow his sister’s example, Claud turned to confront his formidable mother, unable to suppress the inevitable rise of mixed emotions that invariably attacked him in her presence. Defiant he might be, but no weight of years had served to subdue the tight knot of apprehension that settled in his stomach, overlaid with—in his own view—a justifiable sense of outrage. Such derogatory remarks as that relayed by his sister had been commonplace throughout his life, hedged about as he had been by rules and shibboleths that would have driven a saint into rebellion. Transgressions against which had been summarily, and painfully, dealt with.

On this occasion the Countess, as he immediately divined, was disposed to be lenient. She was attired in the grand manner, in an open robe of white muslin spotted in her favourite blue, with a draped sash trained to the floor at the back, epaulettes to her sleeves and a turban headdress from which rose three tall plumes. But there was approbation in the strongly aristocratic countenance, with the high wide brow, the straight nose—the only feature bequeathed to Claud who otherwise favoured his sire’s pleasant looks—and the thin-lipped mouth, which in Claud’s memory was usually pinched in disapproval. Lady Blakemere actually smiled as she reached him.

‘Well, children?’ The perfectly modulated voice was the epitome of good breeding. ‘I am glad to see you enjoying one another’s company. I hope you have saved a dance for your cousin, my dear Katherine?’

This last did not fail to fan Claud’s irritation. Alone of their elders, the Countess refused to use the pet names that served to distinguish her niece and her own eldest daughter. Lady Blakemere instead addressed her child as Lady Katherine in public, just as she spoke of her sister as Lady Silvia, raising her over the despised Rothley, mercifully deceased, who had been ‘a mere baron’.

Claud watched Kate curtsy as she answered, ‘I believe we are engaged for a country dance later in the evening.’

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