Salt Hendon Omnibus 01 to 03

by Lucinda Brant

  The Prince gave a little shudder, closing his eyes on the thought, then squared his shoulders as if shrugging off the embarrassment. He had confided the incident in Kitty to divert her from whatever was troubling her. He had succeeded admirably, because she was staring at him in bewilderment, as if she did not entirely understand what he was talking about. But after a week in her company, he knew that under her sweet exterior there was an astute young woman. So he was very sure that if he gave her a moment to think matters through, she would discover more than he had intended to reveal. To continue to divert her thoughts, he pointed the tip of his walking stick at a dark passageway that led off to their left, and asked in a voice he hoped expressed disinterest,

  “If I were to go down there, what would I find, Miss Aldershot?”

  Kitty looked at him with alarm. “Find, Your Highness?”

  He waggled his walking stick in thin air. “I am not worried about peasants leaping out at me, revolting or otherwise, if that is your thought.” He swished the stick to the right to touch the wooden frame of a painting hanging under the lighted wall sconce. “It’s just that I have seen this painting before…”

  Kitty was still trying to make sense of the Prince’s confidence regarding his valet mistaking farm laborers for Russian revolutionaries, and Lady Reanay’s part in that little melodrama. But she was most startled to think Lord Salt’s elderly aunt giggled. Only children and young girls giggled; or so she had supposed. Thus, it took her a moment to realize she still had not answered his question.

  “Lady Reanay’s rooms are at the end of that passageway, Your Highness,” she finally responded, gaze following the length of his walking stick, which still pointed at a painting of a flock of sheep and a solitary cow in a pasture.

  “Are they? Are they indeed…?” the Prince muttered.

  He could have kicked his own stockinged shin for his stupidity. Instead of diverting his fair companion, he was very sure he had heavily underscored her ruminations regarding Lady Reanay. The Earl’s Aunt Alice would not be pleased with him for his lack of discretion, and would tell him in her own blunt way. Good. Let them have an argument about it. Perhaps then what was whispered in private would finally be stated openly. Besides, he wanted an end to their game of subterfuge, and he could think of no better time to do so than on Christmas Eve, with the lighting of the Yule log and all her family present.

  The Prince removed his stick from the wall, shifted out of the candlelight, and with Kitty at his side, walked to the end of the passageway, where a liveried footman opened wide the double doors that gave on to the Long Gallery, allowing them to step into a room filled with light and chatter.

  The Earl and Countess, their family, farmers and their kin, neighbors, and honored guests, all were gathered around an enormous hearth, sharing a drink and conversation, an indulgent eye on children, low-and highborn, running about the room playing at Hoop and Hide. The village vicar was there, too, to bless the Yule log with words and wine. Then the Yule log would be set alight by the guest of honor with a preserved scrap from the previous year’s log, and the twelve days of Christmas would officially commence.

  All this Kitty was explaining to the Prince when the inimitable Lady Reanay swept up to them.

  She was dressed for the occasion a la Turque. Atop her upswept silver coiffure was a small green-and-red silk turban which matched her loose petticoats, and a silk burdash wrapped about her waist accentuated her décolletage. Silk slippers with up-curled toes adorned her small feet, and she wore half a dozen gold and silver bracelets about both wrists. She tapped Prince Mordvinov on the sleeve with the closed sticks of her fan.

  Kitty instantly stopped talking and the Prince turned to greet her ladyship with a bow. By the flush to Lady Reanay’s cheeks and the twinkle in her eye, he suspected she had enjoyed more than one cup of punch while the crowd awaited his presence. Her pronouncement confirmed his suspicion.

  “I want to assure you, Your Highness, you are quite safe. None of the men in this room are peasants, Russian or otherwise. Nor are they revolting!”

  FIVE

  ‘HOW DROLL, my lady,” the Prince replied dully under heavy half-closed lids. “I’ll wager you’ve been waiting all day to say that to me.”

  Lady Reanay unfurled her fan to hide a spreading smile, while the Prince unfobbed the enameled lid of his gold snuffbox, gaze never wavering from Her Ladyship as he took a pinch of powder between thumb and forefinger.

  Kitty looked from one to the other, puzzled. There was the light of mischief in Lady Reanay’s eyes she had never seen before. Ned had that same playful expression when he was naughty, or was about to be. But she never expected to see the Earl’s elderly aunt being mischievous. It was a surprise. As was Prince Mordvinov’s response. For while his reply had all the hallmarks of sarcasm, his eyes were just as bright and playful. When the silence between the elderly couple stretched, Kitty felt she should say something, if only to alert them to her continuing presence, which they seemed to have forgotten. A commotion at the far end of the Gallery had all heads turning that way.

  On the butler’s announcement the crowd respectfully parted down its center to allow the Earl and Countess to welcome the newest arrivals, Lord Temple and his wife Lady Caroline. Their hosts embraced the tall gentleman in his early thirties, resplendent in powdered wig and blue frockcoat, and the petite, titian-haired beauty, not much older than Kitty, at his side. Children appeared out from between the cluster of adults, and seeing the pair, excitedly waited to be noticed, then threw their arms about the couple. Animated conversation and laughter followed.

  “Oh look! It’s Antony and Caroline arrived at last!” Lady Reanay announced. “Thank heavens their carriage made it through the snow, and in time for the lighting of the Yule log.” She turned back to Kitty with a smile. “Now you’ll have company your own age, Kitty dearest, which is as it should be, and will no longer be burdened with His Highness—”

  “His Highness is no burden, my lady,” Kitty stammered her assurance.

  “Of course he is! You are a young girl and he is a tottering old man,” Lady Reanay countered bluntly. “Is that not so, Your Highness?”

  Kitty’s mouth involuntarily dropped open at this lack of respect for the Earl’s esteemed foreign guest. Yet the Prince did not seem to mind, or was too polite to show offense. He merely shrugged a padded shoulder in acceptance of Lady Reanay’s blunt assessment, saying with a sniff of annoyance that was at odds with the look in his eye,

  “If Lady Reanay says I am a burden, then I am a burden…”

  “Oh, no, Your Highness,” Kitty contradicted earnestly. “I have very much enjoyed your company and your stories—”

  “Stories?” interrupted Lady Reanay with alarm, and peered at the Prince. “Timur!? What stories have you been telling dearest Kitty? I hope you have been behaving yourself?”

  “When do I not behave myself, my lady?” the Prince replied blandly, not a look at Kitty. “No! Do not answer me that, or you will get us both into a good deal of trouble.” He bowed to Kitty. “Please, Miss Aldershot, forgive us our ridiculous behavior. But I am certain you fully appreciate it is all the fault of Her Ladyship—”

  Lady Reanay gasped, and then laughed. “You will not force my hand in this way, Your Highness!” And quickly turned back to Kitty before the Prince could offer a rejoinder and said, “You have taken very good care of His Highness, and justified the faith and trust I placed in you to be his guide. Salt is most impressed and even more than a little surprised. You have shown a level of maturity and responsibility beyond your years. Which has gone a long way in persuading my nephew to your cause—”

  “My-my cause?” Kitty involuntarily interrupted, wondering what cause on her behalf the Earl of Salt Hendon was being persuaded to support.

  “But it is Christmas Eve and the Yule log must be lit before the Christmas festivities can truly begin,” Lady Reanay announced, deftly changing the subject before Kitty could ask anything further. She pla
ced her bejeweled hand in the crook of the Prince’s velvet sleeve. “Come, Your Highness, it is time for you to put flame to that log, before my nephew loses all patience and does the deed himself. You know how Salt is not one for small talk—Oh! And speaking of enjoying the company of people your own age, Kitty dearest, here is Tom, and with two cups of punch. One must surely be for you. Such a dear boy…”

  Before Kitty could say or do anything, the Prince and Lady Reanay abandoned her at the far end of the room, a cheer going up amongst the crowd gathered about the hearth when the couple stepped into the light at the Earl’s elbow. Tom Allenby passed them with a nod, but he did not turn at the sudden noise. When he joined Kitty, he held out a cup of punch and took a sip from his own, to moisten his throat and loosen his tongue. He had tidied his hair, was divested of his greatcoat, and his jockey boots below his velvet breeches, which matched his dark velvet frockcoat, had been given new polish.

  “I wonder—I wonder, Miss Aldershot, if I might have that word…?”

  Kitty took the cup of punch, his question music to her ears, smiling up at him as if she had been blessed with ten years’ worth of Christmas Cheer all at once.

  “Yes! Oh, yes, Mr. Allenby. I should like that very much.”

  He nodded, pleased and visibly relieved.

  “Good. Excellent. After dinner then…?”

  “After dinner…?”

  Kitty’s smile vanished. After dinner was too far away. She looked about. Everyone else, from family to servants, were gathered in the middle of the Gallery. A window seat was only an arm’s length away and vacant. They would still be in line of sight, and thus within the bounds of propriety if they sat there for a moment. And there was so much competing conversation and laughter that there was no possibility of them being overheard. To her mind there was no better time than now for Mr. Tom Allenby MP to have his word with her. She took a sip of warm punch and tried to keep the eagerness from her voice.

  “Surely we would not be missed if we were to sit for a few minutes in that seat there, would we, Mr. Allenby…?”

  Tom followed her gaze to an undraped window where a bough of holly and mistletoe hung in the velvet drapes, and the view was of a winter sun setting fast over snow-covered fields. He swallowed, hard. He had not figured on saying his piece here and now. To settle his nerves, he took another sip from his punch cup. Before he could reply, a huge roar of laughter went up amongst the farmers in response to Prince Mordvinov’s short speech. Tom looked over his shoulder in time to witness the vicar stepping forward with the blessing cup, and the Earl holding the piece of kindling kept from the Yule log of Christmas past, ready to light it so the Prince could do the same with the Yule log.

  “You do not wish to see the Yule log set alight by His Highness, Miss Aldershot?”

  “I do, Mr. Allenby. But perhaps what you have to say to me at this moment is more important…?” Kitty asked a little breathlessly.

  His eyes went wide and he swallowed and nodded. “Yes, yes, you are quite right. It is more important…”

  Kitty smiled encouragingly.

  “Well then. Let us sit upon the window seat and you may tell me there.”

  She went to the window seat and waited for him to join her. He threw back the last drop of punch in his cup, squared his shoulders and followed. Seated on the tapestry cushion and with her hands in her lap, Kitty looked up at Tom Allenby with what she hoped was a friendly and not too eager expression, heartbeat thudding in her ears.

  And that’s when it happened.

  Later, Kitty was to wonder which occurred first, because there were two incidents and they happened almost simultaneously. But that was of no consequence. What was important was that they occurred at all.

  When Kitty put her hands in her lap and looked up at Mr. Allenby her fingers touched something unfamiliar under her gossamer apron. It was the paper cylinder—Ned’s drawing of her as a Christmas angel—in her concealed pocket. Instantly, she remembered the writing on the back of the drawing—those first few hurtful lines from Lady Caroline’s letter: She must be made to realize the insurmountable difficulties of such a marriage. His family will not welcome it, nor his friends abide such an unequal match.

  Instantly, her head began to pound with a thud as strong as the one within her chest. She was suddenly wretched. She no longer wished to hear what Tom Allenby had to say to her. She could not. So her sigh of relief was audible when he was forestalled by Ned, who called out to his Uncle Tom, then ran up to them.

  The little boy had hold of his mother’s hand and was seemingly dragging her up the Gallery, away from the family gathering. He soon broke from her and, calling out to his Uncle Tom, raced on ahead, leaving his mother, the Countess of Salt Hendon, to follow.

  “Hurry, Mamma! Hurry! Hur-ry,” Ned called out to her over his shoulder, just as he reached his Uncle Tom. “Papa said we have two minutes, that’s all. Two!”

  The Earl and everyone else gathered about the fireplace were waiting for Tom and Kitty to join them in the festivities, and the Countess agreed that the lighting of the Yule log would not be the same without all family members present. But no sooner had their son and heir reached the silent couple than he forgot his reason for being there and demanded,

  “Kitty, show Mamma my Christmas angel, p-l-ease. Uncle Tom says it is the bestest angel ever!” he added, looking up at his mother, who was now standing behind him.

  “Oh, if you drew it, I am sure it must be, my darling,” agreed Jane, Countess of Salt Hendon, smiling lovingly down at her son before looking at the couple, her brother standing by the window seat where Kitty sat. A glance at Tom and then at Kitty and she knew she and Ned had intruded upon a private moment. Her brother’s emotions were always easy to read in his facial expressions, and Kitty could not raise her gaze from her lap.

  “Salt won’t allow the vicar to bless the log, and the Prince to carry out the ceremonial lighting, until all the family are gathered round the hearth,” Jane told them matter-of-factly, ignoring the awkward moment. “Did you see Caroline and Antony have arrived, Kitty? You must come and greet them. Particularly as they have some exceedingly interesting news they are eager to share with you. Did you tell Kitty, Tom?”

  “I haven’t had the opportunity to say much at all to Miss Aldershot,” Tom enunciated, a flush to his cheeks and a hard stare at his sister, not a look down at Kitty.

  “The angel!” Ned interrupted. “Kitty? Kitty, where is my Christmas angel?”

  “I don’t—I wish—” Kitty began and faltered.

  “Kitty hasn’t lost my Christmas angel?” the little boy asked on a swift intake of breath, blue eyes widening in horror.

  Kitty shook her head and suddenly leapt to her high-heeled mules and brushed down her apron, keeping her chin lowered because there were tears in her eyes, and she was very sure she would be unable to stop them from falling this time. She hated herself for dissembling. But she did not want to lie. She never lied. The throbbing in her temple increased, as did the sickness in her stomach.

  “We can have the drawing fetched after dinner, Ned,” the Countess said softly, taking her son by the hand. “Papa is waiting. Two minutes, remember?”

  “Shall I take you to your Papa on my shoulders, Ned?” Tom Allenby suggested eagerly.

  Ned pulled away from his mother. But he did not go to his uncle. He went to Kitty. He gripped his silken knees with his little hands, stooped and turned his head, golden curls falling sideways, to look up into Kitty’s face. His brow contracted into a frown.

  “Christmas angels are happy angels, Kitty. Why are you sad?” He looked up at his mother. “Mamma, Kitty is sad.”

  Kitty had sniffed back tears and tried to smile at the little boy, but it was impossible. She was miserable. How could she join in the family festivities when she felt anything but festive and one of the family? Being reunited with Caroline, newly returned from a five-month sojourn in Ireland and with news a baby was on the way—for what else could her exceedin
gly interesting news be?—would only underscore her own bleak prospects. Having such selfish, self-absorbed thoughts when she should have been so happy for her best friend only added to her wretchedness. She was no fit company for anyone. Was it any wonder Caroline had written she was unsuitable to marry into this illustrious family?

  “I am unwell,” she finally whispered. “Excuse me. Excuse me, my lady. Please—please excuse me.”

  With that rush of words and a hurried curtsy, Kitty fled from the Gallery to the sanctuary of her room, where she threw herself on the bed and gave in to her misery.

  SIX

  WWHEN SHE COULD cry no more and was dry of tears, Kitty rolled over and lay on her back, staring up at the bed’s pleated silk canopy. In the candlelight stillness and quiet, she fell asleep. For how long, she was unsure, but looking at the candle’s flame on the bedside table, she knew it was for at least an hour, possibly two. Upon waking, she was no longer upset, just listless, but it enabled her to reflect. With reflection came forbearance.

  She went to the washstand, poured water from the flowered porcelain pitcher into its matching bowl and splashed her face. Seated at her dressing table, she repinned her mussed fair hair, retied the red silk ribbon into a better bow, and straightened the gossamer apron over her quilted silk petticoats. From her concealed pocket she removed the now crushed drawing, unrolled it across the cleared surface of her dressing table, and smoothed out the creases as best she could.

  She stared at Ned’s drawing of her as a Christmas angel, with its big offset eyes, large mouth and bird’s nest scribble of blonde hair, smiled and sighed. The drawing was so precious, and no truer words had the little boy spoken: Christmas angels were happy angels. Christmas was a joyous time, a celebration of the birth of Jesus, which had brought great happiness to the world. It was a time of giving, of thinking of others, and of being generous in spirit and of heart.