by Julia London
Digby also insisted Kate wear a jade gown with pale cream trim. Her daily ladies’ maid, Amy, helped Kate dress in the silk and put up her hair.
“Oh, it goes very well with your eyes,” Digby said proudly once Kate was dressed. “You will stun all the nobility.”
“Doubt it,” Aldous said from his place near the door, where he stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his weight on one hip. “They fancy only themselves.”
“They’ll fancy Kate,” Digby said. “She is too beautiful to be ignored. They will be drawn to her the way plants are drawn to light. Trust me, for I am a student of the aristocracy. When one cannot be an aristocrat, one watches everything they do with a keen and envious eye.”
Kate laughed; Aldous frowned. But Digby was right, that much Kate knew from having been Benoit’s mistress. Benoit had seen to it that she was properly trained for her role by sending her to France to learn from Madame Albert, who, by the lady’s own admission, was a renowned courtesan. Madame Albert had subscribed to the same theory as Digby: Do as the aristocracy does. Talk like them, drink like them, eat like them, play like them—but above all, entice them in a way they’ve never been enticed. And Madame Albert had spent quite a lot of time teaching Kate how to entice men, a skill she had practiced frequently in Benoit’s drawing room, where he hosted evenings of gambling, to which some of the wealthiest men in London came.
A footman in an unmarked carriage called for Kate an hour later, and Aldous saw her out. He told the fellow driving that he’d better have a care with her, and she was ferried, like a princess, to Whitehall. Lord Wellesley met her on the steps. He introduced himself and hurried her inside, where Lady Wellesley joined them. She said, “Good evening,” looked enviously at Kate’s cloak, and never looked at her again. Kate was hardly offended— society ladies had long shunned her.
The seating was arranged in two crescent-shaped rows. Lord Wellesley escorted Kate and his wife to the front row, a little left of center, and sat between the two women. They were early; there was scarcely anyone else in the room.
In an effort to fill the uncomfortable silence, Kate said, “I very much enjoy a musical evening. Do you?”
Wellesley seemed mortified by the question. “Yes,” he said.
Small talk, it seemed, was pointless. Fortunately, Kate had no tender feelings left after her years of being a courtesan. She remembered the first time Benoit had taken her to a fine Mayfair London mansion to have her model some of the silk fabrics he was importing from the Orient. Kate had felt quite elegant in the gown Benoit had commissioned for her to wear. The lady of that great mansion, whose business Benoit sought, was equally enamored of the gown. But she was not enamored of Kate. She had viewed the gown with a keen eye, asked Benoit into her private sitting room, and then instructed a footman to stand by while Kate waited in the foyer. “Keep an eye open, Jones. I’ll not have anything go missing,” she’d said.
“You are entirely too sensitive.” Benoit had sighed when Kate complained of the slight. “What can you expect? You are ordures to them.”
When Kate had asked Digby what that meant, her jolly good friend had paled a bit. “It means … rubbish,” he’d said tightly.
At the time, Kate’s feelings had been hurt. But through the years, she’d been dismissed, ignored, and cut directly so many times that it rarely bothered her any longer. That was the way of the ton. The men admired her figure and face and clamored to meet her, while the women disdained her for the attention men paid her.
Kate had learned to take pleasure however she could, and one way was in hearing music played well. That was something her life afforded her now, and she relished each performance, this one notwithstanding.
The musicians filed in and began to ready their instruments. Kate eagerly watched them until she was startled by a loud bang at the back of the room. She jumped and turned to see a herald, banging his staff to the floor to announce the Prince of Wales. The prince entered the room with a few companions. Everyone rose to their feet; the prince and his companions walked to seats on Kate’s left. When they were seated, the audience resumed their seats.
Kate looked at Lord Wellesley, but his gaze was averted from hers. Kate wasn’t entirely certain what to do; this was her first public encounter with the prince. She’d been instructed that no one was to perceive any connection between her and the prince, but she was seated one person away from him. Should she not greet him? It seemed rather odd not to at least say good evening. So with her hands folded in her lap, Kate turned a smile to the gentleman beside her. “Good evening.”
He glanced at her. “Good evening, madam,” he said. Across him, Kate could see the prince looking at her from the corner of his eye, the hint of a smile on his lips. Aha, so this was a childish game, was it?
“It’s awfully cold out, is it not?” she asked the gentleman, and noticed the prince was trying to keep from smiling.
“Quite.”
“A bit of brandy would be in order, I should think. Nothing warms the blood quite like it.”
“Indeed,” the gentleman said.
Kate smiled pertly at the prince, turned her attention to the musicians now that the little game was over, and waited impatiently for the performance to begin.
At last, a young man walked out and put some sheet music on a pianoforte. He moved forward, bowed before the prince, and appeared about to speak, but paused at the sound of a determined stride echoing down the central aisle. Kate naturally turned to see who was arriving so late and saw the Duke of Darlington sweeping up the aisle like a bloody peacock in full plume.
He was taller than she recalled, two or three inches over six feet she guessed. His hair was a rich brown, and his eyes a deep shade of blue. He was not a very handsome man, but there was nevertheless something about him that made him quite attractive. He was robust and confident and exuded power and authority. He was the sort, Kate guessed, to be dazzled by his own brilliance.
Darlington settled into a seat almost directly across from Kate in the crescent row of seating. He did not notice her right away; he said something to the two women and the man who had saved him the seat.
But then the gentleman at the pianoforte announced the recital was about to begin, and the duke looked forward, and his gaze inadvertently landed on Kate.
He froze. He blinked. He frowned.
Kate smiled and nodded her head, well aware that everyone in the room saw the exchange. She did not bother to note the duke’s reaction, but turned her attention to the pianist.
He thanked the Prince of Wales for his fervent patronage and gave a brief history of the Beethoven cello concerto the small chamber orchestra would perform this evening. From the corner of her eye, Kate noticed the duke glancing at his pocket watch. He had a pressing engagement, did he? Perhaps his mistress needed him. Kate hoped he’d leave soon—she had no desire to speak to him.
The pianist took his place at the pianoforte. He held up a delicate hand to the other musicians, made a downward sweeping motion, and the music began.
Kate lost all interest in the Duke of Darlington at that moment, as she was transported with the first note. The music was magically beautiful; she marveled at the skill required to seduce such notes from an instrument. The dulcet tones washed over her, filling her mind with impossible dreams of love in springtime, of contentment in winter, of faeries and maidens and princely heroes, and cottages in dense forests with a milk cow and two pigs. She lost all track of time until the last note was played.
Kate was so moved by the music that she burst into enthusiastic applause, smiling at those around her, expecting to see everyone so enraptured. What she saw was polite restraint in the applause. She instantly lowered her hands, but she could not repress her smile, and she unthinkingly glanced across the room to where Darlington was sitting … had been sitting.
His chair was empty. Good. If luck was with her, the peacock would have quit the performance and Whitehall altogether.
The audience remaine
d seated until the prince stood and made his way to the antechamber, at which point, Lord Wellesley said, “Miss Bergeron.”
Kate glanced at him—or rather, up at him, as he was standing.
“It is the prince’s practice to indulge in a glass of champagne after a performance. Tonight’s offering is champagne that was found in an officer’s cabin aboard a captured French naval vessel and given to the prince as a gift. He is keen to share it with the assembly this evening and assured me it is of the finest quality.”
“Yes, thank you,” she said, and slipped her hand into his, allowing him to help her up. Lady Wellesley, she noticed, had disappeared. Perhaps she had a lover, too. Didn’t they all?
Wellesley’s body was radiating tension, as if he found the touch of Kate’s hand on his arm painful. He walked stiffly to the refreshment area, pausing as a footman approached with a tray of champagne flutes held high in the air. Wellesley nodded; the footman lowered the tray and allowed him to take two flutes from it. He handed one to Kate. “Champagne,” he said needlessly. “If you are not accustomed to it, you might find that it tickles your nose.”
Did Wellesley honestly believe the prince had found her lying in the gutter and brought her in? “Thank you,” Kate said. She lifted her flute in a mock toast to him and sipped.
It was excellent champagne. Benoit would have been quite impressed, and he’d not been an easy man to please. In more ways than one.
Kate stood beside a silent Wellesley, sipping the champagne, looking about the room and wishing she were home beneath a lap rug with a book. She finished off the champagne and put the empty flute aside.
“Wellesley, you must introduce us to your lovely companion!” the prince’s voice boomed behind her.
Expecting to play another silly game, Kate turned, but her eyes landed on Darlington. Darlington! He stood so close now that she was reminded of how blue his eyes were. She quickly shifted her gaze from the duke’s broad shoulders and impeccably cut coat to the prince, who looked rather old and fat next to the duke. She instantly sank into a curtsy. “Your Highness.”
“May I introduce Miss Katharine Bergeron,” Wellesley said tightly.
“Miss Bergeron,” the prince said, and offered his hand to help her up. Kate slipped her hand into his; he squeezed her fingers. His gaze lingered on Kate’s bosom; behind him, Darlington stood stoically, his hands clasped behind him, his gaze on something in the distance.
“Did you enjoy the evening’s musical offering?” the prince asked.
“Very much, Your Highness.”
“Then you must come again, Miss Bergeron. Allow me to introduce to you the Duke of Darlington. He is also a lover of musical evenings.”
Darlington gave her a curt nod. “Miss Bergeron, it is my pleasure,” he said, sounding about as pleased as he might be with a hanging. His indigo eyes locked on hers, and Kate felt a shiver run through her.
“Your Grace,” she said, sinking into another curtsy. “The pleasure is surely all mine.” She smiled at him, challenging him. Kate was beginning to deduce the purpose of this evening. It was indeed a game. The prince would introduce her and Darlington in a public venue so that everyone in attendance would take note. Thereafter, no one would be entirely surprised to see the duke in the company of the courtesan again. And judging by the grim look on Darlington’s face, Kate guessed he’d worked out the same.
“Miss Bergeron is a patron of the arts,” Wellesley offered awkwardly, as if that were the reason for making the introductions, as if that would bamboozle even one bloody soul in this small concert hall.
“The arts?” Darlington said, cocking a brow, as if that notion were inconceivable, if not entirely unbelievable. In fact, his eyes were suddenly shining with amusement.
Kate’s smile broadened and she offered him her hand. “I beg your pardon, but you look incredulous, Your Grace.”
The prince laughed. “Christie, I dare say you do!”
“I apologize, Miss Bergeron, if I gave that impression,” he said smoothly, and touched his fine lips to the satin of her gloves.
“You should be incredulous,” she said pleasantly as he raised his head. “My patronage lies solely in my great appreciation of hearing instruments played so beautifully. I wish it could be otherwise, but my patronage does not extend beyond that.”
Darlington’s gaze swept over her. “That is a far more valuable form of patronage than money.”
Well, well … perhaps this peacock had a bit of civility in him after all.
“You are quite right about that, Christie,” the prince said. “Wellesley, shall we sample the champagne? Miss Bergeron, you must have a taste of this excellent champagne. Darlington, you must fetch it for her,” the prince said, and with a sly smile for Kate, he put his arm congenially around Wellesley’s shoulders and pulled him away, leaving Kate and Darlington standing together awkwardly in the middle of the room while others watched.
They stood so close that Kate was keenly aware of this man. He was an alluring figure, she’d admit that much. But now that they had done what Kate assumed they were supposed to do, she saw no reason to prolong their association. “You need not remain at my side, Your Grace. I am perfectly capable of fetching my own drink.”
“I have no doubt that you are, but that is clearly beside the point,” he said, gesturing to a footman who approached them. Darlington nodded at Kate, and the footman bowed low as he presented the tray to her.
She took a flute from the tray. “Thank you. I have my champagne. You may go to your friends, as you obviously wish to do.”
“I wish to be gone from here altogether, but I shall keep you company, Miss Bergeron.”
“It’s not necessary.”
“It is,” he said stubbornly.
Kate chuckled. “I give you my word that I shall not pocket any of the silver,” she whispered, and turned away from him.
“I beg your pardon,” Darlington said, drawing her attention to him once more. “Are you always so decidedly intrepid and reckless with your words?”
Kate didn’t know precisely what intrepid meant, but she knew from his tone it was not a compliment. “Does it disturb you, Your Grace? Would you rather I attempt to win your approval? I think we both know I shall never have it,” she said laughingly. “Therefore, I have nothing to lose by speaking my mind.” She smiled again and lifted her flute. “The champagne is quite good. It reminds me of the champagne that is served in the fine salons of Paris. Did you try it?”
“I did,” he said, his eyes intent on her, studying her.
“I thought the performance was magical. Did you?”
“Not particularly.” Now he looked impatiently about, clearly not wanting to converse.
“Well then! Now that we’ve had our say, I believe I will sample the delicacies,” Kate said, gesturing to a table nearby groaning with platters of food. “Good evening, Your Grace.”
She walked away and examined the various plates on the table, selecting a few pastries to sample. She bit into one pastry and tasted a bit of cinnamon and something else … mint, perhaps?
Darlington suddenly appeared beside her, his expression impatient. Kate held up her plate, offering him a sweetmeat. “Do try one of these and tell me what you think of it.”
“Thank you, but no.”
“They’re quite good,” she said, and sampled another one. She frowned slightly. “This one does not sit on the palate as it ought,” she said.
“Miss Bergeron, I am taking my leave,” Darlington said.
“Very well,” she responded as she examined the other selections on the table. “We’ve done what is required of us.”
He glanced uncomfortably around them. “I don’t know what you mean.”
She gave him a look that suggested he knew precisely what she meant. “Do not take me for a fool, Your Grace,” she said quietly. “I don’t believe the prince summoned me here to cultivate my appreciation of music. He intended to introduce us publicly.”
But Dar
lington’s gaze narrowed. “Did the two of you plan this?”
“No! I surmised it. Didn’t you?”
“Of course I did,” he snapped. “Miss Bergeron, I will not be taken for granted in this … arrangement,” he said tightly.
“Then you best speak to the prince,” Kate responded shortly. She didn’t care for the way he looked at her, as if he were suspicious of her, as if she had planned this evening’s events. She stepped away from the table. “I shan’t keep you, Your Grace. Good night,” she said, and walked away once more from his unsettling blue eyes.
Chapter Five
Grayson watched Miss Bergeron walk away, his gaze drawn to the subtle swing of her hips. He was not the only one watching her, he noticed. More than one gentleman stole a glance at her with an eager gleam in his eye, undoubtedly imagining the soft skin beneath her gown as Grayson was.
Yet Grayson’s conversation with Miss Bergeron had left him feeling even more cross and restless than when he’d arrived, and it didn’t help matters in the least that her green eyes sparkled with irreverence, or her lips, Christ Almighty, those lips were so full and lush.
He was vexed that he was here at all. He had not wanted to attend, but his cousin Victoria had begged him. Victoria had a friend she had hoped to introduce to him, and George had personally sent her the invitation to the night’s program. The friend—whose name Grayson had already forgotten—was a young woman who was coming out in the upcoming Season. She was hardly the sort who would attract him.
In addition, the seating had been uncomfortable, leaving Grayson to wonder why, with the hundreds of thousands of pounds George had squandered in his life, he had not at least seen to comfortable seating for events he forced his friends to attend. Then Grayson had seen Katharine Bergeron sitting prettily across from him, and his ire had soared.
Grayson supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised at George’s obvious manipulations, but he was. Once George had seen his favorable reply to the night’s invitation, he’d no doubt arranged the public meeting between him and Kate. He imagined it had been hastily arranged, too, because Grayson knew Wellesley and his wife would not, under normal circumstances, be seen with a courtesan.