by Julia London
Aldous took the coins and pocketed them, tipped his hat, and set off to find Kate’s brother.
Kate awoke from her nap and sat before the hearth once more while Digby bustled about, fetching her water and food. She sullenly looked around her. The furnishings in the room were as fine as any she’d ever seen and the carpet had come all the way from Belgium.
But Kate hated this house. She hated that she had to live here. She put a protective hand on her abdomen; she couldn’t bear to bring a child into this life. “I have to make my own way, Digby,” she announced.
“Pardon?”
“I have to make my own way. I cannot be … this,” she said, grimacing when she gestured to herself. “What sort of life is this for a child, with a whore for a mother?”
“Kate!” he exclaimed. “You are not a whore!”
“I am, Digby! A courtesan is exactly that. I trade my flesh for this house and a paltry little purse.”
“What alternative do you have?” Digby asked. “This may not be the life you want for your child, but it’s certainly better than toiling sunup to sundown in a cloth hall, is it not?”
“Yes,” she sadly agreed. “It is infinitely better than that. But it is still horrible.”
“Why won’t you accept Darlington’s offer?” Digby pleaded. “He adores you and I believe he’d provide handsomely for his child.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “How would it be for my child to be brought up knowing that his father has a better family elsewhere that he gives his name and his love to? I should think that would be worse than being abandoned.”
Digby sighed and eased down on the settee next to her. “All right then. We must find your path, love. We’re not entirely cleaned out, are we? Cousineau will be furious with us and dispense with my services if you run out on the prince, but I’ve a little put aside, and if I can maintain my toehold in the perfume trade, I can put aside a bit more. You’ve got some money … but you must stop giving it to the girls, Kate.”
She groaned at that—she could hardly support herself and a child; how could she support them all?
“Now then, don’t worry. We’ll think of something to fly our kites again. But we must be diligent about selling the gifts the prince has given you. All of them. That ought to bring you a tidy little sum to keep you in fine fashion, eh? At least until you can open your bakery.”
“When should I tell the prince?” Kate asked.
“Not until you absolutely must, and certainly not before the fête. That, you must attend, if for no other reason than to have the prince purchase the finest jewelry for you so we can sell it.”
“Digby! That’s stealing!” Kate said.
Digby made a face. “It seems fair game to me, but very well. You must go if for no other reason than it buys us a bit of time and you’ll have a roof over your head until we’ve arranged for another one.”
He was right, of course. There was no way she might avoid it until she’d arranged other accommodations. But the thought of attending that fête made her ill. She closed her eyes, leaned her head back against the settee.
“I know something that might cheer you,” Digby said, nudging her in the side.
“Tell me. Anything. I desperately want to be cheered.”
“The Princess has arrived at the West Indies dock.”
Kate gasped and sat up.
“Aldous is there now, looking for one Jude Berger.”
Her pulse quickened. “Lud!” Kate exclaimed and suddenly stood. “We’ve so much to do, Digby! Shall I make the plum pastries? You thought they were quite nice, did you not?” she asked, hurrying to the door.
She paused there and looked back at Digby, who was sipping from his tot of whiskey. “Digby! What are you doing there? Come along, we’ve much to do!”
But when Aldous arrived later that evening, and found them in the kitchen, Kate’s exuberance faded. Aldous had not found Jude.
Chapter Thirty-seven
Grayson tried twice more to see Kate before the fête. The first time, he found no one at home. The second time, when he tried to get past Mr. Butler, Butler shoved him back with a force that surprised Grayson. “She don’t want you,” he said angrily. “She’s with the prince now. Best you go to your lover and stay there.” With that, he’d slammed the door in Grayson’s face and turned the lock.
As angry as Grayson was, he didn’t care to create a scene on a busy street, so he walked away.
But he was not giving up. If anything, he was more determined than he’d ever been about anything.
That evening, he’d invited his family for supper. The guests included his mother, his sister Prudence and her family, his sister Mary and her husband, his brother Merrick, four cousins, and his paternal uncle and his wife.
They dined in the formal dining hall at Darlington House. Grayson’s cook had outdone himself, serving eight courses. It was a gay evening, with Uncle Richland regaling them all with a wild tale of a sledding trip gone terribly awry when Grayson, Merrick, and Harry were boys.
“It was Grayson’s doing,” Merrick said laughingly. “Harry was scarcely out of his Christening gown, and I was just a bit older. Grayson is the one who convinced us the hill was perfect for sledding.”
Grayson recalled that day perfectly; they were supposed to be attending a secular celebration of the Epiphany. While the adults were preparing the church for the gathering, Grayson had convinced his younger brothers that the hill behind the church was a perfectly dangerous course for sledding. The danger was what convinced the boys to try.
“Never mind that there were trees and rocks beneath that snow, and no fool had ever sled down that hill,” Richland said laughingly.
“In every generation, someone must set a course,” Grayson reminded him.
“What happened?” Frederick asked eagerly.
“I shall tell you,” Merrick said, settling back. “We tucked Harry securely between us. With Uncle Christie guiding the sled, we set off. But as we went down the hill, it got a bit bumpy, and we were going much too fast. I shouted at Grayson to bank the sled, but he refused to heed me—”
“I didn’t hear you, Merrick—”
“—and by the time we reached the bottom of the hill, he’d lost control of the sled. So in order to avoid the stone fence we were headed for, he careened through the open door of the groundskeeper’s shed, and we collided with various tools and hemp sacks and pots and whatnot.”
Frederick gasped and looked at Radcliff.
“But it was the old turkey the groundskeeper could not bear to eat that did the most damage,” Merrick laughingly continued as Uncle Richland howled at the memory. “That old bird was in the shed and flapped around, squawking and carrying on and bringing down more pails and garden implements and a host of things I can no longer recall.”
“I have never in all my life heard such an awful racket!” the duchess said.
“Our father was so upset that he swore he’d send Grayson off to the Royal Navy.”
“I am certain the Royal Navy would have rejoiced in an eight-year-old officer,” Prudence said with a laugh.
“But what of the turkey?” Radcliff asked.
Grayson and Merrick looked at each other and burst into laughter. “The bird,” Merrick said between gasps for breath, “was so excited that when the duke came to take a switch to our backsides, the turkey attacked him!”
“Oh, the duke was very angry with that wretched bird!” Grayson’s mother said, laughing, too.
“And he made a fine Easter meal,” Richland added, to which they all laughed uproariously.
As they continued to laugh and tell exaggerated tales from his youth, Grayson looked around his table. He’d lived a charmed life, that was true. He’d never wanted for anything—not food, not possessions, and certainly not love. He’d be damned if he’d allow a title to stand in the way of him giving that very thing to his own child. So it was with some consternation, but some relief, too, that he tapped his glass with
his knife to gain everyone’s attention.
The laughter and talking died down and everyone turned to him expectantly. “There is something I must tell you all,” he said a little sheepishly. “I am to be a father.”
That was met with a moment of hushed silence.
And then everyone was talking at once. Grayson explained to them that he had fallen in love with Katharine Bergeron—a statement that caused his mother to all but faint—and that he intended to marry her, to raise his family surrounded by love and devotion as he’d been raised.
Grayson surprised himself, really. The thought of marrying Kate, of risking his title and reputation and standing, had weighed so heavily on his mind, yet he hadn’t realized he’d decided that he would actually do it until he said the words aloud to his family. And once he’d said it, he wondered why it had taken him so long to reach the only conclusion he could accept as far as Kate was concerned. He couldn’t be without her or his child. Nothing could stand in his way.
He knew his family would come to accept that, too, for that was the sort of family they were. They had their own code—family first, duty second.
Grayson was the only one, initially, who believed that was true.
What followed was quite a lively and heated discussion. Prudence sent her sons from the room when Frederick began to ask what, exactly, did a courtesan do. The duchess declared they would be ruined, but Richland assured her that in the history of the Darlingtons, there had been far, far, worse events, which prompted everyone to stop and lean forward attentively to hear what, precisely, could be worse.
When they moved from the dining room to the salon, there was more disagreement about the consequences to them all in the wake of Grayson’s decision. “Merrick stands to lose the most,” Grayson said solemnly, and fixed his gaze on his brother.
“God help me, but if the leaders of Britain will be swayed from doing what is right for this nation on the grounds of whom you’ve chosen to love, sir, then we are doomed to hell.”
“Here, here,” Robert Carlisle shouted.
But the duchess was unappeased. “You are mad, Grayson! You will do irreparable harm to this family and your father’s good name. Everyone will talk. We will be shunned by the decent people of society—is that what you would ask of your family?”
“Mother,” Grayson said patiently. “Would you ask that a child of our flesh, of our blood, live with less than the very best we could give it?”
“Of course not!” she said. “Why do you think I am saying this to you? You are my child, and I don’t want you to suffer, Grayson. I am very disappointed that you would undo all your father and I sought to provide you, and worse, visit that on your brothers and sisters. What of Ginny? She’s not even out yet—who do you think will have her if you go through with this? “
“But what of Grayson, Mamma?” Mary asked innocently. “Hasn’t he as much right to happiness as Ginny?”
“Mary, you are young and naïve,” the duchess said. “Darlington is a man. He may do his duty and have his pleasure, whereas Ginny does not have that freedom.”
“I understand,” Grayson said, and while it might turn out to be one of the greatest regrets of his life, he felt emboldened to take charge of his own life for perhaps the first time, his mother’s objections notwithstanding. She knew he would, too—from where he sat, he could see the tears in her eyes.
He wished he could do what she wanted, but for the first time in his life, following his heart was more important than his duty.
While Grayson was dining with his family, Diana was sitting in the shadows of a room in a public house, waiting. Her guest had been due to arrive at eight o’clock, but it was half past. When she at last heard the knock on the door, she stood up and calmly opened the door.
Millie walked in and looked over her shoulder. Behind her, two roughly dressed gentlemen entered, escorting a man between them who was even more crudely dressed. He was dirty, his clothes unkempt, and he had the growth of a beard that looked several days old. One of the men nudged him; he removed his cap to reveal matted blond hair. He looked around, absorbing his surroundings with eyes that were a remarkable shade of green.
He did indeed resemble Miss Bergeron. He was not a tall man, probably average in height, and if he were cleaned up, Diana thought he might be quite handsome. He was a young man, but he looked strangely old around his eyes.
“Good evening, Mr. Bergeron,” Diana said.
The seaman eyed her suspiciously. “Berger.”
“Mr. Berger, then. Thank you for coming.”
“I weren’t given a choice.”
Diana ignored that and walked slowly toward him.
“Who are you?” he asked suspiciously.
“I am Lady Eustis.”
“Who is that to me?” he demanded, his eyes taking her in.
Diana couldn’t help but wonder if he liked what he saw. “Would you like a whiskey?” she asked.
He swallowed. The man liked his whiskey, she gathered, and nodded to Millie to fetch him one from the bottle she’d had sent up. “Please do come in and take a seat, Mr. Berger. I think I have some startling news for you.”
“How could you have news for me, eh?” he asked. “I don’t know you at all.”
“But I know your sister.”
That gave him pause. He peered curiously at her, then at Millie. “I ain’t got no sister.”
“I think you do, Mr. Berger. And she is the courtesan of the Prince of Wales.”
“The what?” he asked, his brow furrowing.
“The prince’s mistress,” Diana clarified.
His frown of suspicion deepened.
“Oh yes, sir, your sister has made quite a good living.” Diana paused to let that sink in as Millie handed him the tot of whiskey. But Mr. Berger did not drink it. He was staring at her.
“She is fairly flush in the pockets, to speak indelicately. But what I have found to be particularly reprehensible— in addition to the selling of her body, of course—is that she’s known where you were all these years and did nothing to help you.”
The man snorted. “You’re cutting shams now, mu’um. Katie would’ve come round if she’d knowed where I was.”
“I should like to think that she would have, sir, but the fact is, she was setting up a life of luxury and you didn’t quite fit into it.”
Berger blinked. He looked down at himself.
“If you don’t believe me, I can prove it to you tomorrow evening,” Diana said smoothly.
Mr. Berger brought his head up. “Who are you?” he asked coldly. “What’s it to you who me sister is, then? What do you care?”
“Because I know her. I know the conniving, harmful woman she has become. She has stolen from me, and when I discovered that she had stolen a life from you—her own flesh and blood—I could not bear the injustice.”
Still, Berger seemed skeptical. Diana smiled and gestured to the small table. “Are you hungry? I can have supper brought to you if you’d like.”
He glanced at the whiskey in his hand and abruptly tossed it down his throat. “If you gots a stew, I’d eat it.”
Diana smiled. “I will do better than that, sir. Millie, would you ask the proprietor to bring a roast? And you may ask the gentlemen to wait outside.”
Millie nodded at the two men and followed them out. Diana gestured to a chair. “Please do sit, Mr. Berger. There is quite a lot I’d like to tell you.”
Chapter Thirty-eight
Kate was certain there were more people at Carlton House tonight than there had been at the Twelfth Night Ball. It was so crowded it was impossible to move without brushing up against someone else.
Nevertheless, Madame Renard had a firm grip on Kate, dragging her through the throng toward the main ballroom, where banquet tables had been erected in a large U-shape around a raised platform that would serve as a stage. Beyond the ballroom, more rooms had been turned into dining halls for those who were not fortunate enough to dine with the prince and w
hat looked like hundreds of his closest friends.
The décor for the night’s fête was intended to provide the illusion of walking in a garden. The house had been filled with paper flowers, which were stuffed into vases and covered trellises erected around the interior walls. If one was still not persuaded that spring had sprung, incense pots exuded the scent of roses throughout the massive building.
Anyone who attended a ball at Carlton House wore their finest apparel, but tonight, the women’s gowns and jewelry seemed to be more opulent than usual. Kate’s gown of green and gold organdy, trimmed in elaborate beadwork, had cost a princely sum of one hundred pounds. The emeralds and amber she wore to complement the gown cost that, if not more.
There was also an energy Kate had not felt before—it seemed as if everyone was waiting for something spectacular to happen. She supposed it was excitement about the pageant, which Madame Renard said was a masterpiece of theater. Kate believed it must be true, for she had seen the mask she would wear during her portion of the performance, and it was quite elaborate.
Once she’d performed in the pageant, Kate intended to leave. Just this morning, Digby had found some rooms that she might let. They were quite small, and there were no furnishings, but they were above a cobbler’s shop and the community water well was very close by so that Kate wouldn’t have to go far in inclement weather.
Digby had paid a month’s rent. Kate could move tomorrow.
She hadn’t told the prince of her decision as of yet. She was inclined to disappear into the streets of London, but Digby said the prince would look for her. So she’d decided that with Digby’s help, she would write the prince a letter and then disappear into London. She could not be persuaded differently and, in fact, she’d already packed her things.
“I must see that everything is at the ready,” Madame Renard said. “Please don’t wander off, Miss Bergeron. The entire performance depends on your piece.”