Julia London 4 Book Bundle

by The Rogues of Regent Street

  That earned her a dark frown. “It is your reputation I would protect, madam. This is not something I will debate—you will go to Kettering House first thing on the morrow.”

  “You didna care so much for propriety in Glenbaden!”

  And that brought Arthur to his feet. “Glenbaden,” he said evenly, “is a far cry from London, where I’ve my family name to protect, my brother’s position in the House of Lords to consider. I will avoid scandal to the extent that I can, Kerry. There is no point in arguing.”

  There was to Kerry, but Arthur was clearly determined. He refused to listen to her pleas, and at one point, threatened to leave for his club if she didn’t stop debating him. But Kerry was born of stubborn Scottish stock; the debate raged on over supper until, in a moment of sheer frustration, Arthur slapped his palm to the table and roared, “Enough!”

  Silence quickly descended. After a moment, Arthur picked up his fork.

  “How long do you mean to leave me there, then?” she asked.

  He slowly lifted his gaze to a painting of a fox hunt above her head, his jaw working, his fork frozen in midair. “I don’t rightly know.”

  The truth … the regret … in his voice was plain. Neither of them could deny any longer the quandary in which they found themselves. Kerry put both hands flat on the table and spread her fingers, staring blindly at them as her mind whirled. “We canna continue on like this,” she said softly. “This … this dilemma must have a solution.”

  “It is not a dilemma!” he said sharply.

  Kerry looked at him, saw the doubt swimming with the determination in his hazel eyes. She loved him, and God, she could see that he loved her. But it was impossible. “Arthur … we canna pretend forever.”

  A strange look came over him; he dropped his fork, his hand curling into an unconscious fist. “What is it you think we pretend? Do you think I pretend to love you? Do you pretend to love me?”

  “No, of course not. But this,” she said, flicking her wrist at the space around them, “this finery, this grandeur isna real, Arthur. Pretending that you and I … well, it can never be real—”

  His whole body seemed to jerk as if she had struck him. His goblet toppled over, the fine crystal breaking into several large pieces when it hit the cherrywood table, wine spilling onto his lap.

  Arthur surged to his feet, tossed a linen napkin on to the spill and stared down at the dark stain on his thigh. Kerry stood, too, but Arthur quickly gestured for her to sit. “Please, finish your meal. Jesus, where is Barnaby?” he fairly spat, and stalked from the table in search of his butler before Kerry could even open her mouth.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  CLAUDIA WHITNEY-DANE, the countess of Kettering, could not have been happier if Arthur had announced he was the long lost brother of little Queen Victoria. She actually had to physically restrain herself from covering him with kisses for having the courage to follow his heart instead of social convention.

  And she had to restrain herself from punching Julian for laughing so hard.

  In the spacious study of Kettering House on St. James Square, Julian was almost doubled over with laughter as Arthur dryly related the shooting that had introduced him to Mrs. McKinnon.

  Claudia didn’t think it so amusing. She might have done the same thing in Mrs. McKinnon’s shoes. She glanced at the woman, sitting stiffly on the edge of a chair, her hands gripped tightly in her lap. Her white knuckles were the only outward sign of discomfort. She watched Arthur, smiled pleasantly when Julian laughed, politely declined Claudia’s offer of more tea. To look at her, one would not know she was an impoverished widow from Scotland. One would not guess that Arthur Christian had fallen in love with a woman so scandalously without pedigree.

  She did not have to be told that Arthur loved Mrs. McKinnon—she had deduced it the moment she saw Arthur look at her, for it was the same expression of hunger and longing she had seen on Julian at one time. Arthur could not keep his eyes from her. Claudia could see why he was so entranced. Mrs. McKinnon, while not a beauty in the classic sense of the word, was lovely. With stark black hair, pale blue eyes, and skin that looked like porcelain, she had an air of pretty simplicity about her, an openness that was not often seen in London. Her expressions, unlike those of the ladies of the ton, were natural and unaffected. When she smiled, she smiled fully, the skin around her eyes crinkling. When surprised, her body radiated with it. There did not seem an ounce of pretension in Mrs. McKinnon.

  Which was precisely the problem. One look at the two of them and it was obvious they were in love. Not that Claudia wasn’t all for a happy union between them, oh no. As a champion of women’s rights, she was thrilled that someone like Mrs. McKinnon could catch Arthur’s eye. But having suffered from the scandal surrounding her marriage to Julian, Claudia had no desire to see how scandal might unfold with Mrs. McKinnon. And it would. There would be no hiding who she was—no connections, no blood ties, no sophistication borne of spending years in drawing rooms of the uppermost echelons of society. The ton could be merciless when it came to women like Mrs. McKinnon.

  No, this had to be handled very delicately. Very delicately.

  A supper party with a few of their most trusted friends was the first step, Claudia had already determined as much. Mrs. McKinnon would be slowly introduced, her entry into Arthur’s world carefully constructed as their good friend come to visit for a time. The launching would begin just as soon as Julian stopped laughing at Arthur’s tale of what sounded like a rather adventurous summer in Scotland.

  ————

  There were moments, albeit brief ones, over the next two days that Kerry felt as if she could somehow learn to live in this world. She secretly liked the fact that she was allowed to sleep past sunup, and that a very cheerful woman brought her hot chocolate and toast every morning before she had even put a foot to the floor. But for every moment she believed she could live like this, there were two more that left her feeling restless, out of sorts, and woefully inadequate for the salons of London.

  It seemed as if she was forever doing the wrong thing. B renda, the personal maid to the countess, seemed quite upset when Kerry washed her undergarments and hung them in the dressing room to dry. She had turned and looked at Kerry with such a look of shock that for a moment, Kerry thought she might be apoplectic. “If you’ve clothing to be laundered, mu’um, you need only say so,” she had said tightly, then had proceeded to snatch the clothing down. Where she took them, Kerry was afraid to ask.

  And there was Brian, the footman. The first time Claudia had taken her out for a turn about the town, the young man had met them in the foyer with wraps. He held one out to Kerry. “If you please, miss,” he had murmured, and Kerry had started at the familiar sound of his accent.

  “A Scot,” she had all but whispered.

  The footman glanced at Claudia from the corner of his eye. “Aye, mu’um.”

  Claudia put her hand on Kerry’s arm. “Kerry? Is the wrap not to your liking?”

  It was odd—it was almost as if Claudia did not even see the man standing there. In a moment of confusion, of not knowing the right thing to do, Kerry said, “No, it’s quite nice,” and awkwardly turned away from the footman. But not before she saw the change in his expression, and when she had walked out of the house behind Claudia without looking back, she had felt his eyes boring a hole in her back, as he had seen her for the fraud that she was.

  Moments like those left her feeling adrift and at odds with her conscience. There was so much of this life that was foreign to her.

  The supper party Claudia was determined to host was not only foreign, it was a nightmare. Claudia had explained her thinking, but it made little sense to Kerry. Actually, it seemed rather contrived—a series of introductions, a hope that one or two of the most influential guests would like her well enough to tell one or two of their most influential friends—all of the intricate maneuvering made Kerry’s head spin.

  And for what? What she could not seem to conve
y to Claudia was that she did not need to be introduced to society. In fact, she abhorred the idea, particularly since she wasn’t to be in London long. Soon, Arthur would determine where she would go next, and soon she would leave here.

  Claudia was very good at waving a dismissive hand at her when Kerry insisted the supper party was an unnecessary expense, and immediately resumed the planning of an affair that was sounding less and less like supper and more and more like one of the grand events they used to read of in school. The cold fist of dread was already gripping her heart.

  Her clothing for the evening was the first major issue. Claudia produced a gown of violet satin trimmed delicately in green. It looked like something Kerry was certain the Queen should wear, and she said as much, along with her hesitation to don it. What followed was a bit of an argument, with Claudia insisting that the gown was perfect for her coming out, and Kerry insisting just as adamantly that she was not coming out, that she was merely dining, and reluctantly at that.

  Claudia won.

  Even the choice of her clothing was not her own.

  When Arthur called that afternoon, Claudia had kindly left them alone under the pretense of searching down old Tinley, the senile butler Julian kept in his employ. Once they were alone, Kerry rushed into Arthur’s arms, seeking comfort from the only thing familiar about her life anymore.

  “Kerry, sweetheart, you must allow me to at least breathe,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Arthur, please tell me now, when will you take me from here?”

  He kissed her forehead. “As soon as Alex returns from the country—”

  “When?” she interrupted.

  “A fortnight, not more,” he said, stroking her cheek with his knuckle. “Have you any idea how much I miss you? I think about you constantly.” His gaze dropped to the blue diamond around her neck. Lifting it in his hand, he smiled. “The moon last night was so bright, I could have sworn I was in Glenbaden again. But it couldn’t be—you weren’t with me. There is no Glenbaden without you.”

  There was no earth, no heaven, no world without him. How could she make him understand how out of place she was here? With a weary sigh, she laid her forehead against his shoulder. “Arthur, please, will you listen to me now—I doona belong here.”

  “It’s just a while longer.”

  “I canna make you understand that I am not like Claudia. I am not like anyone in London. I doona belong in these clothes or this house. I should be home, in Glenbaden.”

  “I miss Glenbaden, too,” he said, missing her point. “But I can’t let you go back to Scotland—”

  “I doona ask to go back,” she said wearily.

  “Then what are you asking, Kerry? Can you not endure it another fortnight? Is it truly so unbearable? You have every comfort—what would you have me do instead?”

  The question silenced her—she had no idea what she asked. To be taken back to Mount Street? It was really no different than Kettering House, the sole exception being that Arthur was there. She loved him desperately, but even he couldn’t shield her from this life every moment of every day—he was as much a part of London as she was an outsider. So what, then, did she ask?

  “Don’t look so despairing, will you? It won’t be long now.” He folded her in his arms and kissed her fully. Kerry could not help herself; she clung to him, wishing she could somehow crawl inside him and hide there. For a few blissful moments, she felt as if she had almost succeeded, felt the security and comfort in his arms. But when Claudia rejoined them, and Arthur moved away, he fell into an easy conversation about the supper party the following evening, the invited guests, the menu, and the seating arrangements, paying particular attention to protocol. He seemed to understand the many nuances, the intricate network of introductions. They were speaking another language altogether that Arthur understood and she didn’t.

  Kerry’s anxiety grew to such monstrous proportions the night of the gathering that she feared she would be ill. The credentials and social standing of the dozen invited guests had been thoroughly explained to her, so that, presumably, she might understand how important they were to her. It did not help her understand, it made her feel faint. The list sounded like royalty, and as Brenda helped her dress in the elaborate costume, Kerry felt more than inadequate to the task. Although she had been taught some high-society etiquette in school, most of it was lost to her memory.

  “What will I do?” she frantically asked the maid.

  Brenda blinked. “I don’t know, mu’um. I suppose you should do as Lady Kettering does.”

  As if she could ever be so beautiful and cultured.

  When Brenda finished with her, Kerry looked in the mirror. The gown of violet and green was very nice, but she moved woodenly, unaccustomed to the weight of the skirts and petticoats and slippers with heels. Brenda had done very well with her hair, too, she noticed, sweeping it up and fastening it to the back of her head. Soft wisps of curls trailed down her neck, one wrapping around one of the earrings Claudia had loaned her. The blue diamond sparkled like a star above the low-cut bodice of the gown. Perhaps if she didn’t open her mouth all evening, no one would know that she was a fraud.

  Oh God, what a catastrophe!

  A moment later, Claudia came sailing in, but pulled up short when she saw Kerry. “Oh my. Oh my. You are beautiful, Kerry! How stunning! Oh Lord, Arthur shall strut about like a little peacock, won’t he, especially since he is bringing that cousin of his, Lord Westfall. They are quite the pair, you know.”

  No, she didn’t know. She didn’t know he even had a cousin.

  “Julian’s sister Ann is absolutely beside herself in anticipation of meeting you,” she continued as she walked around Kerry, assessing her from all sides. “She is quite desperate to meet a true Scot.”

  “Why?” Kerry asked.

  Claudia laughed. “I suppose she thinks it rather exotic.”

  Exotic. Hardly certain what that meant, the vise of fear tightened a little more. “W-what will I say?” she asked, her voice growing fainter.

  “Say? Oh, something shall come to you. You mustn’t worry about that—chances are you won’t have much opportunity to speak at all,” Claudia said blithely, and flashed a charming grin at Kerry. “There are many of our guests who rather delight in hearing themselves talk. You shall merely have to nod and smile at the appropriate moment.”

  Kerry forced a smile.

  “Oh, I am so pleased!” Claudia chirped, clapping her hands. “This shall be the perfect evening, mark my words!”

  Aye, a perfectly disastrous one.

  Many of the guests were already gathered in the gold salon when Kerry entered behind Claudia. The sight of so many people, so much finery, glistening jewels, crystal—much to Kerry’s horror, she realized that her hands were shaking as the earl of Kettering introduced each guest to her. It was hopeless—her tongue tangled so badly that she might as well have been speaking Gaelic. She was curtseying wrong, too, at first dipping to everyone, then fearing it was all wrong and dipping to no one, then again when Claudia whispered sharply in her ear, curtsey!

  Arthur was, as usual, a rock of strength for her. He was the first to greet her and introduce her to his cousin, then was never again very far from her side. Honestly, he did not seem to notice how terribly awkward she was, and it was a blessed relief when he answered questions posed to her—such as when Lord Farlaine asked how long she intended to visit London.

  “Aha, you must be asking in the event she might like to see your theatrical debut?” Arthur quickly interceded.

  Lord Farlaine blushed. “I suppose the thought did indeed cross my mind.” And he proceeded to explain to her in detail how he had stumbled into a role in a play that would be playing on Drury Lane for a period of two weeks. He went on explaining, in spite of Arthur’s increasing scowl, right down to reciting some of the lines he found particularly moving.

  At supper, she was, thankfully, seated directly across from Arthur, but across from the watchful eye of Lady Pritchet
t. Arthur was, of course, very engaging. She admired the easy way he regaled the guests around them with meaningless chatter—he was a master at turning the conversation around so that whomever he had engaged was suddenly talking about themselves and not asking pointed questions of her. Throughout the meal, he laughed at the droll wit of his supper companions, complimented the host and hostess profusely, and charmed all of the ladies with his easy banter. Frequently, he caught her eye and smiled reassuringly. It was plain he was very much at home at such affairs as this.

  And it was outlandishly clear that she was not. Kerry began the first course with the wrong spoon, fumbled with the serving utensil when the Scottish footman tried to serve her. He whispered harshly to her in Gaelic to put it down—much to the considerable interest of Lady Pritchett—and only then did Kerry realize she was to be served by him. And she was the only one who did not seem to understand the apparently very funny joke Lord Reynolds made that had the entire table laughing politely. Feeling clumsy and oafish, she found herself sinking farther into her seat as the supper wore on, praying no one would speak to her or God forbid, try and serve her anything, and catching the watchful eye of the Scottish footman more than once.

  She foolishly believed the worst had passed when the dishes were cleared after the last course. Breathing a sigh of relief, she smiled at Arthur, answered Lady Billingsly’s questions about the weather in Scotland—“Aye, it is rather cold in the winter”—and even chuckled when Claudia made a face that only Kerry saw.

  But then the footmen advanced like an army, laying small crystal goblets in front of the men. Before anything was poured, however, the men stood and the women came to their feet, filing out of the dining room in twos and threes. Kerry thought this practice was another indication of the great divide between her and them. In Glenbaden, the men went directly to bed after their evening meal so that they might begin anew with the sunrise.

  Claudia caught up with Kerry as they filed out. “It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” she whispered excitedly, and slipped her arm through Kerry’s. “You are very much complimented.”