by Jo Beverley
Perhaps there was something in the records about how the fifth viscount’s wedding had been celebrated. If not, people could be asked. It might have been no more than twenty years ago.
She strolled about as she thought, but then a speck of rain drove her inside. She closed the door just ahead of steady rain and went to Braydon’s office. The door was open, but he wasn’t there.
She stopped by the secretary’s office. “Do you know where Lord Dauntry is?”
He rose. “No, my lady.”
“Do you know if there’s any record of the events around the fifth viscount’s wedding?”
“I believe there are some accounts. A moment, my lady.”
He went into the muniment room and returned with a ledger, flipping through the pages. “Here are some costs to do with the ring and various gifts. All in London, of course.”
Of course. He’d married there. “Were there any celebrations here?”
“That would be in a separate account, ma’am. A moment, please.” He found another ledger and ran through the pages. “Ah, here. On the same day, a special dinner for the indoor servants, with wine to toast the couple. The next night, a dance in the long barn, which included the outdoor servants, with ale and cider. Ale and cider provided for the villagers of Beecham Dab and Stuckle. Special provisions for the residents of the almshouses. More of such benevolence.”
“Thank you.” She turned and came face-to-face with Braydon. “May I have a moment of your time, my lord?”
“As many as you wish,” he said, but once they were in his study he asked, “A problem?” as if he expected one.
“Not at all. I was thinking there should be a celebration for the servants and others.”
“Of course. How remiss of me. I’ve never been involved in such an affair before. What do you suggest?”
“I don’t suppose we can arrange a special dinner for the servants tonight, but they could have wine to toast us. Perhaps we should attend the toast. Then a ball in a barn as soon as it can be arranged, and the special dinner. But what of the local dignitaries?”
“Apart from the Fields, there are none nearby and I’ve not gone farther in search of them.”
“Then that will do for now. What of the dowager and Isabella? It feels unnatural to ignore them.”
“And perhaps petty. I’ll invite them to dine with us tonight.”
Kitty didn’t relish that, but she agreed. “Shall I put the rest in hand?”
“I will be very grateful.”
That seemed sincere, and Kitty left in a pleasant halo of purpose. This was the sort of thing he’d married her for, and this she could do.
Chapter 18
Consulting with Henry about appropriate wedding celebrations and then making plans with the Quillers took up most of the rest of the day, but Kitty didn’t have to prepare for a grand dinner. The dowager declined the invitation for herself and Isabella, in brief and without explanation.
Kitty wondered what Isabella thought of that and was tempted to invade the other side of the house to speak to her directly, but she remembered the hostile young woman she’d faced before. She doubted Isabella would appreciate any concern.
If the meal would be only for herself and Braydon, they would eat in the small dining room, and though she was hungry, she wanted nothing grand. She summoned the cook to her boudoir and discussed matters.
The woman was guarded, but perhaps not hostile. When Kitty explained that she wanted the servants to enjoy some treats tonight, the cook suggested that beefsteaks could be cut from a sirloin joint.
Kitty suspected that she was supposed to balk at that, but she agreed. “And for dessert?” she asked.
“There’s a suet pudding cooking, ma’am.”
“Then we won’t waste it, but are there any little treats that would finish up the meal?”
“There’s some nice cheeses in the larder, ma’am, but to speak plainly, most of the servants wouldn’t appreciate them. They prefer sweet to savory. Er . . . there are the candied fruits, ma’am.”
“Yes?”
“The dowager Lady Dauntry is particularly fond of those, ma’am.”
Kitty sensed another test. “I presume we can obtain more. Very well. A small piece to go with the wine. Would the servants prefer a sweeter wine?”
“Yes, ma’am, most of them.”
“I’ll consult Lord Dauntry about that.”
Kitty sent the cook on her way, then hurried to talk to Braydon.
“You want to serve my finest port to the servants?”
“Do you count the cost of ammunition, sir?”
“Always, but you’re right. However, may I suggest a punch? Rum, brandy, and such, as sweet as you like.”
She smiled. “Brilliant! We’ll overrun them entirely.”
He took her hand, a smile in his eyes. “Tell me you’re enjoying this as much as it seems.”
“I am. I enjoy a challenge.”
“Then I expect to give you great pleasure.”
She took his words at face value, but then he raised her hand and kissed it, his lips pressing warmly against her skin. The look in his eyes told her he was as aware of the coming night as she was, and perhaps with the same anticipation. But first they had the evening to navigate. All must go perfectly.
Kitty had Henry choose her gown.
“The red, ma’am. It’s elegant but not ostentatious. A pity you don’t have grander jewels to wear with it. There should be some belonging to the viscountcy.” A gentle hint.
“I’ll look into it.”
“Sit you down, ma’am, and I’ll brush out your hair and redress it.”
“It will do.”
“It will not. It’s coming out all over.”
“Cap?” Kitty saw the maid’s expression and sat down with a sigh. “It’s completely appropriate for a married lady to wear a cap.”
“Not on her wedding day, ma’am,” Henry said, pulling out pins. Kitty had forgotten that Henry had never seen it down. “That’s quite a sight,” the maid said as she started to brush it.
“And quite a lot of work. My first husband liked it.”
“I’m sure your second will, too.”
Kitty sincerely hoped that was true. She still feared disappointing him. “I’ve often wished it was smoother,” she said. “I’ve tried rinses and oils, but it has a mind of its own.”
“Like the head beneath it, I suspect.”
Kitty chuckled. “You suspect hair grows out of the mind? What of the men with none at all?”
“Certainly they’re not all stupid, so there’s an end to that theory.”
Kitty was thinking about jewelry. To demand the viscountcy’s jewels on her wedding day seemed grasping, but the toast in the servants’ hall would be a formal appearance, and she wanted to impress.
She remembered that Henry was an old familiar servant to Braydon’s family. When her hair was cleverly pinned up in rolls of curls, Kitty said, “You could mention jewelry to Lord Dauntry.”
In the mirror she saw Henry give her a look, but she said, “I could, ma’am. I’ll dress you first.” She went to pick up the red dress.
Kitty stood. “Could you call me Kitty? In private.”
Henry smiled. “I could, yes. As I won’t be here for long.”
Kitty was suddenly saddened by that.
“I won’t abandon you,” Henry said, “but my place is with Miss Ecclestall, and in time you’ll find a maid to suit you.” She dropped the gown over Kitty’s head and then fastened it. “There. Now you’re ready, I’ll go and speak to his lordship.”
She soon returned with Braydon, who had remained in the town finery he’d worn for the wedding. Kitty thought his look was admiring, and perhaps more than that. She hoped so.
“No one admits to knowing where the Braydon jewels ar
e,” he said. “The dowager has some that she claims to be gifts to her, and as best I can tell, that’s true. I will uncover the truth, but I’ve made minor amends.” He had a box in his hands. “If I’d known of that gown, I would have chosen red stones.”
He gave her the box and she opened it to see a necklace. Smooth, translucent yellow stones were surrounded by what must be tiny diamonds that sparkled in the candlelight. The size of the stones and a clustering design made it a fit companion for the ring. It was probably too splendid for the occasion, but it would impress.
“It’s lovely,” she said. “Thank you.”
He took it out of the case. “May I?”
She turned so he could put it around her neck and fasten it, his fingers brushing at the nape. That had always been a particularly sensitive area for her, and she inhaled. Hands on her shoulders, he turned her toward the long mirror.
“Perhaps it isn’t so poor a choice,” he said.
The cider-toned stones were a bridge between the cherry-red dress and her red hair, and they picked up details of the beaded tapestry belt. The diamonds sparkled. She put in the matching earrings herself.
“I have another gift,” he said. “Which will also suit, I believe.”
Kitty hadn’t noticed that Henry had brought something wrapped in white muslin. Unwrapped, it proved to be a gorgeous shawl in shades of brown, red, and gold. As soon as Kitty touched it, she knew it was genuine cashmere, made of wool but smooth as silk, with the design all hand embroidered. Imitation shawls were woven in Britain, but this must have cost a small fortune. He’d purchased these things in London between proposal and wedding.
She didn’t know whether to gush thanks or be careless about it, so she simply said, “Thank you.”
Henry arranged it, draping it over Kitty’s elbows so that the fringes on both sides fell just short of the ground and the lush end embroidery was displayed. Undoubtedly, she looked magnificent. Magnificent enough to be a duchess rather than a mere viscountess.
He’d provided the weaponry she needed.
She turned to him. “I feel I should have a wedding gift for you, but I’ve not so much as embroidered you a handkerchief. If I had, it wouldn’t have been a treasure. I’m not an elegant seamstress.”
“You’ve made a gift of yourself, my dear. I could want nothing more.”
A suitable thing for any bridegroom to say. Weak of her to wish it meant more.
Kitty told Sillikin that she’d have to stay in the room, where she had food and water. She’d swear the dog sighed. Probably she was missing the lively atmosphere of the parsonage.
They went downstairs, and Kitty again felt as if she were going onstage. Was Isabella watching from the gallery? She hoped the girl was, and would see she was outmatched.
Even so, it was a relief to enter the small dining room, but even there she couldn’t be entirely comfortable. Quiller supervised, and two footmen served them. Kitty was strongly tempted to order them away so she could relax, but for today at least, she would attempt nobility.
“Have you traveled to Kashmir, my lord?” she asked as she ate some excellent clear soup.
“Never farther east than Turkey. The court there is known as the Sublime Porte, after a gate that leads into the state apartments.”
“Rather like British administration being referred to as Whitehall, after a street?”
“Very like.”
He went on to speak of foreign places of interest, and she supplied the occasional question. As the next course was laid, they moved on to the war, where she could contribute some of Marcus’s stories. Braydon dwelt on Marcus’s glory at Roleia, and she realized that was for the servants. She was the widow of a hero. She dropped Cateril Manor and Lord and Lady Cateril into the stream of words. Her husband had been of the aristocracy. Neither of them spoke of her more humble origins.
At last she could rise to leave him with his port and brandy, but he rose to go with her. “As the drawing room is unheated, my dear, perhaps we can take coffee in your boudoir.”
“Of course, my lord.” Kitty turned to Quiller. “Please let us know when it’s time for the toast.”
They went upstairs and into her sitting room and closed the door. They looked at each other and Kitty asked, “Do actors feel like this as they come offstage?”
“I have no idea, but you played the part extremely well.”
“I did my best with the reality,” she countered. “This is who I am now.”
“You say it with the voice of doom.”
“Do I? Like flies to wanton gods? But no. Unlike you, I had a choice.”
“Regretting it?”
Kitty was saved by a noise. “There’s Sillikin scratching at the door.” She opened it, and the dog rushed in as if deprived of her company for weeks. Kitty picked her up for a cuddle, but Braydon was waiting for an answer.
“No regrets. I’ve had a more purposeful day than in a long time and I’ve found it satisfying.”
“And tiring?”
She almost said yes, but realized he could be delicately asking if she would be too tired for her duties.
“Not at all,” she said with a bright smile.
She’d strip naked now if not for the servants’ toast.
* * *
Braydon knew he should be keeping a cool mind, but how, when alone with Kit Kat in her red and gold pagan magnificence? He was no more immune than any other man.
She’d played her part splendidly before the servants, never taking a wrong step. When he remembered their first encounter in the lane, that could have been a different woman, and yet he knew that she’d been honest when she’d said all aspects were true. How was a man to deal with such a wife? Coolly, but that could prove impossible with the thought of the marriage bed woven through every moment. Were her thoughts of anticipation or trepidation? Were his?
He desired her now, but the lack of prologue made this too much like an encounter at a high-class brothel. At the same time, the delicate steps of a courtship would be mere playacting with the denouement already decided. They could get the first engagement over now, but there was the performance in the servants’ hall to get through. So they drank coffee, this time with brandy, and spoke of foreign parts and lighter army matters.
When she mentioned the premature peace celebrations of 1814 he said, “You must have enjoyed them, all the same.”
“When I could. By then, Marcus couldn’t get out much.”
Angry on her behalf, he asked, “Didn’t he have a manservant to keep him company?”
“He did, but Tranton served as footman as well and much more. We had only three servants—Tranton, Lindy as general maid, and Mrs. Ipple, who came in once a week to do the hard scrubbing.”
“No cook?”
“Lindy and I could do simple cookery, but we often bought in.”
He should have realized how different her life had been to his, but Cateril Manor had come between, like a veil.
“Yet you kept open house for military men.”
“Marcus couldn’t get out, so they came to him. He was well liked, you know.”
“Yes.”
She looked at him over her cup. “I remember. You asked about me in London.”
He could understand her disliking that, but he thought she seemed wary. Zeus. Had her intimate experiences been not with her crippled husband, but with one or more of the young men who remembered Kit Kat with such enthusiasm? Would some of them have sought her out now for reasons other than marriage? If Cateril hadn’t liked her jaunting out with his friends, perhaps he’d had reason.
She suddenly rose and excused herself. It was probably to use the chamber pot, but she might have read his thoughts. She was damnably perceptive. The dog lifted her head to observe, gave him a stare, but then clearly decided there was no need to intervene. Would that the animal were right
.
He remembered returning to the Abbey doubting the wisdom of marrying Kit Kat, but he’d ended up going through with it. But that was because of Isabella, not a sorceress’s spell. Or was it? He couldn’t lie to himself. When he’d gone to the parsonage and seen her in that gown, he lost all remnants of the ability to let her go.
Perhaps it went back further. He wasn’t a liar, but he’d lied to Captain Edison about her whereabouts.
He was stuck now. As the marriage service said, for better or for worse.
She returned just as Quiller came to announce that all was ready. He gave her his arm, and they went down to find most of the servants around the long table. A few of the lowest stood ready to serve their betters. There were layers at every level of society.
Everyone rose. Quiller made a congratulatory speech and proposed a toast with the punch. Everyone had a glass, even the servants’ servants, and even the youngest. Everyone drank. Undoubtedly they were enjoying the treats, but the mood was still guarded. They were still unsure who was in command at Beauchamp Abbey, and to whom they should give allegiance.
Braydon thanked them and announced that there would soon be a ball for the servants and tenants to celebrate the event. Then he added that all the Abbey servants would receive a bonus of ten percent of their wages on the Christmas quarter day. That brightened a few faces.
He and Kitty returned upstairs in silence, for while the servants were all belowstairs, the dowager and Isabella could be lurking and listening. How would it be if he took her into his arms and kissed her in the way he was burning to?
Marble stairs.
Most uncomfortable.
Once they were in the boudoir again, they would be free. Some sweet words, some kisses, and on to bed.
Sweet words would be false.
Straight to kisses?
Would that be to fall straight into Kit Kat’s enchantments and become another adoring fool?