by Jo Beverley
Ruth’s hug was fierce, but did she, like Kitty, feel a divide? They weren’t schoolgirls anymore, and their situations and stations were now very different. And they might not even be in accord on all matters. How was Kitty to cope without Ruth’s support?
Chapter 21
Kitty reentered Beauchamp Abbey by the comfortable back door, hoping to find Braydon in his office. However, Worseley told he her he’d not yet returned.
He was taking a very long ride.
Was he escaping both the Abbey and his wife?
Kitty was tempted to go back outside and stay out until he returned, but that would be childish. She went upstairs, determined to take up her duties to the house and the family. Which one first?
At the top she was confronted by a black-clad woman. For a moment she wondered if it was the dowager, but, if so, she’d been mistaken in all her impressions.
“The dowager Lady Dauntry wishes you to visit her, my lady.”
Ah, the Irish maid, as was confirmed by a slight accent, and sent with a summons. Not at all surprising that Sillikin was staring.
“Of course,” Kitty said pleasantly. “In a little while.”
She went on to her rooms. Perhaps she was seeing skirmishes where none existed, but she’d go odds the dowager knew Braydon was out and hoped to get Kitty alone.
Henry was waiting to take the gloves and cloak.
“I’ve been commanded to the presence,” Kitty said. “I’ll go, but after a meaningful delay.”
“You don’t want to wait until his lordship returns?”
That sentence was open to various interpretations.
“I don’t know when that will be, and it might be best to meet woman to woman. Am I suitably dressed?” The sage green gown was rather plain.
“Perfectly adequate,” Henry said, “but you could wear the shawl.”
“The cashmere?”
“The house is chilly between rooms. Let’s see.” Henry took the shawl and placed it around Kitty’s shoulders, as if it had been an everyday one. Then she crossed it at the front, as a simple woman might do, and tied the ends at the back.
“I can’t wear such a shawl like this,” Kitty protested.
“A viscountess may do as she pleases. A wealthy viscountess may be careless of expensive items.”
A wealthy viscountess. The pin money arranged in the settlements was generous, and this house was very fine, but if Isabella had spoken the truth about her inheritance, there might not be funds for extravagance.
She wouldn’t ask anyone else, but Henry was his aunt’s maid and confidant. “Is Dauntry wealthy in his own right?”
“There’s many richer, dear, but his uncle had a way with money and left him well provided for. With all my worldly goods . . .” she reminded.
Which meant, in theory, Kitty was also now well provided for.
She studied herself in the mirror. The dull green was an excellent background for the shawl, but as the deeply embroidered ends were now behind, it didn’t look completely outrageous. The embroidery running along the edges was simply pleasing.
“Very well. Which door across the way enters the dowager’s boudoir?”
“The second. Cullinan will be with her.” It was a warning.
“You don’t have a high opinion of her?”
“I can’t decide if she’s haughty or uncouth, but I’ve no time for her.”
Kitty was surprised to hear such disdain. “Perhaps you could test her out by asking advice.”
“From her?”
“Not about your work,” Kitty said quickly. “About where something is, perhaps.”
Henry’s ruffles smoothed down. “I could do that, I suppose, though she’s the last I’d ask in the normal way of doing things. I see her only at meals. She’s the sort who spends all her time with her mistress.”
“Is that common?”
“With some. Like a lady-in-waiting at court, always to hand. But that went out of fashion when bells became common. Most people don’t want servants at their elbow all the time, seeing and hearing everything.”
“I certainly wouldn’t. Not even you, Henry. I would like a deeper opinion of Cullinan, however.”
“Quite the little general, aren’t you, dear?”
It was said with a smile, so Kitty didn’t object. “I lived with soldiers for so long that I’m used to looking at the world that way. Here it seems appropriate. I’m going to leave Sillikin with you. I don’t think she’ll need anything whilst I’m on the far side of the world.”
“Where there be dragons?”
“Precisely. Into the fray.”
Kitty crossed the hall and knocked briskly on the second door. When it didn’t quickly open, she opened it herself and went in. “You wished to see me, ma’am,” she said cheerfully to the woman in black, equal to equal. “I’m sorry it didn’t seem convenient for us to meet yesterday. I completely understand that you were unable to travel to the wedding.”
The overheated room was crammed with expensive furniture and ornaments, its walls thick with paintings. The air hung heavy with rose perfume, wood smoke, and dog. Three tiny white dogs were appropriately all in the dowager’s ample black lap. The three of them would just about equal Sillikin.
The dowager stroked them with plump, beringed fingers. “See who we have here, my darlings. The new Viscountess Dauntry.”
She was fat, but could be described as comely, as some well-fleshed women could, with smooth, plump cheeks delicately aided by rouge. Her eyes were largely hidden by puffy lids. Black suited her, giving dignity to the mass, and her black cap with lappets and gauze veiling concealed most of her graying dark hair.
Kitty wondered for the first time how old she was. In her sixties, at least.
She was seated on a large chair that decidedly resembled a throne, her feet on an embroidered footstool. Kitty doubted even Queen Charlotte sat in a chair like that on a daily basis.
The maid was standing sentry just behind.
There was no sign of Isabella.
Kitty looked around, saw a straight chair with an upholstered seat, and moved it to a convenient spot, not too close to the fire, but facing the dowager. She sat and said, “Please accept my condolences on your losses, ma’am.”
“A hollow sentiment when it has provided you with such an opportunity.”
“I, too, grieve, ma’am—in my case, for my first husband.”
“That is not the same as the loss of a son!”
“Truly anyone can appreciate that, ma’am.”
“Not until they have suffered it.” Was the dowager truly wishing Kitty would one day?
“I lived with my mother-in-law for quite a while,” Kitty said, “and saw her grief daily. It is a bitter loss.”
“Cateril. A very recent elevation.” The sneer revealed long, darkened teeth.
“Nothing at all by comparison to the Godysons, ma’am. I understand they can be traced back to before the Conquest.”
“And the barony to 1176. A proud line brought down in the end to a mere woman—myself.”
“And to your granddaughter, ma’am.”
“The new viscount jilted Isabella to marry you.”
Kitty had expected that. “That can’t be true,” she said calmly. “And a marriage of sixteen to nearly thirty is undesirable.”
“Not in dynastic situations. He raised her hopes and broke her heart.”
“I doubt that, ma’am. I remember that age. It’s so easy to fall into infatuation with no encouragement at all. Whatever the case, he’s married to me now, and that’s an end of it.”
The dowager Lady Dauntry stared, definitely not accustomed to such blunt speech.
“As to Isabella,” Kitty continued, “I look forward to helping her to a good marriage in time. Thus your bloodline will continue.”
“It would become cumbersome,” Kitty agreed. “Godyson-Braydon-Cavendish or some such.”
“I see I provide you with amusement.”
“I was merely agreeing with you, ma’am.”
A dog yelped. Perhaps it had been squeezed. The dowager soothed it, but her eyes fixed on Kitty. “If any of my other sons had survived, I would have demanded that the Godyson barony be re-created for the eldest of them. God did not choose that it be so.”
And that put God on the list of enemies, Kitty suspected. Here was a woman obsessed with one thing, but Kitty was shocked to realize that she’d lost a number of children. However, she’d aimed that tragic information as a weapon. Cullinan’s comforting hand on the dowager’s shoulder was a supporting volley.
Kitty was tempted to point out that if the dowager had made Diane Dauntry happy here, there might have been many more vessels of the Godyson blood, but she wouldn’t sink to petty cruelty. She took up a different line of attack. “I see that you won’t want to continue to live here, ma’am, in a place that must remind you of all your losses.”
“I would never abandon my duties.”
“You may do so with honor, now I am here to shoulder them. I’m sure Dauntry will arrange for whatever home you prefer. He and I have only your best interests at heart.”
The woman’s face was so set it could have been one of Madame Tussaud’s wax models of victims of the guillotine, and the rouge looked garish. “I have lived here for more than forty years,” she said.
“And have made it beautiful.”
“You have the ability to recognize that?”
Kitty ignored the sneer. “I’m sure anyone would, ma’am. The viscountess’s rooms were something of a shock.”
That brought the dowager back to life. “That woman had deplorable taste and she thwarted every attempt by me to improve matters. I was glad to see the back of her. Glad. She probably squandered her fertility on her lowborn lover.”
That sounded authoritative. “Do you know what happened to her, ma’am?”
“I have no interest in the strumpet.”
“Did she ever write to your son?”
“If she did, he didn’t tell me of it.”
“Why didn’t he divorce her so that he could marry again?”
“I have no idea, and he can no longer satisfy your impertinent curiosity. You may go.”
Kitty considered defying the command, but it would be a meaningless skirmish and she’d be glad to escape the heat and smell. But she had one point to make first. “I’m about to speak to the cook, ma’am. I will be ordering some dishes to my and Dauntry’s taste, but I’ll make sure ones that please you are always included. Please let me know if you perceive any lack. In that, or in any other aspect of the running of the house.”
A lapdog yelped again.
Having asserted her command, Kitty rose and left. The coolness outside was a relief, but she was careful not to show any reaction as she crossed to the other side of the house. She could have grinned. She’d met the dragon and there was nothing to her but bile and bluster.
She hoped Isabella would be as easy. Surely the girl would welcome escape from the dowager, and the prospect of a normal life.
Chapter 22
Close to her door she saw Braydon coming up the stairs and turned to meet him at the top. They should have a pleasant exchange for attentive ears, so there’d be no sign of strain over the recent encounter.
“Did you enjoy your ride, husband?” she asked.
His brows twitched, but he responded, “Very much.”
They turned to walk together. “I took Sillikin out. The kitchen gardens are well kept. Yesterday I admired the flower gardens, but I saw no roses.”
“Perhaps they’re not sufficiently amenable to drill and discipline.”
“Flogging them does no good?”
“Not sure if it’s been tried. Perhaps a pagan whipping dance at the winter solstice.”
She laughed as they entered her boudoir. The laugh was spontaneous, but it would convey the right impression. A happy couple. A strong team.
He closed the door. “That is an unusual way to treat a cashmere shawl.”
“I visited the dowager.”
“Ah, armor. I see no blood.”
“We had a frank discussion.”
“I see no blood,” he said again.
“I believe we came to an understanding. Did you know she had other children that died?”
“No. That softened your heart?”
“To an extent, but she wielded the information like a battle-ax.”
“She would.”
“She also tried to claim you’d jilted Isabella. I take that as a sign of weakness—that she has no better weapon—but is it possible that Isabella truly fancies herself in love with you?”
“No.”
“Think, please. As I said to the dowager, sixteen tumbles into infatuations very easily.”
“I’ve seen no sign of that. Only of calculated acts.”
Kitty supposed he would know. He was the sort of man girls would have been tumbling over since he was in his teens.
“Very well. I suggested to the dowager that she wouldn’t want to live on in a place that had such unhappy memories for her.”
“Still no blood?”
“If eyes could pierce . . . What places are available?”
“She won’t go, but in addition to the Dower House here, there’s a house in Bath that has been rented out for a decade or more, her old house in Lincolnshire, and the place in Wales. Though that’s more of a farm.”
“No London house?”
“Yes, but we’ll need that at times.”
A London house. It would be a grand one in Grosvenor Square or some such fashionable quarter. Another place to manage, and being there would mean tackling the haut ton.
“Do you live there now?” she asked.
“I keep my rooms.”
She’d like to see them. She suspected they’d tell her a great deal about her husband. “Is the house rented?”
“No. The fifth viscount used it fairly often.”
“But it’s stood vacant for at least a six-month. That’s a waste.”
“The viscountcy is not so desperate for income.” He might as well have looked down his fine nose, and she wanted to snap something about pampered privilege, but she must try to think and speak like a grand lady.
“I plan to speak to the cook,” she said. “Are you content with the meals provided?”
“They’ve mostly been edible. I offended you?”
“Not at all. Mostly?”
“Inedible was tried once. I put a stop to it.”
“Flogging?”
“Beating servants was outlawed long ago.”
“But not beating wives,” she pointed out.
“Wives are chattel. Servants aren’t.”
He might be teasing, but in her present mood, Kitty couldn’t tell. “Why was the food inedible?”
“The dowager instructed the cook to it. Oversalted soup, rubbery meat, scorched potatoes.”
“And she obeyed?” It felt good to turn her anger on a worthy object.
“It was early days,” he said. “I put an end to it by making it clear that another meal of that sort would lead to the instant dismissal of all the kitchen servants.”
“Somewhat drastic, and very unjust.”
“It never serves to slap at arrant insubordination. At least in civilian life, we don’t have to hang people to bring the rest to heel.” He halted and inhaled. “I apologize. That’s not the sort of thing—”
“To
say to a lady. Think where I spent most of my adult life, Braydon.”
He’d been growing angry, however, as angry as she, perhaps responding to her emotions, and because of his cool restraint, she hadn’t been aware of it. At least with Marcus there’d been no concealment.
“You went driving,” he said.
“You object to that?”
“Not object . . .”
“Was I supposed to seek your permission? I beg your pardon, my lord. I am not yet accustomed to this form of marriage.”
“Devil take it! Am I at fault for being concerned for my wife’s safety?”
“I was perfectly safe! Baker took good care of me. If you’ve dismissed him—”
“Of course I haven’t, you termagant.” He inhaled. “This is a storm over nothing.”
“Then why . . .” But Kitty pulled in her anger. “Perhaps the dowager . . .”
“Put you on edge.”
“I don’t know how she can bear that overstuffed, overheated room.”
“Nor do I.”
Thus, carefully, they arrived at a point of fragile agreement.
But then he said, “They called you Kit Kat.”
She eyed him warily. “Yes.”
“You didn’t mind?”
“Should I have? It isn’t some lewdness, is it? No, no, Marcus would never have allowed that.”
“Of course not. It just seemed . . . I apologize. I was taken aback by so many men having a fond name for my wife.”
Please, not jealousy as well! She’d suffered from that for years. She couldn’t bear it again.
“I accuse you of no wrong,” he said.
“Good,” she said, striving for a moderate tone, “for I did none.”
“And you couldn’t help being so engaging.”
“I was merely there, Braydon. The only woman among many young men.”
“I’ve been in situations where women were scarce. Not all of them were adored.”
“No one adored me!”
“No one?”
She wished she’d instantly said no, but she’d faltered on the lie and probably her expression gave her away. “A few,” she admitted. “And briefly. They forgot me as soon as they were back with their regiments. Believe me or not as you please, but if you play Othello with me, you’ll find no meek Desdemona.”