by Claudia Dain
Mama seemed to have no word for what Kit had done.
“Faux paus?” Sig suggested.
“Unfortunately, it was more than that,” Mama said, “though no matter what it was, we shall not desert Mrs. Culley and her sons. They shall need us now more than ever. Of course, based on what Mrs. Culley said as they were leaving Melverley House, they are soon to leave Town. To remain now would be folly.”
“They’re leaving?” Emeline said, the kippers tumbling in her belly.
“How can they stay now?” Mama said, and she then went on and on about suitability and scandal.
“Excuse me, madam,” the butler said, holding a tray with a card on it. “A note from Lady Eleanor Kirkland for you.”
Mama’s eyes widened. Mama took the note and opened it, read it, her eyes widened further, and then she passed the note to Emeline.
According to the note, Eleanor most cordially requested that Mrs. and Miss Harlow accompany her to Madame Lacroix’s millinery shop, the same shop in which they had accidentally met only the day before, to aid her in choosing a new hat as the skill with which they dealt with milliners and fashion had so impressed her. Would they do her the honor?
They most certainly would.
Kit was browsing the library shelves of his borrowed London home when Pip, Sig, and Harry burst in upon him. They were unannounced, not having the patience to wait for such a pointless thing as that.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Culley,” the butler said, frowning.
“It’s quite all right,” Kit said. “‘Tis their habit and no reflection on you.”
Ever since the wallpaper incident at Melverley House the night before, Kit had been treated with great care by any servant he happened upon. It would have been quite amusing if it hadn’t been so ridiculous.
“Are you leaving Town?” Harry said the minute the butler closed the door behind him. “You can’t leave. How will we have any fun at all if you’re back home?”
“Aren’t you having fun?” Kit asked, sitting on the large sofa positioned under the largest window in the room. Harry plopped down beside him, slouching so that his head was a mere inch from Kit’s arm.
“Aren’t you?” Harry said. “You got to punch someone. I didn’t think you could do that in London.”
“I didn’t punch anyone. Don’t spread false tales.”
“Someone said you wanted to punch Lord Raithby,” Sig said.
“Who said such a thing?” Kit said.
Sig shrugged.
“Why would I want to do that? Raithby is a friend.” Though not as much of a friend as he had believed only twenty-four hours ago. What had he and Emeline found to laugh about?
“Because he and Emeline got on so well?” Pip said, sounding very sophisticated for fifteen.
“Where did you hear that?” Kit snapped.
Pip shrugged and walked to the far window, his back to the rest of them.
“Didn’t they get on well?” Sig asked.
“Did Emeline say so?” Kit said.
Sig shrugged and walked to the bookshelves. The books were mostly histories, nothing that would interest Sig.
“Are you really leaving Town?” Harry asked, slouching further, his hair getting mussed.
“I suppose so,” Kit said. And in so doing, he would leave Emeline to Lord Raithby. The thought was horrifying. “It seems I must.”
“Because you punched the footman?” Harry said.
“I didn’t punch anyone,” Kit said.
“Then why are you leaving?” Sig said.
“It’s expected,” Kit said.
“By whom?” Sig said.
To that, Kit had no answer.
“No one can make you leave Town, can they?” Pip said. “When I come to Town to look over women, I don’t think anyone will be able to make me leave.”
“I am not looking over women. Don’t be coarse, Pip,” he said.
“Is it coarse to say what’s truly happening?” Pip countered, coming back across the room to face him. “Isn’t that why Emeline is here? To be looked at and found favorable?”
Yes, it was coarse to put into words the actual state of affairs.
Yes, Emeline was in Town to be looked over and found worthy.
What a revolting notion. What devil had come up with it in the first place?
“If no one is making you leave, why are you leaving?” Sig said, giving up on the bookcase and walking to a display case with a beaver skeleton carefully labeled and preserved. “Do you think this is a mature beaver? Do you know if the males are larger than the females?”
“I don’t know,” Kit said. To all of it. He knew nothing of beavers and he had no idea why he had to leave Town. His mother had pronounced it and he had been so shamed by the episode at Melverley House that he had allowed her to continue the thought. She was still abed or he was certain she would already have put action to the thought.
He didn’t have to leave Town. He was not being forced. He didn’t have to leave Emeline to face London, and Lord Raithby, without him. He could do as he wished. Whatever he wished.
And he knew precisely what he wished to do.
“Where is Emeline now?” he said, getting to his feet.
The boys turned to him in unison, their faces breaking into simultaneous grins.
“She’s gone to Madame Lacroix’s. It’s a millinery shop,” Pip said.
“I know it,” Kit said, walking to the door.
“Are you not leaving London after all?” Harry said.
Kit turned at the doorway to face them, these boys he had treated and loved as brothers for as long as he could remember. But Emeline was not his sister. She never had been. She never could be.
Praise all that was holy for that.
“I am not leaving London. No can make me do anything. I did not strike the footman. I have not, yet, struck anyone,” he said.
“What about Lord Raithby?” Harry said, looking entirely too excited by the notion.
“That,” Kit said, smiling, “remains to be seen.”
“I can assure you that no one at Melverley House blames Mr. Culley in the least degree,” Eleanor said, their heads nearly touching over a selection of ribbons. Mama was only a few feet from them, talking with Madame Lacroix. “The footman, Ben Skrewd, was not at all appropriate for the position. He’s been sacked.”
“Skrewd?” Emeline asked.
“An old Norse name, I’m told,” Eleanor answered. “Is it true that Mr. Culley will be leaving Town over this?”
“Apparently so.”
“Perhaps I should say something to discourage him?”
Emeline looked at Eleanor, her blue eyes, for once, not glimmering. “What could you possibly say? And why would you want to say anything at all?”
Eleanor leaned back, tossing aside a deep green ribbon as she did so. “Would you not prefer that he stay?”
Emeline did not often blush. She did not enjoy the experience in the least. She refused to blush now, though it was an effort.
“I don’t believe my preferences play any part in Mr. Culley’s decisions,” she said.
Eleanor shook her head. “With that sort of attitude, you shall never get what you want.”
“And what do you think I want?”
“Not Mr. Culley?”
That was it. Emeline blushed in a hot wave of scarlet. She was certain of it.
Before she was required to answer, the door to the shop opened and the most sophisticated, elegant lady entered, Lord Raithby trailing behind her like a pet. Lord Raithby looked as sharply handsome as always, his coat nut brown, his waistcoat sapphire blue, his cravat impossibly intricate. The lady was black of hair and eye, white of skin, and superior in manner. Madame Lacroix abruptly deserted Mama and made her way to the lady on quick feet.
“Lady Dalby, you are most welcome,” Madame said. “How may I serve you?”
Lady Dalby. Even in Wiltshire Sophia Dalby was famous. She had been a courtesan until she had decided to become
a countess, choosing the Earl of Dalby to provide her with that honor. She was a widow now, but never acted like one. At least, according to every rumor of her, she never acted the way Mrs. Culley acted in her widowhood.
“Excuse me, Madame,” Lady Dalby said, “I see a dear friend is here. Please, continue on. I shall let you know when I need you.”
“Indeed, my lady,” Madame said, and with a quick bob of her head she returned to Mama, who stood with her mouth agape.
“Lady Eleanor,” Sophia said, walking towards them. Her walk was grace itself, the fabric of her sprigged muslin barely moving, “how delightful to see you. You look hardly marked by the excitement at Melverley House last evening. How I do wish I could have seen it myself. The entire Town can speak of nothing else. What coup for you.”
“It was very exciting,” Eleanor said.
“And is this the charming girl I’ve heard so much about?” she said, scanning Emeline with her eyes. It was almost alarming. Mama made noises. Madame kept Mama at her side, how, Emeline could not imagine. “Please introduce us, Lord Raithby.”
The introductions were made, Emeline curtseying at the appropriate moment, Sophia Dalby smiling her approval. “You are just as lovely a girl as every rumor of you. Small wonder you are caught, Lord Raithby. Miss Harlow looks precisely the type of girl to ensnare any man she chooses.”
Mama made a noise of delight. Madame plunked a hat upon Mama’s head and began arranging things upon it.
“Am I ensnared?” Lord Raithby said, looking at Emeline with an amused expression. “I do not feel ensnared.”
“But of course you don’t,” Sophia said, smiling conspiratorially at Emeline, and Emeline had no idea why. “The very best snares are never felt until the last possible moment, Lord Raithby. Now, that is my very last bit of counsel for you. From now on, you must proceed on your own wits. ‘Tis only fair, after all. The entire Town is well aware that Miss Harlow is doing very well on hers.”
Mama made a noise of outrage. It was muffled by a wide swath of silk being wrapped around the brim of her hat by Madame.
“But what happened to the footman, Lady Eleanor?” Sophia said.
“Ben Skrewd,” Eleanor said. “He’s been sacked.”
“Ben Skrewd?” Sophia said. “What an unfortunate name. If he requires a reference, I shall supply him one. Footman who are bold enough to do what he did can often be very useful.”
Emeline had never heard anything so revolutionary in her life.
“What of the gentleman? The one who knocked down the painting, shattered the frame, and ripped the wall covering to shreds?” Sophia said.
“Mr. Christopher Culley,” Raithby said. “We are acquainted.”
Not well acquainted. Not friends. How quickly things changed in only hours.
“Pardon me, Lady Dalby,” Emeline said, “but the painting did not fall and the wall was not ruined.”
“Only a small section of wallcovering was ripped,” Eleanor added, looking entirely too happy about it.
“Ah,” Sophia said, “well, it is to be expected that the rumor is so much more delicious than the facts. It’s why I love rumor so very well. Don’t you, Miss Harlow?”
“I have never given the matter much thought, Lady Dalby,” Emeline said.
“Haven’t you?” Sophia said, looking Emeline up and down with more obviousness that was in good taste, at least in Wiltshire. “You are young yet, though. I suppose it must be forgiven.”
Emeline had no idea for what she was being forgiven. She was completely at sea. In fact, she had never wanted to be back in Wiltshire so much before. Having a London Season was not at all what she had expected.
And if Kit were returning to Wiltshire, why shouldn’t she? London was useless without him.
The door banged open and there stood Kit. He looked at her, at Raithby, at her again, his gaze sliding over Sophia Dalby and Eleanor Kirkland with hardly a ripple of awareness, and then he strode over to them.
He was not dressed at all well. His cravat was loose, his linen was not fresh, his shoes wanted polish, and his hair was windblown. He was so much more handsome to her than Lord Raithby that she could hardly draw breath.
“Raithby,” he said with a crisp bow. “I had not thought to find you here.”
“I hardly thought to be here myself,” Raithby said. “May I introduce you to Lady Dalby?”
Raithby spoke the words. Kit bowed. Lady Dalby smiled. Eleanor giggled. Mama made another muffled noise.
“I am delighted to meet you, Mr. Culley,” Sophia said. “You are the man of the hour in Town. ‘Tis a rare honor to have achieved so much in so little time.”
“Thank you,” he said, which hardly made sense. He continued to stare at Emeline, his eyes melting and burning at once.
“The footman has been let go, Mr. Culley,” Eleanor said. “No one at Melverley House holds you responsible. Quite the contrary.”
“Thank you,” Kit said again, his eyes never leaving hers. It was growing quite awkward. He really should know better, and behave better, especially in front of lords and ladies.
“I should think you could be more gracious than that,” Emeline said to him. “With the backing of Lord Melverley, you won’t have to leave Town.”
“I am not leaving Town,” Kit said, his dark blue eyes boring into hers, looking as if he wanted to read her thoughts.
“How delightful,” Sophia said. “I’m certain you shall add so much to this Season, Mr. Culley. Strong, decisive men of resolute action are sadly lacking in Town.”
Lord Raithby did not so much as wince at the implied insult. Likely because he was not known for being a man about Town.
“If you will excuse us,” Kit said, “I must speak privately with Miss Harlow.”
“Of course,” Eleanor said, her smile quite impish.
“Poor Lord Raithby,” Sophia said, “and it was my only wish that you achieve your dearest desire. You were, I fear, too late to the post. Consider it a lesson learned, darling Raithby.”
Emeline, as usual, had no idea what Lady Dalby was talking about. Not even when she leaned closer to whisper, “Well done, darling. You have him in the palm of your hand.”
She had whom? She did not know, nor did she very much care. All her attention was trained on Kit.
Kit looked down at her and she looked up at him expectantly.
“Well?” she said.
“I’m not leaving Town.”
“I heard. What is so private about that?”
Kit continued to stare at her. It made her feel tingly, almost itchy in places. Uncomfortable places.
“You were very rude to Lady Eleanor,” she said, trying to diffuse the moment, “and she was so very thoughtful of you. And I can’t imagine what harm you did to yourself with Lady Dalby just now. She’s very powerful, you know. How you expect to thrive in Town if you continue on as you are doing---”
He stopped her with a kiss. It was such a kiss. It was the kiss she had dreamed of at night, alone in her soft bed. It was not at all like the kiss she had playacted, using a full-blown rose as a substitute for Kit’s mouth. Kit’s mouth was nothing like a flower. Kit’s mouth was a fire lighting her up, a wave sweeping her away, a cloud lifting her to the sky. Kit’s mouth, Kit’s breath, Kit’s tongue, Kit’s heat and height and breadth and scent enveloped her and encompassed her and carried her away.
And when he stopped, when he lifted his head and stared down into her eyes with his Greek god perfection, he whispered, “I didn’t know I was in love with you. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You love me?” she breathed.
“Of course,” he said, holding her in his arms, kissing her brow, her cheek, her lips. “I’ve been in love with you all my life. Didn’t you know?”
“No, not actually,” she said, leaning into him, the warm, familiar scent of him. “I hardly dared hope. It took you quite a long time to realize it.”
He lifted his head, tucking her into him, resting his chin on the top
of her head. “I know now.”
“Aren’t you at all curious as to whether I love you?” she said, leaning back to gaze at him.
Her eyes went to where Mama stood. She was being chatted up by Lady Dalby, and by the look of it, Lady Dalby was doing a splendid job of it. Lord Raithby looked at her and smiled, cocking his hat at Kit. Eleanor simply smiled a beaming, glowing smile, and Emeline had the odd thought that perhaps Eleanor Kirkland had plotted this somehow. But how could she have?
“Of course you love me,” Kit said. “How could this work if you did not? You have loved me and have been waiting for me to realize that, somehow along the way, entirely by accident, I was in love with you.”
“By accident?” she said. “That has a horrible sound to it. And I don’t like the way you make it sound that I have loved you for longer than you have loved me.”
“I didn’t think you’d care for that,” he said, kissing the tip of her nose.
“You have loved me for just as long as I have loved you. I was there. I should know what happened.”
“I accept,” he said, turning her so that her arm was tucked into his and they were walking across the shop to Mama.
“You accept? What do you accept?” she said.
“That we have loved each other from the first moment we met, that we were destined to love, that we shall live together in marital bliss in Wiltshire for as long as we live, and that you will rule my heart and my life as you always have done.”
She stood in front of Mama and did not notice. She stood in Kit’s arms with Kit’s vow ringing in her ears and through her heart.
“Always?” she said.
“Always,” he promised.
Emeline was never certain exactly how it happened, but Mama and Mrs. Culley were both warmly enthusiastic about their children marrying each other and not, as they had both planned for a lifetime, into the peerage.
The marriage took place in late September of the year of Emeline’s London come-out. Lady Eleanor Kirkland, Lord Raithby, and Lady Sophia Dalby were invited. They declined. Mama was crushed that she could not dangle the highest fruit of the aristocracy over her neighbor’s heads, but she carried on.