Why this man? Why not Lord Arden, who made it plain in so many little ways that he admired her? She could not explain it, except that she regarded him in the nature of a brother. Why not Mr. Canby? He was kind, even wealthy, and sought her out at every party or ball. But though she liked him, she did not find herself looking at his hands, his eyes, his tout ensemble. She did not listen for his voice when she arrived at a gathering. Or why not Beau Brummel, who was easily the most popular man in London? Yet she did not care if she never exchanged a word with him, handsome as he was.
If she had to sum up Mr. Devereaux in a word, that word would be kindness, and yet there was nothing kind about the way he looked in those flawless coats, or the line of his leg so near to her own in that curricle...
She got up from the trunk, and crossed the room. She knew two things: that Clarissa had no interest in her cousin, or she would not have sat reading poetry when she might have been the one to walk down to the water. And second, Kitty wanted very much to see him again, and again, and again. To see him every day, if only that were possible.
o0o
Wednesday morning, Kitty stayed in her room to work on her costume while Clarissa called upon her grandmother. Kitty was a little surprised not to be asked to go along, but she knew she should not expect to be tied to Clarissa in all things.
Kitty came downstairs for afternoon tea, to discover Amelia returned from an outing with the elder Atherton girls, and Eliza, Bess, and Tildy entering after their visit to the park. “We were at a reading party hosted by Isabel DuLac,” Amelia reported.
“You, reading?” Tildy exclaimed.
“It makes a great difference, when someone explains things,” Amelia said. “But that is not what I wanted to tell you.” She leaned forward, after a glance at the door. “You would never guess who we saw riding by—none other than Lord Wilburfolde!”
“I thought he was safely gone back to The Castle,” Kitty exclaimed.
“He must be hiding out from the dragon,” Eliza declared, her china-blue eyes round with mischief.
Amelia giggled, and lowered her voice. “Not what I heard. Miss DuLac knows Edmund’s aunt, Lady Annadale, who is just such another dragon, and apparently, Lady Wilburfolde is quite determined to gain an heir to The Castle, and so Lord Wilburfolde has been forming a list of eligible ladies.”
“I pity the daughters of Methodists and Temperance Society leaders,” Eliza said.
Amelia shook her head. “You forget what Lady Wilburfolde feels is due their name and position in society. His list will only be well-born girls of whom the dragons approve.”
“I hope and trust any female who meets all those qualifications meets his mother before sealing her fate,” Kitty exclaimed with heart-felt sympathy.
Amelia giggled again. “From what Miss DuLac said, that is exactly what has happened, only it is Lady Annadale who scares them off.”
Bess looked from one to the other. “Who is this man?”
The girls tumbled over one another telling her the history of Clarissa’s short-lived betrothal, offering examples of Lady Wilburfolde’s choicest remarks, and her son’s least admirable characteristics.
During it all, Kitty remained silent, until the girls turned her way, and Amelia said, “What say you, Lady Kitty? I recollect he dropped many hints about how you ought to go home.”
Kitty said, “As every remark of his that we found most offensive was almost always prefaced by a reference to his mother, I wonder if, were he to gain independence of her, he would not be quite so objectionable. A wife—not Clarissa—might be just the thing for his happiness.”
Amelia’s eyes narrowed. “A wife to hide behind, that she might take the brunt of Lady W.’s dragonish tongue,” she said shrewdly.
“Not Clarissa,” Tildy declared. “She hates brangles. She hates it when we brangle,” she added cheerfully. “Come, Bess. Miss Gill has decreed I must master that Bach piece. Will you show me how you managed not to make it sound like a pianoforte falling down a flight of stairs, tinkle-tankle-tink?”
Amelia took out her Shakespeare, which caused Eliza to flee incontinently. Kitty stayed to hear her, and was surprised to discover that Amelia had begun to gain an understanding of what she was reading, and furthermore, not every observation was prefaced by Charles says. The two thus passed a pleasant hour with The Tempest, Amelia listening closely to everything Kitty said, and Kitty gratified by her attention.
Clarissa returned from Cavendish Square, her mood thoughtful. Since she had gone to visit her grandmother with the purpose disclosing, not only the entire history of her unfortunate betrothal, but also her intuitions about Cousin Philip and Lady Catherine, preparatory to asking her grandmother’s advice, she had little to say on her arrival home.
The duchess had listened with evident satisfaction, but she had vouchsafed little answer. She said only, “I am glad you told me, my girl. Very glad. Much is now clear. But you know how Philip hates interference. He is worse than you.”
“That is why I came to you,” Grandmama,” Clarissa sighed.
The duchess had patted her hand. “That does not mean that we are at a stand. We shall speak again. Go home, dance, and see to your own happiness. You are past due,” she added gruffly.
Clarissa left in a sober mood, not wishing to admit that her happiness was as out of reach as ever. But one thing she had learnt during her prospective engagement: there were definitely worse things than living with one’s family as a spinster, especially when facing the prospect of inheriting, as she would at twenty-five, a fortune such as hers.
She arrived to hear the end of Amelia’s bout with Shakespeare, which surprised her. Who knew where that might end?
Dinner was served, after which the ladies dressed for the weekly ball at Almack’s.
They were not the only ones getting ready. Mr. Devereaux, with a mind to protecting his lady from speculative gossip, had determined to be seen squiring a dozen partners on the dance floor before the Harlowes’ arrival.
St. Tarval and his brother were also on hand, the former determined to gain one dance with Clarissa, even if he could have nothing else, and the latter to try and find out some way to get his brother out of this damned tangle. He cared about Carlisle’s happiness, but as strong was his determination to avoid sharing a house with Lucretia, if he possibly could.
The Bouldeston ladies also arrived early. Lady Bouldeston liked to find the best seat from which to watch the room. Lucasta waited for her swain, that they might dance as many times as was allowed, and Lucretia was surprised to discover Mr. Devereaux already there. She began to count his partners, despising each for her shortcomings, and kept well away from St. Tarval so that she could contrive to be available when Mr. Devereaux was free.
Thus it was when the Harlowes and Kitty arrived, and once again all our dancers were gathered.
In a single glance, Clarissa distinguished St. Tarval talking to Lord Arden and some other gentlemen. She schooled herself to look otherwhere, though she was always aware of his movements in the crowded ballroom.
Kitty was promptly beset with partners. She smiled, said yes readily, and was so distracted that afterward she was hard put to name a one of them, until at last she looked up, and there was Mr. Devereaux. Her nerves fired as she smiled up at him, and they moved out onto the floor.
After trying half a dozen unsuccessful attempts to place herself in reach of Mr. Devereaux when he finished a dance, just to see him escort his last partner somewhere across the room, Lucretia began to wonder if she had made a mistake in contriving to stay away from St. Tarval. She was forgetting the motivation of jealousy.
She went up to her betrothed, dropping a hint that she had not danced with him this age, and he promptly held out his hand, his expression of irony missed by her, because she was searching the room to see if Mr. Devereaux was watching.
She did not find him on the periphery. She scanned again during the second hands across, and discovered him dancing with Catherine!
“If it is within my power,” she said, not hiding her surprise. “I have lived so secluded myself, and having not had any sisters...”
“Your situation has been much like hers, I believe, until I contrived to send her to school. And having spent as much time with her as these past days as you have, you must have formed a tolerable estimation of her character. Do you think she should be presented next year, as she so desires, or should we wait until she is eighteen, as her mother wishes?”
Kitty's brow knit thoughtfully for a long moment as they moved toward the top of the dance. When she saw him waiting for her answer, she said, “I would be tempted to bring her out as soon as you can. You might wait until she is eighteen to present her to the Queen, but going into society appears to be a different matter.”
“Has she recounted some of the scrapes she has contrived to get herself into?”
“Yes. She has been very forthcoming. I really believe most of them stem from an excess of high spirits, and from being confined to a dull place with too little to occupy her. I know what that is like, for winters at home are very much the same,” she said with feeling. “But when there are things to do, she is very good. And I believe she does understand the necessity of not setting up the back of those in importance. As for scrapes, it is so easy to fall into them, much easier than one would think, even when one has the best of intentions. I think you know what I mean.”
She cast a doubtful look at Mr. Devereaux, and when he smiled and said, “I quite understand. There was more than one person in that scrape.”
Kitty smiled back. “I have used my own experience to try to convince her that gainsaying one’s brothers can be fatal.”
“Capital,” he said with appreciation. “I hope she listened. No doubt I will discover on the ride to Grosvenor Street on the day after the masquerade ball. My mother will be in town, and she has made it plain that Bess must come home at that time.”
The remainder of the dance passed in pleasant nothing-talk, and when it was over, Mr. Worthington was waiting for the next.
Kitty did not look back to see who Mr. Devereaux danced with, for she would never be so impolite to her partner, but she was thinking about the conversation, and about how wonderful an evening could become when the right pair of eyes smiled back at one.
And so she did not perceive the calculation in Lucretia’s long gaze, as she tripped lightly down the dance.
Lucretia was tired of waiting in proper female delicacy. It was time to matters into her own hands.
THIRTY
Two days later, on the eve of the masquerade ball, Kitty and Clarissa were both surprised to receive an invitation from Lucretia Bouldeston for an impromptu picnic to Richmond Park. They were especially invited to meet Lucretia’s cousin Cassandra Kittredge, newly returned from France.
“I’m glad it doesn’t include me,” Amelia declared. “Every day has seen a thunderstorm by sunset, and I do not know why today should be any different.”
“I have been thinking the same thing,” Clarissa said.
Kitty sighed, feeling duty-bound to go, now that the betrothal with Carlisle had been announced. She ran to the window and gazed in disappointment at the pure blue sky. “There is not a cloud in sight.”
Clarissa had no inclination to see Lucretia in proximity with the marquess, parading her engagement, but felt she must go for that very reason. She must behave as normal. So they dressed for the weather, choosing bonnets that would ward the glaring sun, and as an afterthought, Clarissa fetched her umbrella. Shortly thereafter they found themselves in the parlor awaiting the arrival of the Bouldeston barouche, which was prompt arriving in Brook Street.
The ladies climbed in, and Lucretia introduced them to Miss Kittredge, who looked very much like Lucretia with her honey-colored hair and round face. Kitty gazed in curiosity, for she’d often heard Lucretia mention this cousin from Hampshire. The Kittredges, Lucretia informer her and Clarissa, were stopping only for a day or two in London before continuing on home.
The barouche was joined by a gig driven by the Bouldestons’ family friend, Mr. Redding, and a curricle containing Mr. Aston and his particular friend, Mr. Nolan.
Kitty said, “Where is my brother, Lucretia? Is he not coming?”
“He had other plans,” Lucretia said and added with a simper, “I would not make myself a jest by always confining him to my elbow.” She then turned to point out to her cousin all the famous sights and people she knew, until the traffic began to thin.
Clarissa asked Miss Kittredge about Paris, and as this young lady was quite ready to talk, the rest of the ride passed agreeably. They slowed when they reached Richmond Gate, and then turned upward to King Henry’s Mound. Here the horses halted, drivers tending to the heated animals as the Bouldeston maid-of-all-work began the task of unloading the promising hampers from Gunter’s.
Everything had been thought of for an elegant repast, save the weather was hot and breathless, as it had been these several days. The magnificent view over the Thames Valley in one direction showed a threatening line of cloud on the horizon, but when Lucasta pointed it out to her sister, they all heard the “Pho! Pho! It means nothing—we are quite safe—look above us!”
Everyone glanced up at the bright blue sky to reassure themselves, then wandered to the Mound to exclaim over the view, those who had been there previously pointing out Saint Paul’s some ten miles to the east, a hazy thumb jutting upward from the uneven horizon. When all had satisfied themselves with the skyline of the London they had just left, they separated into smaller parties to wander along the paths, seek shade under the spreading oaks, and to talk and laugh.
Mr. Redding sought Kitty, who stayed by Clarissa’s side. When he demonstrated a wish to take Kitty’s arm, the latter’s expression of alarm prompted Clarissa to open her umbrella, with a claim that the sun was too bright for comfort. She invited Kitty to get out of the sun, and the edge of the umbrella perforce kept the ardent gentleman at a distance.
Lucasta’s voice rang through the glades as she wandered with her swain, the two exclaiming snatches of Mr. Aston’s poetry (for he did not willingly suffer comparison with other poets), and Mr. Nolan—who had also ventured over the water earlier in spring— walked with Miss Kittredge, exclaiming with comfortable horror over her descriptions of the destruction of the French countryside by the revolutionary rabble.
It was hunger and thirst that drew them to the cloths spread under a tree, with the hampers all unpacked. The repast was hailed with general delight: there was wine for the gentlemen, lemonade for the ladies, ham-shavings aplenty, with cakes, trifle, cheese and grapes.
As they sat down, some looked upward, discovering that the line of clouds was much nearer.
“Pooh! Nonsense,” Lucretia declared. “We know how it is, clouds, maybe some distant lightning, and no more than a drop or two. I hope we are not to be afraid of a cloud.”
The ladies’ apprehension was satisfied, at least outwardly, though a silent testament to the oppressive heat was in how quickly the lemonade was drunk. Clarissa pitied the gentlemen, for Lucretia was pouring wine into their cups as fast as they could down it. From what she had learnt from her father, wine only succeeded in assuaging thirst for a short time, whereupon the thirst would come back the stronger.
The approaching clouds stole up from the east, not interfering with the golden slants of late afternoon sunlight until, quite suddenly, the light vanished behind the clouds. The company felt on wrist or face the first drops of rain.
Lucretia struck one of her affected poses, glancing skyward as she thumbed a drop of rain from her cheek. “Oh, no, I was wrong,” she declared. “Oh, you will forever hate me—I am so very sorry—I was quite wrong—the storm is coming after all—let us hurry!”
“What about the lodge?” someone asked.
“It i
s locked up—I already ascertained when you were walking about,” Lucretia declared. “We must go. Raise the hood on the barouche, Williams, at once!”
Her sudden alarm had the effect of infusing everyone with fright, the moreso as the storm smothered the twilight and darkness appeared to be descending with sinister alacrity.
Clarissa opened her umbrella as Lucretia darted about, thrusting people this way and that.
Kitty started toward the barouche, intending to catch up with Clarissa, but Lucretia took her by the shoulders, exclaiming, “Not yet—not yet—the hampers—Mother paid down a horrid amount of money for those hampers, we dare not lose them—” as the poor maid-of-all work labored to gather the remains of the picnic and thrust it into the barouche without any thought to neatness.
Kitty obligingly stepped out of the maid’s way, as Miss Kittredge exclaimed in fright at a branch of lightning.
“Quick! Quick! Get in!” Lucretia appeared in front of Clarissa, pushing her toward the barouche. Because of the umbrella, Clarissa lost sight of the others as she was propelled toward the vehicle.
Kitty felt a strong hand under her elbow. She experienced a moment of gratitude, as everyone around her seemed to be in a panic, and lightning flared in the distance.
A breeze had kicked up, causing her to clutch at her skirt with one hand and her bonnet with the other. She found herself not at the barouche, but beside a gig. “This is not my place,” she protested to Mr. Redding, who had guided her.
“T’other appears to be full,” Mr. Redding observed. “The servant has flung the hampers on the benches. You will have a much finer ride with me,” he added in a meaning voice.
She was going to pull away, then thought of Lucretia scolding and the seats in the barouche all tumbled with hampers. Though she did not like Mr. Redding, he was a friend to Sir Henry. What harm could come to her in the gig, following directly behind Lucretia’s carriage? And Mr. Aston trotting right behind.
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