She was mentally prepared to endure another long, tedious evening of watching her younger sister be twirled about the ballroom with her never-ending stream of beaus. The conversations generally consisted of nothing more interesting than the latest on dit and the fashions in la belle assembly. This was what she had to expect in the coming months. Courage, she thought, straightening her spine, though there was a card room that had been set aside for guests if that was their inclination. Alas, neither was she a card player, her face too expressive. She allowed her features to remain in her polite social mask, making all the appropriate answers when needed and never offering more. Ruefully, Kitty was forced to admit, it might be the reason why after five seasons she had failed to take.
The back of Kitty’s neck prickled, and she resisted the urge to scratch it. She peered around the room, searching for the source of her uneasiness and stifled the urge to dive behind a houseplant. Lady Barham was making her way over, and Kitty blinked several times. What in the world had she done to her hair? It was a shocking bright-red colour bordering on a heinous orange, that clashed terribly with her vermillion gown. The lady was equally well-known for her unsuccessful attempts to fight age after being a diamond in her day and one of the most spiteful gossips of the ton.
“Lady Thorpe,” she drawled. Her blue eyes that once might have been likened to diamonds were now cold, hard lumps of coal. “A pleasure to see you, my dear, and Miss Anne-Marie is looking so well. Why, I’m sure after your previous, ah”—she paused artfully, her gaze lingering on Kitty, the implication clear— “disappointments, that she will do well. After all, she has your stamp on her.”
“That is most kind of you, Lady Barham. Yes, we have high hopes for my Anne-Marie.” Her mother preened from the compliments she had received, either choosing to ignore the hidden insult to her eldest or it had gone over her head.
Lady Barham’s fan increased in speed. “Oh dear, forgive me, I’m forgetting my manners.”
Kitty fought back a snort; she would have to have manners to begin with.
“Allow me to introduce you to his lordship, the Marquis of Lansdowne. My lord, this is Lady Thorpe, her eldest, Miss Katherine Thorpe.” She leaned across, her breast brushing the arm of his coat when she pointed her closed fan in the direction of the dancers. “And the delightful creature dancing over there is her youngest, Miss Anne-Marie Thorpe.”
The older man inclined his head, his superfine coat straining at the shoulders. “Happy to make your acquaintance, my lady. Have you been in town long?”
At the mention of his title, Mama beamed from ear to ear. Dear God, did she have to be so transparent? Kitty frowned. His name was Lansdowne? Wasn’t that the name of the card left earlier? The one that Mama had been crowing to the rafters about? Under her lashes, Katherine surreptitiously conducted a further study while they engaged in the niceties. The man was not as old as he had first appeared, perhaps around five and forty, though a life of dissolution had aged him beyond his years, red-faced, and what once might have been distinctly masculine with its strong nose was giving way to jowls. Kitty nibbled her bottom lip. There was a familiarity to him that she couldn’t shake.
“Not until recently, my lord, leaving us with barely sufficient time to settle before starting the social whirl.”
But the man didn’t appear to be attending to Mama’s prattle. Instead, his gaze was trained over her shoulder and focussed on Kitty, who fought the urge to shift uncomfortably under such direct scrutiny. In fact, it was downright rude, and what exactly was the issue? Did she have ink on her nose? Snapping her fan shut, she met his gaze and held it with an impertinent tilt of her chin. Wallflower she may be, but never a shrinking violet.
When Mama paused to draw breath, the marquis smoothly inserted, “Lady Thorpe, do you think that your daughter might be able to spare me a dance?”
The way Mama was fluttering her eyelashes at the man was nauseating. “I’m sure Anne-Marie will be utterly delighted—”
“Though I would be equally pleased if your younger daughter was able to so honour me, I was addressing your eldest, Miss Katherine Thorpe.”
Kitty choked on thin air. Me?
He wanted to stand up with her?
Her mother’s manners failed her, her eyes popping out of her head, but only for a moment, then she recovered her usual form and disguised it with a wave of her fan. “Of course, Lord Lansdowne, my Katherine is quite an accomplished partner as I’m sure you will find out.”
The marquis held out his gloved hand to Kitty. “Shall we?”
Aware of her mother’s glower beating down on her, Kitty unclenched her teeth and tilted her head in agreement and slipped her hand into his. “I am honoured, sir.”
Thankfully, no further response appeared to be required of her, but as he led her onto the dance floor, there seemed to be a ripple of conversation. Kitty kept her head high, telling herself it was only her imagination that people were taking note of her.
“You are quiet, my lady. Is the music not to your taste?”
“The music is fine, my lord, though I must confess I am out of practice regarding the art of conversation. Tell me, how are you finding the weather, it is unseasonably warm, is it not?”
He let out a bark of laughter, though his gaze appeared to be fixed to her chest, and she was suddenly glad of the protection the unflattering high neckline offered.
“Come now, Miss Thorpe, surely we can manage better than that. I’ve heard you enjoy riding.”
There was something in the way he had said that. Kitty was sure it carried a wealth of meaning, though for the life of her, she couldn’t decipher it.
She settled for arching her eyebrows instead of demanding answers. “Indeed I do, my lord, it is one of my few pleasures.” But how did he know that when they had only just been acquainted?
“I would like to know more about your pleasures,” he murmured, too low for any other of the dancing couples to hear.
Unease tickled up her spine; she was uncomfortable in this man’s presence but lacked an escape.
“I’m afraid you will find me rather dull, Lord Lansdowne.” She laughed lightly, attempting to turn the conversation away from herself. “Do you ride at all?”
He surveyed Kitty from head to toe, and she fought a shudder.
“I have been known to partake if the urge strikes me.” His eyes gleamed, and he inched his head closer in a clandestine manner. “I’ve even been known to enjoy an illicit early morning gallop.”
Kitty’s heart stopped. That was where she had seen him before. It was about a week ago on a fine September morning, the leaves just beginning to change on the trees in the soft light. Far too early for the fashionable set to have risen from their beds, the park had been deserted except for the company of her groom, and Kitty had surrendered to temptation. She had given her mount his head, the fast-paced gelding streaking across the park, unheeding of dignity or propriety. Her shalto flew off her head, the air raking through her hair, it having been tugged free of its confines. For in that moment she felt alive, exhilarated, like lifting a veil that had been smothering her off her face. The colours were brighter and a fleeting spark of pleasure before her staid life stifled it. The horse kicking up clods of turf in their wake, she had pulled up and slowed her mount, and reached down to pat his heaving sides.
It was then that she noticed she was no longer alone. Across the green had been a man staring at her, his blue, red-rimmed eyes wide and mouth agog. She froze like a doe in a hunter’s sights, fighting to bring her breathing back under control, her breast rising and falling, her face flushed and her appearance dishevelled as her dark hair escaped in a riot of curls. The look on the man’s face changed to something darker that she couldn’t identify, and she was glad when her groom caught up with her. Those same eyes, though no longer blurred with what she assumed was a night’s dissolution, were watching her now.
“I believe you are mistaken, sir,” she replied, that particularly artic tone having see
n off previous suitors intent on making a nuisance of themselves, and from then on, Kitty refused to engage in further conversation.
Chapter 3
The dance came to a blessed end, and Kitty had never been so glad to be escorted back to her mother, who was beaming, pleased as punch.
“Oh, Katherine,” she tittered when no one could overhear, “a marquis! You clever, clever girl. You will need to tell me how you’ve managed to come to the notice of such a distinguished gentleman.”
Gentleman might not be the best descriptor of her supposed admirer, but Kitty had a growing suspicion that her mother might be willing to overlook considerable faults in her daughter’s suitors if there was a title attached. Thankfully, she was saved from further questions by the timely arrival of a friendly face, Aunt Euphemia, who would henceforth be renamed Saint Euphemia in Kitty’s thoughts.
“There you are, my dear, it is wonderful to see you in town.”
“Aunt Euphemia,” Kitty distractedly returned the greeting, still reeling at the Marquis of Lansdowne’s marked regard. She hurried to gather her wits to fully attend her aunt. “I wasn’t expecting to see you until tomorrow,” she parroted automatically. “How are you?”
The dowager baroness, Lady Euphemia Mowbray, was her father’s younger sister and nearing fifty, not that you would ever hear her admit it. She was still an attractive woman, with only a hint of silver streaking her mahogany head of hair, and the crows’ feet at her dark velvet eyes could either condemn or invite an individual to share in a private joke. She had a brash sophistication that Katherine admired greatly. Direct and to the point, she was known to wield her quick wit with the proficiency of a fencing master.
“I’ve been to take the waters in Bath, a wonderful place you need to visit sometime if you can extract your mama from the delights of London.” She angled herself towards Mama. “Henrietta, you are looking well. Preparing for Anne-Marie’s come out, I take it?” she asked, pausing briefly for breath to nod in the direction of the dance floor where Anne-Marie was partnered with yet another beau. “I’m sure she will do splendidly.”
A verifiable whirlwind of politeness but no-nonsense. Kitty could never quite understand how she accomplished not engaging annoying acquaintances in conversation but in a way that didn’t cause offense.
“Come and take a turn about the room with me, Katherine, and I will tell you all about it.”
Kitty was pleased to have at least one ally flanking her while she fought to regain her equilibrium. Aunt Euphemia linked Kitty’s unresisting arm through hers and began to circulate.
“The Marquis of Lansdowne, dear?” Aunt Emmie muttered, waving at an acquaintance they passed. “He is quite unsuitable, you know? Why, he is a well-known unprincipled rakehell of the worst sort. Very unwise to encourage him. What was your mother thinking allowing him to ask you to dance?”
Kitty sucked in a breath. As usual, Aunt Emmie cut straight to the point.
“I have done absolutely nothing to encourage his attention,” Kitty fired back under her breath, her conscience prickling. “I have no idea why he has sought me out.” Not strictly true. Though she was not a mind reader, the only thing that could have brought her to his notice was that disgraceful gallop in the park.
“I adore your mother, of course, but I declare she has the sense of a pea goose at times.”
“Don’t you mean a peahen, Aunt Emmie?” Kitty said dryly, relaxing now she was away from the critical eyes of her mother.
The older women jerked her head by way of agreement. “That as well.”
Deciding that if Lady Euphemia could be direct, then dash it, so could she, Kitty said, “I take it Father has filled you in with his plans for the season?”
A distinctly militant gleam entered Aunt Emmie’s eyes, and Kitty prayed she was not biting off more than she could chew. What had she let herself in for?
“Just so, my dear. I’ve no idea why Gerald didn’t ask me sooner. Handing you over to your mother was a mistake to begin with. But think no more of the past, Katherine, we start this campaign afresh. There are several people I wish to introduce you to this evening.”
“Like this?” Kitty squeaked, her gaze flickering down to the golden monstrosity of a gown that her mother had thought she should wear, never mind that it made her complexion appear sallow and the high neckline gave her larger-than-average bosom a blockish appearance.
“Yes,” Aunt Euphemia affirmed, steel coating her words, “like this. We will gain their acquaintance now, and when they see you again we will stun them. For now, charm them with that wit you’ve hidden so well.”
Her heartbeat pounding in her ears, Kitty had been effectively given her marching orders. Holding back a sigh, she pasted on her best smile as her aunt approached a well-turned-out couple.
“Ah, Lord and Lady Drummond, what good fortune our paths have crossed. I’ve been wanting to know if you would be in town for a season. Allow me to introduce my niece, Miss Katherine Thorpe…”
And so it begins, Kitty thought dispassionately, making her curtsy.
“I must strongly disagree, Lord Drummond,” Kitty responded with vehemence a little time later, unheeding of the group they were attracting with the passionate debate. “The corn laws are self-serving, with many of those who voted for them protecting their own interests to keep the price of grain artificially high. It hikes up the prices of a layman’s daily bread until they can ill afford to feed their families. What are we meant to do? Let them eat cake?” she asked archly as the older man grimaced at the reference to the arrogant comments of the French monarchy that had sparked the great terror.
“The chit has a point,” someone muttered.
Ignoring the ‘chit’ comment, Katherine allowed pure exhilaration to fill her.
“Not only that, it stifles competition and innovation. A country that is unwilling to change stagnates, for without innovation, where would we be now? No mills, no canals, and no steam engines. Why, we would still believe the world is flat.” She delivered her point with a decisive nod.
Lord Drummond tilted his head as if presented with a previously unknown specimen, and Kitty held his gaze. She was only saved from further scrutiny when he fixed a meaningful stare on Lady Mowbray with an anticipatory air that demanded an explanation.
“Don’t raise those brows at me, Drummond, the girl has a fine mind of her own,” her aunt said with pride.
A hint of warmth bloomed in Kitty’s chest at the rare praise.
“Indeed, I’m just thankful you are not my opponent in the house, Miss Thorpe, or I fear I would be forever on the retreat. Tell me, what are your thoughts on—”
“Now, William,” chided Lady Drummond, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Enough politics, though, Miss Thorpe, if you want to match wits with my husband again, you are most welcome to attend my at home with Lady Mowbray.” The countess leaned forward and whispered in her ear, “It gets a touched spirited, but I’m sure you are more than capable of holding your own.”
“We will be delighted to attend, Lady Drummond,” Kitty said.
Lord Drummond shared a soft look with his wife that spoke of a long standing affection and said in good humour, “If I’m going to be denied my favoured topic and there is no further service I can be to you, my dear, I will seek my entertainment in the card room.”
The countess smiled and waved him off. “Goodness, Miss Thorpe, you have certainly made quite an impression. My husband usually finds these events tedious but insists on escorting me. You have livened up his evening no end. I hope you are prepared for when he seeks you out for a rematch.”
“I shall enjoy hearing his views on a range of issues, Lady Drummond,” Kitty replied, the very picture of demureness, until the spark of devilment ruined it and she grinned. “And I will no doubt find equal enjoyment introducing him to some of my views in the process.”
Lady Drummond gave way to soft tinkling laughter. “You are amusing, Miss Thorpe. Tell me, are you as informed upon literary
works?”
Kitty’s grin grew to epic proportions. Confident she was in her element, she opened her mouth to ask the countess’ opinion on Wordsworth’s ‘I wandered lonely as a cloud’, but Aunt Emmie cut across her.
“Now that is certainly a well-made man, but what on God’s green earth is he doing with Mrs Bingham?”
“Aunt Euphemia!” Kitty spat in disbelief, a mortified blush staining her neck and cheeks, and she cast an anxious glance in Lady Drummond’s direction.
“Pish! No need to pucker up, miss,” Euphemia admonished playfully. “I’m not so much in my dotage that I am unable to admire a fine figure of a man. Reminds me of Mowbray,” she added thoughtfully.
Kitty thought she detected a hit of wistfulness in her words.
“He always carried himself well.”
“I’m quite familiar with Euphemia’s outrageous plain speaking. When we have been friends as long as we have, it keeps life from becoming too staid,” the countess reassured her and turned her attention towards the ballroom, seeking this specimen of manhood who had snagged Kitty’s aunt’s attention.
“Oh, I see what you mean, Emmie. The breadth of those shoulders. How did he manage to get them into that coat?”
“Stuffed?” Baroness Mowbray ventured after a critical examination.
Katherine almost choked.
“I don’t know,” a Miss Robertson joined in, a pretty girl but too anxious to please others by half. “What is your opinion, Miss Thorpe?”
Disinterested but attempting to be as obliging as possible, Kitty made to scan the room when deep masculine laughter rolled over the heads of the crowd and transported her back to hot, lazy summer days, relaxing under the shade of the leafy oak tree, her lover’s arm lightly resting across her.
Katherine’s stomach clenched. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t. She’d know that laughter anywhere and immediately scanned the rush of faces for recognition. Her gaze landed on the head of a tall gentlemen, his hair dark, fashionably tousled and streaked with a light chestnut colour, hinting of time spent in the sun.
Have Yourself a Merry Little Secret : a Christmas collection of historical romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 2) Page 96