Have Yourself a Merry Little Secret : a Christmas collection of historical romance (Have Yourself a Merry Little... Book 2)

by Collette Cameron

  “What is it?” he prompted, when sufficiently braced.

  “That you quit your current lodgings and come stay at Preston House.” Preston’s eyes flashed. “As is your due.” Robert scowled and opened his mouth to argue.

  Preston’s hand cut through the air. “Those are my terms, take it or leave it.”

  After much grumbling, Robert agreed.

  Chapter 4

  “No need to look so dour, Katherine. For goodness sake, we are going to the dressmakers not facing a French regiment,” Aunt Euphemia scolded, stepping through the portal.

  “Are you sure this is absolutely necessary? Won’t none of my current gowns do?” Katherine asked, a note of desperation creeping into her voice. The modiste, in her experience, was her personal seventh circle of Hell.

  Aunt Emmie pursed her lips. “One or two might be acceptable, but they have been seen. If we are going to get people to take notice, we need to show them something new. A knight will go into battle wearing a suit of armour; this will be the armour in which you face down the dragons of the ton.”

  With that flowery description, so unlike her aunt, Katherine curled her lips into a begrudging smile. “Dragons, Aunt Emmie?”

  “If it isn’t my most valued client.” A well-dressed petite woman just a little over five feet floated over to them, enthused. “What can I do for you today, Lady Mowbray, another evening gown perhaps? Was the emerald-green with the jet beading not to my ladyship’s taste?”

  Aunt Emmie held up her hand to staunch the verbal flow before they were swept away.

  “The gown was a delight, Madame Dupuis, I am simply waiting for the right occasion to launch it. No, this time I am here to outfit my niece, Miss Katherine Thorpe, for the season.”

  For the first time, the proprietress noticed Kitty, her gaze running over her form from head to toe, and found her to be lacking.

  Madame Dupuis hesitated, seemingly not wanting to offend someone of such esteemed patronage. “Your Ladyship,” she began hesitantly, licking her lips, “the season has already started, there is not enough time…”

  Aunt Emmie smiled kindly, but Kitty was not fooled. Very few people ever told the Dowager Baroness Mowbray ‘no’.

  “I quite understand, Madame, if you are not up to the task,” Aunt Emmie said.

  “Not up to the task?” Madame Dupuis spluttered, clearly not realising her French accent was slipping, her broader cockney twang showing. “These would not be the ordinary pastel creations, trotted out straight from the schoolroom, but something dashing.” She nodded, as if a puppet on a string.

  Aunt Emmie became a concert pianist, weaving a spell to build the energy in the room until it crackled. “This is a real challenge, Madame Dupuis, not for the faint-hearted. Why, to change the entire perception of the ton, we will need creations that will set the ton on their heels!”

  Aunt Emmie finished on a crescendo, and Madame Dupuis was hanging on every word. With performances like that, Aunt Emmie could be treading the boards. Kitty kept her gaze firmly fixed on her gloved hands, afraid that if she caught Aunt Emmie’s eye she would collapse into hysterical laughter. Set the ton on their heels indeed?

  “Of course, only the most consummate of modistes will be able to pull off such a coup.” Aunt Emmie sighed, physically drooping in disappointment. “But if you are unable to accommodate us, we will have to go elsewhere, perhaps Madame Mercier?”

  Madame Dupuis’ reaction was instantaneous. Her pencil-thin eyebrows snapped together, and she bristled with indignation. “Madame Mercier would not know dashing if it jumped up and bit her on the nose!”

  Aunt Emmie chuckled. “Quite so, which is why you are the first person I would seek out for this particular endeavour.”

  “Your Ladyship is wise in this aspect.” Madame Dupuis swung to Kitty. “Come, there is much we need to do.”

  She indicated a stool, and Kitty, obligated, stepped upon it.

  “Please turn, slowly.”

  Feeling highly conspicuous and fighting not to squirm, Kitty did as instructed, her hands clenched tightly to her sides. In all honesty, she did not dare do otherwise. Madame Dupuis pursed her lips and cocked her head.

  “We want to draw attention to your clear skin, your dark hair and lashes, with emphasis on your neat waist.” Madame plucked a pencil out from behind her ear and waved it erratically in the air. “Classical lines with gentle necklines,” she announced decisively, putting the pencil to sketchpad. “The gowns will be cut to tantalise and hint. You will catch the eye but not become the cause of vulgar gossip.” The pencil was moving, faster and faster across the page, accelerating in time with her speech. “Oui, once I am done, you will be a consort battleship.”

  It appeared Madame Dupuis had regained her equilibrium, her French accent back in place.

  She held up her sketchpad. “Something along these lines?”

  Kitty nearly swallowed her tongue.

  Aunt Emmie praised, “Yes, that is exactly what we are looking for. Oh, Madame, I knew only you could manage this.”

  They were both mad. Positively ready to be assigned to Bedlam. She couldn’t pull off that gown. It revealed far too much shoulder for one thing, and the neckline was too low for another. But her feeble protestations were immediately overruled.

  “Now, the fabrics.” Madame Dupuis waved her hand, and her assistants brought out bolts of different shades and patterns, paper-thin muslin, luxurious silks, and delicate lace.

  The modiste elected a bolt of claret taffeta and held it out for inspection. “With your complexion and colouring, Mademoiselle Thorpe, you need stronger colours and to avoid yellow tones.”

  Kitty fingered the fine fabric hesitantly. “I’m not sure Mama would think these colours are appropriate, though they are lovely,” she tacked on as an afterthought, not wanting to give offence to the slightly temperamental modiste who instantly opened her mouth to argue.

  But Aunt Emmie beat her to it and settled the matter. “Your mother and Anne-Marie share the same colouring, and pastels suit them, and they are appropriate for girls barely out of the schoolroom. But this is not your first season, neither are you barely out of the schoolroom. You are a Thorpe woman through and through and not some milk-and-water miss. Men enjoy sophistication, elegance, and the ones with something more between their ears will wish for intelligence. That is what we aspire to portray, not dewy-eyed youth and innocence.” Aunt Emmie slanted a coy glance at her, the corner of her lips curling. “Unless you wish to practice fluttering your eyelashes?”

  Kitty promptly agreed on the bolder colours on the spot.

  They discussed different designs at length, debating back and forth. The evening wear had been easiest, and Kitty was thrilled when there was no mention of ruffles or bows in sight.

  The one point of contention that she had stuck her heels in about was the riding habit. It needed to be able to stand up to the rigours of practicality and not just an ornament. When Madame crossed her arms and appeared set to argue, Kitty decided to take a leaf out of her aunt’s book.

  “Of course, I realise it is a challenge to craft something that is stylish while not compromising the practicality of the garment.” She leaned forward as if sharing a closely guarded secret. “I am unfortunately not as decorous with my riding as I would wish to be, but I’m sure with your fabulous talents that Aunt Emmie has told me so much about, you are able to come up with a solution.”

  The modiste reclined and looked over her speculatively. “I see why your aunt has brought you, you two are one and the same.” She wagged her finger in Kitty’s direction and clucked her tongue. “But I am unable to resist a challenge. I will see what I can create.”

  “I’m sure it will be sensational, Madame Dupuis,” Kitty replied demurely.

  After an afternoon of being pinched and prodded, Kitty flopped back against the swabs of Aunt Emmie’s carriage. Drained, and despite telling herself not to get her hopes up, there was an underlying frisson of excitement. Could a chang
e of gown really make such a difference?

  “You handled Madame Dupuis marvellously, Katherine. The woman is a dear, and her creations are more than up to snuff, but occasionally she needs steering in the right direction.”

  The result had been satisfying all the way round. Madame Dupuis had a large order, and there were a couple of creations that had been made for another client, but they had scratched the order. As such, she was able to negotiate a good price for an emerald-green walking dress with the matching pelisse in velvet she was forced to admit suited her very well and several plainer afternoon dresses for making calls—her aunt assured her she needed them.

  “Katherine? You are not attending, dear girl?”

  Kitty drew her eyes away from the carriage window and back upon her disapproving companion, offering her a contrite smile. “I apologise, Aunt Emmie, I was woolgathering.”

  Lady Mowbray’s shrewd eyes narrowed. “Hmmm, you have been doing an awful lot of woolgathering of late, since the Seaton’s ball, in fact. Do you wish to tell me about it, my dear?” She reached across and grasped Kitty’s hand in her own.

  “It is just some tasks I need to attend, but nothing to worry about,” Kitty lied through her teeth.

  Her aunt was far from convinced, but short of using thumbscrews, Kitty wasn’t going to reveal her secrets.

  The marquis was still pursuing Kitty, and though Aunt Euphemia had headed him off on several occasions, her mother undermined her efforts by actively encouraging the roué. And it was becoming increasingly obvious that his attention was marked to the point it was starting to cause unwanted speculation. Kitty sighed and watched the world trundle by outside the carriage window. And as for the other matter, she had not seen Robert since the Seaton’s ball a sennight ago, but she was continually on edge at whatever entertainment they attended in case their paths crossed again. But what had puzzled Kitty the most was the unabashed anger in his eyes. She couldn’t fathom what he had to be angry about; she was the one he had played like a fool.

  “It doesn’t have anything to do with that handsome captain we met the other night?”

  “No, he is of no consequence.” Kitty was split between being proud and ashamed by how effortlessly that lie tripped off her tongue. It was a habit that had become far too easy, and some secrets she would take to her grave.

  “Ah-ah, I see. Well, if you would like some advice, I’m here to help, Katherine.”

  Kitty was saved from further quizzing as they pulled up outside the Thorpe townhouse, modest by some standards, but enough for the Thorpe family, at least in Kitty’s decided opinion.

  “Are you coming in for tea, Aunt Emmie?” She was fighting a smile at Aunt Emmie’s natural recoil, wondering how she would manage this one. It had been no secret over the last weeks that Aunt Emmie found Kitty’s mother’s presence aggravating and did not seek to be exposed to it for long periods of time. If only Kitty could exercise a similar escape.

  “Alas, I’m expected at another engagement, but please give my regards to your dear mama. Next time, perhaps.”

  Kitty bit the inside of her cheek to keep a straight face. “Of course, Aunt Emmie.”

  Taking the waiting footman’s hand, she was assisted from the coach, feeling drained. Who knew that shopping was such an exhausting pastime?

  The footmen carried Kitty’s packages in, and with one last flutter of her fingertips, Lady Euphemia rapped on the carriage roof, and the wheels trundled onwards. Kitty shook her head. She would love to know where her aunt got her energy from.

  “Good afternoon, Milton,” she said with her habitual cheerfulness.

  “Miss Kitty,” he acknowledged, helping her out of her navy-blue spencer jacket when there was a self-assured knock on the door.

  Kitty’s head swung in the direction of the noise. “Whoever will that be?”

  It was only just acceptable for afternoon callers but a touch early, and though it was petty by her own admission, she wondered how long Anne-Marie could keep this one dangling.

  “See who it is, Milton, I can straighten myself out,” Kitty added hastily, thinking back to the last time one of Anne-Marie’s would-be suitors had been left waiting. The snit her mother had been in and the peal she had rung over the staffs’ head had made Kitty thoroughly ashamed of her.

  She handed her spencer to Clara, one of the upstairs maids, for her to take it to her room.

  Milton returned quickly. “The Viscount Preston and—”

  Kitty sucked in a breath. Cripes, her mother would have a fit if he was kept waiting. She would most definitely be at home.

  With a smile that felt more like a grimace, Kitty said, “Send a footman to find Mama and Anne-Marie post-haste, and I will greet them in the salon.”

  Wishing to get the unpleasant task of greeting this Viscount Preston, or whatever his name was, over with as soon as possible or she would hear no peace, Kitty swept away. She hurried to the salon with an unladylike rush, arranging herself and smoothing her skirts.

  “The Viscount Preston and Captain Vaughn, Miss Thorpe.”

  Kitty’s eyes widened, and her heart stilled for a beat. That other shoe had just dropped with a rather large clatter. It was Robert.

  Robert raked his gaze over the dark-haired woman he once knew before him, startled at her attired in a becoming gown rather than that frilly monstrosity he had seen her in at the Seaton’s. He’d thought her blockish? He must have been blind. While Katherine’s form had filled out from the lightness of a budding girl, she had gained lush, womanly curves. Why, God in Heaven, had his mouth gone dry?

  Her face was a pale mask of shock. This little hint of familiarity helped him regain his equilibrium when confronted with her sudden transformation. His Katherine had never been good at hiding her emotions, but to her credit, she quickly recovered. Belatedly scrambling somewhat inelegantly to her feet, she made her curtsy, a charming blush dusting her high cheekbones.

  “Lord Preston and Captain Vaughan, welcome. My mother and sister will join us shortly, I’m sure you will be glad to hear. In the meantime, can I offer you some refreshment? Tea perhaps?”

  Fascinating to see her from being on the backfoot to gathering herself ready to repel all boarders. When Robert didn’t appear to be inclined to answer, his cousin smoothly stepped in.

  “Tea would be grand, Miss Thorpe.”

  Katherine efficiently arranged for tea and refreshments to be brought to the drawing room and settled her attention back on her guests. She gestured to the seats. “Please be seated, gentlemen.”

  Dark satisfaction uncurled through him at Kitty’s look of horror when Robert claimed the seat next to her, her eyes darting to the door and window. There was no escape, and she could do nothing but suffer his company.

  She visibly swallowed. “To what do we owe this honour for you to battle the elements to grace us with your presence?”

  He chuckled softly under his breath. “I thought my reason for being here would be obvious, Kitten.”

  Though Katherine gave little outward indication of having heard him, from his vantage point he could see her hands briefly curl into fists in the folds of her skirts. Before either of them could say more, the rest of her family entered, and they climbed again to their feet to greet the new ladies. He shot them what was once a charming smile, but he now knew stretched the scar that ran along the left side of his face, courtesy of a French blade.

  “Kitty, you should have waited for the rest of us before seeking out his lordship and Captain Vaughan,” her mother scolded, clearly not recognising the man she had all but banished from the house.

  Robert ground his teeth at the memory, her shrill phantom laughter ringing in his ears. That she would allow the daughter to a baron to be wed to a nobody like him was preposterous. A lowly lieutenant in the Royal Navy. He fought back the seething anger that flooded him with the memory and kept that stained smile in place through pure will.

  Unaware of the tumult of emotions taking place a short distance away, Lad
y Thorpe continued with her play-acting. “You are a naughty girl wishing to have your time with the gentleman.” She wagged her finger, and Kitty’s blush deepened.

  “She is indeed,” Robert murmured from beside Katherine.

  She caught the words and stiffened. The rest of the room engaged in exchanging niceties, she shot him a glower that if she had the power would have incinerated him to the bone.

  “What are you doing here, Captain Vaughn?” she demanded in hushed, furious tones.

  Her eyes flashed, and his breath caught in his throat. That was the Kitty he remembered, filled with hidden passion and spirit, that if one was not looking close enough, it would go undetected.

  “Why, accompanying my cousin to pay my respects to an old friend, of course,” he replied mildly, clearing his throat to get Preston’s attention

  “Miss Thorpe, are you free this Wednesday to take a walk? Naturally, your sister would be in attendance,” his cousin smoothly delivered, addressing the mother.

  Robert’s gaze never turned from the lady who held his interest. Kitty pursed her lips and appeared to be biting her tongue.

  “I would particularly enjoy deepening our acquaintance,” Preston pressed.

  “I’m afraid I will have to disappoint you, my lord,” Katherine interjected, a desperate attempt to escape the neatly laid trap. “For I have a prior engagement I must attend.”

  “Nonsense, Kitty,” her mother cut across, sending her a speaking glance to be silent or there would be hell to pay. “You are free to accept his lordship’s invitation, you are getting your dates mixed up.”

  Robert sat back and watched the little tableau unfurl, Lady Thorpe becoming an unwitting ally. The smile Katherine offered was more a gritting of teeth. Foiled by her own blasted mother. “Oh, yes, how silly of me. We would be delighted to attend, my lord.” If her disgruntled expression was any indication, she would rather be pulling her own teeth than accept the invitation.

  “Excellent, I’m glad it was but a mistake. Shall we say three o’clock?” Preston said with a lazy smile.