Kitty

Attired in silk breeches of his favourite green and a coat of similar hue over a fancy flowered waistcoat, Claud had just come off the floor after a dutiful country dance with his sister Lady Barbara Cheddon, just out this season, when he was accosted in the outer gallery by his cousin Kate.

‘Claud, I must talk to you alone!’

Lady Barbara pricked up her ears. A pretty, fair-haired creature, whose even features closely resembled those of her brother, she was correctly and demurely gowned, like her cousin, in the ubiquitous white thought suitable for debutantes, but augmented with a half-robe of lilac net. Noting how his cousin was similarly elegant in a vest of crimson velvet, Claud was assailed by a vision of that overblown spangled gown Kitty had insisted on buying. He made a mental vow to oversee her wardrobe for the future. His attention was drawn swiftly back to his sister.

‘Secrets? Fie, Kate! But if it is about your betrothal, you need not mind me, for I know all about it.’

‘That’ll do, Babs!’ scolded Claud, casting a quick glance about to make sure that his mother was nowhere within earshot. The gallery contained several odd groups seeking relief from the heat, who stood about chatting and fanning themselves, but there was no sign of the Countess of Blakemere. Relieved, Claud returned his attention to his sister. ‘It ain’t that at all. Besides, we are not going to be betrothed.’

Claud came under the beam of his sister’s questioning blue gaze. ‘But Mama says you are, and if she wants you to marry, I don’t see how you couldn’t.’

‘You’ll soon see how,’ he declared, with more force than he intended, impelled by the image that had been revolving in his mind all evening.

‘Even your mama cannot force us,’ Kate put in, her voice low.

Babs looked from one to the other, and Claud detected scepticism in her eye. ‘How will you withstand her? Mary and Kath couldn’t. And I should suppose I shall find myself obliged to marry whomever she chooses for me too.’

‘Never you mind how,’ said Claud dismissively.

‘But I do mind,’ objected his sister, ‘for if you have a means of holding out against Mama, I want to know of it. I feel sure she is thinking of Lady Chale’s youngest for me, and I can’t bear him.’

The Countess of Chale had the distinction of holding the last ball of the season, and the entire first floor of the mansion had been given over to the accommodation of her many guests. A vast saloon, done out in blue with white trimmings in the Adams style, had been formed into a ballroom, the furniture having been set apart in another room for the accommodation of those who were not dancing. The drawing room was as full as it could hold of chattering fashionables who had wandered in from the adjacent dining room next door, where the supper tables were laid out with a succulent feast of patties, sliced meats and a variety of sweets. And two further smaller rooms were given over to the dedicated card players, who could be seen from a distance, grouped around green baize tables.

Contrary to his expectation, Claud was not enjoying himself. Far too many members of his family were in attendance for his liking. There was all too much danger of making a slip and mentioning Kitty, and he was only too well aware that it was upon the subject of his disastrous mistake that Kate was clamouring to talk to him in private. Since he was determined to keep his intentions to himself, he had rather not engage in conversation about the chit. With a vague thought of holding his cousin at bay, he responded more sympathetically to his sister.

‘Don’t suppose the Countess is thinking of turning you off just yet, Babs. Only seventeen. Besides, she’ll be looking for a fellow a thought more eligible than a younger son.’ His tone took on sarcasm. ‘Never forget, m’dear, you’re not only the daughter of an earl, but the granddaughter of a duke.’

‘As if any of us cared for that,’ put in Kate scornfully.

‘No, Claud is right. It is exactly what Mama cares for. Only she says there are no eligible heirs just at present, and she is looking instead at a younger son with good prospects.’

‘You don’t say so!’ exclaimed Claud. ‘If that don’t beat all! Never knew she was so mercenary, as well as all else. It’s only Kate’s expectations from Grandmama that made her take the notion of our marrying into her head in the first place.’

‘Yes, and Lady Chale’s youngest son is to inherit his godmother’s money, which is said to be a fortune. Only besides having a face like a frog, he is the most tedious young man of my acquaintance!’

‘If you don’t choose to marry him, Babs, you need only hold fast to your refusal,’ said Kate, adding hastily, ‘But will you please excuse us? I have something urgent to discuss with Claud.’

‘It’s well for you to say that,’ retorted Babs, ignoring the request, ‘for Aunt Silvia would never go to the lengths Mama would, and I dare say Cousin Ralph could persuade her to let it alone if you asked him. Whereas Claud—’

‘Has more gumption than you give him credit for!’ he interrupted, incensed. ‘Only it ain’t a particle of use thinking the Countess would take notice of anything I said, for she won’t.’

His sister clasped both hands fondly about his arm. ‘That’s what I meant to say, Claud. I know you can’t be blamed if she won’t listen to you. Why, she calls you a nincompoop and says you haven’t a brain in your head.’

Claud removed her hands from his arm. ‘Obliged to her! And I’ll thank her to keep her insulting opinions to herself, the insufferable witch!’

‘Hush!’ warned Kate, leaning close. ‘She is coming out of the ballroom.’

Lady Barbara promptly left them, slipping through two groups of guests to enter the drawing room by a door around the corner of the gallery and diving out of sight among a coterie of chattering maidens.

‘She has seen us!’ uttered Kate, sotto voce. ‘She is coming this way.’

Wishing he might follow his sister’s example, Claud turned to confront his formidable mother, unable to suppress the inevitable rise of mixed emotions that invariably attacked him in her presence. Defiant he might be, but no weight of years had served to subdue the tight knot of apprehension that settled in his stomach, overlaid with—in his own view—a justifiable sense of outrage. Such derogatory remarks as that relayed by his sister had been commonplace throughout his life, hedged about as he had been by rules and shibboleths that would have driven a saint into rebellion. Transgressions against which had been summarily, and painfully, dealt with.

On this occasion the Countess, as he immediately divined, was disposed to be lenient. She was attired in the grand manner, in an open robe of white muslin spotted in her favourite blue, with a draped sash trained to the floor at the back, epaulettes to her sleeves and a turban headdress from which rose three tall plumes. But there was approbation in the strongly aristocratic countenance, with the high wide brow, the straight nose—the only feature bequeathed to Claud who otherwise favoured his sire’s pleasant looks—and the thin-lipped mouth, which in Claud’s memory was usually pinched in disapproval. Lady Blakemere actually smiled as she reached him.

‘Well, children?’ The perfectly modulated voice was the epitome of good breeding. ‘I am glad to see you enjoying one another’s company. I hope you have saved a dance for your cousin, my dear Katherine?’

This last did not fail to fan Claud’s irritation. Alone of their elders, the Countess refused to use the pet names that served to distinguish her niece and her own eldest daughter. Lady Blakemere instead addressed her child as Lady Katherine in public, just as she spoke of her sister as Lady Silvia, raising her over the despised Rothley, mercifully deceased, who had been ‘a mere baron’.

Claud watched Kate curtsy as she answered, ‘I believe we are engaged for a country dance later in the evening.’