Kitty

‘I know. You may pretend that I am Kate.’

About to reject this idea on the score that his cousin would scorn to wear the type of gown Kitty had specified, Claud caught the deeply hopeful look in her face and the words died on his tongue. If he thought poorly of her choice, why should he dash the girl’s only hope of pleasure? She had little enough to look forward to. It would make him late for the last ball of the season, but that couldn’t be helped.

‘You win, Miss Merrick! Let us repair to a mantua-maker.’

Concealed from the eyes of the curious in a private parlour at the White Bear inn, Kitty sat in a happy daze as she partook of the luncheon provided for her by her abductor. It was a trifle stuffy in the little first-floor room, and Claud had been obliged to force the casement window open to let in air. Kitty felt the benefit, for the table at which they were seated was fortunately set parallel to the embrasure, and she was able also to enjoy the comings and goings in the busy thoroughfare of Piccadilly below.

Although she much enjoyed the selection of delicacies placed before her, together with sturdier pasties of which Kitty partook only sparingly, this luxurious entertainment was not responsible for her contentment. Rather it was the thought of the made-up gown that was even now being adjusted to fit her full figure.

The establishment to which Claud had taken her had been disappointingly situated not in Bond Street itself, but in a little lane off the main thoroughfare. Its discreet entrance had been indistinguishable from the other doors except for a small plaque upon the wall. A narrow staircase had led them into a little salon, presided over by a female of French origin, who evidently knew the Viscount of old. She had treated Claud to roguish smiles and, upon hearing that she was to gown his cousin, a suspiciously knowing look that had made Kitty uncomfortable. She could only hope the creature’s inevitable reflections had been quieted by Lord Devenick’s glib explanation.

‘My cousin has taken a fancy to a style of gown that her mama refuses to let her wear, Madame, and so I have agreed that she may purchase it so that she may please herself after we are married.’

If Madame wondered why the lady did not make the purchase after the wedding, she said nothing of it, but immediately asked after the style proposed.

‘I wish for a spangled gown,’ had said Kitty breathlessly, fixing hopeful eyes upon the woman. ‘Have you got one?’

‘Bien sûr. We ’ave zis gown, and many uzzers.’

White muslins, sprigged, spotted and spangled, had danced before Kitty’s eyes as Madame’s assistant produced them for her inspection. In her imaginings from the drawing she had once seen, the treasured vision had been scattered with gold. But when she was shown a delicate white gauze, sprinkled over with silver threads and tiny sparkles of glass beading that caught the light, Kitty fell instantly in love.

‘Oh, this one, this one, if you please!’ she had cried, turning ecstatically to the man who had suddenly become her benefactor. ‘Can it be this one, Claud? Pray say I may have it!’

‘Have it, by all means,’ had come the welcome response. ‘Only hadn’t you best try it on first? No sense in buying the thing if it don’t fit you.’

Hardly able to believe in the good fortune that had come out of this disastrous journey, Kitty had allowed herself to be bundled out of the horrid pink gown and into soft folds of muslin that floated about her. To her intense disappointment, the gown had been a trifle tight across the bosom, and a little long at the hem. But her mirror image was so delectable that Kitty would willingly have put up with these inconveniences, had it not been for Madame’s suggestion that an adjustment could easily be made if mademoiselle were prepared to return later for the gown.

‘But I cannot! I must go home immediately, and I doubt I shall ever come here again.’

Kitty’s distress had been acute, but to her relief, the matter had been resolved by the resourcefulness of Lord Devenick, who had urged the mantua-maker to do the necessary alterations at once, while they repaired to an inn for a meal.

‘For I don’t mind telling you, Kitty, I’m as hungry as a hunter, and if I’m to drive all the way to Paddington and back, I’d as lief not do it on an empty stomach.’

As long as she might have the precious spangled gown, Kitty had no fault to find with this programme. And indeed, when they had left the little shop and set off in the curricle for the nearby White Bear in Piccadilly, she had discovered that she was also excessively hungry.

For some time, both parties were too preoccupied for conversation, Kitty’s attention being divided between the potted beef spread upon hot buttered toast and the mental picture of herself arrayed in the new gown, while Claud concentrated on replenishing his stores of energy. At length he pushed aside his plate, the huge slice of pigeon pie upon it considerably diminished, and sat back, apparently replete.

He did not immediately engage in conversation, but quaffed a tankard of ale, his frowning blue gaze so intent upon Kitty’s features that she could not but become aware of it. Disconcerted, she challenged him.

‘I wish you will not stare so! Have you not yet accustomed yourself to the likeness?’

Claud shook his head briefly. ‘Shouldn’t think I ever would. If I were to continue to see you, that is.’

‘Well, you won’t, so you may cease to look at me in that excessively rude fashion.’

‘I’m thinking,’ protested Claud, aggrieved.

‘About me?’

He took a pull from his tankard. ‘Got a notion revolving in my head. No, I won’t tell you what it is. Not yet, in any event.’

Curiosity gnawed at Kitty, together with a trifle of anxiety caused by the peculiar intensity of his speech. ‘But is it about me?’

‘Dash it, who else would it be about?’

Incensed, Kitty exploded. ‘Then why will you not say it? I think it is excessively mean-spirited of you to mention it at all if you don’t mean to tell me what it is. Has it to do with my likeness to Kate? Do you think you have guessed what your aunt would not reveal about me? Oh, tell me, Claud, pray!’

‘Lord, if it was that, of course I should tell you!’

He rose from his seat and began to shift about in the confines of the small parlour, wishing that he had held his tongue. The scheme revolving in his head was fantastic, but it would not do to say a word of it to the girl until he had thoroughly inspected its merits. It was difficult to think with those expressive eyes trained upon him. They were very like Kate’s, but with a velvet sheen that was lacking in his cousin’s. Even in repose—when Kitty had been sitting in a dreamlike state, unaware of his regard—they had been striking.

However, it was not her pretty features that had brought the notion sneaking into his head, but the effect of them upon his aunt Silvia, and the lively apprehension she had exhibited of Lady Blakemere’s reaction should the episode reach her ears.

Claud did not wholly believe that the idea had struck him, but there was no shaking it off. Was it because the girl had herself made mention of it? He had repudiated it then—in no uncertain terms. As well he might. It was madness! Only now that it had planted itself in his head, the temptation was so strong that he doubted he could withstand it. The Countess would be as mad as fire! It was too much to hope that she might go off in an apoplexy, but the blow would assuredly fall hard. Such exhilaration attacked him at the thought that Claud had all to do not to throw caution to the winds on the instant. Kitty’s voice checked him.

‘You look quite murderous! What are you thinking?’ He uttered a short laugh. ‘Thinking of my mother, the Countess.’ He was unaware that his lip curled in a manner that was uncharacteristically sardonic. ‘That’s enough to make anyone look murderous!’

Kitty gave a little shiver, her eyes fixed upon the horrid look in his face. He was the oddest man. All kindness one moment, the next a brutish unpredictable creature. What had his mother done to make him hate her so?

‘Is it your mother who wishes you to marry Kate?’

‘Aunt Silvia wishes for it too, but yes, the Countess took the notion. Only because Grandmama chooses to settle a dowry upon Kate. She pretends it is for Kate’s own sake, but I know better. The Rothleys may lack fortune, but they ain’t precisely paupers. Only the Countess had my father make my aunt an allowance, and she thinks to recover something from it.’

‘But it was kind of her to do that, was it not?’ Claud’s snort was bitter. ‘Don’t run away with that notion! Kind? Nothing of the sort. The Countess cares only for what Society may say of us. She sets store wholly by appearances, and my aunt was not to be suspected of being purse-pinched, regardless of the fact that everybody knows my uncle Rothley wasted much of his substance.’

This glimpse into the lives of a family of whom she was certainly a part threw Kitty into a combination of excitement and frustration. She longed to know more, yet the horrified reception of her advent convinced her that she had no right to pry. No right, and no reason either. What advantage could it be to her to learn the worst? There had been, in her insistence upon a past couched in mystery, a touch of romance. She had guessed at a hint of unlawful beginnings, convinced that she had been the outcome of an illicit liaison between a peer and an equally high-born married lady. Vague and hazy memories had been at root of her piecing together of this history. But gowned in Kitty’s colourful imaginings, it had never been tainted with the disgrace of sordid scandal. At a blow, Claud’s aunt Silvia had destroyed the comforting blanket of childish desire, and exposed Kitty for what she truly was—an outcast.

The bleak reality of her situation, which had been held at bay in the joy of her new gown, came in on her. All at once, she wanted to be back in the familiar surroundings of the Seminary, where if she was valued little, she was at least accepted. She pushed back her chair and got up from the table.

‘Should we not be starting for Paddington, sir?’

The rapid descent of her mood had not been lost on Claud. The forlorn look in those velvet eyes drew his instant compassion. The words were out before he could stop them.

‘We are not going to Paddington. I’ve thought better of that notion and have settled upon a new plan. We are going to Gretna Green.’

Chapter Three

Kitty gaped at him. Convinced she could not have heard aright, she uttered a fluttery laugh. ‘You cannot mean you wish to elope with me!’

Did Claud’s features look paler? Had she shocked him? She recalled his horrified reaction when she had merely mentioned his being forced to marry her to make reparation. But if he had indeed said they were going to Gretna Green, he must mean an elopement. He was frowning heavily, his blue gaze clouding.

‘I don’t wish to! At least—’

He broke off, cursing himself for an impetuous fool. He should have held his tongue! Only he hadn’t, and here was the girl, staring at him with those distressful brown eyes that were beginning to show hurt again. He moved to the table, grasping the back of a chair with both hands as if he might draw strength from it.

‘What I mean is, I didn’t intend to say it yet. Been thinking it over, you see, while we were eating.’

‘You have been thinking of taking me to Gretna?’