A Kiss at Midnight

  As Henry had warned, Effie was making a dead set for Lord Hathaway. And it looked to Kate as if she was likely to succeed, given the way she kept putting her hand on his arm, as if they were as close bosom friends as Henry and her wax companions.

  Effie was quite pretty, in a mouse-eyed kind of way, Kate thought uncharitably. She had soft yellow curls, a round chin, and straight little teeth. She wasn’t stupid either.

  “You’re very fortunate,” she said, smiling lavishly at Kate, who, of course, she thought was Victoria. “I wish I were celebrating my betrothal in a castle. It’s just so romantic!”

  “I am very privileged that my uncle is so kind to me,” Algie put in, just to make sure that everyone remembered his relationship to royalty.

  “Of course,” Kate said a bit sheepishly. Victoria would have loved to sit at this table, accepting accolades for her betrothal. She felt as if she were stealing flowers that had been sent to her sister.

  Effie turned to Lord Hathaway. “Do tell me more about the blackbirds, Lord Hathaway.”

  Kate blinked.

  “That came out of the blue, didn’t it?” Lord Hathaway said, his eyes twinkling.

  “Yes,” Kate said. “It’s oddly fascinating, though. For example,” she said to Effie, “if you had said, Tell me more about the crows, it would have a rather sinister tone, whereas blackbirds make one think about pies.”

  “And queens and counting houses,” Lord Hathaway said. “Now what if Miss Starck had said, Tell me more about the Minotaurs. What would you think of me then?”

  Kate laughed, and Effie tittered uncertainly. “I’d think that Miss Starck was five years old, and you were telling her fairy tales. But not everything fantastic would have the same ring. What would you think if she asked, Tell me more about the giant?”

  “I wouldn’t think about children’s stories,” Hathaway said, “but about the men who wrestle each other at the fair.”

  “But Tell me more about the giantess?”

  “I’d think you were talking about Lady Dagobert,” Henry put in, with a wicked grin. The countess could not be described as slender.

  Lady Starck shifted uneasily; her own figure rather resembled Lady Dagobert’s. “I think,” she interjected, “that my dear Effie was merely fascinated by your account of a plague of blackbirds, Lord Hathaway.”

  “A plague of blackbirds,” Kate said, before she could stop herself. “It sounds like divine retribution, which is ominous. What have you been up to, Lord Hathaway?”

  Hathaway laughed again, and Kate thought about how very nice he was. “It may be divine retribution,” he said, “but if so, I’m not sure to which of my many sins to attribute it. And it wasn’t a plague of frogs, may I point out.”

  Effie turned to Kate, her eyes cool. “The blackbirds are causing a serious inconvenience to Lord Hathaway, Miss Daltry. They are roosting in his eaves and diving at the servants when they enter the kitchen gardens. And now they’ve started attacking his guests.”

  Kate couldn’t suppress the little cynical smile on her face. It was one thing when birds attacked servants . . . but guests? “It’s unlike blackbirds to be so aggressive,” she said to Lord Hathaway. “They’re acting like bluebirds. Could you have disturbed their nests somehow so they had to relocate to the eaves?”

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “I hate to admit it, but I never gave the birds much thought, though there were some complaints from the housekeeper. But last week the vicar came to call and I’m afraid that . . . well . . .”

  “What?” Effie asked, confused. “Did a blackbird swoop at his head?”

  Lord Hathaway had turned a little red.

  “I suspect they shat on the vicar,” Kate told Effie, putting His Lordship out of his misery. “All that black, marked with white. The man must have looked like a chessboard.”

  Lady Starck drew in her breath with an audible sound of displeasure. “Well, I never!” she said.

  Effie’s pink mouth formed a tiny, startled circle, but Henry laughed and said, “It proves that the plague of blackbirds wasn’t the work of heaven. I assume that the vicar did not react in a pious manner.”

  “This is a remarkably vulgar conversation,” Lady Starck said, her eyes fixed on Kate.

  “I shall make the birds into a pie,” Lord Hathaway said, coming to the rescue. “Thank you for that suggestion, Miss Daltry.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean it,” Kate cried, feeling a pang of guilt. “You mustn’t shoot at them, Lord Hathaway. The creatures have no idea they were upsetting your servants; they were probably just protecting their babies. Nesting season must be over, so you could send up a man to clean out the nests.”

  “They’ll build them again,” Algie said, affecting as authoritative a voice as his eighteen-year-old self could muster. “You’ll have to take a gun to them, though of course the young ladies will dislike the idea. My betrothed has very delicate sensibilities,” he stated, staring hard at Lady Starck.

  Kate gave him a rather surprised smile; it was nice of Algie to come to her defense.

  “Would you feel the same if I had suffered a plague of frogs?” Lord Hathaway inquired. “The French eat frogs as a daily affair, you know. They would likely count a rain of them as offerings from heaven.”

  “I think,” Kate said, “that you should cook up any frogs that hop—or fall—onto your property, Lord Hathaway.” She added with a grin, “Just please don’t invite me to supper.”

  “I don’t think the French put frogs into pies,” Effie said seriously.

  Lord Hathaway looked at her and smiled. It was clear that he liked her earnestness. “In point of fact, I don’t like the idea of shooting around my house.”

  Effie gave a little squeal. They all looked at her. “Well,” she said, “you might strike someone dead.”

  “He’d presumably use birdshot,” Kate told her. “One of my footmen took a load of birdshot and he couldn’t sit down for two weeks, which caused a great deal of amusement in the household. His name was Barsey and—” She broke off.

  “You have a lively sense of humor, Miss Daltry,” Lord Hathaway said, showing that he had realized exactly how close Barsey was to arse.

  “I don’t inquire as to the names of my footmen,” Lady Starck said loftily. “I call them all John, which suffices well enough.”

  Kate was appalled, but she bit her tongue. It was the last seven years, of course, living as half a servant and half a family member . . . it had changed her attitude toward the household. It took an effort of will not to snap at Lady Starck.

  “I know all our footmen’s names,” Miss Starck said, showing that she wasn’t nearly as blind as her mother. She curled her hand around Lord Hathaway’s arm again. At this rate the man was going to start feeling as if he were wearing a mourning band. “Don’t you think that it is our providential duty to care for all those below us, whether they be birds or unfortunate degenerates?”

  “Are your footmen unfortunate degenerates?” Henry put in cheerfully. “The only one of those in my household is my darling Leo.”

  They all glanced over at Henry’s husband, seated opposite her. Leo gave Kate a naughty wink and said, “It takes a degenerate to keep track of my wife, I assure you. No one else would have the imagination.”

  Lady Starck sniffed in horror, but Kate liked Leo, for all Henry’s complaints about his drinking. True, he seemed to be enjoying the champagne more than the fish, but for that matter, so was she.

  Nineteen

  The evening’s entertainment was announced by Berwick; it was to be a display of naval prowess on the lake, designed by Prince Ferdinand.

  “The gardens in the dark?” Lady Starck said, sniffing again. “My daughter will certainly not participate. We shall retire.”

  “When one is older, one simply must rest one’s bones,” Henry said. “If you wish, I will chaperone your daughter for you.”

  Lady Starck took a deep breath, which had the unfortunate effect of swelling her more-than-ample bos
om.

  “Darling,” Henry said kindly, “I’m afraid you’ve suffered a wardrobe malfunction.”

  Lady Starck glanced down at her right nipple, which was staring like a fish eye over the ruffle edging her bodice, and slapped her napkin over her chest, surging to her feet. “Effie, come!” she said, with all the authority that Kate tried to use with Caesar.

  It worked about as well for Her Ladyship as it did for Kate. “Mama, I should dearly love to see the naval display,” Effie said, her voice soft but firm. “I shall be perfectly safe under the chaperonage of Lady Wrothe.”

  “We shall guard your treasure very carefully,” Lord Hathaway said. He was standing, of course. As soon as Lady Starck’s nipple made its appearance, all the gentlemen leaped to their feet, though Kate knew that it was ostensibly in response to the lady’s departure.

  “I doubt it will be a long performance,” Henry put in. “We’ll all trot back to the house in a few minutes.”

  “Very well,” Lady Starck said, her napkin still clutched to her breast. “Effie, I expect you to come to my chamber the very moment this naval spectacle is finished.”

  “I will, Mama,” Effie said, sounding very cheerful.

  “I don’t think you have that story right,” Kate whispered to Henry as they strolled from the dining room. “Effie can’t possibly have groped Lord Beckham under the table. She’s not that sort of woman.”

  “She wouldn’t know what she was groping for, would she?” Henry said. “It must have been someone else. But I’m right about the fact that Dante is ripe for plucking and that the two of you are quite suited. Don’t you see what will happen to him if he marries her?”

  “He’ll be happy,” Kate said. “She’s quite sweet, in a somber kind of way.”

  “She never laughs unless someone else gives her a cue,” Henry said, sounding genuinely dismayed. “And I like Dante. He’s grown into a very decent fellow. When he was just five years old, he used to lean on my knee and ask me to tell him another story.” She narrowed her eyes. “Of course, I was a mere toddler myself. If you ever tell anyone that I am old enough to have told Dante stories, I’ll be forced into an act of violence.”

  “What kind of violence?” Kate inquired, fascinated.

  “I’ve got the measure of you,” Henry said. “You don’t like dogs, but you’re doing your best with those little mongrels of your sister’s. You don’t care for lions, but you’re championing for a bigger cage. You wouldn’t even let the nasty blackbirds be made into a pie in order to restore the dignity of the vicar. It would be easy to put you under my thumb; all I’d have to do is threaten to throw Coco onto the King’s highway.”

  “I would save Coco only because my dowry is glued to her neck,” Kate said. The disconcerting thing was that Henry was right, of course. That was how Mariana had kept her under her thumb all these years: by threatening to dismiss a footman, or the housekeeper, or even dear Cherryderry.

  They were walking out the back of the castle now. Stretching before them were the pale marble steps descending to the lake. They shimmered the color of pearl in the light of torches that lined the stairs.

  “What on earth have you done with Coco, by the way? She never came back to my room.”

  “She’s right here,” Henry said smugly. “And what a good girl she is; no one heard a peep from her during the meal.” She turned around and crooned, “Come on, darling.” Coco pranced out before them, her tail waving.

  “What’s she got around her neck?” Kate asked. “And on her leash?”

  “Ribbons and flowers to match my gown, of course,” Henry said. “Her jewels are all very well, but a lady needs a new toilette in the evening. So my maid soaked off the jewels and replaced them with a flower called lupine, which sounds like a half-deranged wolf, but is actually beautiful and matches my costume perfectly.”

  “She looks as if she’s stuck her head through a funeral wreath,” Kate pointed out.

  “Coming from a woman wearing a wig the color of a gooseberry, that means little,” Henry retorted.

  “I have to wear a wig,” Kate said firmly. “I’m incognito.”

  “You make it sound as if you’re working for the Foreign Office,” Henry said. “Now what are you going to do to dislodge Effervescent Effie from Dante’s arm? She’s attached like a limpet.”

  Kate shrugged.

  “No wonder you’re unmarried at the ripe age of twenty-three,” Henry said. “Leo, come here!”

  Her husband, who was ambling along behind them, looking just slightly tipsy, stepped forward next to Kate. “Yes, love?” he said.

  Kate liked that. She could tolerate a husband who drank too much if he called her love and looked at her the way Leo looked at Henry. As if he’d be there for her, always.

  “Can you shake some sense into my goddaughter? She’s practically as old as I am, and yet she’s lazy when it comes to marriage.”

  Leo twinkled at Kate. “Henry likes marriage,” he said, taking her arm. “That’s why she’s done it so many times.”

  “I wouldn’t have had to if men lived longer,” Henry said.

  “Is there anyone you’d particularly like to marry?” Leo asked Kate.

  The prince, Kate thought—and quelled the thought in horror. What on earth was she thinking? It was just that kiss . . . that kiss. . .

  “No one in particular,” she said firmly.

  “What about Toloose? He’s a decent chap,” Leo said. “My house at Oxford and all. Going to be a viscount someday.”

  “You went to Oxford as well?” Kate inquired.

  “A double first in philosophy and history,” Henry put in. “Never marry anyone with fewer brains than yourself, darling. It always ends badly.”

  “If my wife had gone to Oxford, they would have had to create a triple first,” Leo said.

  “What did you say?” Henry asked.

  “In seduction,” he whispered.

  Kate giggled, and Lord Hathaway turned around and looked back at them. It might have been her imagination, but he looked as if he were longing to know the joke.

  “Kate can’t marry Toloose,” Henry said. “For goodness’ sake, Leo. The man’s got a wandering eye. I can assure you of that.”

  “All eyes wander in my wife’s direction,” Leo sang tunefully.

  Henry reached past Kate and poked him. “But they don’t wander into your wife’s bed, so be happy with that. Now, my idea is that Kate should marry . . .” She nodded at Lord Hathaway’s back.

  “Really?” Leo said, a trifle doubtfully.

  “Why not?”

  “I was listening to the dinner conversation,” Leo said, “and it seemed to me that Miss Kate has a great deal of wit, as my grandmother would say. She reminds me of you, m’dear.”

  “Well, I did hold her during her baptism,” Henry said. “Maybe I rubbed off on her.”

  “And you would not be happy in such a marriage,” Leo continued. “The man in question is a brave and gentle soul, no doubt. But in a matter of ten years he will be falling asleep in a chair by the fire, after spending supper deploring the make of his boots.”

  “Unkind,” Henry said. “Very unkind.” But she was laughing.

  “I should enjoy that,” Kate said firmly. “I have very few ambitions, and if I knew my husband was asleep in a chair opposite me, I would cheerfully doze off myself. What I do not want is a husband who is out offering sugarplums to other women while I am at home alone.”

  “Sugarplums,” Henry said. “One could almost think that you meant something metaphorical, dearest Kate.”

  “Kate?” Effie suddenly said, glancing over her shoulder. “Are you calling Miss Daltry Kate? How sweet; is that a family name?”

  “Absolutely,” Henry said, smiling at her with tigerish emphasis, all her teeth showing. “I am her godmama, after all. I have pet names for all my dear ones.”

  “She calls me her sugarplum,” Leo said.

  Effie was tripping down the steps again, so he added: “But I
made her stop: altogether too soft and pillowy for, ahem, someone like me.”

  Kate couldn’t help laughing.

  “Too small too,” Henry added proudly.

  They had reached the bottom of the steps and were greeted by Berwick. “You are fortunate to have arrived so promptly; you needn’t watch from the shore but can actually join the entertainment,” he said. “If you would follow me.” He took them a short way around the lake and stopped before a gilded boat whose elaborately carved prow arched high in the air. The seats were padded luxuriously and set at an angle; presumably they would all recline.

  “That looks like a very, very small Viking ship,” Leo said.

  “I’m fairly sure the Vikings were an industrious lot,” Kate said, basing that on a book she’d read from her father’s library. “This looks more like Roman decadence to me.”

  “The Vikings?” Henry asked. “Who on earth were they?”

  “Your ancestors,” Leo said. He whispered something in her ear and she gave him a little slap.

  “What did he say?” Kate asked, following Henry into the boat.

  “Something about rape and pillage,” Henry said. “As if any of my partners ever lacked the proper enthusiasm!” She sat down in the carved seat that made up the stern of the boat and snuggled Coco onto her lap.

  “If I didn’t know you better,” Kate said, “I’d think you were in love with that dog.”

  “She and I understand each other,” Henry said loftily. “Besides . . .” She scratched Coco under one ear. “She’s quite affectionate, isn’t she?”

  “She wasn’t with me,” Kate said. “You’re making me miss Freddie. He looks at me with those same eyes.”

  “I’m very fond of unquestioning adoration,” Henry said. “One can’t have too much of it, from dogs or men.”

  Lord Hathaway scrambled onto the boat and sat down next to Kate on one side of the boat. Algie, following him, sat next to Effie on the other side. Leo would have taken to the life of a Roman statesman; he dropped next to Henry, stretched his legs out, and said, “I like this kind of military entertainment. So different from what one expects, i.e., violence and general hardship, not to mention hardtack.”