NINETEEN
On finding herself alone after breakfast, Kitty added to her latest letter to her brother. That did not take long. Then she eyed the stack of papers on her desk.
There was no profit in avoiding Andromeda. This glorious London visit would not last forever. Too soon Kitty would be back at Tarval Hall, surrounded by all the familiar problems. Since she had decided against trying for a wealthy husband, then she must square herself to the task of readying her book for publication. It was selfish to waste all her time on her own pleasures, when she had been given the opportunity she had never expected: to learn about fashionable London.
The problem was, there were so very many errors in what she had written so far. She had done her best to discover facts about London, but all she had had to rely on were her grandmother’s memories, and Lucretia’s anecdotes. Grandmother’s fashionable recollections were hideously out of date, but Lucretia’s anecdotes were hideously distorted in other ways. For example, Kitty had discovered her first day in town that Mount Street was not the very center of London. Nor were Almack’s Wednesday balls as glorious as Lucretia had claimed. Sumptuous parties were reserved for select sets, and even there, Lucretia had exaggerated in odd ways, making Kitty suspect that Lucretia was invited to few of those.
She glared at the manuscript. It was going to have to be entirely rewritten.
She turned over a page or two, sighed, and decided that she could as well begin on a rainy day. Right now she ought to be a good guest and walk down to the parlor. If the girls were there, she could talk to them, which amused her mightily, and also had the advantage of affording Lady Chadwick some peace. Oh, to have had sisters like Eliza and Tildy, as well as Amelia and Clarissa!
As she started down the stairs, she heard the knocker far below. From the voices echoing up the stairwell, she determined that the caller was a gentleman, and a heartbeat later she thought she recognized that voice: Mr. Devereaux. A hot blush suffused her.
She dared a peek over the banister as Mr. Devereaux handed Pobrick his hat. She backed away in haste lest the gentleman lift his eyes and catch her spying. The dearth of female chatter from the parlor meant that Lady Chadwick was probably alone.
Kitty recalled herself to her plan. It was a good plan. She knew that Clarissa would be much happier with someone like her cousin than with Lord Wilburfolde, well-meaning as he might be.
She took a cautious step forward for a quick look as the gentleman was let into the parlor. His wavy dark hair and the tops of his broad shoulders re-animated the vexing blush. Even his ears were attractive.
Katie patted her cheeks, willing them to cool. She knew what this was. Perhaps, one day, she could look back and enjoy the experience, but right now she wished she did not have such common taste that she was attracted to the gentleman who seemed to cause a similar response in every other young lady.
Not that he was common. That was the problem. She had since her arrival become acquainted with many men, from young to old, tall to short, fair to dark. Some had beautiful eyes. Others a flashing smile. Most of them dressed very well, and were well spoken. But no one was quite like him.
She drew in a slow breath. She could school herself. It was only an attraction. Though she might give Andromeda an eternal passion that darted simultaneously into the breast of each of her deserving lovers at first glance, that was the hyperbole of a story. One expected to read such. The fun of the novel came in how many adventures contrived to keep the two apart before the reward of wealth and marriage on the last page.
Kitty had seen attraction come and go. She looked back in memory to her sixteenth year, when she entered into the garden to fetch roses for the table and discovered Lucretia weeping and clutching Carlisle’s jacket. As Kitty stared in astonishment, his arms had circled Lucretia, and they kissed.
Kitty had instantly run away, of course, but Lucretia soon found her out and described the kiss in detail. She had even used that very same language that Kitty had borrowed for Andromeda: Cupid’s bow darting an arrow into their hearts at the same moment, inspiring eternal love — two souls eternally entwined — tender passion.
Kitty had believed it. And she’d done her best to regard Lucretia as a sister after Carlisle confessed his part of that rencontre. But as time passed, she had seen less ardency and more question in Carlisle, and as for Lucretia, Kitty sometimes wondered if Cupid’s darts had shot right through her and out into the world.
Kitty had learned to put no especial trust in Cupid or his darts, especially when she herself had had occasion to feel that delicious but untrustworthy warmth. First, John-coachman’s son Bob, when he tossed Kitty up on her first pony. Then the new vicar’s younger brother when he visited from Oxford. For two days, Kitty had thought herself singled out, until Lucasta had spied him flirting (and using the same exact phrases) with the squire’s eldest daughter at the glove-maker’s shop. Lucretia, perhaps stung that he had taken her at her word when she had said her heart was given, spread it all over the village that he was a desperate flirt.
Kitty had to smile when she remembered those two very intense days at the ripe old age of seventeen, when she had gone from eternal love to her heart being buried forever.
So here she was. She could acknowledge this attraction to Mr. Devereaux, but she must simply regard it as an ephemeral thing, as fragile as the blooms Lady Chadwick put in vases each day. By next week they would be withered.
Kitty must put her rational mind to work, and find a way for Clarissa to find a better chance at happiness with her cousin, because there was little chance of that happening with Lord Wilburfolde. And Kitty owed Clarissa her best effort for her generous invitation to London.
She descended the rest of the stairs, and was able to enter the parlor with a polite composure.
Mr. Devereaux rose to greet her, aware of the quickening of his interest—the sharp thorn of ambivalence. He should not have come—he had had no intention of calling at this house while Lady Catherine still visited. Until he had seen the laughter in her eyes, and heard the enjoyment in her voice as she capped his lines, and then ripped out that provocative poem by Rochester in that mock-missish manner, he fully intended to convey today’s message to Lady Chadwick on his way out as the soiree ended.
Yet here he was, to see her in the sober light of day.
Lady Chadwick was speaking. “... and as I was saying, Chadwick is still abed, and the girls walked out with their aunt while the weather is fine. And did not Lord Wilburfolde take Clarissa out for a ride, dear Lady Kitty?”
“It was a planned excursion,” Katie said conscientiously, as she gave the gentleman a curtsey in greeting. “He wished to give her a tour of the Houses of Parliament.”
Kitty spied a faint pucker between Mr. Devereaux’s dark brows. He was not angry, she felt certain. She had seen a like expression in Carlisle from time to time, when he was troubled by some question he could not answer. Mr. Devereaux said, “You did not accompany them, Lady Catherine?”
“I was not invited. I believe his lordship wished to spend the morning alone with his betrothed.”
“At the Houses of Parliament?” Lady Chadwick asked blankly.
At that moment, Pobrick appeared at the door again. “Miss Bouldeston.”
And here was Lucretia, dressed in glossy, frilly pink from top to toe. She took three tiny steps into the parlor then halted, her mouth rounded. She raised a forefinger to her bottom lip in a way that looked rehearsed as she exclaimed, “Oh! I did not know —” And in a meaning tone, her eyes blinking rapidly, “Do I intrude?”
Lady Chadwick greeted her from her corner chair. “Good morning, Miss Bouldeston. I trust Lady Bouldeston is well?”
“Oh, I did not see you there, Lady Chadwick! Forgive me. Very well, thank you,” Lucretia lisped, choosing the chair nearest Mr. Devereaux as she turned to Kitty. “I happened to be walking in the area, and as the day is so fine, I bethought me of my sweetest Catherine, and stopped in hopes you might join me for an airi
ng. But if you are otherwise engaged...”
“Not at all, Lucretia,” Kitty hastened to assure her. “I just this moment walked into the parlor myself.”
Mr. Devereaux then said, “Lady Chadwick, you behold in me my sister’s envoy. If it would be acceptable for her to arrive for her proposed visit on the twelfth, instead of the thirteenth as settled, then I shall be able to bring her myself. I am required to be in the country on business the day previous.”
Lady Chadwick waved a languid hand. “Pray bring dear little Bess whenever it is convenient. Eliza will be in transports.”
Devereaux rose to shake her hand and take his departure. “Then I will go immediately and write to allay her anxiety.”
Lucretia spoke up. “Oh, pray, Mr. Devereaux, is dear Miss Bess coming to London?” When the gentleman bowed assent, she went on with fervent enthusiasm, “I hope and pray we shall have the felicity of seeing her. Such a lovely, sweet girl, and so accomplished for her age. Pray, when does she arrive in Grosvenor Street? My sister Lucasta will be aux anges to see her again. Did you know they are acquainted?”
“My sister does not come to Grosvenor Street, but directly here,” he said as he reached the door. “I fear I cannot stay. May I wish you ladies a good morning?”
“If you are walking, Mr. Devereaux, may we accompany you? As you just heard, dearest Catherine and I are to take the air.”
“Unfortunately, I am driving today, Miss Bouldeston,” he replied.
“Oh, I did not realize that was your curricle being walked up and down out front, though I suppose I ought to have recognized that handsome pair of matched bays that my father has pointed out at least fifty times.”
Mr. Devereaux thanked her, bowed again, and departed.
Kitty could not help but stare at Lucretia. Maybe these were her company manners while in London, but the contrast between her trilling voice now and the sharp tones she often used to her sister nearly made her laugh. She got to the door, saying quickly, “Pray excuse me, Lucretia. I will make ready as swiftly as I can.”
She gave vent to her laugh as she ran upstairs to change into a walking dress, wishing it would not be indelicate to share the absurdity with anyone else.
Lucretia was thus left alone with Lady Chadwick. That lady rose and said, “If I may be permitted to step out a moment, I will see if the girls are returned.”
Lucretia was just as happy to pick up a number of the latest fashionable magazines, which lay on one of the smart little tables.
Within a minute or two, there was a commotion outside the door, Clarissa Harlowe’s voice coming clearly, “... For a few minutes, until I rid myself of this headache.”
The door then opened, and Lucretia stared in surprise at the unfamiliar gentleman who stepped in. He was dressed soberly and conservatively, his hair cut closer to his scalp than was fashionable, which gave his head rather the shape of a potato. His complexion was florid, his neck above his neckcloth damp, but his features were pleasing enough.
Lucretia, accurately pricing his clothing, exerted herself to politeness as she rose to her feet and made her curtsy. “Oh, sir,” she said breathlessly, admiring the way she managed to sound aflutter. “Pray forgive me. It is so very awkward, finding myself here with a stranger.”
He bowed. “It is for me to beg forgiveness,” he said. “And yet I do not know how it comes about. I might have thought—but there, I do not wish to appear to be casting aspersions upon our good hostess. She must assume we are known to one another. My name is Wilburfolde, and you might have seen the interesting information inserted to the morning papers with respect to the...” He paused, looking a little confused, then went on in a determined voice, “... To the expected Hymeneal celebration between Miss Harlowe and myself.”
“Congratulations,” Lucretia exclaimed, shaking his hand. “I am ever so delighted for our good friend Miss Harlowe. I wish you very happy, and I apologize for this uncomfortable situation. I am laughed at everywhere for being so shy and modest that people forget I am in the room.”
Lord Wilburfolde had no idea how to answer that, and so he bowed again.
“Pray be seated,” Lucretia said winsomely. “If I may for this moment appropriate to myself the duties of hostess. Did I hear dear Miss Harlowe without?”
“Yes,” he responded. “We are just returned from a tour of the Houses of Parliament.”
“Oh, how very interesting,” Lucretia exclaimed.
“So it might have been, but for Miss Harlowe being taken with a sudden headache. We had to return after only an hour and eighteen minutes.” He consulted his pocket watch, then tucked it back into his waistcoat. “I believe it is these late nights that are to blame,” he said. “I am concerned. I do not remember her ever racketing about town so much in the past, when I visited the metropolis. But she is exerting herself beyond her strength. It must be her effort to entertain her visitor.”
“Catherine?” Lucretia exclaimed, surprised.
“You are acquainted with the lady?” Lord Wilburfolde asked.
“Oh yes indeed. We are neighbors, that is, our estates share a common border in the country.”
“Please forgive me,” he said. “I do not intend any slight upon the lady in question, it is merely that I fear Miss Harlowe overtaxes herself.”
Lucretia made a little business of smoothing her skirt over her knees, making certain that her flounces revealed no more than an inch of the toes of her little slippers. She had been meditating a comment about the prospective walk that she charitably had suggested for Catherine’s enjoyment, for she did not like to miss an opportunity to imply close acquaintance with the sister of a marquess. It sounded well in company, and she could also laugh over the effort it would make for her little feet to keep up with her friend’s great strides, for it was always important to draw a gentleman’s attention away from the purely happenstance arrangement of features that was so tritely termed “beauty.”
Men were such simple creatures! As well, for she knew they also valued the contrast of frailty and daintiness to their great selves. They only needed reminding of it.
But here was a new, more interesting prospect. Did this Lord Wilburfolde disapprove of Catherine’s visit? Lucretia did not believe for one moment that Mr. Devereaux took the least interest in Catherine Decourcey, when he had half London at his feet. But it did not suit Lucretia at all to see Catherine invited everywhere instead of seeking Lucretia’s advice and patronage. The sooner Catherine went home to St. Tarval, the sooner everything would go comfortably back to the way it ought to be.
“I am very, very sorry if Catherine’s visit has occasioned distress for Miss Harlowe. I know she does not intend so.” Lucretia kept her voice soft and sweet, and cast down her eyes in pretty bashfulness, hoping the gentleman would say more.
“It is just that I find them engaged every evening until far later than the rational being ought to be up, and too many days have been given over to frivolous concerns, such as shopping, when Miss Harlowe ought to be resting and husbanding her resources. Then, my mother and I had prepared, with no thought to the hours spent in doing so, a list of improving activities to make best use of our time in the metropolis. To this date, however, we have barely covered five of them, and Miss Harlowe, who I know has little liking for London, seems determined to remain here at the cost of her health.”
Lucretia did not believe for a moment that Miss Harlowe was making herself sick while enjoying the Season, but here was a chance to curtail Catherine’s unconscionably long visit. It would be foolish, even wasteful, to ignore what so clearly would be the best for everyone.
“Lady Catherine quite understandably wishes to make a wealthy marriage,” Lucretia whispered. “It is not doing my duty by my sex if I were to cast aspersions on so proper an ambition. However, it seems a shame that someone as young as Miss Harlowe is called upon to serve in such a capacity. She is so kind and generous to overtax herself in this way, but it makes me hope that she will be able to rest once the v
isit of our mutual friend comes to a close.”
“I find we are in complete agreement,” Lord Wilburfolde said, eyeing the young lady complacently. This Miss Bouldeston was sympathetic as well as modest.
They were both thus very pleased with themselves, and their company, when Kitty rejoined them in her walking dress, bonnet and gloves in hand.
“There you are, Catherine,” Lucretia greeted her in her sweetest tones. “I must say, you look prettier every time I see you. Good day, Lord Wilburfolde. I am delighted that we have met.”
“As am I,” he said, bowing the ladies out of the room.
Once they reached the street, Lucretia decided to capitalize on the success of the day. “I intended to simply enjoy the walk, but I would be failing my duty as a friend, not to mention perhaps one day a closer connection, if I did not venture to give you a little hint, Catherine,” she said.
“Have I done something wrong?” Kitty asked, cold pouring through her nerves. This was too much like Tunbridge Wells all over again. “Miss Harlowe promised to let me know if I transgress against the rules of society.”
“Miss Harlowe is very kind. One might say that she is kind almost to a fault, and of course the betrothed lady can be forgiven for having other cares to think about besides a guest who is not conversant, or as the French say, au fait with society. You must remember that I have been coming to London for four years, giving me experience with the niceties of etiquette. You might not remember why I am quite known everywhere for dressing in rose—”
Kitty suppressed an inward sigh, having heard this anecdote repeatedly.
“—but my very first year in London, when I was introduced to Mr. Brummel, he made a little observance about how someone as young and dainty as I should not wear white, as she might vanish altogether, and when he suggested a brighter shade, such as rose...”