“Nevertheless,” Clarissa said unsteadily, “I have accepted. I cannot in good conscience cry off.”
“Nonsense. These chits cry off all the time. Either someone bullied you into it, or...” The duchess smacked the arm of her chair, and leaned forward. “Clarissa, have you fallen in love with someone ineligible?”
To Kitty’s surprise, Clarissa’s face whitened, her chest heaved, and she leaped to her feet and ran. The duchess let her go.
As the door clicked shut behind her, the old woman sighed unhappily. “I was afraid of that the moment she walked into the room. Just like her mother, who fell in love à corps perdu with that damned Winterdale, and her decline began the day he married that rabbiting Villiers chit.”
“Clarissa’s mama? But I thought—”
“I found Chadwick for her. He was kind. Cork-brained but kind, and prodigiously handsome, so she wouldn’t shudder if he came near. Thought he could give her a brood to love instead of that scélérat Winterdale. But she was too worn down by childbirth when Clarissa came, that and low spirits. However, Clarissa ain’t that weak. In fact, given time, I think she could route Susannah Wilburfolde, but that wouldn’t make her happy, and I promised myself when my Therese died, that I would make her daughter happy.”
Kitty said fervently, “She is not happy with him. He cannot help it, but he frets her. She comes back from every outing with the headache, but I know she will not cry off.”
The duchess fortified herself with some tea, then crashed the fragile cup back onto its saucer. “She hates scandal, and crying off would kick up the sort of dust she mislikes. What I must do is discover whom she is in love with. I hope he is not married. Do you know?”
Kitty gave her head a shake. “She has never mentioned anyone. But...”
“But what? Speak up, girl! She will be back any moment.”
“The subject has never come up.”
“You mean she has been silent. Girls can find anyplace to talk, if they are of a mind.”
Kitty looked up wonderingly. “That’s true.”
“How long has she been pokered up?”
“I could not say for certain, as she has always been quiet since we first became acquainted.” Kitty thought of her plan, looked uncertainly at the formidable duchess, thought again of Clarissa bursting into tears, and stiffened her spine. “If she favored anyone, I would guess it must be her cousin.”
“Which cousin? She’s got dozens of ’em littering England and France, thanks to my busy daughters. Not France, anymore, but Holland. Eh bien! Which?”
“Mr. Philip Devereaux.”
The duchess’s brows shot up. “Philip? What makes you think that?”
“Well, she talks fondly of him. They get on so well together, and he apparently has been attending more parties.”
The duchess nodded slowly. “It was the wish of my heart, five years ago, but they have always been like brother and sister—too much alike.”
“Alike?”
“They are both bookish, sharing much the same tastes, for one thing. Quiet, for another.”
“He is fond of reading?” Kitty could not help but exclaim. He did know some poetry, but anyone who had been schooled could recollect a poem if put to it, she had thought. And fashionable gentlemen were not bookish.
“He don’t mention it in town, where ignorance is prized by these boobies nowadays,” the duchess said bluntly. “The last book I remember anyone talking about was that maudlin nonsense Georgiana Devonshire wrote, and they only read far enough to see if they were in it. Them or their enemies,” she added trenchantly.
Kitty choked on a laugh, and raised her hand to her lips to prevent the question she wanted to blurt.
“Yes, I was in it,” the duchess said, giving a gust of a laugh. “But only a bit part, you might say. I never gave Georgiana trouble, she or that fool duke of hers. Whatever they and Bess Foster were up to was their business, and I liked what she did for young Fox. Fi donc! My eldest son has reached sixty without an heir, his twin will never marry, I expect, and I do not want to see the Devereaux line die out. Do you think you can find out if he’s the one?”
“I shall do my best,” Kitty promised fervently. “I owe her, oh, everything.”
“Bon! That’s where we’ll rest it, then, since I know if I summoned him here he would sit like a stone and not tell me a thing. Now. You stay here and drink your tea, and don’t blab about this conversation to anyone. She would be annihilated if gossip got around.”
“I would never do that,” Kitty said.
“Capital. And you’ll send me word if there is anything I can do. Promise!”
Kitty nodded, and the duchess got to her feet and walked out with a great belling of skirts. Kitty was left staring up at a portrait of a sweet-faced girl in an enormous white wig. Upon the wig perched a hat that appeared to support half a garden. The girl was dressed as a shepherdess (if shepherdesses ever wore silk and lace), posed against a sylvan background. The wig and the clothing were absurd, but Kitty could not mistake the resemblance to Clarissa in that long face.
Clarissa in love! Kitty turned her mind to Andromeda, who was laboring under the same passion. Kitty thought of all the sighs, megrims, and fainting she’d filled the pages with, without ever thinking about how being in love might be painful.
Clarissa and the duchess soon returned, Clarissa pale except for pink-rimmed eyes. They drank tea, and the girls took their leave, the duchess muttering that she only wanted to see Clarissa happy.
When they were alone in the carriage, after a quick look at Clarissa’s averted face, Kitty rushed into speech. “You know, I have not touched Andromeda since our arrival in London. I intended to finish it and copy it out fair so that I might find a publisher before I returned home. But first I will have to change the clothes...”
Clarissa’s responses were mechanical, and Kitty chattered on until they reached the Harlowes’ home. Then Clarissa leaned forward, pressed Kitty’s hand gratefully, and then climbed out and went straight to her room.
TWENTY-ONE
On Sunday morning, Amelia took the family considerably by surprise.
“Hurry,” she urged, “We shouldn’t be late for church!”
She herself was dressed in her finest day gown, a fact that Eliza pointed out with sisterly curiosity.
Amelia flushed, but as she bade Eliza to leave off in a decidedly unsanctimonious voice, Lord Chadwick dismissed the hideous idea that his second daughter had suddenly turned Methodist—for in his mind, anyone who took a sudden hankering for what he considered a duty must have fallen under the pernicious influence of that fellow Wesley.
After divine service, Kitty remembered the young curate who gave a very good sermon as Mr. DuLac, the gentleman they’d met at the soiree across the street. She regarded Amelia with silent interest. Amelia was flushed, smiling in an odd way, and chattering rather less than usual.
The weather being fine, the young ladies chose to go out for an airing in the park that afternoon—that is, all the young ladies except Clarissa. Lord Wilburfolde carried Clarissa off to spend the afternoon with his Aunt Annadale.
Lord Wilburfolde had wavered about inviting Kitty, who he knew was Clarissa’s guest. Mindful of what Miss Bouldeston had disclosed, he wrote to his mother on the subject, and was enjoined by return mail to encourage the separation now. She would also instruct her sister to drop hints about the unsuitability of her guest, that Lady Catherine’s visit might be brought to a close the sooner.
Kitty was left therefore to the company of Amelia and Eliza, Tildy having foregone the boredom of walking around the park in favor of visiting her friend Jane Atherton across the street, whose dog had just had puppies.
Almost the moment that Kitty, Amelia, and Eliza stepped outside they encountered the marquess, who was coming to pay his respects. After the exchange of politenesses, and the disclosure that Ned had gone off with James Harlowe on some pursuit of their own, St. Tarval fell in step beside Kitty.
&
nbsp; By the time they reached the park, all the polite subjects had been canvased, and they divided naturally into two parties, the Harlowe girls walking ahead to ogle a party of very young men who ogled them back.
Kitty remembered her manners. “You found the Bouldestons well, I trust?”
“I called before I came here, but Lucretia was away,” Carlisle said. “You look as though London suits you.”
Kitty clasped her hands. “You cannot conceive how happy I am. Everything is delightful. Clarissa and her family have been so kind and generous.”
“You have written a great deal about them, but your letters have said little about your own affairs.”
“Affairs?” she repeated.
He had to laugh. “I am to understand, then, you have not found your rich duke?”
“I did not suppose there are any, or if such a man exists, he has not come in my way. The closest I’ve encountered is the Marquess of Hartington, but everyone says he has eyes only for his cousin, Lady Caroline, and I can see why. Besides, I have been too busy to pay attention, I must admit.” Kitty stole a guilty glance at her brother. “I suppose I am being very selfish, but I promise I have been thinking a great deal about my book, for I still hope and trust I can earn something thereby.”
“That is absurd, Kit. You are to do precisely what you are doing, which is to enjoy yourself, and do not fret about St. Tarval. As it happens, I have settled the last of Papa’s debt with Sir Harry, and once we’ve dug the new canal, we will enter into a period of retrenchment. In ten years I think we will come about and find ourselves very comfortable. Perhaps the sooner, if we have good luck.” He looked around. “So, to return to you. I trust that Miss Harlowe is well? I do not see her with her sisters.”
“She is well, but that impossible man... No, I should not say such things.” Kitty pressed her hands to her cheeks. “It is just that she is so unhappy, and though he means well, he vexes her. I would never say that much, except her grandmother agrees.”
“I am very sorry to hear that,” he said.
Kitty heard the conviction in his voice, and rushed on. “Her family will not make a push to help her. They do not seem to see her unhappiness. I am alone in my effort to, oh, I hardly know what to do. Carl, you must help me.”
“Kitty, propriety forbids me to interfere here at all.”
“Oh, Carl, I thought at least I could count upon you.”
“What would you have me do, Kit? I cannot challenge this fellow to a duel! Especially as, from all accounts — for you must know that James had plenty to say on this head — the fellow is punctilious to a fault.”
“We must help clear the way for her to be with the man she truly loves.”
St. Tarval frowned ahead at the unoffending trees.
“Carl?”
“I do not know what to say,” he responded finally.
“Carl, this concerns Clarissa’s happiness, she who has been so kind and generous to me.” Kitty’s voice trembled.
The marquess stretched out his hand to his sister. “Then you may be sure I will do whatever I can. Who is this gentleman we are to encourage her to unite with?”
Kitty’s cheeks tinged with color. “Her cousin, Mr. Philip Devereaux.”
The marquess had to look about him before he could speak. “I do not know who he is.”
“He is very handsome, and I am reliably told that he loves to read. I do know that he likes poetry,” Kitty amended, then went on hastily, “at any rate, he is devoted to his family, as she is, and in short, he would be perfect in every way.”
“Kitty, it sounds like you are acquainted enough with this fellow to do a better job of encouraging than I ever could.”
“Oh, no, no, no. It seems I have already intruded myself too much on his notice. Lucretia told me that I am not—that is, I know that I have not the experience to—oh, I am tangling myself hideously. Carl, please say that you will help.”
“I do not yet see how I can, but I can promise you this. If there is anything I can do to aid your friend I will do everything in my power.”
Kitty took his arm and hugged it. “How very comfortable it is, to have you here, Carl. I am so very glad you are come.”
o0o
When Clarissa arrived home late that evening, her first impulse was to fling wide her bedroom windows so that she might breathe. Even the air of the street was better than the close, airless salon of Lady Annadale’s home, and her stultifying lecture about precisely what was wrong with the nation, society, and her neighbors. What was it about that family and their predilection for overly warm, stale air?
Kitty scratched at her door. Clarissa let her in, relieved to be away from the endless round of her thoughts. Her head these days felt as stuffy and airless and inescapable as that horrid room.
Kitty stood on the threshold, her eyes wide and green, her expression solemn. Clarissa became aware of a thick stack of wrinkled pages clutched to her bosom.
“Here,” Kitty said, holding out her burden to Clarissa. “I thought, that is, I hoped you might like to read it. I thought I could only benefit from your opinion, if you did not mind very much. I know that you do like books, and so I hoped you might read this one, even if it is only mine. And not finished.”
Clarissa took in Kitty’s lowered gaze and hazarded a guess at how difficult was this gesture. Clarissa was overwhelmed by her trust. “I would like to very much,” she said, accepting the papers.
Clarissa added, “My grandmother is also fond of novels. She has always had a taste for romance, and I think might be excused for imagining things. I would be grateful if you would forget her surmises.”
Kitty said, “I shall never mention it again unless you do.”
“Thank you. Then we can go on comfortably again. And I will read this as soon as I may.”
Kitty withdrew. Clarissa set the manuscript down on her desk and moved to the window. She must accustom herself to the fact that Kitty’s brothers were here in London. She could even permit herself to be glad for Kitty’s sake. No one could have mistaken Kitty’s delight in seeing her brother, a delight that had contrasted with Miss Bouldeston’s reaction. Clarissa did not know Lucretia Bouldeston well enough to understand her thinking, but she could have sworn she had seen more dismay than delight.
However that may be, they must be left to conduct their lives as they saw fit. It was uncharitable to intrude where one was not asked or wanted. She must behave with politeness, and the distant friendliness of Kitty’s friend.
She was called upon to exercise this determination much sooner than she expected.
Lady Chadwick had been put to considerable trouble trying to find a way to entertain Lord Wilburfolde that would not cause his mother’s ire. She had finally hit upon the perfect solution: they would invite him to the Opera.
Unfortunately, she could not get her husband to agree. Lord Chadwick had commiserated with her, and even praised her for hitting upon the perfect solution. But, as he put it, “I can stick the Opera, or I can stick that young blockhead. But I cannot stick both. You will have to get James to escort you.”
She had then turned to her son, without much hope of cooperation. James had scowled, then said reluctantly, “I will if you include Ned Decourcey and his brother in the party. Lady Kitty will like it, and I will have someone to talk to, which will lessen the torture.”
And so it came to pass. They were all gathered in an excellent box. James, with his own comfort in mind, made certain that there were plenty of refreshments at hand, and he pretended not to see Lord Wilburfolde’s disapproval of wine being included among them.
Reactions to the first act were very much according to their several natures. Lady Chadwick dozed peacefully throughout, content with her achievement. She woke with a start when the curtain went down. Raising her looking glass expectantly to survey the other boxes, she began her evening’s real entertainment.
Having fortified themselves during the caterwauling with most of the refreshments, James and N
ed promptly escaped in search of more. The marquess sat back, prepared to take his part in any conversation as expected of a guest, but he could not prevent the hope that Clarissa would participate. In a family party, in such a public place, he could enjoy her proximity with perfect safety.
As Kitty seemed to be in a reverie, and his hostess was busy surveying the other boxes, he turned slightly in order to observe Clarissa, who was looking particularly attractive in a gown of pale green with ivory lace, inclined her head politely as her betrothed painstakingly related to her what she had just seen.
Kitty turned to her brother. “How beautiful the music is, how excellent the singers! Now I understand why people praise Mozart. His piano airs are all very well, but Cosi fan tutti is extraordinary. Clarissa told me earlier that The Magical Flute is even better.” She cast a glance around, and whispered, “How beautiful this theater is. I wonder if I ought to set a scene here. I could have Count Scorbini abduct Andromeda from one of these boxes.”
St. Tarval said, “It would certainly liven up the evening.”
Kitty continued in a whisper, “I hope while you are here you might take me to a play.”
The marquess stared at her in surprise. “I thought you would have been to a dozen of them by now.”
“The only person partial to plays is Clarissa,” she whispered even lower. “But her betrothed disapproves, and the Chadwicks don’t seem to attend plays. So we have never been.” At that moment, Kitty, who had been looking around at the different boxes, spied Mr. Devereaux on the opposite side of the theater. His party included Mr. Brummel and several well-known leaders of society.
Happenstance brought his gaze across the sea of faces to meet Kitty’s. Unconsciously she smiled, then consciously glanced toward Clarissa, hoping he would pick up the hint.
But hard on that she remembered Lucretia’s warning and quickly dropped her gaze. She dared not look up again, but she said to her brother, “If you do buy tickets to the play, pray include Clarissa. We needn’t invite Lord Wilburfolde if he dislikes plays.”
It was time for the second act, and Kitty settled back, preparing for enjoyment. James and Ned reappeared, smelling rather strongly of spirits.