Lady Midnight (16 page)

"But I want to speak French to him," Amelia said decidedly. "Tonight!"

Kate laughed. "It may be a bit early for
that,
Amelia! But these verbs are an excellent start. Tomorrow, we will learn some useful nouns, and you will be able to make some simple sentences."

Amelia nodded, seemingly satisfied, and went back to murmuring over her verbs. Kate glanced over at Christina. "And how are you progressing, Lady Christina?"

Christina shook her head. "It's all so ridiculous! I will never be able to remember all the topics of conversation I
can
speak of and all I
can't.
Why only the weather and fashion? Any fool can see if it's raining outside. They don't need me to tell them."

"No. It is just to make social discourse easy for everyone, a way to avoid embarrassment. Not everyone is as clever as you, you know. You would not want to make someone feel stupid for not knowing the Latin names for the parts of a flower, would you?"

A shadow of doubt flickered over Christina's face. "I—well, no. Of course I wouldn't, even though the parts of a flower
are
very easy to remember."

"Then before you know more of a person's interests and intelligence, it is best to simply speak of the weather. Or the fact that pink slippers are very a la mode this Season. But it needn't be completely dull." Kate stood up and marched to the middle of the floor, wielding an imaginary fan in her hand and turning so an imaginary train swirled around her feet. "Oh, la, Sir Everyman! It has been so beastly hot of late, do you not agree? I vow one cannot even breathe in this ballroom, and every flower in the park was quite wilted today. So very sad—I do enjoy a lovely
raddianum,
don't you? It was named after Giuseppe Raddi, you know." She tossed her head, and gave a sly, side-wise smile.

Christina clapped her hands enthusiastically. "Oh, Mrs. Brown! How do you know about
raddianuml"

"You told me, of course, Lady Christina. You said it is a variety of fern."

"Well, I vow Sir Everyman would follow you anywhere if you smiled at him like
that
while discussing the weather."

"And you, too, Christina. You will have handsome suitors trailing you all around London, tossing
raddianum
at your feet." Kate abandoned her flirtation with Sir Everyman and sat down in the green velvet armchair next to the fire.

Christina shook her head, her gaze dropping back to her book. "I doubt I shall have
any
handsome suitors. Society gentlemen are all useless fribbles, anyway. I haven't time for them."

"How do you know they are all useless fribbles if you do not give them a chance? There are many gentlemen in London. Surely there will be at least a few who share your interests. Clever, good-hearted men."
Men such as Michael Lindley.

As if Christina heard her thoughts, the girl's smile turned a bit knowing at the edges, and she said, "Men like my brother, perhaps?"

Kate felt her cheeks grow warm, and not from the heat of the fire. Of course, that had been
exactly
what she was thinking, but she could never admit it to Christina—or even to herself. "Perhaps," she said noncommittally, turning her face toward the window.

"You like my brother, do you not, Mrs. Brown?" Christina persisted.

Kate glanced toward Amelia, but the child was still intent on her studies and paid them no heed. "Your brother seems very gentlemanly, Lady Christina."

"And handsome? All the ladies in the neighborhood think he is handsome."

"He is—not unpleasant to look at," Kate admitted carefully.

"Indeed. But perhaps Mr. Brown was more handsome?"

Kate turned back to Christina and gave her what she hoped was a stern, governess-like glare. She had never had much chance to be "stern" before. "I believe this conversation is inappropriate, Lady Christina. My—my late husband is of no concern to you. And I am not sure what you want me to say about your brother, except that he is a gentleman and a good employer."

A sudden expression of surprise and hurt washed over Christina's face at Kate's words, and Kate had a quick yearning to snatch them back. She should not have been so abrupt. She
liked
Christina—she had no desire to wound her in any way. But the talk of Michael Lindley had to cease immediately. Or surely the discretion she had had to urge on herself yet again would dissolve.

The book Christina held slipped from her hands to the floor. As she bent down to pick it up, she muttered, "He was not
always
such a great gentleman. Even I have heard the tales."

Not always a gentleman?
Kate opened her mouth to question Christina about her most intriguing words, but she was saved from her own folly by the schoolroom doors swinging open.

Lady Darcy stood there, poised in the doorway to examine the scene before her, as if she were a dowager queen observing her kingdom. The yellow silk and white lace cap on her head was a crown, the paisley shawl over her shoulders a royal mantle. Her sharp green gaze swept from Amelia, so intent on her work, to Christina and Kate seated next to each other near the fire.

Lady Darcy gave a tight, satisfied little smile. "Well," she said, "it appears everything is well in hand here." Her tone clearly said that she thought
herself
responsible for the satisfactory circumstances, even though this was her very first appearance in the schoolroom.

But Kate had to be grateful for her interruption. Obviously, the Lord protected fools, after all. Kate rose from her chair and gave a small curtsy.

"Grandmama!" Amelia cried happily. She hurried from her little desk to catch her grandmother's hand in hers. "I am learning to speak French."

Lady Darcy's stern face softened as she smiled down at her granddaughter. Her elegant, beringed fingers curled around Amelia's small, soft ones. "Are you, my dear? That is a very fine thing to know. All the fashionable people in London speak French. And you, Christina? What are you learning today?"

Christina stood up beside Kate. Her sun-browned face, which Kate had seen so open and merry as they walked over the moors, and laughing with abandon as she fell on her bottom after a botched curtsy, was closed and pinched. She held her book tightly against her stomach, like a shield. "Court etiquette, Mother, and the art of polite conversation."

"Indeed?" Lady Darcy's gaze flickered from her daughter to Kate and back again.

"Yes," Christina said. "I am learning to curtsy properly when I go to Court."

"I am glad to hear it," her mother replied. "I am sure your sister-in-law, Mary, will be glad of it, too, when she sponsors your come-out." She looked around the schoolroom once more, and gave a little nod. "I shall not keep you from your lessons, Mrs. Brown. I just wanted to be sure you have everything you need."

"Yes, thank you, Lady Darcy," Kate said.

"Christina, dear, don't forget we're dining with the Haigh-Wood family tonight. We must depart by seven, and please wear your new pink gown. It is very becoming."

"Of course, Mother," Christina answered shortly, and watched stoically as her mother gave one more nod and departed.

Kate didn't think pink would suit Christina's complexion at all, but it didn't seem an auspicious moment to mention that. She settled Amelia back at her desk with a simple little French fairy tale she could study, then went back to Christina. The girl was quietly perusing her book again.

Kate felt a bit awkward with Christina, after her earlier short words and Lady Darcy's interruption. But the silence in the room was too heavy, and she
needed
to feel comfortable with Christina again. She needed to talk to her.

But not about the one thing she was longing to ask—what had Christina meant when she said her brother had not always been a gentleman?

"So, your sister-in-law is to be your sponsor?" she asked casually. "Not your mother?"

"Mother says she is too old for the social whirl, though I'm sure she will be there at least for my ball at Lindley House," Christina answered. Her voice was quiet, but did not hold any of her earlier sulkiness. "As I told you, Mary is very grand. She absolutely
lives
for Society. And she is a duke's daughter, you know. She never lets anyone forget
that."

"Oh, la, a duke's daughter!" Kate teased. "How grand indeed."

Christina gave her a precious smile. "Indeed. Her father died last year, though, leaving her an even greater fortune than she had before. I suppose she must be called a duke's
sister
now, since her brother is the new Duke of Salton."

Salton?
The fingers Kate had just reached toward the fireplace poker turned suddenly numb, and the heavy iron clanged to the floor. Kate clutched at her pained wrist. Her ears rang shrilly.
"Maledizione!"

"Mrs. Brown!" Christina cried. She knelt down next to Kate's chair, reaching for her hand. "Are you all right? Did you hurt your hand?"

Even little Amelia's attention was caught. She dashed over to their little tableau, her sky-blue eyes huge as she bent over Kate's hand. "Mrs. Brown, are you hurt? Are you going to
die?"

Kate was dragged back from her shock at hearing that Christina's sister-in-law's father was her own mother's Edward. It still sat like a cold lump in her stomach, but right now these two girls were far more important.

She laughed, and put her arm around Amelia. "Of course I am not going to die,
bambina.
I was just clumsy and dropped the poker. I have cut myself, see, but it is not bad."

"I will be right back," Christina said, and dashed off, the schoolroom door slamming behind her.

Amelia cradled Kate's hand in both of hers, her little face suddenly snow-white. "Everyone dies," she whispered.

Kate realized then that there was more going on in Amelia's busy mind than concern over a simple cut. She drew the child up onto her lap, holding her small, trembling figure close. Amelia's bright curls smelled of ink and sunshine, and a sweet little-girl powderiness. But the large eyes she turned up to Kate were full of very grown-up fears.

Kate took in a deep, steadying breath. "Yes, Amelia
mia.
Everyone does die. We must all one day go back to heaven, where we came from. But I am young, and this is a trifling injury. I will not die today."

Amelia was still skeptical. "My mama was young."

Ah.
So that was the trouble. The little one still missed her mother, and carried the wound of her loss in her heart. And her father said she was too young to remember.

But Kate knew that some hurts and fears lingered. And no matter how young—or old—a daughter was, it ached to lose a mother. "I am sorry,
cara.
Your mama was in a terrible accident, I understand. But that does not happen every day, and you have many people looking after you to be certain it doesn't happen to you. Your father, your grandmother, your aunt Christina..."

"And you, Mrs. Brown?"

Kate stared down at the child, shocked that she would feel safe with her governess after only a few days. Shocked and—pleased. It felt strangely wonderful that
she
could take care of someone for a change, instead of always needing to be taken care of. Always looking for someone to take care of her. "And me, Amelia. You need never fear when you're with me. Your mama still watches over you, too, I'm sure."

Amelia's eyes widened with amazement. "Does she?" she murmured.

"Oh, yes. She is your angel now."

"Does
your
mama watch you, too, Mrs. Brown? Is she an angel, too?"

"Oh,
bambina.
I pray so." Kate drew Amelia close to her and kissed her soft brow. She remembered the dream mother she saw, the figure in glowing white who had led her to this new life. "I pray so every day."

Christina ran back into the schoolroom, a small glass jar and some linen bandages in her hands. "Here, Mrs. Brown," she said, a bit breathless from her dash. "Some salve for your hand. I made it up myself."

"Thank you, Christina," Kate answered, surprised to find her own voice thick with tears she dared not shed. Not until she was alone. She shifted Amelia to her side and reached out for the jar.

"Are you both quite all right?" Christina asked, peering closely at the two of them. "Such a lot of fuss for a cut!"

"Oh, Aunt Christina!" Amelia cried, holding her hands out to her auntie. "My mama is an
angel.
My own special angel."

"Of course she is, poppet." Christina caught her niece up in her arms, twirling her around. "No one who ever met Caroline could doubt it. Now—do you think she will watch over me at the Haigh-Woods' dinner, and not allow me to say something embarrassing about Henry Haigh-Wood's dreadful waistcoats?"

Chapter 9