Virginia Henley (41 page)

“Are you mad? What would I do in the country? I spent too many years in the backwaters of Bolton. London is my whole life. You go and become a rustic if you wish, but for God’s sake leave me out of your plans.”

Kitty laughed. “You make it sound so boring, but it’s the loveliest place in the world, except for Ireland, of course.”

“Ireland!” Julia said with a shudder.

“How about Barbara, then? Do you think she will come?”

“Barbara’s off visiting a friend in Cornwall or somewhere. I can’t keep track of her these days.”

When Kitty returned at the end of August, Julia lost no time coming around for afternoon tea.

“You look disgustingly domesticated,” she told Kitty.

“Bring me up to date with what’s happening in town,” said Kitty.

“Well, let me see,” Julia said thoughtfully. “Oh, yes, the Duchess of Marlborough is entertaining next week. Have you ever been to Marlborough House in Pall Mall? I’m having the most expensive gown made. Oh, yes, and bye the bye, Patrick has a new interest.”

“Just one of his flirts,” said Kitty lightly.

“Ah, there I beg to differ. This isn’t one of his whores. On the contrary, quite a respectable young woman, from what I’ve seen. I do hope something comes of it; he should have been married years ago.”

“Who is she?” asked Kitty, feeling a sickness begin in the pit of her stomach.

“Oh, lady somebody or other. He was after some land in Ireland her father owned or something. He doesn’t discuss his business with me, you know. Now, what will you be wearing to Marlborough House?” asked Julia avidly.

Later that day Kitty visited her friend Lady Derby and casually brought the conversation around to Patrick.

“Who’s this woman I’ve heard so much about?”

“Oh, you mean Lady Patricia Cavendish?”

Kitty laughed lightly. “Determined to get her hooks into him, is she?”

“Oh, she isn’t like that, Kitty. She’s a lovely young woman, very well bred. You should see her clothes. I’d love to know who does them for her.”

“Showy female, is she?” asked Kitty, growing angry in spite of herself.

“I certainly wouldn’t describe her as showy. Everything she wears is in exquisite taste, you know what I mean. Simple, quiet good taste.”

Damnit, what’s that supposed to mean, Kitty wondered, that I’m too flamboyant? Weil, you’ve seen nothing yet!

*   *   *

Kitty pored over sketches at the dressmakers’ in Bond Street the following day. “No, no, that’s so old-fashioned, my grandmother wouldn’t be caught in it,” Kitty told the Frenchwoman.

“Perhaps this one, your Grace. The crinoline has a full seventeen yards in it.”

“That’s the whole point; I heard the crinoline was on its way out,” said Kitty.

“Well, not exactly, but I do have the latest design from Paris. It is called the bustle. Very
outré;
the material fits the contour of the body and is gathered behind into the bustle.”

Kitty’s eyes opened wide as she looked at the sketch. “Oh, yes,” she breathed. The shop boasted taffetas, moirés and brocades in shades from apricot through amber, lemon to primrose and coral to chartreuse. The moment Kitty spied it, she knew that was the shade that would do the most for her dark coloring. It was a turquoise as brilliant as the South Seas that caressed the white, sandy beaches. She stood absolutely still while the material was draped about her. “I want the skirt tighter,” she said.

The seamstress smoothed it across her hips, “But your grace, if I make it tighter, you cannot walk.”

“Put a slit up the back,” said Kitty recklessly. “Now the neckline needs to be lowered three more inches and we’ll have a creation worthy of you,
madame
.”

The woman shook her head but pinned the neckline lower as Kitty asked.

“I hate being conventional in my clothes. I like to set my own style. See this black velvet? I’ve always wanted a pair of riding britches made out of such material. I could wear boy’s britches, but they are unfeminine. Now, if you fit the velvet across the rounded contours of my derriere, I think it would
be most fetching! Make me up a pair; I have a fancy for them.”

The woman knew immediately she was setting the trap for some man, so when Kitty glanced at the nightgowns, she knew instinctively what to suggest. It was a sheer wisp of gossamer embroidered with forget-me-nots.

On the day of the ball, Kitty luxuriated in the bath for hours, then oiled, perfumed, powdered and painted. Her curls were swept up to match the bustle with one or two artfully arranged in playful disarray. The only jewelry she wore were earrings—aquamarines encrusted with diamonds. Her tiny whaleboned corset was laced so tightly that when she put on the gown her breasts swelled over the top like delicious melons. She put on her high heels and practiced walking and turning a full half hour before she felt confident to handle the new tight gown.

Charles came in. “You look magnificent! Now I’m sorry I won’t be there to see their faces when you walk in.”

“There’s still time to change your mind,” she urged.

“No, no, I’m off to Southampton tomorrow and I’ve dozens of customs documents to look over. Off you go; have a happy time. Enjoy, enjoy!” he admonished.

At Marlborough House, Kitty was on pins and needles in case Patrick didn’t show up. She caused quite a stir among the guests but seemed hardly aware of the cold glances from the women or the hot ones from the men. She spotted him arriving and immediately relaxed and started to enjoy herself. One glance at the woman next to him told her that this was the paragon of breeding, Lady Patricia Cavendish. Kitty smiled up at Lord Palmerston, who immediately responded by asking her to dance.

“Is Charles not here this evening? Then I shall take advantage of you,” he promised suggestively.

Patrick’s eyes were drawn to her like a magnet. He held
his breath. Each time she turned in the waltz he thought her breasts would come out of her gown! Without hesitation he strode across the dance floor and cut in on the older man.

“That took a great deal of courage, to steal me from the Prime Minister,” she said prettily.

“He’s a known womanizer and a lecher,” he said bluntly.

“Will I be safer with you?” she teased.

Anger and lust raged a battle within him, but lust was winning as he feasted his eyes upon her as a man starving. As the music finished he released her reluctantly. Kitty eyed the serene young woman who came to stand by him. Kitty’s eyes took in the expensive eggshell satin with the modest neckline and the gentle face devoid of any makeup.

“Patrick thinks he has to protect me, but I could give lessons in how to handle men,” Kitty said provocatively. “I always know exactly what effect I’m having on them,” and she cast a deliberate, sideways glance at the bulge between his legs. Patrick’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but she ignored the warning. “I hear you are looking for land in Ireland, Patrick. I have an estate there I might be persuaded to sell. Why don’t we go over next week and I’ll show it to you?”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” thought Patrick, “she’s seducing me, right here in public.” He responded eagerly as his warm glance held her possessively.

“I’d love to see anything you’d care to show me.”

“Good! Shall we say next Wednesday? I’ll drop you a note giving directions to Windrush.”

“Will we travel across together? My ship is anchored at Liverpool.”

“I don’t think so. I’ll be waiting for you when you arrive,” she told him.

Patricia Cavendish accepted an offer to dance. The moment
she moved away, Patrick put his finger under Kitty’s chin and grinned down at her wickedly.

“She wasn’t any competition for you, kitten; we were just friends.”

“Ha!” said Kitty as she swept past him regally, her mission accomplished.

Kitty swept aside Mimi’s offer to accompany her to Ireland. “No, no, I’d rather you stayed with Charles Patrick. It’s just a whim to see Windrush again in the autumn.”

Charles could overhear them from the next room. “Irish people get very, very homesick,” he told Mimi.

Kitty refused to entertain the guilty feelings that threatened to trap her. She pushed them out of her mind and admitted to herself she was as excited as a child at the thought of Christmas.

She arrived on Tuesday. It had rained in the morning, but the afternoon sun mellowed the bricks of Windrush to a misty rose. She knew she’d never get enough of the place as she opened her own front door and carried her valise inside. She heard a girl’s footsteps running to see who had arrived and looked up expecting to see a maid. “Barbara! Oh, my God, you haven’t?” Kitty asked, dismayed.

“I’m afraid I have,” she said, glancing over her shoulder as Terry came up behind her.

“Have you been here all those months you were supposed to be in Cornwall?”

“She has,” answered Terry, slipping his arms about Barbara and nuzzling her neck.

“You know who’ll get the blame for this bloody lot, don’t you? Me, that’s who!” she shouted.

“Blame?” said Terry, puzzled.

“Patrick’s coming tomorrow. How the hell do I keep him from finding out?” she demanded.

Barbara giggled. “Take him to bed as soon as he arrives and keep him there.”

“Barbara!” cried Kitty, thoroughly shocked.

“To hell with it,” said Terry, “I’m tired of sneaking about. We might as well have it out.”

“Well, thank you both very much!” she said with arms akimbo. “I plan a secret little tryst and in its stead I get a big stinking family fight!”

Barbara ran to her. “I’m sorry, Kitty.”

“Oh, so am I. I love you both very much and I understand that you fell in love almost the first time you saw each other, but coming here and sleeping with him—my God, Patrick will run mad!”

She took off her hat and coat and sat before the kitchen fire, planning strategy. “You can come and go as you please today, Barbara, but tomorrow I want you out of sight completely. I expect him in the afternoon, and you will dine with us, Terrance, and entertain him tomorrow evening.”

“But he’ll want to be alone with you,” protested Barbara.

“Precisely! Here’s lesson Number One, my girl: You don’t give a man everything he wants. Where are you sleeping?”

“In the west wing, right above this kitchen, I think,” said Terry.

“Oh, that’s good. The two large bedrooms at the front are far enough away; we’ll use those.”

“I don’t think Patrick will stand for separate bedrooms,” said Terry, winking.

“You just let me handle Patrick if you know what’s good for you. Now, is everything clear? Tomorrow Barbara becomes invisible and you help me entertain our guest. He’s coming here to buy Windrush.”

“What a bloody charade; you wouldn’t sell the place if you were down to your last penny!”

“You keep a civil tongue in your head and go along with
whatever I tell him. You’re both going to need someone on your side when your little bubble bursts, speaking of charades,” she said sarcastically. “Where are the servants? I hope everything is being run properly around here.”

“Stop worrying, Kitty. The household runs as smooth as glass. They aren’t in evidence because we like to be alone.”

“I want to speak to the manservant. Call what’s his name, Mr. Burke! How could I have forgotten after that day last year when I fired the housekeeper and put Mr. Burke in charge?”

Picking up her overnight case, she went in search of the man. He was warm and friendly. “Welcome home, ma’am.”

“Thank you, Mr. Burke. I’m expecting a gentleman tomorrow. Will you help me get everything ready? You were such a help to me when I was nursing my grandfather.”

“It will be my pleasure, ma’am.”

She headed toward the stairs. “We’ll use the two large bedrooms at the front of the house.”

He opened the door to the first room and they both went inside.

“It’s a beautiful room; a welcoming room. Will you see that someone builds me a fire? You needn’t light the one next door until tomorrow.” She went to the door that connected the two bedrooms, opened it wide and stepped through to look about with satisfaction.

“Let me see; I want you to bring a decanter of brandy and glasses. He smokes, so you’d better find some ashtrays. When he arrives, make sure there’s plenty of hot water for a bath. And I think he shaves twice a day, so he’ll need hot water again at night.”

She walked back into her own room. “Make sure the beds are aired. Oh, yes, the most important thing of all, Mr. Burke. I’d like a key for this connecting door so that I can lock it.”

“I’ll send a maid for some towels, ma’am.”

“Mr. Burke, I want you to keep the maids busy downstairs. I see none in evidence at the moment, but once Mr. O’Reilly comes through that front doorway, I have an idea they’ll be thick as moths around a candle. I’m up on all their little tricks, Mr. Burke. I used to be a maid myself.”

“An attractive gentleman, I take it?” he asked with a straight face.

“Mr. Burke, he’d charm the ducks off the pond,” she said and smiled.

“I’ll get you that key,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

When he returned with the brandy, he lit her fire. She was looking from the tall bedroom windows over the green paddocks where horses grazed lazily. “I love Windrush. It’s so peaceful. Does everything run as smoothly as it seems on the surface?”

“Just like clockwork. Terrance runs everything outside and I run everything inside. Smooth as glass.”

“Really? You can expect some ripples then, Mr. Burke. The gentleman I’m expecting is Miss Barbara’s brother.”

“Oh, dear. I take it he is in ignorance of the situation?” he asked.

She nodded. “And I intend to keep him in ignorance as long as it’s humanly possible.”

“I see. I believe we have some Irish whiskey in the cellar, ma’am.”

“I think the brandy will do nicely, Mr. Burke. I don’t want to render him unconscious.”

“I see, madame,” he said solemnly.

“I’m sure you do, Mr. Burke,” she said saucily, and turned the key that locked the connecting door and slipped it into her pocket.

*   *   *

The next morning she was up with the larks, singing and humming happily. She decided to pick some flowers. She chose a mass of Michaelmas daisies for Patrick’s room and some late-blooming roses for her own. They filled the air with a heady fragrance. After lunch she put on the black velvet riding pants and went down to the stables.