Kitty. Elizabeth Bailey
wigs of the perruquier. The milliner she visited was placed beside an apothecary’s with curious bottles of remedies; the shoemaker was found beside a jeweller’s, and the discreet requirements of her toilette were next door to a shop selling exquisite lamps of glass and alabaster.
By the time Kitty returned to the salon, exhausted, both she and her companion were burdened with so many packages that she was unable to remember what was in them. She plonked down upon a chair proffered by Madame to wait for Claud’s return, daunted by the rapidly gathering apprehension that he would scold her for having spent so much money. But time passed, and his lordship put in no appearance.
Madame, whose expression became more pitying as the afternoon wore on, suffered her assistant to shift the packages out of sight behind a curtain while another customer was served, and at length had a dish of tea brought for Kitty’s refreshment. She sipped it gratefully, desperately trying to hide her growing dismay under a cheerful front. What would she do if Claud had chosen to abandon her? No matter how many times she told herself stoutly that this was unlikely, the horrid thought would keep obtruding.
But just as Madame was making noises about closing the shop, and Kitty had begun desperately to think of how she could get herself back to Paddington—never mind explaining the money she had left and the acquisition of so much finery!—a commotion below signalled the arrival of her betrothed.
Only it was not Claud, but his groom Docking, sent in his stead to collect Kitty and drive her to his lordship’s lodging in Charles Street. This proved to be a roomy apartment occupying the better part of one floor of a large mansion. Kitty was unloaded into it, together with all her packages, and into the hands of a disapproving individual who introduced himself as Mixon.
‘I am his lordship’s valet, miss.’
Mixon showed Kitty into a masculine bedchamber, with a dwarf bookcase and a whatnot, besides the bed and the press. It served, so the valet informed her, for accommodation for any of his lordship’s friends who might happen to stay the night. There was, to her chagrin, no sign of Claud himself.
‘Where is Lord Devenick?’
The valet bowed. ‘His lordship has gone out for the evening. He requested me to make you comfortable. A meal has been ordered and will be served presently.’
Kitty gazed at the man, stupefied. ‘Gone out for the evening? But we are supposed to be—’
She broke off, suddenly and acutely aware of the invidious nature of her position. She could scarcely discuss her elopement with his lordship’s valet!
Mixon coughed. ‘His lordship informed me that you are taking a journey, miss, but he thought it rather too late to set out. It is his wish that you rest yourself, ready for an early start in the morning. As for these, miss—’ indicating the packages littering the bed ‘—would you wish me to lend you one of his lordship’s portmanteaux?’
But Kitty was in no mood to think about packing. In vain did she strive to repress an enveloping sense of outrage and indignation. She was to rest, while his horrid lordship disported himself at some jollification! Had he not complained of having to miss a party? Not content with leaving her for hours to wait for him at the mantuamaker’s, he not only neglected to fetch her himself, but left her—a stranger to the town and his betrothed to boot!—without explanation or reassurance, to the ministrations of his valet and her own devices. He was the most selfish creature she had ever met in her life! And nothing would induce her to marry him.
Attired in silk breeches of his favourite green and a coat of similar hue over a fancy flowered waistcoat, Claud had just come off the floor after a dutiful country dance with his sister Lady Barbara Cheddon, just out this season, when he was accosted in the outer gallery by his cousin Kate.
‘Claud, I must talk to you alone!’
Lady Barbara pricked up her ears. A pretty, fair-haired creature, whose even features closely resembled those of her brother, she was correctly and demurely gowned, like her cousin, in the ubiquitous white thought suitable for debutantes, but augmented with a half-robe of lilac net. Noting how his cousin was similarly elegant in a vest of crimson velvet, Claud was assailed by a vision of that overblown spangled gown Kitty had insisted on buying. He made a mental vow to oversee her wardrobe for the future. His attention was drawn swiftly back to his sister.
‘Secrets? Fie, Kate! But if it is about your betrothal, you need not mind me, for I know all about it.’
‘That’ll do, Babs!’ scolded Claud, casting a quick glance about to make sure that his mother was nowhere within earshot. The gallery contained several odd groups seeking relief from the heat, who stood about chatting and fanning themselves, but there was no sign of the Countess of Blakemere. Relieved, Claud returned his attention to his sister. ‘It ain’t that at all. Besides, we are not going to be betrothed.’
Claud came under the beam of his sister’s questioning blue gaze. ‘But Mama says you are, and if she wants you to marry, I don’t see how you couldn’t.’
‘You’ll soon see how,’ he declared, with more force than he intended, impelled by the image that had been revolving in his mind all evening.
‘Even your mama cannot force us,’ Kate put in, her voice low.
Babs looked from one to the other, and Claud detected scepticism in her eye. ‘How will you withstand her? Mary and Kath couldn’t. And I should suppose I shall find myself obliged to marry whomever she chooses for me too.’
‘Never you mind how,’ said Claud dismissively.
‘But I do mind,’ objected his sister, ‘for if you have a means of holding out against Mama, I want to know of it. I feel sure she is thinking of Lady Chale’s youngest for me, and I can’t bear him.’
The Countess of Chale had the distinction of holding the last ball of the season, and the entire first floor of the mansion had been given over to the accommodation of her many guests. A vast saloon, done out in blue with white trimmings in the Adams style, had been formed into a ballroom, the furniture having been set apart in another room for the accommodation of those who were not dancing. The drawing room was as full as it could hold of chattering fashionables who had wandered in from the adjacent dining room next door, where the supper tables were laid out with a succulent feast of patties, sliced meats and a variety of sweets. And two further smaller rooms were given over to the dedicated card players, who could be seen from a distance, grouped around green baize tables.
Contrary to his expectation, Claud was not enjoying himself. Far too many members of his family were in attendance for his liking. There was all too much danger of making a slip and mentioning Kitty, and he was only too well aware that it was upon the subject of his disastrous mistake that Kate was clamouring to talk to him in private. Since he was determined to keep his intentions to himself, he had rather not engage in conversation about the chit. With a vague thought of holding his cousin at bay, he responded more sympathetically to his sister.
‘Don’t suppose the Countess is thinking of turning you off just yet, Babs. Only seventeen. Besides, she’ll be looking for a fellow a thought more eligible than a younger son.’ His tone took on sarcasm. ‘Never forget, m’dear, you’re not only the daughter of an earl, but the granddaughter of a duke.’
‘As if any of us cared for that,’ put in Kate scornfully.
‘No, Claud is right. It is exactly what Mama cares for. Only she says there are no eligible heirs just at present, and she is looking instead at a younger son with good prospects.’
‘You don’t say so!’ exclaimed Claud. ‘If that don’t beat all! Never knew she was so mercenary, as well as all else. It’s only Kate’s expectations from Grandmama that made her take the notion of our marrying into her head in the first place.’
‘Yes, and Lady Chale’s youngest son is to inherit his godmother’s money, which is said to be a fortune. Only besides having a face like a frog, he is the most tedious young man of my acquaintance!’
‘If you don’t choose to marry him, Babs, you need