Holiday in Bath (4 page)

Lacking the vivacity of Margaret or Claudette, and, though well endowed, not nearly so provocative as Marie or Susan, Kitty yet had a fascination of her own for those who appreciated her calm personality and reserved demeanor. Mrs. Reed was protective of her prize asset, as one might expect, but Kitty’s natural warmth stilled any resentment there might have been amongst the other girls. A shrewd businesswoman and a clever judge of character, Mrs. Reed had no girls who resented their way of life, even Kitty.

“Come and sit by me,” Mrs. Reed urged Cranford as they entered the dining parlor, which sparkled with crystal and silver. “And Tony shall sit on Kitty’s right to amuse her just in case you should backslide.”

“Never fear. Between the two most beautiful women in the room I am more like to pour forth poetry,” Cranford assured her. “‘Not marble, nor the gilded monuments, Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme; But you shall shine more bright in these contents Than unswept stone, besmear’d with sluttish time.’”

Mrs. Reed pursed her lips. “I
think
that makes me feel old, Cranford, if nothing worse. How is your father?”

“Much as usual.” Cranford unconsciously touched the scrape on his cheek.

“I’ve often thought it would be interesting to meet him. Have you been long at Ashwicke Park?”

“For the last few weeks. I spent several months at Coverly.”

“That’s your estate, is it not?”

“Yes, I inherited it from my mother.”

Kitty asked gently, “And does it prosper, Mr. Ashwicke? You seemed troubled when you last spoke of it.”

“I was concerned that an experiment I was trying might not prove successful, but it has exceeded my expectations.”

Tony Bodford leaned forward to interject, “You don’t say! You have the most incredible luck, Cranford. Who would have thought you could do a blessed thing with chamomile? Surely there aren’t that many people who drink the stuff as tea! Ugh!”

Cranford laughed. “Not only tea, Tony. It’s used as medicine, too, and in warm fomentations. But it wasn’t just the chamomile. I’ve tried a new variety of sheep on the land. Smaller because the poorness of the soil won’t support a larger breed. When next you buy Bagshot mutton in London, it may well come from Coverly and have that sweetness for which the sheep which graze on the heath are noted. Not that most of the Bagshot mutton is actually grazed there. Usually they come from the Hampshire downs.”

“No doubt the viscount is delighted with your success,” Tony said sardonically.

“He hasn’t asked.”

“You’d think he were run off his legs the way he cut you off when you inherited Coverly from your mother!” Tony blurted. “Whoever heard of such a thing? Rich as a nabob and he flings you off to make the best of a barren heath! Sometimes I think…”

Cranford flashed him a warning look and turned to Mrs. Reed. “Next time I’m in Surrey I’ll have some of the mutton sent to you. I think you’ll find it exceptionally good.”

Though Kitty’s gray eyes registered her surprise at the gratuitous information offered by Tony Bodford, she followed Cranford’s lead and turned the subject to other matters. The table at the Cypress was no less extravagant than all its other claims on the gentlemen who came. No haut ton dinner party had a finer bill of fare; no gaming club in London was run with more finesse and order. The stakes were high but not exorbitant, and a table was often kept for more moderate plungers. Kitty sat quietly at Cranford’s side as he played, smiling when he glanced at her and pleased when he rose early as a winner. As was the custom of the house, she left the room while he bade his friends good evening and made his farewells to Mrs. Reed.

Kitty’s room was at the end of the west corridor and Cranford made his way there at a leisurely pace, quietly knocking on the paneled door to announce his arrival. When he entered he found her standing by the fire, its glow the only light in the room. He went to stand by her without speaking.

“Is what Mr. Bodford said true? Your father expects you to support yourself from a barren estate?”

“It’s hardly barren,” he said with amusement. “Tony disparages it because it bears no resemblance to his family’s vast acreage. Admittedly it was not in good order when I inherited it. My father had made no attempt to keep it up, feeling much as Tony does and resenting the fact that my mother brought to the marriage only two relatively useless properties. My sister’s husband is having the devil of a time doing anything with her inheritance, too.”

“But your father doesn’t support you, his heir?”

“No. He feels it will build my character to struggle under adversity,” he replied ruefully as he stroked her hair. “And it was certainly an effective way to stop the spendthrift habits of my youth. My mother was forever purse-pinched from bailing me out of difficulties and when her allowance did not suffice . . . well, my father thinks of this as a way for me to repay him for his expenditures on my behalf.”

Kitty touched the lines on his forehead with gentle fingers. “You make light of what cannot be a pleasant situation. What will happen when you wish to marry?”

“He’ll make a handsome settlement on me—if I marry the lady of his choice.”

“And has he chosen someone for you?”

“Oh, yes, there was never any question. He thinks when I tire of living hand to mouth I will marry and unite the two neighboring properties.” Cranford traced the oval of her face and bent to kiss her.

After a while she asked, “And will you?”

 “I suppose so, if Trelenny will have me, which is doubtful. But not because of my father.”

“You love the lady?”

“Dear God, no. She’s ... no matter. There is another debt I owe. May I?” His hands rested on the buttons of her gown and when she nodded he began carefully to unfasten them, kissing the nape of her neck as he did so.

“And will you and your bride live with him?”

“He thinks so. I doubt he can imagine our living at Coverly, but he’s wrong. I’ve spent as much as I dared in restoring the house there and it won’t be long before it will be acceptable.” As the gown fell unheeded to the floor he gathered her in his arms. “I’d like to have set you up somewhere this last year or so, Kitty. I couldn’t afford to.”

Her long fingers paused as she unbuttoned his coat. “I’m happy here, Cranford. It’s lonely sitting in a house somewhere with no one about, waiting for your protector to come and visit you. You have no friends, no life outside those visits. Perhaps it would be different in London but London is so... rough. Don’t be sorry you couldn’t take me under your protection. I probably wouldn’t have left here, anyhow.”

“I see.” He ran his hands gently down her slender body, aware that his touch quickly brought forth a response in her. “You wouldn’t prefer. . . no, I won’t ask that. You have the most beautiful body, Kitty. The gentle swell of your breasts, not like some ship’s prow. And your hips—I should like to see you riding. You must be the most graceful rider imaginable.”

Kitty smiled gently as he continued to stroke her body. “I don’t know how to ride, Cranford, and I haven’t the least desire to learn. You are quite a romantic, you know.”

“Am I?” he asked, surprised. “I have always thought of myself as exceedingly mundane.”

“You dream of ideals, I think. Oh, I like that. Shall I...”

Some time later she lay quietly in his arms as he traced a pattern on her naked body with a languid finger. “Will you be coming again soon?”

“I really don’t know. I hope so. You really like it here?” he asked curiously.

“Yes. I like having friends around. Claudette keeps us laughing and Marie tells the most incredible stories. Mrs. Reed knows all the latest gossip and Susan is always ready to walk about the estate with me. I’m always warm, and full, and happy.”

“But what of. . . years from now?”

“Mrs. Reed puts aside money for us, and it’s ours whenever we wish to leave.”

“And that’s enough?”

“We are handsomely paid. Oh, I see. Yes, that’s enough.” Kitty’s gray eyes regarded him kindly. “You want there to be more. I’m sorry, Cranford, but there’s not. You are idealizing again, you see. I don’t support an aging mother or an invalid father or a dozen deserving brothers and sisters. There’s only me, and I like to dress well and eat well and be warm and comfortable. I was not victimized by some lecherous man who robbed my virtue and started me on a life of degradation. I was not even wretchedly poor and abandoned. Some years ago I made a modest living as a seamstress to a very distinguished family. I saw how they lived and I wanted more. It’s as simple as that. Now I have what I want. Does that shock you?”

“Yes.” He sighed and then laughed. “You are right, dear lady. I build castles in the air. My mother was a dreamer; it was all she had. I wish. . . well, perhaps I take after her. Which is not to say that my illusions are shattered! You are still the most desirable woman I’ve set eyes on in years, and I have every intention of returning as soon as may be.” He kissed her and gently disengaged himself. “Sleep well, my lovely. I have a long drive ahead of me.”

Trelenny, feeling reluctantly and belatedly guilty for the way she had treated poor, harmless Cranford the previous day, sat drowsing over his translations of Antoninus. It was remarkable to her how, when she had felt perfectly energetic before beginning her reading, only three pages of the unfamiliar names could make her feel overcome with the greatest lethargy imaginable. She had closed her eyes and her hand had slipped from the page when her mother’s voice recalled her attention.

“Do you remember Cousin Filkins, Trelenny? I believe he’s actually your father’s second cousin by marriage. You must have met him, oh, perhaps five years ago when he came to visit.”

“I remember him,” Trelenny said dispiritedly as she stifled a yawn. “He kept telling me that freckles were the outward signs of sin and that if I did a good deed each day they would one by one disappear. I must be the most dastardly sinner, for I have more now than I did at thirteen.”

“What nonsense! It is no such thing, my dear. Freckles have no relation whatsoever with your soul.”

“Perhaps I could convince Cranford that they do,” Trelenny said thoughtfully. “Surely such a righteous man would never consider a sinner for a bride.”

“Trelenny! He is no more righteous than the next, I promise you. Why, I recall his mother telling me the most astonishing stories of the wild oats he was sowing. But pay no heed to me. I’m sure he is a very respectable fellow now and he doesn’t mean to appear straitlaced. Has he scolded you about something?”

“Humph. He sets himself up as the model of every virtue,” Trelenny said evasively. “Tell me what he did, Mama.”

“That would be gossiping, my love, and you know I can’t approve of gossip. But I was about to tell you that I have had a letter from Cousin Filkins. And can you imagine, he intends to visit us!”

“I can imagine.”

“Not a rushed sort of visit, he says, but a good long stay to renew his old friendship with your Papa.”

“I might have known.”

“I wonder why he would come at this time of year?” Mrs. Storwood mused. “He must know that the weather is not at its best now. He should have come in the summer.”

“He probably wasn’t rolled-up then. Maybe he’s had an execution in his house,” her daughter said hopefully. “I’ve never met anyone with his pockets to let before. Do you suppose he will borrow money from Papa to pay his debts?”

“Where do you learn these terms? It’s vulgar to talk so, Trelenny, and we have no reason to believe that Cousin Filkins is financially embarrassed. Quite the contrary, in fact. He is. coming post.”

Trelenny sniffed. “It’s all show, Mama. Probably Papa will have to pay the post boys to ransom him.”

Mrs. Storwood rubbed her forehead; it was a common gesture she employed when her daughter wove some outrageous tale. Unfortunately she could not, as she wished to do, tell her daughter that Cousin Filkins was not financially embarrassed, because in all likelihood he was. But she had no intention of allowing Trelenny to spread such a rumor about the estate. “I think I will just take a small nap, dear. You’re not expecting Cranford, are you?”

“Oh, no, you go right along, Mama. Does your head hurt? Shall I bring you something for it?”

“I only need to rest quietly for a while, dear. Perhaps a dish of tea, but nothing more.”

When she had seen her mother laid down upon her bed, Trelenny returned to the Winter Parlor, and unenthusiastically picked up her former reading material, but her mind strayed. As though things weren’t bad enough, now they had to sustain a visit from the most unappealing man imaginable. Although of considerable girth, Cousin Filkins considered himself of sartorial perfection. Spotted neckcloths and garishly striped waistcoats were his favorite attire, and his conversation consisted of little more than a catalogue of his wardrobe or the fallacies of others’ dress. A self-confessed expert on feminine beauty, he had found fault with Trelenny’s thirteen-year-old figure and her freckled face, producing a platitude to rectify each awkward point. It wouldn’t do to have him about, pinching her cheeks and chucking her under the chin. She had a good mind to write and tell him she thought she was coming down with the scarlet fever, and the only thing that deterred her was a rather superstitious belief that she really might if she told such a lie. Although her father was not particularly fond of Cousin Filkins, he was unswerving in his family loyalties, and, for better or worse, Cousin Filkins was the last surviving relation he had, outside of his wife and daughter.

With the blasé incisiveness of youth, Trelenny determined that the most expedient solution would be for her father to send Cousin Filkins a supply of money that would enable him to rusticate at some watering hole and make it unnecessary for him to visit Sutton Hall. When she proposed this plan to her father, he regarded her dourly.

“Have you no sense of family feeling, Trelenny? Do you feel no obligation to anyone but yourself? It is by no means certain that Cousin Filkins is in need of money, and why you should distrust his motives in coming here is beyond me. I haven’t seen my cousin in five years, nor he me. We will have a great deal of reminiscing to do.”