Jack Chiltern's Wife (1999) (2 page)

His voice softened as he looked at her. ‘Kitty, it won’t be so terrible. Edward is not old or ugly, or drunken—at least, no more than any young man of his age—and he will soon settle down.’

‘Perhaps he doesn’t want to settle down. Have you asked him?’

‘No, but before we left Beresford House, I spoke to his father. We are to meet again tomorrow afternoon at his London home to discuss the matter.’

‘I won’t go.’ Now she really was frightened and appalled, but defiant too. ‘I won’t be party to ruining Edward Lampeter’s life or mine, just for one stolen kiss, which meant nothing.’

‘You are not expected to go,’ he said flatly. ‘You will remain here until I return to tell you what arrangements have been made. Now, I suggest you go to your room and reflect on your conduct tonight and what it has brought you to. Then say your prayers and ask forgiveness from Someone who is more able to absolve you than I.’

Kitty knew there was no arguing with him while he was in his present mood, nor while her stepmother stood by to make sure he did not weaken. She curtsied to them both and turned to leave the room. Shutting the door behind her, she gathered her skirts in her hands and ran along the hall and up the oak staircase to her room where she flung herself on her bed.

She would not weep. She would not! Neither, she told herself, would she marry Edward Lampeter. She liked him, was even fond of him, but he was certainly not her idea of a husband. They had known each other ever since they were children; he had been James’s playmate and she had often tagged along behind them when they went riding and fishing and getting into the sort of mischief young boys always get into.

He could be fun, but that was half the trouble, he never took anything seriously, and he was only two years older than she was, hardly more than a boy. When she married, it would be someone she could look up to, a man with strength of character,
a man who could make her feel like a woman, not a playmate, a man she could love, who loved her.

She smiled suddenly, remembering that kiss. It had been a new experience for her and, she had to admit, a delightful one. She was not the first girl he had kissed, that had been obvious, and it had gone on rather a long time, which suggested he had enjoyed it too. But she was quite sure he had never thought it would lead to marriage.

Was he, even now, being given the same ultimatum as she had been given? She could imagine his reaction and, while it was not very flattering to her, she could hardly expect him meekly to obey. Or would he? Did his light-hearted view of life include an indifference to whom he married? He would not agree, would he? Oh, he must not!

If only James were here, he would know what to do. He would talk to Uncle William and Edward and make everything right again. But James, being a boy and older than Kitty by three years, had escaped to university and after that had taken himself off to Europe to do the Grand Tour, and she missed him dreadfully.

She scrambled off the bed and crossed the room to a small walnut escritoire, where she rifled through the drawers for James’s last letter. She found it and took it to the candle to read it. The light was almost unnecessary for she had it almost by heart. Written from Florence, it was full of enthusiasm for his travels. He wrote well, filling his prose with light and colour, peopling the pages with the strange characters he had met.

‘I think I shall visit Paris on my way home,’ he wrote. ‘I am curious to see if it has changed much since the Revolution.’ The letter had been written several months before and since then there had been news of riots and beheadings and, worst of all, the imprisonment and coming trial of King Louis.

James, who could be more than a little rash at times, would not be so foolish as to embroil himself in other people’s troubles
and would surely return by sea. On the other hand, perhaps it was only Paris that was dangerous and the rest of the country was peaceful, in which case, travelling overland would be the safest. Safest of all would be to stay where he was until the troubles came to an end.

He seemed to be enjoying Florence and wrote at length about its antiquities and the hospitality of the people and the social occasions he had attended. That, she knew, was a reference to the young ladies he had met. Had he kissed any of them as Edward had kissed her, for the fun of it?

That was what was so unfair about being a woman; you could not have even the tiniest flirtation, however innocent, without you were branded a wanton. What was it Alice had called her? A harlot. She had only a vague idea of what a harlot was, but she knew it could not be anything but bad, especially as the remark had drawn an exclamation of remonstrance from her uncle.

She wished she were a man; life would be so much more fun. A man could travel the world, without the worry of abigails and chaperons; he could get involved in all sorts of adventures and everyone labelled him a jolly good fellow. Why couldn’t a woman do that?

Why not? Why not leave home—it would be better than marrying against her will, wouldn’t it? Other women did it, why couldn’t she? Alice wanted to be rid of her. She would be rid of her, but not to Scotland.

The prospect began to excite her and she paced the room, trying to think of a way in which it could be accomplished. Her uncle would never agree to let her go and to travel you needed money, a great deal of it.

She had the money her mother had left her, but she could not draw on that until she married and then it would be given to her husband. That was something else that wasn’t fair. Her uncle gave her a monthly allowance from the trust her father had set
up, but that was only pin money and he could stop it at any time. Could she borrow and, if so, from whom? The idea, when it came to her, was so outrageous, she knew she had to try it.

Judith had long since retired to her own bed and would certainly try to dissuade her from going if she was roused. No one must know where she had gone, no one at all, because she would be fetched back and Alice would have her way about sending her to Scotland. That would be worse than marrying Edward.

She would be sorry to leave the rectory, but lately it had become more a place of confinement than a home, and she would be sorry to leave Judith and little Johnny, whom she loved, but staying would be intolerable whether she agreed to marry Edward or not.

She had to get out of her ballgown and its petticoats, something her uncle had obviously not thought about when he dismissed the maid. It had tiny buttons down the back which she could not reach and after struggling for a few minutes, she took a pair of scissors from her needlework drawer and cut herself out of it. Poor Judith, she had spent hours stitching the lace round the sleeves and neckline and pressing the yards of silk in the skirt; goodness knows what she would say when she saw it had been ruined.

But there was no time to think of that. A coach, on its way from Bath to London, called at the King’s Head in Beresford village every morning at five-thirty and she meant to be on it.

It was still dark when she let herself out of the house, wearing a simple blue wool dress and caraco jacket, topped by a blue cloak with a fur-lined hood, for it was bitterly cold. Her feet were encased in half-boots. She carried a small handbag in one gloved hand and a carpet bag containing a change of clothes in the other.

Stealthily she made her way down the steps and along the drive to the London road, hoping no one would go to her room
and discover the note she had left on her pillow until she was well on her way.

She had never been about at that time of day before, and never alone, so that the experience was both exhilarating and frightening, except, of course, that the step she was taking was irrevocable and she had no idea what the future held in store for her.

She arrived at the King’s Head just as the coach rattled into the yard, its mud-begrimed wheels and sweating horses proclaiming that it had been driven hard through the night in order to reach the metropolis by daybreak. Kitty, having paid her fare, climbed aboard and settled into her seat, while the horses were changed, then they were off, galloping through the countryside as dawn lightened the sky and the domes and spires of London appeared in the distance.

Beresford village was only an hour’s ride from the capital, and it was still barely light when she left the coach at the Golden Cross and set out to look for a hackney. It was still very early but already, as she walked up Haymarket, which supplied the nearby stables of the Royal Mews with hay and straw, towards Piccadilly, the streets were becoming busy.

Two milkmaids, their yokes slung across their shoulders, hurried to Green Park where their charges waited patiently to be relieved of their overnight burden. A chimney sweep, with his brushes over his shoulder and his little climbing boy trotting reluctantly at his side, made his way to his first call. Errand boys, clerks, washerwomen passed her, giving her a glance of curiosity, but no more than that.

She crossed the road to avoid a drunk rolling homewards and turned the corner into Piccadilly just as a hire carriage approached. Without thinking, she held up her hand and stepped into the road. The driver, half asleep, pulled on the reins so sharply the horse nearly fell back on its haunches.

‘Lunatic!’ he yelled. ‘D’yer want to be killed?’

‘I wish to hire your cab.’

He looked down at what he had taken to be a servant girl on an errand for her mistress and found himself gazing at a raven-haired beauty who, though young and very petite, was obviously not a servant. Her complexion was pale and her oval features perfectly proportioned, framed by the hood of her cloak, which was too expensive a garment for a servant to be wearing. Her agitated manner and the bag in her hand gave away the fact that she was running away. He was not sure he wanted to be any part of that.

‘Ain’t for hire,’ he said, preparing to move on. ‘‘Bin up all night, just going home to me bed.’

‘I’ll pay you double.’

He hesitated.

‘For goodness sake, man,’ said a male voice at her elbow. ‘Don’t dilly-dally, can you not see the lady is in great haste?’

Kitty spun round to see who had spoken and found herself looking into a broad chest which sported the most vivid waistcoat she had ever seen. It was of bright blue velvet, embroidered all over with gold and silver thread and trimmed with scarlet braid. And she was prepared to wager the little buttons cascading down its front like teardrops were diamonds.

Slowly she raised her head to look up over a flamboyantly tied cravat, which spilled over the waistcoat, to the face of its owner. He was handsome … my, he was handsome, dark as a gypsy with a firm chin, almost black eyes which held a hint of amusement, and black hair tied back with a blue velvet ribbon to match the waistcoat. A many-caped overcoat was slung carelessly across his shoulders, as if keeping out the cold was the least of its uses.

Smiling, he reached across her to open the door of the cab. ‘Be my guest, ma’am.’

She hesitated, not at all sure how she ought to behave, but then, remembering that the reason she was on the streets of London at this ungodly hour was because she had not behaved
as she ought, she decided she might as well continue in the same vein. Her life with her uncle and stepmother had ended the minute she had stepped out of the house; whatever lay before her was of her own making. She smiled, thanked him coolly and stepped up into the vehicle, leaving him to hand in her bag.

The driver, sitting with his hands on the reins, looked on in undisguised amusement as the man stood in the road, still holding the door open, so they could not proceed.

‘Where do you wish to go, Miss—?’the stranger queried.

‘To Brook Street,’ she said, settling herself in her seat and ignoring the hint that she should provide her name.

‘What a coincidence, that’s just my destination,’ he said, jumping in beside her, flinging his coat on the opposite seat and revealing a cutaway jacket. ‘We can travel together.’ He rapped on the roof with his cane and they were away.

Kitty inched herself as far away from him as she could—which wasn’t far, considering the narrowness of the vehicle—her body tense with nerves. What had she done? Supposing he abducted her, or took her for the harlot her stepmother had called her—what could she do? Would it do any good to shout for help?

The few people who were about on the street had seen her climb willingly into the vehicle and were continuing on their way, minding their own business; they would not interfere. It was less than two hours since she left home and already she was in a quandary. She did not look at him, but gazed out of the window as if there was something of great interest to be seen in the road.

‘You are nervous,’ he said. ‘Are you afraid of me?’

‘Certainly not!’

‘Then perhaps you ought to be.’

She gasped and turned to look at him. ‘Why?’

He smiled. She was an innocent. ‘No, you are right. You have nothing to fear from me. I am not in the habit of abduction and
I would be a fool to molest a schoolgirl, however pretty and desirable.’

‘Sir, you are impertinent. And I am nothing of the sort.’

‘Not a schoolgirl, or not pretty and desirable? The first I can only guess at, the other I can certainly vouch for.’

She did not answer, knowing that she should never have entered into conversation with him in the first place. Was he flirting with her?

‘Am I to assume you are running away from home?’

She remained silent and was disconcerted when he laughed. ‘Your silence is more eloquent than any reply. Why are you running away?’

‘I am not running away. I am going to visit Sir George Lampeter in Brook Street,’ she said, deciding that mentioning Edward’s father might add more respectability to her errand.

‘Sir George, eh? He with the handsome son? You are surely not eloping? I must say, it is less than gallant of the gentleman to expect you to call for him. I had always thought it usual for lovesick swains to climb ladders to bedroom windows to rescue those they love from wicked stepmothers.’

She turned to him in surprise. ‘What do you know of it?’