Virginia Henley (22 page)

Kitty saw very little of Simon the first week of their marriage. He spent all of his time with his friends, mostly outdoors. Since there were not enough horses for everyone to ride, Kitty didn’t attempt it. She helped Mrs. Hobson with the cooking, knowing the fare was more appetizing when she took a hand in it. At the end of the week, when Madge and Brockington returned to London, Kitty was glad to see their backs. They got drunk every night and spent their evenings gambling; she did not think they were very good influences on Simon. He begged them not to leave, and he was lifeless and despondent for the first few days after they were gone. Then Kitty got a great surprise: A horse was delivered from Tattersall’s. She was practically on the verge of tears when she learned it was a wedding present from Patrick. “Oh, how can I ever thank him?” she exclaimed.

“Don’t thank him, thank me,” grinned Simon. “I dropped him a note, giving the hint about how poorly mounted you were,” he boasted.

Kitty was shocked. “Simon, you shouldn’t have done such a thing. How humiliating! I don’t want anything from Patrick.”

“Nonsense! Just think of all the money he has. I couldn’t possibly make ends meet if it weren’t for the benevolence of my friends. Madge always supplies the wine and Brockington the brandy. Put all those useless ideas to the back of your head, Kit, and decide what you’re going to call her,” Simon urged.

Kitty shook her head. “I’ll call her Brandy wine for the obvious reason that’s the only other wedding present I received.”
She put out her hand to fondle the soft muzzle and tears stung her eyelids as she thought of Patrick. “I … I have no riding habit, Simon,” she faltered.

“Oh, stuff! There’s trunks full of riding breeches and jodhpurs I had when I was a boy. Come on, we’ll find something that fits you,” he urged.

“Oh, Simon, I couldn’t wear breeches. What would people say?”

“What people? There’s none to see but me.” He took her by the hand and led her up to the attics, where the trunks of old clothes were stored. He piled her arms high with buckskins and velvet breeches and lace-edged shirts. She tried them on and was both delighted and dismayed that they fit her. His eyes showed his pleasure at her appearance. “If your hair were shorter, you and Terry could pass for twins,” he said and laughed. “Stay right where you are, Kit, and I’ll get the scissors.”

“No, no, you mustn’t!” she protested.

“Come on, Kit, be a sport. What a famous joke. Let me cut off just a little?” he coaxed.

“Simon, no! I don’t want my hair cut off. Come back immediately!”

Simon came back, but not before he had found a pair of scissors. To Kitty’s horror, she realized that Simon was perfectly capable of doing something to her against her wishes. She protested and begged, but he held her down. Laughing like someone having the greatest fun in the world, he brandished the scissors above her curls. She grew alarmed at Simon’s odd behavior and finally agreed to let him cut just a couple of inches off the bottom.

Kitty could see that Simon became easily bored and restless. She realized that he was shockingly immature. One afternoon when she was riding with Simon, he said he’d catch a rabbit for their dinner and produced a ferret from his saddlebag.
Kitty hated ferrets. She dismounted and began to run through the trees.

“Kit, come back. Don’t be such a baby,” he said with a laugh.

“No, I hate them. They’re so long and slinky and their little red eyes frighten me.”

“Coward!” he taunted. “Come and see how well trained it is.”

“No! It’s cruel to the rabbit to put those horrible things down their warren. It almost frightens them to death and I don’t want to watch!”

He began to chase her. She screamed and ran as fast as she could to get away from him. She knew he had a sadistic side and was capable of anything once he caught her. She fell to her hands and knees to try to escape in the underbrush, but with a pounce he was on top of her and she was struggling blindly against him. She gave a huge sigh of relief when she realized Simon was empty-handed, and they lay with him sprawled on top of her. By accident his hand came in contact with her breast. He drew it away quickly.

“Kit, you’re all breasts in these damned shirts of mine. Why don’t you bind yourself so you don’t wobble about so much?”

Kitty was really surprised and said indignantly, “I’m a woman, not a boy,” and as soon as the words were out she realized that was exactly what Simon wanted. He called her Kit, a masculine version of her name. He wanted her in pants and he even had cut her hair. She brooded on this with a vague uneasiness. By Thursday night Simon could stand the solitude of the country no longer. He informed Kitty and Terrance that they were going up to London. “Brockington’s mother is giving a ball. You must be the most ravishing woman at the party. I want you to come too, Terry. My
clothes should fit you. Let’s go up now and find you something really elegant,” Simon insisted.

Simon took Kitty to Harridge’s, the most expensive shop in London, where she spent a very pleasant hour trying on magnificent ball gowns. Kitty’s choice hovered between the mauve chiffon and the misty rose silk, but Simon insisted upon a very low-cut white ruffled gown with a silver tissue overdress. It was extravagantly priced, but Simon waved away her protests. They went to Brockington’s bachelor establishment in Jermyn Street.

“Couldn’t miss your ball tonight, old man. I would like a hairdresser for Kit, though. Can’t have her looking like a country bumpkin, can we?” said Simon with a laugh.

“Remember that er … friend you used to have? Frenchman, wasn’t he?”

“Pierre!” they said in unison, smiling like two conspirators.

“Let’s go and round him up. You come with us, Terry,” said Simon.

Pierre was one of the strangest creatures Kitty had ever seen. He was extremely effeminate and she thought perhaps he was even wearing lip salve. He had eyelashes that vied with Kitty’s, and when he spoke with his quaint accent, he gesticulated wildly. He had no difficulty, however, in making a creation of Kitty’s curls. It was piled high on top, and a false piece cascaded down one shoulder. The style suited her gown to perfection. Kitty couldn’t understand why Simon had picked a gown that displayed her breasts so obviously when at other times he found them distasteful.

When they arrived with the son of the house, they were given a very warm welcome and Kitty found herself looking for
that
face in the crowd. She was both disappointed and relieved that he was not there. She was soon surrounded by
handsome, rich young men on the make. As Terrance stood on the edge of the ballroom and observed the scene, he was sickened as he realized Simon was using her as bait to attract these young men. What Terrance didn’t realize was that he himself was part of the bait. With such a pair of attractive drawing cards, Simon had no difficulty rounding up half a dozen young men for a country house party for the following week. Brockington was engaged for every night of the coming week, but promised to come down to The Elms when the rest of the young men were expected, and promised to bring Madge with him.

“I’ve told everyone to ride down because I can’t mount them, Brock.”

“Never mind, Simon. Someday you’ll have the best stable in Surrey.”

“Well, like King Charles, he’s an unconscionable time a-dying,” said Simon, laughing. Simon made one stop on the journey home. Kitty thought it had something to do with providing entertainment for the invited guests. They stopped at a game farm that sold every kind of wild fowl chicks, such as snipe and partridge, and when Simon loaded a wooden box onto the gig she assumed it contained birds he was going to stock the woods with at The Elms.

Kitty didn’t have a chance to speak with Terry until after dinner, when the effects of the brandy had overpowered Simon.

“What was it?” asked Kitty, drawing Terry to the far side of the room.

“A fox!” he answered, “a little vixen. A female fox gives off a scent that can be picked up from up to a hundred miles away.”

“Of course. He wants to attract foxes for a hunt. It’s too cruel! You must let the little fox go free,” she asserted.

“Kitty, I don’t approve of such practices either, but I don’t
think we should interfere.” He hesitated. “I’m not worried for myself, love, but Simon is your husband and he can be very unpredictable. I wouldn’t like him for an enemy and I shouldn’t like to see him vent his temper upon you. I’ll take him up to his bed,” Terry murmured. He lifted Simon from where he lay sprawled by the fire and carried him upstairs.

Kitty wasted no time, but went directly to the stables. The small red creature blinked her eyes once, then like a cat’s eyes the pupils slitted and the amber iris remained large and round. The vixen drew back into the corner and wrinkled her nose and bared her teeth in a snarl. Kitty chuckled softly. “I won’t hurt you, my beauty.” She took one of her hairpins, and using the two prongs pressed tightly together, inserted the points under the latch and forced it apart. The vixen knew instinctively what was expected of her. Without a sound she slunk into the night.

The next morning Kitty was still abed when she heard Simon’s angry voice. He came up the stairs and flung open her bedroom door without ceremony. It was the first time he had ever seen her in bed.

“Which one of you did it? You or your damned brother?” he demanded.

Kitty didn’t bother to dissemble. “It wasn’t Terrance; I did it.”

His face was white with anger as he moved toward the bed. “Do you know how much that vixen cost me? She was in heat. She would have attracted every fox in Surrey.”

“When I saw her, I took compassion on the little trapped creature. Please forgive me, Simon.”

“I am going to punish you,” he threatened firmly.

She pulled the covers up around her neck, feeling alarm for the first time. “You wouldn’t dare!” she asserted.

He didn’t waste his breath arguing with her, but grabbed her wrist and pulled her struggling from the bed. He had a
wiry strength which when fueled by anger she could not withstand. He dragged her facedown across his knee and lifted her nightgown to expose her bare buttocks. She was outraged and humiliated to be handled in this manner, but she found herself defenseless. Simon raised his hand and slapped her bottom with full force. The first smack carried such a sting it brought tears to her eyes and a cry to her lips. Slowly and deliberately he went about his business, and her cries and pleas fell on deaf ears.

Suddenly she felt his organ grow hard against her belly and she twisted her face up to look at him in surprise. His eyes were rolled back, and he was in a frenzy of sexual arousal. The intimate touch of their bodies repelled her. She tried to contain her cries because they were obviously giving him pleasure. Her bottom was red-raw where the blood had been drawn to the surface. She feared she would faint from the pain, when all at once he threw his head back and all his muscles twitched and heaved in a spasm that left him limp. Simon’s blue eyes smiled under lids heavy with sensuality. His mouth was soft and relaxed, his whole face was smooth from satiety.

Escaping his grip was no longer a problem. She locked herself in the small bathroom. She bathed her bottom with warm water until gradually the pain became bearable. This had confirmed her every fear that Simon was abnormal. She understood all too well why his mother had been so anxious to marry him off and leave for parts unknown.

Mrs. Hobson appeared as soon as Simon had departed, so she could investigate Kitty’s cries. When she saw Kitty’s eyes, red from crying, she pressed her lips together and asked, “Has he been practicing his abominations on you?”

“No…. Yes, but please don’t let my brother know, Mrs. Hobson. Let’s just keep it between the two of us.”

Mrs. Hobson looked at her conspiratorially and whispered, “I know some spells I could let you have.”

Kitty immediately was diverted. “You mean witchcraft?” In spite of herself she smiled. “We have something in common. I’m a Gypsy, you know. I have a few curses of my own.”

Warming to the subject, Mrs. Hobson confided, “As a matter of fact, I’ve already worked a spell on him. It only remains to see if it works.”

“What did you do?” asked Kitty, amused.

“I buried five blue marbles,” she replied in hushed tones.

“Did you call down the dark powers of Nebo?”

“No. Is that a witch?”

“Never mind. You’re probably better off not knowing,” answered Kitty. “Perhaps the most sensible thing we could do would be to ask Mr. Hobson to put a bolt upon my door,” suggested Kitty.

“Practical common sense.” She patted Kitty on the shoulder. “You’ll survive this, my lass.”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Hobson. It’s a hard world where the gentle can be eaten alive before they have time to grow an iron carapace.”

Kitty kept to herself as much as possible while the young men were there; however, Simon made it plain to her that he did expect a hostess at the dinner table each evening. She became adept at keeping them in their place with a word or a look. She had a native wit and she developed a cutting edge to her tongue. Before the meal drew to a close, they usually had imbibed enough for their hijinks to begin, and Kitty excused herself as soon as was politely possible. She could hardly believe the juvenile nonsense that amused them.