Virginia Henley (38 page)

Kit went straight to the library and picked up the decanter. He needed a drink. Badly. Yet he knew that if he poured one, he would keep at it until the whiskey was gone. His hand trembled as he set the decanter back down. He heard someone enter the library and spun around guiltily.

“Your mail, sir.” Mr. Burke handed him two envelopes.

When Kit saw that one was from Barclays Bank and the other from John Eaton, a wave of nausea washed over him. He knew he could not face reading them and threw them negligently on the desk. “Mr. Burke, you are just the man I need. I want you to plan a dinner for Tuesday evening. It will be a select affair . . . just a few guests: Alex and Lady Longford, Rupert and his viscountess, the Hardings, Olivia’s brother, Harry, and Neville Staines. I want it to be formal, elegant, something special. It’s an engagement party, Burke. Alexandra has consented to become Lady Hatton.”

“Congratulations, sir. The lady will be a most welcome addition here at Hatton. Is Nicholas to be invited?”

“Good God, no. He doesn’t want anyone to know that he is back. He intends to keep to himself at the Grange.” Kit knew that within minutes Burke would inform the staff about the engagement. Perhaps the news would spread to the servants at Longford Manor and Harding House. The more who knew about the engagement the better. That way, Alex would find it difficult to refuse him. At the dinner he would present her with one of the rings that had belonged to his mother. That would make it official in everyone’s eyes.

Kit looked longingly at the whiskey, then he cursed all the people who had brought him to this sorry pass. He snatched a hunting rifle from the library gun case. He knew that if he didn’t hunt something down and kill it, he would explode.

 

The moment the gas lamps dimmed, the applause exploded. Alex quickly gathered her clothes from the screen and headed for the stairs. Tonight her posing vignette had included taking a bath in a delicately painted porcelain bathtub that contained imaginary water. She wished with all her heart that she didn’t have to perform at Champagne Charlie’s anymore.
All you have to do is marry Christopher Hatton,
an inner voice said.
You’ve already promised Dottie that you would!

As she rode in the hackney cab back to Berkeley Square, her inner voice was still talking to her.
Once you’ve married him, you’ll have to confess that Dottie’s wealth is a myth. That shouldn’t matter,
she reassured herself.
His father left Kit everything; he certainly isn’t marrying me for money.

As Alex lay abed, she schemed about taking the thousand pounds Dottie had set aside for her dowry and paying it toward the loan. That would postpone for some time Dottie’s financial difficulties. Rupert had no money worries these days; perhaps he too would contribute.

Alex had told her grandmother that she was earning money at the newspaper and the sojourn to London was necessary, but she worried about how much longer she would be able to pull the wool over Dottie’s eyes. There seemed to be no answers to her dilemma, and Tuesday there was the dinner party at Hatton Hall to face. That would bring yet another question to which she had no answer.

The ride home to Longford, early the next morning, lifted Alexandra’s spirits considerably. The English countryside was so lovely, and she acknowledged how lucky she was to live there. As the weather warmed, London left much to be desired, even in the better areas. The Thames stank, and the vast slums teemed with people who would never experience anything beyond hardship, poverty, and misery.

She lived a life of privilege, thanks to her beloved grandmother. She had beautiful clothes, her own saddle horse, and servants, and she lived in a country manor. Her suitor was not only wealthy and titled, he was one of the handsomest men breathing. Best of all, she had known him since childhood. He had been extremely gallant when he had proposed on Friday, allowing her time before she made her decision. If she agreed to marry him, she would move from Longford Manor to Hatton Hall, the most magnificent estate in the entire county. Her mother’s words danced before her on the morning breeze.
The way of duty is the way of happiness.

 

At Hatton Hall on Tuesday, preparations for the dinner had been underway all afternoon. Mr. Burke had planned the special menu. The smoked trout came from their own river, the spring lamb from their home farm, and the fruit from Hatton’s own orchards. Even the flowers that decorated the table came from the hall’s conservatory.

Christopher Hatton spent the afternoon hand-painting place cards with intricate Celtic symbols that matched the elegant invitations he had sent out three days before. He brought them down to the dining room and surveyed Mr. Burke’s handiwork with approval. Tall, scented wax tapers graced the long refectory table and the mantelpiece. Crystal water goblets, wineglasses, and monogrammed Georgian silver gleamed against the heavy damask linen tablecloth.

“I have the champagne cooling, but would you select the dinner wines, sir?”

“I am no connoisseur of wine. You had better come down to the cellar and give me your guidance, Mr. Burke.”

The two men descended the stone steps that led from the kitchen to the cellars and made their way into the older foundation where the wine cellar was housed. As Kit brushed away cobwebs, he realized that no one had been down here since his father’s death.

“For the fish course, I suggest the white Burgundy; these bottles were from a vintage crop of Chardonnay grapes. With the main course, I’d serve this Languedoc earthy-red Bordeaux.”

“I bow to your expertise, Mr. Burke.” Kit moved down the wooden racks. “Hello, what’s this? Judas, I believe it’s brandy!” He plucked two bottles from their shelf. “Harding enjoys brandy.” Kit walked down to the end of the row to see what else he could spot. He glanced up at the heavy door in the ancient wall, and he recoiled at the sharp memories it evoked. Behind the door was an underground tunnel that led to the stables. He and Nick had discovered it when they were about six. They hadn’t dared venture inside more than three or four feet because it was pitch-black. But their father had caught them playing there and had locked them in as punishment.

Kit remembered the paralyzing fear even now. He had clung to Nick and cried like a baby. When he heard the scurrying of rats in the blackness, he had trembled uncontrollably then wet himself. Nick wanted them to go down the tunnel and find their way out, but Kit clung to the door and wouldn’t let go. When his twin left him, and he knew he was alone, he felt bereft. Panic set in, and he clawed at the door until his fingertips were bleeding. His imagination created demons from hell, who sucked the breath from his lungs to keep him from screaming. Then his twin returned with a lantern from the stables and saved his sanity.

Kit made his way back to Mr. Burke, whose arms were laden with wine bottles. “May I help you?” he asked breathlessly, as the pressure in his chest tightened.

“I have them secure, sir.”

Kit gripped the brandy and hastily made his way back to the stone steps that led up to the kitchen. He took a deep breath and felt a trickle of sweat run down between his shoulder blades. He checked the time and, though it was still more than two hours before his guests were to arrive, he went upstairs to bathe. In his bedchamber, he saw that the valet had laid out his evening clothes. He set the two bottles of brandy on his bedside table, then opened the drawer and took out the small box that held his mother’s ring.

As he looked down at it, his father’s words echoed in his head:
I spoke with Dottie Longford, and we reached an understanding about a betrothal between you and Alexandra. I think we should announce it tonight at the hunt dinner. You may present her with your mother’s diamond and sapphire ring.

“Are you satisfied, Father? This marriage is what you always wanted; what you planned for me!” Kit ground out through clenched teeth. “Even this bloody ring was your choice!” He flung the ring box on the table beside the brandy. “This marriage was the reason we argued the day of the fatal shooting. Your death brought an end to your plans for me. That day I won, and you lost, Father!”

Kit unfastened his tight neckcloth and stripped off his shirt. It was as if Henry Hatton would not be denied. He felt his father reaching out from beyond the grave to bend him to his will. There was no way out of the trap. When he married Alex, his father would win! Kit twisted the cork from the nearest bottle and lifted the brandy to his lips.

Two hours later, Mr. Burke knocked on the door of the Grange. When Nicholas saw his worried demeanor—a sharp contrast from his usually calm, capable manner—he knew something was amiss. “Come in, Mr. Burke.”

“Sir, perhaps you know that his lordship planned a dinner party for this evening?” Burke began tentatively.

“No, I wasn’t aware of it, Mr. Burke. I’ve been too busy to keep abreast of my twin’s plans.”

“All is in readiness, sir, and the guests will start arriving any moment . . . but . . . Lord Hatton is under the weather.”

“Kit’s drinking is nothing new. You’ll simply have to make his excuses to the guests, Mr. Burke. You and I are well versed in making excuses for him.”

“Sir, you cannot be aware that this is a very special evening. The guests are Lady Longford and Lord Staines, the Hardings, Rupert and the viscountess. Lord Hatton planned this intimate family gathering as an engagement dinner for Mistress Alexandra.”

Nick felt his heart skip a beat. Did Alex know about this, or was Kit about to spring a surprise upon her? “I’d better come and speak with him, Mr. Burke.” When he saw Burke’s doubtful look he added, “Perhaps douse his head in cold water.”

As they passed the dinning room, Nick caught the scent of flowers and the gleam of crystal and silver against damask. The air was redolent with the delicious aromas of roasting lamb, mint sauce, and piquantly spiced cherries flambée. They ascended to the third floor, then down the east wing to Kit’s chamber.

Nick found his twin lying on the floor beside two empty brandy bottles. “I’m afraid it’s beyond the coldwater stage, Mr. Burke.”

“Yes, sir,” he said quietly. “The dinner needs a host.”

“Oh, no, don’t look at me!”

“No one need ever know; you are Lord Hatton’s only hope, sir. It pains me to think of his disgrace and Mistress Alexandra’s disappointment. You and I know that she is the rightful future Lady Hatton. . . . This ought to be one of the happiest nights of her life.” Burke looked into Nick’s clear gray eyes. “The guests should start arriving any time, sir. I’ll get you hot water so you may shave.”

Nick’s resolution wavered as he thought of Alexandra. He cared about her happiness as much as he cared for his own. She had been brought up to believe that she would become Lady Hatton, and if that was what she wanted, then he wanted it too.

He had misgivings about Kit making her a worthy husband, but he admitted that he would think the same of any other man. If the choice of a husband for Alex was up to him, he would selfishly choose himself. But the decision was not his; the decision was hers alone. He acknowledged that if she married Kit, it would not simply bring her a title, it would bring her Hatton Hall with all its wealth and property. The thought that it would be hers to pass on to her children seemed right and brought him a sense of satisfaction.
Mr. Burke is right; when a lady becomes engaged, it should be one of the happiest nights of her life!

 

Alexandra sat at her dressing table while Sara pinned up her now long tresses in fashionable swirls; red-gold tendrils decorated her temples and the nape of her neck. She was wearing her oldest yet most feminine gown of palest blush pink. The skirt was designed from chiffon scarves, whose points floated when she moved. Around her neck she wore a single strand of tiny seed pearls.

Alex picked up the invitation and traced the intricate swirls of the Celtic pattern with the tip of her finger. It dawned on her that the design Christopher had painted was a marriage knot! It told her that tonight he would again press her to marry him, this time in public, and she was still not ready to give him an answer.

“Why, Sara, you’ve turned her into an innocent debutante; how did you manage such a feat?”

Alex gave her grandmother a wistful smile. “And you look like an extremely wealthy dowager in that lovely silvery-gray gown. However did you manage to find a wig to match it so exactly?”

“This isn’t a wig; it’s my natural hair, you cheeky young monkey. Neville is here; he’s brought the closed carriage so we shan’t be blown to bits. Do drag yourself from the glass, darling; it’s too late to do anything about your virginal look now.”

“I’ll be right down. I’m just going to show Mother.”

Alex and Sara moved down the hall to Margaret’s bedchamber.

The eyes of the woman in the bed filled with tears, but they were happy tears. “You get your great beauty from your grandmother, Alexandra. I can feel magic in the air tonight.”

Alex blew Margaret a kiss and hurried down to the waiting berline coach for the short drive to Hatton Hall. When it drew up in the courtyard, they saw that the other guests had already alighted from their carriages and were heading to the front door of the hall. “As it should be—the best for last,” Dottie declared as she accepted help from Neville.

The first guests were greeted by Mr. Burke, who took the ladies’ wraps and showed them into the drawing room, which was beautifully lit by scented candles. Their host turned at the same moment that Alexandra came into the room. Their eyes met, and Alexandra’s breath caught in her throat; in his formal evening clothes, Christopher Hatton was an arresting figure. He seemed taller, darker, more commanding than other men. He seemed totally different from the Kit she knew. Tonight he looked so much like Nick, he set her pulse racing. Alex watched with fascination as he easily took charge of his guests. He singled out Dottie first, bringing her hand to his lips. He murmured something outrageous for her ears alone and won her approval in a heartbeat. He turned to Annabelle. “Lady Harding, would you help pour us all champagne?” Alex watched her preen at being chosen unofficial hostess.