Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY
That Night
Notfelle Estate, England
The unpadded kneeler bit into Kitty’s knees where she knelt in the prayer closet off the nursery.
Lit by a candle on an ancient, iron sconce, the small space with naked plastered walls and a crucifix was warmer than the nursery.
She reckoned the hours passed without Julian and the many more to follow.
Beyond the closet door, rain pummeled the night.
She hoped it delayed Lord Staverton from arriving tomorrow.
She hoped he met with a fatal accident, and then she prayed for forgiveness for her vicious aspirations.
Clara had delivered her letter, unable to assure Kitty that Julian would reply. For Kitty’s health, Clara had also advised obedience where Sir Jeffrey was concerned. If she was forced to marry Lord Staverton, it was well he was old, corpulent, and gouty.
“The baron is not long for the world,” Clara had said. “Perhaps a year you must suffer him, and then you will be free. Widows have a degree of independence, you will see.”
You will see. As if her fate were already written.
She would rather die.
How was that to be when she was seventeen and had overcome the mildest cases of measles, chicken pox, and putrid throat? With Georgiana, she had been ingrafted with smallpox and had been fit after a week.
Jesus could not approve of Kitty suffering a year.
She had watched her mother suffer, helpless to save her.
Was it not enough? Once she had come between Sir Jeffrey and her mother and had received a blackened eye.
She should be hoping for Sir Jeffrey to meet with a fatal accident.
If the accident occurred before next week, she could save her mother’s pianoforte.
“I don’t wish him a prolonged misery,” she whispered to the crucifix. “You may dispatch him quickly. He is my father. Supposedly.”
Kitty had Father Dunlevy’s hazel eyes. It fed her dream that a handsome, noble priest had loved her mother.
“I am sorry,” she said, “but I cannot help my murderous thoughts.”
“Jesus forgives you.”
Kitty blinked at Jesus on the cross. Had she lost her wits? She swung her head to the door. Julian’s solemn eyes studied her as water dripped to the scarred floor from his greatcoat.
“H-How did you get in?” she asked.
“Through the postern by the chapel.”
She hadn’t even prayed for Julian to come to her, and yet it felt like an answered prayer, and if ever she were faced with another disaster, she knew what she would pray for.
He wiped the rain from his face with his sleeve. “Should I leave?”
“No. No, please stay.”
He reached behind, shut the door, and tossed his cocked hat to the floor.
Kitty leapt from the kneeler, throwing her arms around his neck.
“Oh, Julian. Thank you. Thank you.” She buried her face in his sodden coat, the skin at his throat warm on her brow.
Wet cold seeped into her wool robe, but she didn’t care.
She kissed his jaw, squeezed him with every ounce of her strength.
“All my troubles are bearable now. All of them.”
He slipped his coat from his shoulders as she held on and threw it to the opposite wall. It splat upon the floor as he circled her waist and brought her close into his sheltering embrace. The familiar scent of citrus and spice and earthy rain surrounded her.
“I will help you bear your troubles,” he said.
“I will never marry Staverton.”
He tightened his embrace. “No, you will not.”
“I cannot stop my mother’s pianoforte from being taken.
Oh, I cannot. Sir Jeffrey does not honor her memory.
He did not when she lived. He killed her, Julian.
With his abuse. He beat her, you know. And she killed herself.
The gardener found her below the garret window.
The tower where we played. They said it was an accident, but I know.
” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I know.”
He eased to the floor, bringing her down to his lap. “Maybe it was an accident.”
“She gave all her gowns to Clara days before. She wrote a letter to Father Dunlevy and left it in my desk. She wrote me a letter.” She sobbed.
“I cannot begrudge her choice. She was miserable. She was beautiful. If you could have seen her smile, you would have loved her as I do. If you could have played cards with her or seen her grace. Or heard her play pianoforte or sing or tell a tale. She would weave a story for weeks, and there were princes and poor girls and happy endings. But there are no happy endings.”
“There are,” he said. “You will have a happy ending, fairy.”
“I will throw myself from the garret if I am forced to marry Staverton.”
“Shhh.”
“There is no shame in it. Why is it a sin to escape anguish and violence? Why did God make rules for women to suffer?”
“God did not. Men did.” He gave her a gentle shake.
“Listen to me. There will be no windows for you. Do not let Sir Jeffrey win this. If you take the window route, he wins. Your sole path to victory is to live. You will repel Staverton. You are resourceful. Brilliant. You are a schemer, aren’t you? ”
She frowned. “I suppose.”
“Suppose? Who can scheme better than I?”
“No one.”
“You. I must work thrice as hard. You, on the other hand, have only to utter a few words, and everyone believes you.”
She suspected he was attempting to make her feel better regardless of the facts. “I don’t lie often, do I?”
He laughed, peering down his aquiline nose in the confident way of his ancestors. His was an illustrious family. Even if he had the inclination, he could not marry her. As a second son, he required a wife with a generous dowry.
She bit her lip at the depressing truth.
“Ah, don’t cry. It makes me want to blather. What would your mother want for you?”
Her mother had written it. Do not surrender to your fears. You are strong. And though the road may be long, you, daughter of my heart, will find true happiness.
“To be happy,” she said.
“Can you be happy if Sir Jeffrey wins?”
“No,” she said and thanked Mary and God for sending her Julian at her lowest.
“You know what I just realized? I didn’t write you a letter today.”
“But you are here.” And she wanted him to stay. Forever. She was already anxious he would leave soon.
He enfolded her into his arms again, her cheek resting against his damp hair. He had come to her in a rainstorm. “Did you ride here?”
“I ran. Quickly. Dearest Kitty… I am in receipt of your letter dated the fourteenth of March. As it was delivered by Clara, I feared you had decided not to know me and so waited to read it, a man wandering aimlessly in the rain, until I returned to my room. Much agony occurred between. I also threatened Georgiana with a facer. Not my finest moment.”
She lifted her head. “What?”
“A minor detail. I read your letter—”
“Did you remove your wet clothes first?”
Julian stiffened. His voice dropped an octave. “I did.”
Her face colored at her indecent question.
Julian cleared his throat. “As I was saying or writing… I read your letter and pardon my selfishness, but I was relieved.”
Her fingers played at the top button of his coat. “Because I had not forsaken you? Oh, I am so very sorry I refused to see you. It was pigheaded—”
He pressed his finger over her mouth. “I deserved it. Now let me finish. After reading your letter, I sought out dearest Uncle William convalescing from a night of card play and drink, and do you know, he was completely ignorant of the fact he required a new pianoforte?”
Kitty pushed from his shoulder, too shocked to believe what she heard.
“When he denied his obvious need, being the gentleman I am…” He waved her on.
“Y-You are a gentleman.”
“I offered him a game of piquet to resolve the impasse and…”
“You won,” she whispered.
“I won. Come tomorrow, if Sir Jeffrey accepts my uncle’s offer, he’ll have enough quid to buy ten more guns and hunters. Unfortunately, the pianoforte will have to come to Farendon.”
Kitty bounced to her knees and, straddling his lap, hugged his head and rained kisses over his crown. “I don’t care if it goes to Farendon. I will know it is loved. I will play it. Oh, thank you. Thank you.”
He wrestled from her hold, his eyes shining up at her in the faint light. “Yours in Happy Endings, Julian.”
“You are my knight. Oh, you are.” She kissed his cheek. “You are.” She kissed his eyelashes. “You are.”
“I am a blackhearted scoundrel for challenging a man who could barely recite his own name. But for you, fairy, the end justifies the means.”
“Then you are my blackhearted scoundrel.” Her lips found his and stole a kiss.
His hand landed whisper soft on the curve of her hip. Dark eyes pinpointed on her mouth. They lowered to her breasts just below his chin. The air was taut in the silence, like lightning was near. Her stomach fluttered. The confusing tingling started at her fingertips.
“I need to go,” he said.
“So soon? But you cannot walk home in the rain. You will surely catch ill. Stay here. You must.”
She clapped her hand over her mouth. What was she saying?
What was she implying? She looked down where their bodies joined.
Her hips to his abdomen. Her robe was open and her ruffled nightshift flowed over him.
She eased back to her heels but not really her heels.
His lap. It was shocking and, per everything she had been taught or read, sinful.
“Kitty, I cannot stay.”
“Why not?”
“I cannot. Leave it at that.”
“But we are friends.”
He dragged a hand down his face. “I am not your friend at this moment. I am a beast. Men are beasts. You are an innocent, and I am truly a blackhearted scoundrel. More so, if I were to stay. I will return tomorrow night and we can play cards or… something.”
“I don’t want to play cards. I want to kiss you.” She smoothed her palm over his rough jaw and kissed him. “I want you to kiss me.”