Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Althea’s face was a mask of regret in the dark coach as she apologized and asked to be dropped at the Carletons’ door. There was the Christmas pageant, she explained.
“You have been called home to visit your brother after your father’s passing,” Althea said. “And the Carletons will understand I cannot possibly stay alone with Mr. St. Clair.”
Kitty clasped Althea’s hand, shockingly warmer than her own. “You will come to Farendon? After the pageant?”
“Of course I will. I’ll be there in time for Christmas.” But Althea refused funds for the journey. And the forced lightness of Althea’s farewell and her robust embrace at the vicarage door felt like the prelude to a long, maybe permanent, goodbye.
Kitty settled back into the coach and wept, her insides vibrating with fear at Julian’s words. Exactly what the earl had said after ordering Cyril to kill her. Your pleas have no bearing on my decision.
She had been hurled back in time to the June afternoon. Pleading for her child’s life on the riverbank. She still was there as the coach departed Southampton. Julian had been the earl. The monster. Eyes narrowed, determination carved in the aristocratic lines of his cheek and jaw. Cruel and aloof.
Fuck his discourtesy, she thought, her face flaming at her obscene choice of words.
She would never worry about facing the earl because she would never see the monster.
She would find Father Dunlevy and spend the rest of her days as Madame Féline.
The truth of Andrew would go to the grave now, with her.
The grave might claim her soon. The early winter had pitted the roads with holes that could swallow a man whole. Along the Great North Road, deep, jagged ruts grasped at the coach wheels careening them to and fro until one cracked in two. It delayed her journey by two days.
Sequestered in a small inn south of St. Neots, she ate little in her private parlor.
She prayed. She paced her rooms. Outside the windows was the idyllic landscape, now cold and bitter, of her childhood.
The skeleton trees of Eaton Socon Wood where she had first laid eyes on the beautiful boy, Julian St. Clair, sketching his dreams. At the icy edge of the river, swans flocked.
Not far north was where Julian had proposed to her under the night sky.
Farther north was a bank of reeds, marshy grass, and mud where Julian’s father had ordered her face shoved underwater.
She wrote Father Dunlevy of her hope to join him for the foreseeable future and posted a copy to each home on his circuit.
Five days from when she had left Southampton, Georgiana, the Marchioness of Eastwick for more than two years, welcomed Kitty at Farendon with open arms and a frock coat and breeches.
Kitty’s longest, dearest friend brimmed with questions after their years apart, but she contained them only because her children would not allow her to part from them.
She had two beautiful boys. Stephen, the oldest, almost two years old, took after his father, dark-haired, quiet, observant. Daniel was a golden-haired, blue-eyed hellion who itched to walk at eight months with the scrapes to prove it.
Lord Eastwick, a doting father and towering man with a calming presence, was perfect for Georgiana. He had given Georgiana everything a wife could wish for, especially the freedom to be herself.
Kitty was relieved for those extra days spent alone in the inn. It made it much easier to embrace Georgiana’s happiness.
Before dinner, Georgiana handed Daniel to the nurse and dragged Kitty to the room where she would be staying.
A plate of biscuits and Stephen came with, Georgiana’s son toddling about the room as Kitty and Georgiana settled in for a talk.
Just like her childhood with the cozy scent of horses on Georgiana’s coat and the enveloping comfort of the feather bed.
Georgiana yanked off her boots and swung around to lie on her side. Kitty sat back on her hands, her stockinged feet tucked under her gown.
From the bedside, Stephen reached for a biscuit, and Georgiana pulled him up, sitting him at their feet. She fingered Kitty’s black skirt. “I never imagined you’d wear black for Sir Jeffrey.”
Kitty shrugged and brushed a stray lock of Georgiana’s long, auburn hair. The last she had seen her friend, it had been a cap of curls not reaching her shoulders. “Your hair is beautiful.”
“Thank you.” Georgiana smiled. A little nervous. “Your letters… they soothed me to know you were alive after your disappearance. But they were the veriest vague.”
While Georgiana spoke, she brushed back her son’s hair as he turned to his stomach, a soldier in one hand and a biscuit between his teeth. Kitty had seen her do it many times since her morning arrival, and it made her ache.
“I’m sorry,” Kitty said. “But I had to be careful.”
Georgiana’s sea-blue eyes widened. “And you could not trust me? Admit to me this fantastical secret. I long to be taken into confidence. Motherhood is an open book. Wonderful, mind, but without a scheme one.”
Kitty was to leave with Father Dunlevy when he arrived at Farendon. That is, she prayed he received one of her letters and would welcome her company. And Georgiana, who had always championed a match between her and Julian, could not know about her marriage.
But something close to the truth would do.
“The night I refused to marry Lord Staverton, Julian rescued me. He helped me escape from England.”
Georgiana scrambled to her knees. “He rescued you? The last time I saw you both, he could not look at you. He was a right, proper arse.” Georgiana shook her head.
“Oh dear lord, I remember now. When you were dragged away by your father, Julian was there in the reception hall. And then Anthony announced he meant to be your knight in shining armor.”
Kitty faltered. “Anthony Philips?”
“Of course. They were forever competing against each other. But Julian rescued you.” Georgiana sank back on her heels, flushed. “How wonderful.”
Anthony Philips had planned to rescue her? Her marriage was owed to masculine rivalry?
“Your father said he sent you away,” Georgiana said. “Until I received your first letter I worried he had done foul. And Julian was gone, but I assumed he was with those reprobate friends of his.” Georgiana palmed her head. “It was right there in front of me for two years. What a lark!”
A lark? Yes, it was, wasn’t it? It was clear now what Julian had been thinking when they had married. Something along the lines of Anthony should be here, not me.
Georgiana asked, her blue eyes fierce. “Did he marry you?”
“Pardon?”
“Julian. Did he marry you?”
Oh, she did not want to lie. But if she left with Father Dunlevy, Georgiana would hunt Kitty down with her finest racing steed. So she shook her head.
“Ah. Of course. My cousin only half rescued you,” Georgiana said, throwing up her hands. “An aimless rake until the end.”
A streak of protectiveness shot through Kitty. Why were people judged by their failings instead of their accomplishments? Julian had far more of the latter, but because he did not flaunt his achievements, his closest friends and family recollected only the imperfect.
And naming Julian aimless was merely a milder form of worthless.
“That is not fair,” Kitty said. “He rescued me. And provided for me during our travels. I would be married to a fat old lecher and imprisoned in Yorkshire if not for him.”
“Rest assured, I will write to my cousin and bring him to the point.”
Kitty caught her breath. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I do not want to marry anyone.”
“Please. You’ve been in love with Julian since you were seven. How could you not want to marry him?”
“Please do not write him,” Kitty said, thinking quickly. “You know how stubborn he is. If you demand something of him, he will do the opposite.”
“Hmmm.” Which meant Georgiana would not press further until a later time. “Then you must remain here until I can lure him in. There is the steward’s cottage if you wish for privacy. Or we could go to Eastwick House in London. Julian is sure to be there.”
Kitty swallowed at the notion that Eastwick House was a stone’s throw from Julian’s father’s London residence. “No, I would prefer to stay in the country.”
Lord Eastwick arrived to claim Stephen for dinner, and Georgiana pleaded more time to spend with Kitty. Her husband kissed her mouth and told her he would see her in the morning.
Kitty weaved a tale of her continental travels.
After Georgiana returned from putting her boys to bed, they changed into their nightclothes and sipped hot chocolate beneath the thick covers.
Georgiana urged Kitty to tell her more, so Kitty went on until she had nothing else to say that wouldn’t be lies.
Georgiana’s racing string had won numerous matches and the lauded Fordyce Stakes. Her marriage was glorious with just the right amount of quarrels. Her dearest friend enlightened Kitty on the easy delivery of her sons and, blushing, the enjoyment of creating them.
In wavering candlelight, sleet sheeting the windows, Georgiana plucked at Kitty’s cross pendant, her eyes agleam. “You know, Julian and I have a longstanding wager on Mr. Thomas Dunlevy.”
Kitty caught Georgiana’s fingers, squeezing them in desperation. “Please do not say it. Even if you suspect him of… that is, it is dangerous.”
“That he is a Catholic priest and not an Anglican honorary curate who ministers throughout the countryside? My lips have always been sealed on that account. Though Sir Jeffrey was hardly discreet about his leanings. No, our wager was of a more personal bent. Julian wagered a guinea Thomas Dunlevy was your true father.”
Kitty pushed up on her elbow. “He did?”
“I wagered against the idea, since your mother was a saint. But I see a distinct resemblance in your eyes. Your kindness. Your smile, which I’ve yet to see today.
” Georgiana squinted. “It would explain a lot. By the by, your brother’s gone and purchased a commission, did you know?
He offered for Barbara Stockton and she accepted. ”
Kitty veered her gaze down in surprise. “How did he acquire the funds?”
“It’s a mystery.”
What if Shelley had sold Notfelle? She wanted to gallop south and clap her eyes on her old home. She kept her voice even. “Well, I am happy for him.”
Georgiana snorted. She yanked Kitty off her elbow and snuggled beside her.
It was dawn when Kitty finally closed her eyes after staring at the cherry-red bed canopy for hours, with Georgiana long asleep and holding her hand.