Chapter Two
Five Days Later
12 Hill Street
Mayfair District
K itty woke in a mood.
This, in and of itself, was not remarkable.
Blessed (or cursed, depending on the day) with a volatile temper, Kitty often found herself mired in some sort of a mood. Unlike her older sister, Mara, who held her emotions at arm’s length, Kitty wore what she was feeling on the edge of her sleeve. She always had, even when she tried not to. Even when she bit her tongue so hard it bled.
A consequence, she supposed, of being raised in a household where contrary opinions—or opinions of any sort, really—weren’t only not permitted, they were punished. While black and blue bruises had bloomed on top of Mara’s skin when she took the blows meant for both of them, guilt had festered under Kitty’s. It had twisted and tangled into long, stringy weeds until she had an entire garden’s worth of shame running through her veins.
It was that shame, that secret hidden garden of atrocities, which had initially propelled her toward William. Toward an earl that Society said she couldn’t have. Toward a husband that her heart had wanted in spite of the shrill warnings from her head. And wasn’t that fitting, wasn’t that just bloody wonderful , because now William was the one man she wanted to escape.
Unfortunately, it still wasn’t going very well.
Thus explaining the mood.
“What do you mean, he’s not here? Where is he, then?” she growled at Stevens, William’s personal valet and gatekeeper. He was short and stout, with a bald head and a series of lines across his temple that had a tendency to deepen with disapproval whenever she entered his line of sight.
Ever since Kitty had become the Countess of Radcliffe, she and Stevens had found themselves at odds. Before then, really, as he’d closed the door in her face not once, not twice, but three times. The self-important little toad. He couldn’t lock her out of the house any longer, but he did take glib delight in refusing to divulge his employer’s whereabouts. And to Kitty, for whom outward appearance was everything, having a servant openly defy her was... well, it was infuriating. Almost as infuriating as being ignored by her husband.
“I am sorry, my lady.” Stevens squared his shoulders and stared at a spot on the wall directly behind her right ear. “Lord Radcliffe has yet to return from his previous outing. I could not say with certainty where he is at the moment and would not care to speculate in regard to his whereabouts.”
Kitty gritted her teeth. “But we had a meeting planned for noon, and it’s already half past one.”
“It’s not like Lord Radcliffe to be tardy.” Stevens brown gaze met hers for an instant, then swept away with a dismissive flick that made her grind her teeth even harder. “I am afraid you’re likely mistaken on the time. Come to think of it, I do not recall any such meeting in his daily schedule of events. Perhaps it’s for tomorrow?”
“We both know it’s not for tomorrow, Stevens.” She glared at him, daring him— willing him—to commit a truly dismissible- worthy offense, but as per usual the valet was well aware of right where the line was... and how to keep his webbed toes on the correct side of it. “When you see my husband, kindly remind him that my time is just as valuable as his, and I don’t like to have it wasted.”
“Of course, my lady,” Stevens smiled.
She smiled back. “Thank you.”
They both turned away, knowing that Stevens would never do anything of the sort. And after donning her pelisse and bonnet, Kitty stepped outside into the warm spring air, inhaling the sweet, floral scents of lilacs and daffodils.
It was a marvelous English spring. Clear blue skies, chirping birds, blooming wisteria. Everywhere she looked, people were smiling and children were laughing. Even the stray dogs were wagging their tails. Why, then, did she feel like a bucket of lead was lodged in the middle of her chest, so heavy that when she walked, the heels of her shoes dragged along the ground?
Adjusting the wide brim of her straw poke bonnet so that she wouldn’t have to make eye contact with random passersby, Kitty adopted a brisk pace that further discouraged conversation and directed her steps toward Bond Street. If there was anything guaranteed to raise her spirits, it was shopping. Specifically, shopping with her husband’s coin. If she couldn’t get William’s attention one way, then by God, she’d try another... and buy herself a few presents in the process.
By the third store, she was feeling marginally better.
By the fifth, she had begun to smile.
By the seventh, she was positively beaming.
“Put the diamond necklace on Lord Radcliffe’s account,” she said airily, turning in a circle inside the glittering confines of Longfellow’s Jewelry Emporium, “and the matching bracelet on my wrist. I prefer to wear it out.”
“Yes, my lady.” The owner, Mr. Longfellow, a shrewd businessman who had recognized a woman in need of spending a small fortune the instant Kitty walked into the store, snapped his fingers. “You heard the countess, she’d like to wear the bracelet out. Remove it from the case at once, and have the necklace wrapped for delivery.” He paused. “Lady Radcliffe, before you depart, I would be remiss if I did not show you our most exclusive item. It came yesterday, and has not even been put out on display yet.”
“Oh?” Kitty asked, a golden brow rising as she held out her wrist to one of the shop assistants. “What is it?”
“A brooch,” said Mr. Longfellow in a hushed voice. “Rumored to have been worn by Lady Isabel Laurent and gifted to her by none other than the Duke of Sommerville during his marriage to Princess Antoinette of Luxembourg. It’s a priceless piece. An heirloom, really. But her descendants have fallen on hard times, I’m afraid, and—”
“Everything has a price when you’re pushed hard enough,” Kitty interrupted. Ignoring the twinge in the center of her chest courtesy of the wire wrapped around her heart that had been tightening, tightening, tightening ever since her wedding night, she gave an imperious lift of her chin. “Show it to me.”
Mr. Longfellow disappeared behind a velvet curtain for several minutes. When he returned, he was carrying a small black box. Setting it on the glass counter, he removed the lid with reverence to reveal a red ruby brooch surrounded by diamonds. “If I may be so bold, Lady Radcliffe, the coloring would look exquisite paired with your complexion.”
The brooch was beautiful. Stunning, even. A truly remarkable piece.
But as Kitty, who naturally coveted all things pretty, stared at the brooch, she didn’t feel impressed or in awe. Instead, she felt slightly nauseous. Because while the brooch was lovely, the story of how it had come to be was not. Princess Antoinette had given her husband fifteen— fifteen —children. And this was how he had her toil and allegiance repaid? By giving a priceless gemstone to his mistress?
Maybe if she didn’t know what it was like to be chosen second by the one man in all the world who should have chosen her first, it wouldn’t have mattered. But she did know and it did matter. It mattered very much.
“I am not interested,” she said, turning her head away.
“But my lady—”
“Did I stutter, Mr. Longfellow, or otherwise make myself unclear?” Her voice cracked across the shop like a whip, freezing everyone in their tracks and revealing that despite her diminutive stature, Kitty was capable of exuding great force. If her sister’s anger was a woeful gale, then hers was a wild tempest, howling and raging as it crashed upon the shore, destroying everything in its path.
When she was a child, her temper had been impossible to control and had earned her more slaps and bruises than she cared to remember. As she’d gotten older, she had learned the benefit of harnessing its power, of portraying herself as a sweet, agreeable woman until it no longer served her best interest. Because if there was one thing she would never do again, it was make herself weak or vulnerable to anyone.
Not to a shopkeeper.
Not to her husband.
Not even to her dead father, the monster whose vicious hands had sent her running into the arms of a suitor incapable of loving her... so long as he loved another. But she’d married William anyway, for what choice did she have when she loved him ? It was a mistake that had caused her more misery over the past seven months than all the years she’d endured living under her father’s fist combined.
Black and blue marks faded with time, but heartache?
Kitty’s mouth twisted in a bitter smile.
Heartache endured when nothing else did.
“Have my purchases wrapped and delivered by end of day,” she said coolly. “I’m sure you know the address.”
Sunlight shimmered off her new bracelet as she departed the shop. Stopping to allow a flower seller with a wooden cart overflowing with tulips to pass by, she turned blindly to the left with no specific destination in mind, the brooch—and the thoughts it had invoked—having soured her desire for baubles and bonnets.
She’d find another way to gain William’s notice.
Maybe she’d buy an elephant and move it into his study.
Or maybe she’d threaten to take a lover, as her sister had done.
Except William liked animals (he kept an entire pack of hounds at their country estate in addition to a stable filled with fine thoroughbreds), and she doubted he’d care if she became another man’s mistress so long as she was discreet about it. What had worked to fix her sister’s marriage was not going to work to fix her own. Because there was nothing left to fix. Nothing but hurt, resentment, and anger.
It hadn’t started off that way, Kitty reflected as she sought temporary respite on a bench in the shade of a flowering cherry, its branches heavy with pink blooms. Tragedies didn’t begin with heartbreak. No, for a relationship to be truly tragic, it had to start with hope. With happiness. With the alluring promise of true love. A good tragedy made you fly before it let you fall. And my, how had she flown. High enough to touch the clouds and beyond, to the stars.
Their story had begun as most did: with a look across a crowded ballroom. A look that had lasted less than a second. A look that had promised her heaven... before sending her plunging straight into hell.