Chapter 41 Katherine—The Party Must Go On
KATHERINE—THE PARTY MUST GO ON
The sunset faded hours ago, but my window shows the torches blazing.
They highlight the gardens. Mr. Steele and Scarlett took me to the churchyard at St. Pancras.
I visited my parents, my brother, and my lost son.
It was the first time since each had passed that I’d done it.
I understand better why Jahleel goes there.
A timid tap sounds on the connecting door—my pulse ramps.
“May I enter?”
Jahleel. I haven’t seen him since yesterday as we waited through Thom’s surgery. “Yes.”
The door rattles and opens.
He enters, and my breathing becomes nonexistent.
I’ve seen him dressing smartly every day with the best tailoring in cravats and waistcoats, but this is different.
His coat looks like midnight, dark with hints of blue and dramatic pleats along the back that flare when he takes a step.
The collar, edged with gold and black threading, appears regal.
There’s a pattern to them that I see on his shirt.
The ivory material of his cravat looks so soft.
The diamond and ebony broach pinning it shimmers.
A crimson sash of moiré silk reflects the candlelight like fire.
Charcoal black breeches and slippers complete his attire. He looks like an admiral.
I take a step to him. “You wearing family orders tonight?”
“Da.” He moves forward with one hand behind his back. His other holds a shimmering cane. “My father’s orders and some symbols in reference to Gannibal. I am both.”
Taking a few more steps, the silver muslin floating about me rustles as I move. The exaggerated hem of at least six inches stays stiff. A beautiful wide circle edged in silk satin and embroidered with red and green threads forms roses and foxgloves.
And the shoes are works of art dripping in diamonds and rubies. “I’m almost afraid to step in these.”
His breath catches, his eyes roam as I lift my hem and twirl like Lydia.
“Katherine, you’re a wonderful display, too.” His smile shows before he bites his lip. “You look so lovely. And you put chrysanthemums in your hair.”
“I borrowed a few from our son.”
Jahleel’s eyes grow shiny.
“They were still fresh. Scarlett starched them so they could keep their creamy color. And it takes away the smell. I honor him by wearing these flowers.”
Jahleel stands before me, like a statue gathering frost and snow. But in the shared silence, I see softness and sweetness in his gaze. He sees me—my flaws, my fears … my heart.
“I went to see our son to discuss getting a new deal for his papen’ka.”
The pounding of his heart deafens. This man is impervious to anything but family.
He swallows. “I have nothing new to wager with but I give this.” He draws his hand forward and offers a velvet box.
“This present was for you when you were formally my mistress. I took it away when my mother said I exceeded my bounds. She was right. And I’d broken a promise.
That was treating you like a mistress, not the woman I love.
Doesn’t matter what your title. This is for you, only you. ”
I open it and my heart explodes. No rubies or emeralds. Something better. On the velvet ribbon is my father’s silver watch. It shines with the CW and PW rubbed with indigo, making the initials more distinct. “Jahleel, how?”
“Might’ve broken your rules and lied about not intervening. Steele has had men looking for it since you told me. The chain is gone, so I made it into a pendant to wear like a royal order.”
My fingers trace every inch—the filigree, even the dents made to the lid when Papa dropped it. “I have no words, just gratefulness.”
Laying the box on the vanity, he takes the watch from the box and pins it to my shoulder. I embrace him and hold him so tightly.
He kisses my brow. Steps back and looks at me. “But something is missing.”
“Nothing. This is perfect.”
Digging into his pocket, he shakes his head. “The watch is technically from your father. Now something from me.” He draws out a necklace, a perfect ruby with diamonds. It sparkles like fire.
It matches my shoes. “Jahleel, this is too much.”
“It’s not enough. You should be spoiled and pampered. My days, long or short, you’re a gift to my life. This small token must be on the loveliest big girl at my ball.”
Succumbing to the fiery color, I turn and allow him to drape it across my throat. For a moment, his hand settles on my waist.
“There.” He spins me to him. “This is an image I want to keep for the rest of my life.”
This close to him, I savor myrrh and sandalwood—scents of sacrifice and power.
Heady, I do something daring and ease my palms up his chest. Smoothing the sash and the double row of frogging, the tightly woven silver braiding adorning the front of his jacket, I tell him, “I don’t want us to fight anymore.
I want to give Lydia a birthday party where we both get along. ”
“Da, getting along is fine with me. We are friends, caring ones, thick as thieves.”
I reach for the generous man, standing on my tippy toes, arching my feet in slippers that jingle with gems. Jahleel leans to me. Our lips meet in the middle.
I’m dizzy, drawing deeper into him. I taste tea and joy, a bit of rum too. Maybe we don’t go down. Maybe, if we stay in each other’s arms, we can have forever.
The music begins, filtering from below. Jahleel reluctantly lets me go. “That’s our signal. It’s time to attend.”
He sweeps past me and puts the box on the vanity. His hazel eyes shift to the incomplete legal papers for our London separation, the equivalent of a writ of divorcement.
I ache, picturing the whole night ruined. “I still haven’t added a date. Let’s not discuss these.”
“Nyet. We finish.” He uncorks my ink, dips my feather quill, and makes a quick mark. “That would be September 16, 1810, three and a half months after Lydia’s birth. We have a happy beautiful seven-year-old.”
The pen taps to the page. “Scarlett held our little babe near the last row. I remember.”
With a flourish, he finishes and drops the quill. “Done. No more avoiding the past. Tonight, we begin our future.”
It’s done—after three years of fighting with him and myself. With ink and calmness, Jahleel ends us. But this time no one walks away.
“Mr. Thom and his sons have signed your offer. I’ll give Lord Ashbrook all the pages tonight.”
From his jacket, he pulls out a piece of parchment. “Just awaits your signature.”
“Efficient.” I take up the quill and sign where he points. “Thank you for handling this.”
“Monies have also been transferred. You can legitimately say that Wilcox Coal is no more.”
Those words make my head hurt, but it’s for the best. “Thom-Wilcox Coal has a great lineage.”
“Your money is in my study, in the top drawer on my desk. Where will a free woman of means go?”
Waggling a finger at him, I summon him. “That’s my new deal. I want you to think of having a permanent mistress.”
“Katherine. We don’t—”
“Me. I’m applying. I want you, Jahleel. Titles, court writs, and paper should never come between us. Mr. Steele should remove the locks, maybe the whole door, that separate our chambers.”
I kiss him, and he kisses me back, whispering his love in Russian.
But I tell him with my whole heart, “I love you. I was wrong to leave you, to think of leaving again. Let’s go into the garden and marry like true Cossacks. Let’s be English tomorrow and marry in Anya House.”
“Oh, what a time to realize that we should be together forever, no matter what that means.” His hold fades. “I like the terms of this new offer. I want you with me, but let’s get through the ball. Then we’ll formalize our new deal, giving ourselves a moment to move without haste.”
About to agree, I shiver when I coil my arm about his. “What’s going to happen at the ball? You think something new will make me run?”
He glares at me, the emotions of a moment ago drained away. Then I know that this ball will again change everything between us. “Katia, are we in this together? No matter what?”
I’m scared, but more so of showing doubts. “As you wish. I’m at your side.”
“Then let’s go.” He leads me forward. We move in the same direction, leaving behind our private affairs for a very public ball.
Princess Elizaveta and Lady Lydia lead the way, and we begin our descent of the grand stairs. The tiara the princess wears bears rubies similar in size and facets to my necklace. My notion that this gift is a generous trinket disappears. Jahleel has given me a legacy.
I want to touch the jewels that rest on my throat, make the ones on my shoes jiggle; instead, I make a pledge to be worthy of their weight.
I focus on the seed pearls woven into Lydia’s braids and how she walks like both her grandmothers with her head lifted high.
The muslin gown has smocking on the bodice and sleeves, but her hem is made very much like mine but with pink satin.
Like this, we could be painted and hung next to the other Charles family portrait. Excitement stirs. The crowd swells out of the ballroom into our grand hall. Some clap as they see us.
At the bottom, the princess stops. “Jasha, you have given me the Winter Palace.”
“This is our home, Mamen’ka. Anya would want a house named after her to be the best of St. Petersburg and London.”
“Our home. The Charles home.” Lydia bubbles. “I love it.”
When Jahleel takes the final tread, he looks at his mother. “I hope this convinces you to stay. Your being here has meant everything.”
“You’re persuasive like Andrew. He could always get me with a grand gesture. Hang the demons he couldn’t slay, Jasha. Then you may have a deal.”
Wait. There are more demons? And Jahleel bargains with everyone. He beams as if he’s assured of victory. I take his hand as we’re announced. “Jahleel Andrewovich Charles, the Duke of Torrance.
“Princess Elizaveta Abramovna Gannibal Charles.
“Lady Lydia Jahleelovna Charles.
“Katherine Wilcox Palmers, Lady Hampton.”
As Lydia and the princess enter, I stay at the door.
Jahleel comes to my side. “Will you not join us?”
“They didn’t announce my name correctly. They left out Charles. I was Katherine Charles once, the former Viscountess Audben. That name is important.”
He offers me a full, warm smile and straightens my necklace. His fingers linger just long enough to heat my skin and race my heart. “Tonight, your greatest title is mother to our child and the dealmaker of my heart. I’m so pleased we get to celebrate another birthday together.”
Before I can tell him how much Lydia wants us to be normal, Mr. Steele nods to him. The light leaves Jahleel’s eyes. His smile disappears. He whispers, “Our enemies are here. Be on guard.”
Jahleel has set everything in motion to finish the game. He used the vices of the men who served on the Court of Chancery to destroy them. I wonder who’s the target tonight. I tuck my arm about his. We go forward together. I’m not leaving. I will fight and win at his side.