Chapter 9 Kitty
I can calculate the motion of heavenly bodies,
but not the madness of men.
SIR ISAAC NEWTON
“I have never been more embarrassed in all my life.”
Grandfather’s toneless declaration, much colder and more foreboding than his usual biting scoldings, brought tears to my eyes as I stood in the drawing room just past noon the next day, the sunlight slanting through the windows in bright, unforgiving shafts.
He slapped a caricature sheet onto the table, the picture of me dancing in the arms of Lord Chudley somehow grotesque and exaggerated. My nose had never been so large!
But it was the heavy shading, meant to mock the color of my skin, that brought an odd quiver to my chest.
“Who drew this?” I demanded hotly.
“Does it matter? It has circulated throughout all of London! But if you must know—” He snatched the paper again and thrust it into my face. “Mr. Scathmore of the London Scrounger!”
“Imagine a man hiding behind such a ridiculous name.” I lifted my chin. “Besides, Lord Chudley asked me twice. I did not want to offend my host.”
Grandfather fumed as he paced in front of me, crumpling the hideous cartoon before tossing it into the fireplace.
“You know such actions call your character into question. Your engagement was all but announced. In fact, I had planned to offer a dinner in the weeks to come where we would share the news with friends and guests. The banns would have been printed if Mr. Sinclair hadn’t asked me to wait.”
He had asked such a thing? The revelation stunned me—more than I cared to admit.
“Mr. Sinclair may not ask for my hand after all,” I couldn’t resist adding.
Now it was Grandfather’s turn to flush red. And so he did until the veins tracing paths in his nose seemed even more stark.
“He will ask at the proper time, when you are not gallivanting to bluestocking salons and making a fool of yourself. If I know Lord Sinclair, his grandson will do the deed or face the wrath of both families. Lord Sinclair and I had an arrangement, and I didn’t risk my life—” He pressed his lips closed.
The weight of old memories evidently threatened to spill forth, and he’d almost let them escape.
“For nothing,” he finished, more controlled.
Goose pimples scattered across my arms at the bold admission and my stomach curdled. I did not need another reminder that I was naught but a business arrangement. Mr. Sinclair had told me as much.
I folded my arms across my chest, trying to read the lines etched deeply into the colonel’s face.
“What exactly did you risk your life for, Grandfather?”
He met my stare for a heartbeat, then looked away and cleared his throat. “I made sure our family had a future. You’ll understand one day.”
“Until Mr. Sinclair asks for my hand, I shall continue to enjoy my stay in London,” I answered as evenly as I could.
Grandfather and I glared at each other as if preparing for battle. I straightened despite my quivering insides.
“No more jeopardizing this alliance with foolish stunts—bluestocking salons, two dances with the same man, all of it immortalized in this idiotic cartoon.” He all but snarled, his fists clenched at his sides.
I had never seen him so angry, and a chill swept through me.
I knew the rules. I simply didn’t care for them, especially the more I tasted of high society.
But arguing with him would prove futile.
Instead, I swept out of the room with as much dignity as I could muster, all the while wishing I could send my mother a letter.
Words swirled in my head, expressing every single thought and emotion that crossed my mind.
Of course, I had no intention of sending all the notes sequestered in my bedroom.
They contained my deepest longings and my hidden desires.
I made my way to the library filled with leather-bound books Grandfather hardly read and Aunt had no use for. I would be safe in this room. Alone at last.
After sinking into a leather chair, I spied my copy of Herschel’s On the Construction of the Heavens, and opened it, hoping the words would somehow burrow into my soul and distract me from my troubles. I removed the ribbon bookmark and traced the paragraphs until I found a new section.
All human discoveries seem to be made only for the purpose of confirming more strongly the truths come from on high, and contained in the sacred writings.
I stared at the words until they blurred.
Herschel’s writing suggested a divine Architect creating an ordered world.
I set it aside, the knot in my chest tightening.
There was too much order in my life, too many rules and expectations pressing down on me, none of them my own.
Yet nothing felt right. Everything hung on the fragile threads of other people’s whims and approval.
A headache throbbed at the base of my skull as I considered how my actions must have appeared last night. Now I was the object of scorn, thanks to Mr. Scathmore’s ludicrous caricatures.
Frustrated, I rose and walked to the desk next to the window, where paper and a jar of ink waited. Within moments, I had poured out my heart to my mother, pausing only to blow on the ink to dry.
Dearest Mother,
I have truly bungled matters. If only I had a woman to guide me.
Aunt is of no help, fainting at the slightest hint of alarm.
I want to believe God has a purpose in all of this, but why does He feel so far away when I need Him most?
This season feels unbearable, as though every choice I make only tightens the noose around my freedom.
Aunt has ensured my wardrobe is impeccable, but no silk gown or beaded slipper can help me belong among the other English ladies.
They are so polished, so confident in their charms. I long to be chosen by someone for who I am, but even that seems a hopeless wish.
Not even Mr. Sinclair could possibly care—not truly.
This has all been arranged, and he is simply determined to see it through.
The dreadful cartoon . . . It mocked everything about me: my appearance, my lack of manners, even my desperation.
Grandfather insists I am scheming, but the truth is, I haven’t the heart for it.
I am no coquette, nor do I wish to be. I only want something real, something like the love you and Father shared.
Is it foolish to want to find you and dare hope to reclaim the family we once had?
I didn’t need to scheme, as Grandfather put it. I only needed our family drama to play out naturally, as it always had, and I would easily frighten any man within the next month or two.
Low voices echoed in the hallway as my quill scratched against the sheet.
“You will not tell him what you saw last night, will you, Mr. Sinclair?” Edward’s voice—low and desperate—filtered through the open door.
“I saw you watching, but let’s not cause any unnecessary drama, shall we?
The colonel is furious enough as it is. I’ve kept running tabs at the clubs for quite some time. ”
Ah, so Edward had gambled at the faro tables.
“That is for you to tell, but I would advise against secrets,” Sebastian replied.
“Yet you settled my debts for me. Blasted Lord Ashcombe thought he could get the better of me. The man has had a vendetta ever since I won against him a month ago.”
I set down the quill and strained to hear Sebastian’s answer, which was too soft to make out from beyond the paneled library walls. The tension in their tones made my stomach twist.
“Good man. I can’t thank you enough,” Edward said, sounding much relieved.
The words rang hollow in my ears. How could Edward feel so readily at ease with Sebastian when I was anything but? Edward was my ally, not Sebastian’s.
Why was I thinking of that dreadful man by his Christian name?
My thoughts spiraled back to the caricature, the ink strokes etched like a brand in my memory.
Had Lord Chudley seen it?
I groaned loudly before I could stop it. Hoping no one heard, I burrowed into the chair, my heart pounding with shame. I grabbed the nearest book from the desk and hid behind it.
But it was too late.
Two heads peered around the corner, their presence unmistakable.
“Why are you hiding here, behind a book, no less?” my brother demanded with an arched brow as he approached me with Sebastian following. “Surely you must have seen the delivery that came earlier.”
“Delivery? Whatever do you mean?” I demanded as I straightened in my seat, smoothing the folds of my morning gown.
“Flowers,” Edward said with his trademark smirk. “White camellias, I believe. And forget-me-nots.”
Before I could respond, Sebastian glanced at the tome in my hand. “Pride and Prejudice. I am shocked, Miss Grenville. I thought you read only astronomy.”
“Ha! If you’re trying to win her over, you’ll have to do better than categorizing the books as fluff,” Edward cut in with a wink. “Kit adores her romances. The more brooding the hero, the better.”
“Does she now?” Sebastian replied. Something shivered within me at his perusal.
I disliked how these two men seemed to be becoming fast friends. I had distinctly asked Edward for his help and now he appeared a chum with the man beside him.
I clutched the book. “Do you make a habit of sneaking up on unsuspecting readers, Mr. Sinclair? I’ll have you know that this story is one of the finest reads to rival astronomy.”
Sebastian’s smile deepened, causing twin dimples to carve his cheeks. “Her reputation precedes her. My sister-in-law once cornered me to discuss whether I thought Mr. Darcy or Mr. Bingley made the superior match.”
“And what did you decide?” I asked, intrigued despite myself.
“Bingley,” he replied without hesitation. “The man has charm and tact. Darcy, on the other hand—” He raised an eyebrow. “Brooding, cold, insufferably proud and insulting of Miss Bennet’s family. What woman could possibly tolerate such a pompous man?”
My lips twitched. “Elizabeth Bennet manages it well enough.”