Page 88 of The Irish Gypsy
"Well, for example, take an innocent thinglike afternoon tea."
"My dear lady, you aren't suggesting...."
"Of course I'm suggesting! Big overstuffedsofas are more comfortable than featherbeds. Now, here's where thehypocrisy comes in. The Victorian woman is one mass of pads,cushions and corsets from head to foot. Frilled trailing skirtsprevent a man from going up and boned necklines prevent him fromgoing down, so what is the very latest fashion? Why, the tea gownof course. That miracle garment which falls loosely about thefigure and can be discarded in a trice. Our society is based on thehypocrisy of not being found out. Why, the last weekend we had inthe country I needed a bloody program to keep the players straightas they went from one bedroom to another!"
"Brava, brava, my girl," cheered Lady Derby."Taking tea with other men's wives is a shameful custom."
Lord Palmerston bowed to Kitty with a twinklein his eye. "Your husband is a lucky man, and I shall tell him sowhen I confirm his new appointment."
The London house in Strand Lane had lawnsthat sloped down to the river. Kitty and Charles Patrick wererunning back up to the house. His shoes were muddy from theriverbank and he played tag so fiercely with his mother that hishair stood on end. The dampness had given both a wild look. Shetook tea in the nursery with him and by the time he was finished,jam had smeared up his cheek and into his curls. His mouth openedin a cavernous yawn."
"I think you're tired," she said.
"Not!" he protested stubbornly, but at thesame time he yawned again.
"Look, you be a good boy and have a nap now,and later, when nurse gives you your bath, I'll come up andwatch."
"Can I splash you?"
"Not in this velvet dress you can't."
"I'll splash nurse," he countered.
"You little bugger, I bet you will," she saidand laughed.
"Daddy?" he asked hopefully.
"I suppose he'll let you," she agreed andlifted him into bed, fully dressed, minus the muddy shoes.
"I love you," she whispered.
"Love you," he answered sweetly.
She slipped into her bedroom to smooth herhair before Charles arrived. It was almost five and she could counton his arrival like clockwork. She was on the upstairs hall landingwhen she heard him.
"Kathleen, come and see the surprise I havefor you!" he shouted happily.
She lifted her skirt and began a rapiddescent when his next words caused her to hesitate.
"Can you imagine the damned fellow being inEngland months and not visiting us?"
Her eyes sought out the dark figure beyondCharles, and she stopped dead from the sudden shock.
"You're not seeing a ghost--it's your cousinPatrick."
He looked as reluctant as she was for thismeeting as he took a stiff, tentative step forward.
"Bumped into him this afternoon andpractically had to drag him here," continued Charles in a heartytone.
She swayed visibly and caught hold of thebanister to steady herself. Time stood still as she confronted theman who stood before her. His mouth was set in a grim line, hisbody tense. His eyes were sharp as a hawk's; they would missnothing. His aristocratic face tilted arrogantly and he said in adeliberately bored voice, "How are you, cousin?"
Anger began to swell inside her and she moveddown the staircase with eyes blazing. "Weren't you able to pull offmarriage with the American, then?" she asked cuttingly.
"I leave marriage to others," he saiddangerously.
"Ah, you don't know what you are missing, myboy," said Charles, who had no idea how inflammatory the remarkwas.
Patrick stiffened visibly as he watched Kittythrough narrowed eyes. She could feel his hatred, but could notcomprehend it. It was she who had the right to hate him after whathe had done to her.
