Page 83 of Better Love Next Time
The dowager’s sparse brows rose.
“Character is fixed,” Kitty said, “well before a girl is of marrying age. That is why parents must needs guide their daughters from a tender age to learn what is righteous and accept the authority of their elders when presented with perplexing situations that may stir them to act by sentiment.”
“You seem to know well the expectations of a daughter,” the dowager said over her wine, “and yet you infer you do not aspire to them.”
“A fact.” Kitty rushed to clink her glass against the dowager’s, slopping wine on the tablecloth.
The woman blinked repeatedly. Kitty returned to her dinner.
Over dessert, Sir Jeffrey announced a donation of five hundred pounds to Father Dunlevy and the Roman Church in support of the Stuart cause. Everyone save Kitty cheered. Father Dunlevy was asked to divulge his plans for its use. Would the funds go to aid the Jacobites in invading England? A hundred thousand troops were at the ready. Surely they needed more guns and ammunition. And Charles Stuart was rumored to have gone to France to impress upon the French the need for their assistance.
Kitty’s mood plummeted to feral depths.
Father Dunlevy, the kind, attentive man she wished was her father, smoothed down his simple black waistcoat. “Indeed, we require every farthing to ensure victory. Thank you, Sir Jeffrey, for your generous support.”
Sir Jeffrey puffed up like a rooster. Kitty expected him to crow.
“Oh, blessed day,” Mrs. Delaney exclaimed, “when we, the true believers, may all rightfully worship in public.”
“And send all heretics to the stake,” the dowager said.
Kitty looked to the diners. “But they are our friends and neighbors. England has been Protestant for 125 years.” She turned to the dowager who had gasped. “Those you wish to burn are surely innocent of heresy. They were raised in the faith of their fathers. Just as you have been raised. Perhaps you should seek acceptance instead of mur?—”
“Katherine,” Sir Jeffrey said in the stunned quiet. “That is enough.”
Father Dunlevy met her gaze across the table, his thoughts hidden behind his hazel eyes.
Sir Jeffrey chuckled and drew his napkin from his shoulder to wipe his mouth. “My daughter, always daydreaming with her sketches when she hasn’t got her nose in a book. I’ll have to speak to her further.”
Kitty could feel the slap’s sting on her cheek already. But if the Dowager Lady Staverton advised her son to quit his suit on account of her impudent speech, she would gladly take a whipping.
“Perhaps, Sir Jeffrey,” the dowager said, “you should speak to your daughter’s governess.”
Clara! Why hadn’t she thought of her before speaking?
“Well put, Mother,” Lord Staverton said. “And certainly a girl don’t know what’s best when she hasn’t been taught. She’ll come around.”
The dowager rose from the table as if it were her right to end dinner as the mistress of the house. “Ladies, shall we leave the men?”
Something sharp stripped up Kitty’s calf. She jerked her head down to peer beneath the table. Lord Staverton had slipped his gouty foot out his shoe and raked his jagged toenail up her leg.
In horror, Kitty kicked his foot away and dashed from the room. In the family chapel, she heaved over the back of a chair and circled it to drop down in relief. She prayed over her knees.
“Dear God. Holy Mother. Help me to resist murder. Fortify my soul for the beating which is sure to come. Give me strength to?—”
“Katherine.”
Kitty shot up at Father Dunlevy’s entreating tone. His eyes and mouth were turned down, as if he were guilty of a crime. And he was.
“Don’t you dare speak to me,” she said. “‘We require every farthing to ensure victory?’ Do you know who requires farthings? Me! This home! Not your stupid cause. And I am independent and impudent. And Iread. England will never be Catholic again. On that I would bet my life. It is over. Those who fan the flames of rebellion do it for power and money, whichyouhave taken from Sir Jeffrey for years.”
He walked toward her, arms outstretched. Kitty skirted him, gripping a chair back and willing to use it. He dropped his arms.
“Katherine,” he said, “I wish no one to burn for their faith. I work for tolerance as well.”
“Yet you wish to smite them with an army of one hundred thousand. Do you believe those who gain power will pursue tolerance? What in history predicts this? They will slaughter my friends. Georgiana, Julian, Uncle William, Anthony. Mrs. Markel, every merchant, every farmer.Thatis on your head.”
“Will you sit?”
