Page 71 of Better Love Next Time
In his room, he removed his wet clothing, dried himself, and mindless to the chill, sprawled in his drawers and opened Kitty’s letter.
Dearest Julian,
Lord Staverton is coming to Notfelle for Easter as his wife of less than a year has died and he is in search of a third. Sir Jeffrey has ordered me to be receptive. He has also sold my mother’s pianoforte for a hunter and a gun and so LordStaverton may eat us out of house and home while he presses his suit upon me. Jesus would not approve. He could not.He could not.
I am to remain homebound through Easter. I fear Sir Jeffrey may never allow me to leave again. An absurd fear, you might judge, but one must never assume situations cannot worsen. Indeed, I feel my life so far has proven thus.
I am a wretched girl for having refused to see you for so long. I am sorry. Please forgive me, but I have no witty subscription.
Kitty
CHAPTER TWENTY
That Night
Notfelle Estate, England
The unpadded kneelerbit into Kitty’s knees where she knelt in the prayer closet off the nursery. Lit by a candle on an ancient, iron sconce, the small space with naked plastered walls and a crucifix was warmer than the nursery. She reckoned the hours passed without Julian and the many more to follow. Beyond the closet door, rain pummeled the night. She hoped it delayed Lord Staverton from arriving tomorrow. She hoped he met with a fatal accident, and then she prayed for forgiveness for her vicious aspirations.
Clara had delivered her letter, unable to assure Kitty that Julian would reply. For Kitty’s health, Clara had also advised obedience where Sir Jeffrey was concerned. If she was forced to marry Lord Staverton, it was well he was old, corpulent, and gouty.
“The baron is not long for the world,” Clara had said. “Perhaps a year you must suffer him, and then you will be free. Widows have a degree of independence, you will see.”
You will see. As if her fate were already written.
She would rather die.
How was that to be when she was seventeen and had overcome the mildest cases of measles, chicken pox, and putrid throat? With Georgiana, she had been ingrafted with smallpox and had been fit after a week.
Jesus could not approve of Kitty suffering a year. She had watched her mother suffer, helpless to save her. Was it not enough? Once she had come between Sir Jeffrey and her mother and had received a blackened eye. She should be hoping for Sir Jeffrey to meet with a fatal accident. If the accident occurred before next week, she could save her mother’s pianoforte.
“I don’t wish him a prolonged misery,” she whispered to the crucifix. “You may dispatch him quickly. He is my father. Supposedly.”
Kitty had Father Dunlevy’s hazel eyes. It fed her dream that a handsome, noble priest had loved her mother.
“I am sorry,” she said, “but I cannot help my murderous thoughts.”
“Jesus forgives you.”
Kitty blinked at Jesus on the cross. Had she lost her wits? She swung her head to the door. Julian’s solemn eyes studied her as water dripped to the scarred floor from his greatcoat.
“H-How did you get in?” she asked.
“Through the postern by the chapel.”
She hadn’t even prayed for Julian to come to her, and yet it felt like an answered prayer, and if ever she were faced with another disaster, she knew what she would pray for.
He wiped the rain from his face with his sleeve. “Should I leave?”
“No. No, please stay.”
He reached behind, shut the door, and tossed his cocked hat to the floor. Kitty leapt from the kneeler, throwing herarms around his neck. “Oh, Julian. Thank you. Thank you.” She buried her face in his sodden coat, the skin at his throat warm on her brow. Wet cold seeped into her wool robe, but she didn’t care. She kissed his jaw, squeezed him with every ounce of her strength. “All my troubles are bearable now. All of them.”
He slipped his coat from his shoulders as she held on and threw it to the opposite wall. It splat upon the floor as he circled her waist and brought her close into his sheltering embrace. The familiar scent of citrus and spice and earthy rain surrounded her.
“I will help you bear your troubles,” he said.
“I will never marry Staverton.”
