Page 84 of Better Love Next Time
“No, I will not. Because of you, my mother’s wedding ring is gone. Her silver. Her pianoforte. Everything of value she brought to her marriage. How did you defend her? You didn’t.You stood by with your godly speeches while my father beat her. You killed her as much as he. I hate you. I hate God!”
He paled. “I tried to help her. But she…” Tears shone in his eyes. “I loved your mother, Katherine.”
Kitty scoffed. “Everyone did.”
He turned to the stone wall with the icon of Mary brought out for the season and ready to be hidden if authorities were to call. He traced the line of Mary’s head canted in sorrow.
“I do not support the Jacobite cause,” he said. “Do what you will with this information. I take Sir Jeffrey’s money, yes. But think, Katherine, of the times I have plied Sir Jeffrey for funds. What details have I provided?”
“What details are required?”
“He assumes when I speak of victory, it is the Jacobites’. But the real victory is for a far worthier cause. Yours. Your dowry.”
Kitty looked aghast. “You lie.”
“Your mother formed the scheme. She beseeched me in her last letter to continue. Her hope was to find a husband worthy of you. One you respected. And loved.” He twisted to face her. “You will not marry Staverton. And you did well tonight. The dowager is set against you. Now you must permanently fix her disfavor.”
Reaching in his coat, he handed her a vial. “Mix this with your sherry when we return to the drawing room. It will cause violent emesis. Stay close to the dowager and ensure she is your mark.”
Kitty wrapped her fingers around the vial. “You wish me to vomit on the dowager?”
“It will not be pleasant for you. But I will bring you more doses to keep you from Lord Staverton for the duration of the holiday. It will also keep Sir Jeffrey from raising his hand to you.”
“I had just finished playing Bach’s Partita Number One,” Kitty said, “when the first wave of sickness came over me. To say it was not pleasant, well, having been rarely ill in my life, I felt most ill-prepared.”
“Who is well-prepared to vomit on a dowager?” Julian drawled. Sitting sideways on her bed, his back to the wall, he handed Kitty a piece of cheese from the selection of plates arranged on the rumpled mattress. “Eat. You have eight days of nourishment to make up for.”
“Nine,” she said, devouring the cheese. “Father Dunlevy felt it best I have two more purges after the Stavertons departed for authenticity’s sake.”
“What a schemer. I can see where you get it now.”
“He’s not truly my father.”
“Mm-hmm.” Stretching across the head of the bed where she sat in her billowing nightshift, he plopped a slice of ham in her mouth. “What next?”
“I walked as calmly as I could to the dowager who reposed on the red settee with Father Dunlevy.”
“Suppose he didn’t want for any innocents to be assaulted.”
“He offered me his seat,” she said.
“A noble gent.”
“And then the most horrible wave came upon me. I was perspiring from places on my body I didn’t know existed. My mouth watered. My eyes were nearly crossed and bulging from my head. Lady Staverton was lecturing me on proper decorum, details unknown, just the gist, mind, and then, it was done.”
“Done?You cannot tell me you plotted to toss your accounts on an old prig dowager and then say it was done. I need specifics.The color, textures, quantity. Where did it land? Did she swoon? Curse? Half the fun of a scheme is the retelling.”
Julian fed her another piece of ham, and she satisfied his need, specifics which curdled her stomach at the memory. The first dose of antimonial had been too large, Father had relayed with an apology. The ones that followed had been mild in comparison.
By the time she finished her revised retelling, she was stuffed with food and could hardly breathe.
“When I cracked your bedroom door that night and saw Clara at your bedside, I nearly shit myself.” At her gasp, Julian said, “Had an urgent use for the privy.”
Kitty bit her lip. “I fear Sir Jeffrey will dismiss her after my speech on tolerance. Though I meant every word, it was careless.”
She stacked the plates and set them to the floor before fluffing her pillow and reclining back to the mattress. Julian slipped in beside her in his drawers, gathering her in his arms.
“When did Staverton officially give up the ghost?” Julian asked.
