Page 89 of Better Love Next Time
Compared to the events of Easter, the last fortnight had come in like a lamb, and the sense of impending doom had skulked away. If only Julian wished to marry her. But she hadn’t brought up Anthony or marriage since their discussion lest he think she wheedled for a proposal.
She sought out Clara to help her dress for Julian’s birthday dinner, donning a blush-rose, close-bodied gown made over from one of her mother’s sacque gowns. Her petticoat was cream, her bodice adorned with bows. Her tight sleeves dripped with lace engageantes. Kitty brushed the silk overskirt, wondering if her mother’s hand had touched the same spot and what she had thought when she did. She hoped they had been happy thoughts.
Clara brushed her hair from her forehead and pinned barrel curls from the crown to the back. She coaxed one curl over her shoulder. “See there,” she said behind Kitty in the looking glass. “That young lady is pretty as a penny.”
Kitty rode to Farendon with Father Dunlevy in the Babbington’s dilapidated coach. The silence was tense. Kitty rolled the ring on her finger.
“You will bring Mr. St. Clair to the point tonight,” he said as the coach crunched on Farendon’s gravel drive. “Or I will.”
Kitty looked up in surprise.
“Do not feign innocence with me, Katherine. I know.” His eyes were soft, unlike his tone. “I blame myself. I assumed the young man was a gentleman given his breeding and would save you from Sir Jeffrey. I cannot think you would have allowed him liberties without the promise of marriage. But you have.”
Kitty looked away.
“You get what you expect in this world. And you expect a pittance. You deserve more and if you do not believe it, heed me well. I have not spent my life watching over you so you could throw it away on a boy who holds you in contempt. Who values you as a man does a serving wench. That is what you are, Katherine, in his eyes. A woman easily had and discarded.”
Kitty let the words sink in, shame flaming her face. At length, she said, “He is stubborn.”
“Yes. He is. And has you dancing to his tune like a puppet.”
Kitty hung her head. “Father, he did not force me. It is my fault.”
“Then do something to rectify your mistake. And if you think to let him off, to save him discomfort, think of the child you may be carrying.”
She reached for her handkerchief and realized she was too stunned to cry.
Father exited the coach and handed her down. “I will give you until the morning. Then it will be my responsibility.”
Kitty stumbled on the drive. “W-What if I find another to marry me?”
“Are you prepared to tell this other you come to the marriage possibly carrying another man’s child?”
Her stomach revolted at the image of giving herself to any man but Julian. And telling that man what she had done. She climbed the stairs to the Gold Drawing Room and at the entrance pasted a serene smile. Her mother had taught her the ways to hide fear.
She faltered, her gaze fixed on her mother’s pianoforte in the corner opposite the bank of towering windows draped in gold damask. Georgiana saved her, walking her to Uncle William who introduced her to a woman with greying blond hair, all warmth and fragile beauty, Julian’s mother, the Countess of Tindall. Kitty curtsied to Julian’s sister, Caroline, as beautiful as her mother. Then, Oliver St. Clair, Julian’s brother.
Finally, Anthony Philips stepped forward, resplendent in dark blue which intensified the crystal blue of his eyes. He brushed a kiss to her hand.
Julian was late to his own birthday party.
One more year before I can tell the Earl of Tindall to go to hell. Though Julian had already told his father in other ways.
Julian took Farendon’s main stairs by two toward the sound of manly good cheer and animated feminine voices. His legs were numb from the punishing course he had run to lose the anger brought on by Anthony’s visit. His friend had heartily embraced him, wished him a most happy birthday, and then, “I’m going to marry that beautiful fairy of yours.”
Fairy. Julian’s vision had gone dark pink.
Disturbing reflections had chased him through his exercise. Julian had run faster. Kitty in Anthony’s arms. Kitty in bed with Anthony, whisperingI love you. Worse, Kitty crying out, her hair draped over Anthony in black abandon and coming courtesy of Anthony. Kitty with child. Kitty with Anthony’s children. Kitty mistress of Anthony’s six houses. Kitty becoming the Countess of Wetherden. Kitty hosting parties, greeting Julian as a friend, introducing him to their children and guests he didn’t know because he didn’t know Kitty anymore.
Kitty growing older, lines etched about her eyes from smiling because she was happy. Kitty with her grandchildren. Kitty a great-grandmother. Kitty sitting vigil as Anthony went to the devil. Kitty dying from a broken heart. Kitty’s grave, right next to Anthony’s. A shared tomb with some poetic drivel inscribed. Something from John Donne such as after one such love, can love no more. Or whoever wrote the line of loving on first sight.
Over five miles, Julian had played out Kitty’s entire life.
He paused at the drawing room’s expansive double entrance. No one saw him standing there in his exercise clothes. Not Kitty who smiled into Anthony’s face while he lied to her about charities for the unfortunate. Otherwise known as high-flyers. Whores. Mistresses.
He strode to his room and ripped off his clothes. Planting his hands to the dressing table, he glared into the looking glass. He hadn’t shaved in what? A week? His hair had grown well past his shoulders. He peered closer. Beneath his eyes were shadows from living on limited sleep. Two usually, depending on how long he talked with Kitty and how many times he bedded her.
Julian shoved off the table. Why care about his appearance when all he did was study, exercise, and visit Kitty?
