Chapter Twenty-Two
Kitty awoke to the sobering knowledge she was alone in the big bed.
Stretching out her arm she felt cold linens…Max must have risen quite some time before. It was barely eight o’clock, but she couldn’t go back to sleep. There was no warm body to snuggle into.
That thought sent another in its wake. What would she do when there was no more Max? She had no illusions. He’d taken her as his mistress and it had been an outrageous maneuver that had become a marvellous experience for her. And for him as well, she hoped.
But all things must end—especially the tenure of mistresses.
It would be time to go home to Ridlington and perhaps reassess her life. She could not imagine continuing to reside in town and risk meeting Max at social occasions, or hearing about his latest mistress.
No, that would kill her—rip her heart right out of her chest and render her quite dead.
Unbidden, tears stung the backs of her eyes, but she pushed them away and swung her legs out over the bed. She refused to start the day by being maudlin and weepy. Two sentiments she’d abhorred in others, and ones she did not intend to indulge in herself.
Today was a new day, and there were new opportunities for inquiries about the carriage accident. If she could return to Ridlington with an adequate answer as to why Hecate was so badly injured, it would be a wonderful achievement.
Walking into the parlor and finding herself alone wasn’t quite so wonderful, but she remained hopeful, accepting tea from Deery.
“Mr. Max asked me to let you know he had some urgent matters to deal with early this morning, but that he hopes to be back no later than ten.”
“Very well,” she nodded. “Thank you. Is Mrs. Chaney about yet?”
“I have not seen her as of this moment, Miss Ridlington.” Deery placed a warm scone in front of her. “Cook thought you might fancy these this morning. It’s quite chilly outside.”
“Oooh, how lovely. Cook had the right of it.” She buttered a scone and liberally added blackberry preserve. “I hope Mr. Max wrapped up warmly.”
“He did indeed. I saw to it myself. Since he was riding, it was most important.” Deery nodded.
“He didn’t take the coach?”
“No, he said it would be faster by horse.”
“Goodness, he must have been in a hurry,” remarked Kitty. “And early too.”
“Indeed, Miss. Although Mr. Max is never averse to an early morning ride.”
Kitty’s mind whirled down completely disgraceful paths, but she hid her blush behind another mouthful of scone. “Please compliment Cook for me, Deery. And if she made the blackberry preserves as well…I think she deserves a nice bonus and I shall speak with Mr. Max about it as soon as he arrives home.” She smiled at the man.
Who, to her surprise, smiled back. “Thank you, Miss. Cook will be most pleased to know her efforts were appreciated.”
It was somewhat surprising, mused Kitty, finding herself completely alone at Mowbray House. Grace had not put in an appearance at the breakfast table, and thus Kitty had been reduced to her favorite corner of the library, and a book.
She wasn’t averse to a morning’s reading in front of a nice fire, but with the advances they’d made in their pursuit of the truth—well, she’d hoped for a slightly more active and interesting time of it.
However, it was barely half an hour later when she heard a slight hubbub in the hall, and could only hope it was Max returning. And that he might have some news or plans to alleviate her frustrated isolation.
Her prayers were answered.
“Kitty?” He spoke her name as he walked in to the library. “Here you are. Good.” He crossed the room, grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her up, giving her a hard smacking kiss on the mouth.
“And good morning to you as well,” she said in surprise as he released her.
“Right then. We have a lot to do this morning. So you should go and dress. Or change your hat. Or whatever women do before going into town.”
“We’re going into London?”
“Yes we are.” He was grinning at her, a look of restrained exuberance on his face.
“You have a plan.”
“I do indeed.” He fidgeted, and glanced at the clock. “Do hurry, sweetheart. Time and tide waits for none, as somebody once said.”
“It’s a proverb, I think,” she muttered as she picked up her shawl.
“I have ordered the coach, since it’s bloody cold. Riding was out of the question.”
She was walking to the door. “That’s a sensible notion.”
“Yes. All right. I’ll meet you at the front door. No shilly-shallying, now…” He almost tripped over the carpet in his haste to open the door for her.
“Max, you’re acting rather unlike yourself this morning. Are you sure you’re feeling all right?”
He huffed out a large breath. “Of course I’m all right. I’m just impatient. There are things we must do today and I am anxious to get them done as soon as possible.”
“Very well,” she frowned. “I’ll be but a moment.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” he called after her as she hurried up the stairs.
Good God, he’s got a bee in his bonnet about something!
*~~*~~*
To say he was impatient was an understatement. Max felt as if he glowed around the edges.
All his plans, every single stratagem, had worked so far. Yes, he’d had to rise well before dawn, write his notes, dress and ride to London, and then rouse his quarries from their own sound slumber.
However, when he had explained his plans, everyone had seemed to be encouraging and compliant; thus he could fetch Kitty and get them on their way with every reason to believe success was within reach.
The only stumbling block might be the woman herself. He prayed otherwise, but was prepared to do whatever it took, should that be necessary.
She was prompt, bless her. And correctly clad for morning calls in a pretty blue dress and dark blue spencer. Her bonnet matched and once again he patted himself silently on the back for his foresight. Although this particular part of the plan had been simple guesswork.
The coach made excellent time from Mowbray House to London and their first destination, and Max had no problem allowing Kitty to chat, or comment on general topics. All that was required of him was a brief response, something along the lines of “hmm” Or “indeed” and the silences were comfortable and companionable.
He did refuse her entreaties to tell her about his plan, simply telling her all would be revealed in good time and she must humour him and be patient.
It obviously irked her, but she obeyed, and he had to acknowledge that she was a woman of her word. However, when they reached the first destination, she leaned forward, looking out the window of the coach. “I don’t recognize this street, Max. Where are we?”
“Just a moment, Kitty…” He jumped down to the pavement as a servant in elegantly formal livery approached the door with papers in his hand.
“Mr. Seton-Mowbray?”
“Yes.”
“His Grace asked me to give you these, sir. He says they’re everything you need and as promised, Mr. George Granmont will be awaiting your arrival.”
“Very good. Thank his Grace for me, would you? I must make haste.”
“Of course, sir.” The servant touched his forelock and closed the coach door behind Max as he re-entered, clutching his papers, and sat beside Kitty once more. A tap on the roof and they were off again.
“I do not understand all this, Max. What have you there? That seal on one of those papers looks very formal…”
“Not much longer, Kitty, I promise.” He reached beneath his seat. “Here. I found these when I was out earlier this morning. I thought you might enjoy them.” He pulled out a small bunch of bluebells wrapped in pretty paper with a blue ribbon and offered them to her.
“Oh,” she whispered. “I do love bluebells. The scent…” she breathed in and closed her eyes. “Reminds me of the woods around Ridlington. I remember picking great armloads when I was little. Hecate and I…” She stopped on the words, and buried her nose in the flowers.
“She is well, Kitty. It will take her time, but she will fully recover. I truly believe that.” He touched her shoulder.
She nodded and raised her chin. “I believe it too. Just for a moment there…” She drifted a finger over the tiny blue flowers. “Thank you, Max. This is very kind of you.”
“Not at all,” he smiled, knowing they were getting closer and closer to the moment of decision.
“Isn’t it strange how the scent of something can bring back such vivid memories?”
“Not at all,” he replied. “For me, if I smell oranges I think of Christmas. They were a beloved treat on that day. I can remember the tang of the juice and how my Mama’s hands would have that rich fragrance after she had handled the peel.”
There was a clatter and a bump, and they both reached for the straps.
Once again Kitty leaned forward to look out of the window. The clouds had lifted and a weak sunbeam or two glistened from clean windows and shining gates. They were on the very outskirts of London.
“We’re not on the road back to Mowbray House, are we,” she stated. “This looks quite different.”
“You’re correct. We have come a little more south…” He also leaned forward, looking out his side of the coach. “And I believe we have arrived at our destination. There will be people awaiting us, Kitty.”
He saw her frown as she stared across him to the beautiful little church, nestled amongst oaks that had probably waved their limbs at William the Conqueror.
“Max?”
He held out his hand. “Trust me?”
Uncertain for a few moments, during which he held his breath, she finally took it. “Of course.”
He tried to conceal his sigh of relief, turning to leave the coach and put down the steps so that Kitty could alight with ease. He held her hand until she was on the ground, then tucked it into his arm, noting she still held the bluebells.
Perfect.
The door was open, and Max drew Kitty into the shadows of the church, inhaling the mixture of old wood, incense and reverence that seemed to characterize almost all churches he could recall. Not that he’d been in a lot, but there again…a scent brought back memories of hard pews, trying not to fidget and dozing through many endless sermons.
Today, however, was different. Several local citizens had seated themselves at the back of the church, no doubt drawn by curiosity at the one or two coaches that had stopped in front of their church this morning.
And in the front pew, Max saw his guests had arrived.
Grace and Perry sat together, Grace swathed in her usual veils, Perry looking quite smart in a new beaver hat, styled after the distinct Paris Beau with its slightly conical top and accentuated curvy brim. He made a mental note to remind himself to ask Perry where he’d obtained it.
Then he heard Grace gasp and she came to a standstill beside him. “Max. What’s happening here?” Her eyes were wide.
“There is something we must do, Kitty, in order to pursue our investigations. We cannot continue the way we are.” He urged her forward down the aisle as he spoke. “I wouldn’t ask it if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”
“But here? In a church?” She looked around. “And why are Grace and Perry here?”
A door opened to one side of the altar and a small gentleman stepped through. A cleric, obviously, by virtue of his ceremonial garb. He walked to his assigned position and smiled at them as they stood in the middle of the church.
“Mr. Seton-Mowbray and Miss Ridlington? Please do come forward.” He beckoned. “You have something for me, I believe.”
Max urged a reluctant Kitty to the head of the aisle, and passed the papers to the reverend. “Vicar Granmont?”
“Indeed yes, sir. Give me a moment if you would?” He turned to one side, broke the seal on the largest paper and began to read.
“Max,” hissed Kitty. “What is going on? I insist you tell me.”
Turning to her, he took her hands in his, careful not to crush the bluebells. “All right. The clues we’re following are about to lead us into Society, Kitty. All the way. We need to find a certain woman, Dancey’s current mistress, and she will be attending a ball this evening. The thing is, so will a lot of other people from the highest levels of the Ton, including the Prince Regent.”
“So?” She frowned in puzzlement.
“We need to be there. But I cannot take you as my mistress. You know that.”
“Yes, but…”
He put a finger on her lips. “I can, of course, take you…as my wife.”