Chapter Twenty-Four
The entire day seemed to have passed in some sort of strange fanciful dream.
Or at least it seemed that way to Kitty as she joined Max in the carriage that night, ready to ride back into London once more.
“You look beautiful,” he said as he settled her beside him. “The gown fits?”
Kitty shook her head in resignation. “You are a wizard, aren’t you? I arrive home, unexpectedly wed, to find a magnificent ball gown spread out on my bed.” She smiled. “I think my maid was about to have a spasm, it was so gorgeous. And yes, it fits. Is there any point to my asking how you did it?”
“No. I have elves, of course, and magical servants. All good wizards do.”
“Meaning you have a special relationship with some Bond street dressmakers.”
“Er, yes. That too,” he chuckled.
“Max. These…” She touched the necklace above her bodice. Sapphires, emeralds and diamonds winked in the meagre light from outside the carriage. Matching earbobs swung against her neck. “You didn’t have pet gnomes make these this afternoon, I’ll warrant.”
He brushed a finger against them, trailing it down over her skin to her cleavage. “My grandmother,” he said. “Did I mention she was a member of the Russian court?”
“No,” said Kitty, her voice weakening as that finger wandered beneath the fabric of her dress. “Max. Stop. I refuse to make my debut as your wife looking as if you’ve just taken your husbandly rights in a carriage.”
“Damn.” He muttered beneath his breath, moving his hand away. Then sighed. “All right. My grandmother was cousin to some distant member of the Romanov family. Close enough to share a little of the wealth and far enough away to stay out of the scandals. But of course, when it came to any court function, women were naked without their jewelry. I remember my mother telling me this was considered a paltry piece. Very small. Which gives you an idea of what kind of jewels the rest of them must have worn.”
“I can’t begin to imagine.” She touched them again. “They are so beautiful and match the gown so well. I’ll take good care of them, I promise.”
“They’re yours, now, Kitty. As is that ring. I believe that was the first thing my grandfather ever gave her. I know her wedding rings went to my aunt, and I have no idea what happened to them. Perhaps Grace has them. Who knows?” He shrugged. “But I was looking for a ring, and I found the necklace at the same time.”
“I see.” Kitty found her throat clogged with emotion as she realized the forethought Max had put into all this.
“At some point we’ll pull the whole bloody lot out and you can pick out what you like. Perhaps some of the older stuff can be reset.”
Dazed, she let that one pass. The mere idea of there being a “bloody lot” of jewels…well, her mind rebelled against the notion.
The best she could do was mutter a weak “all right” Which was quite acceptable, since to inquire into the nature of the lot would have been crass, in her opinion, betraying a rather common curiosity. Whereas ignoring it would have put her into the realms of those who turned up their noses at such fortunes. Neither fit Kitty. Besides, she was essentially female, which predisposed her to be curious about pretty and shiny things.
Luckily, the carriage slowed.
“Oh, we’re here…”
“Rather, we’re in the queue. I expect there are several streets clogged with traffic. The Chorleys have presence, you know.” He raised his head high in the air and regarded her down the length of his nose. “Presence, my deah. And lineage too.”
She laughed at his overdone representation of Lady Chorley’s frightfully silly accent. “They do indeed. I met Lady Chorley once. She is inches shorter than me but in spite of that, she looked down her nose at me in just that way. I still can’t quite say how she managed it, but she did.”
“So, think about it…since she’s so high in the instep, me arriving on her doorstep with my mistress-turned-wife will put her into a dreadful quandary.”
“How so?”
“It’s obvious.” He grinned unrepentantly. “She can turn to her superior position and toss us both out on the street, thus maintaining the high standards she so intensely embraces, or…” the grin turned into a chuckle, “…she can welcome us to her home, and thus become the first London hostess to boast the attendance of that scandalous couple, the Seton-Mowbrays. And on their wedding day, no less.”
“Ahh.” Kitty understood.
“If you were in her slippers this evening, would you want to stand on righteous indignation, or relish the parade of visitors through your door tomorrow morning, all chattering about how she scored the social coup of the season?”
“Good point.” She looked out the window. “We have to talk about all this, Max. We haven’t had time yet.”
“All what?”
She turned to him, his face a pale shadow. She wished she could see more of his expression. “Our wedding. This presentation of us as a couple to the Ton. The righteous indignation, as you so aptly put it, that will doubtless result from our appearance this evening.”
“What must we talk about? We know our goal tonight is to find Dorothea Weston and see if we can pick her brain for information about her dead lover.” He held out his hands, his lace cuffs shining white. “What else is there?”
She gritted her teeth. “Our marriage?”
“Yes?”
The carriage slowed even more.
“Damn,” she muttered. “Never mind.” They came to a stop. “But this conversation is not over, Max. Just tabled for later.”
“Very well,” he said, as he stepped out of the coach. “Now come along, Mrs. Seton Mowbray. We’re about to make a splash in Society. Are you ready?”
“No.” She put her hand in his. “But I’ll do it anyway, since given the way today has gone, I don’t think there’s much left that can surprise me.”
*~~*~~*
“Mr. Max Seton-Mowbray and the Right Honorable Mrs. Seton-Mowbray.”
Was there a sudden hush in the crowded ballroom? Max hoped he hadn’t imagined it. The butler had glanced at the card given him, raised his eyebrows, and then nodded. Clearly he knew who Kitty was—or had been yesterday—because he announced her title correctly.
They proceeded down the stairs into the Chorley ballroom, a murmur of conversation rising like a wave around them. Knowing they were probably the cynosure of many eyes, Max kept Kitty’s hand tight in his own, making their relationship even more clear.
“Darlings. My goodness what a shock.” Lady Chorley awaited them at the bottom of the stairs, a tooth-filled smile on display. “This is such a huge surprise. Why only yesterday it seems we were shaking our heads over your naughtiness, Max. And now look at your lovely wife.”
Kitty curtseyed, a movement of grace and elegance that betrayed her good breeding.
Lady Chorley’s smile grew even more wide. “How charming.”
“You’re so kind, my Lady.” Max bowed over her hand. “Where else could my wife and I celebrate our nuptials? After all, is not most of London present this evening?”
“Ha-ha,” tittered their hostess. “Indeed, indeed.” She turned to her husband. “Here are the Seton-Mowbrays, dear. Newly wedded, I understand. Do bid them welcome.”
“Of course,” said the older man, his eyes on Kitty’s bodice. “Lovely gel, quite lovely.”
“Thank you, sir.” Kitty dropped another curtsey, squeezing Max’s hand.
And so it was that the newlywed Seton-Mowbrays breezed into the Ton, heads high, looking for all the world as if it was the most normal thing imaginable. Max knew there would be comments in the morning papers—Grace would be thrilled, of course, devouring each and every word—and within half an hour gossip would be all over London this very night.
Max Seton-Mowbray had married his mistress, the scandalous Kitty Ridlington, within days of their very public wager and consequent arrangement.
He caught a few frowns and raised eyebrows as he and Kitty reached the ballroom floor, but since the orchestra chose that moment to strike up a waltz, he was certain that by the end of it, smiles would replace those shocked looks. After all, nobody wanted to appear critical of Lady Chorley’s guests by giving them the cut direct.
“Dance with me.” He pulled Kitty into the measures of the waltz, easily guiding her first uncertain moves. “You waltz, I know,” he said, looking down at her pale face.
“I do, yes,” she glanced at him. “But this is quite different, and you know it. I feel as if I have steel daggers drilling holes through my spine.”
“As do I.” He grinned. “Isn’t it fun?”
She laughed then, a bright sound that drew a few gazes. He’d hoped for that reaction and seeing her smile at him, whirling her in his arms to the delightful music…well, he was just about as happy as he’d ever been. Which was shocking, since he prided himself on his emotional restraint. It would seem his wife had ripped all that away.
“Why are you looking like that?” She pinched his thumb. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, I think so. I’ve just discovered that I’m enjoying myself.”
Kitty shook her head. “I have married a strange man, it would seem.”
“Indeed.”
They were quiet for a while, both in perfect step, her height a match for his. The waltz was made for those who could easily lead and follow, a sinuous and flowing series of moves that took two people and joined them together for a few blissful moments.
“I want you,” said Max.
“Oh.” Kitty looked around. “Here? There may well be a quiet corner…or a conservatory perhaps?” Her lips twitched. “We broke a tree once, we could demolish an aspidistra or two, I’m sure…”
He squeezed her waist. “You will pay for that, my dear. Wait until we get home.”
Her eyes lowered. “Yes, Master,” she whispered. Then she glanced up, all naughtiness and delight.
“If you keep looking at me like that, I shall forget the reason we’re here and strip you naked right in the middle of Lady Chorley’s ballroom.”
She tilted her head to one side and looked at him. “You probably would, too. So let’s to business, shall we? I think we’ll be the topic of more than enough gossip tomorrow without adding naked frolics into the mix.”
“Right.” Max looked around them. “Weston. Lady Dorothea Weston. Yellow hair, I believe. A bosom bow of Matilda Cornwell’s, and God knows that woman is everywhere. Aha.” He nodded. “Yes, there she is. I’ve found Matilda. Let’s start with her.”