Chapter Four
Several days later, Kitty had to ask herself if being the object of gossip was such a good thing after all.
“You could have been ruined, my dear.”
Aunt Venetia wrung her hands yet again, making Kitty wonder if they might drop off any time soon, since she’d been wringing them constantly for what seemed like years.
“But I wasn’t, Aunt.” She sighed. “Do you wish me to leave?”
“Good God no.” Venetia blinked at her. “Have you any idea how many invitations we’ve received since…since…er…the event?”
“No,” answered Kitty. She hadn’t really paid much attention.
“An awful lot,” said Venetia. “More than I could have imagined. Yes, we’ve been accepted into the right circles, thanks to my windfall. But this, your appearance with Mr. Seton-Mowbray…well, that’s really brought us into the limelight.”
“So I’m not ruined?”
“Not yet, I don’t think. At the moment, you’re a figure of interest. Seton-Mowbray is known to be stand-offish with eligible young women. Many would be desirable matches for him, but he’s turned his nose up at so many seasons that most mothers have given up on him.”
“So now they believe he might be back in the marriage-mart?”
“Yes, I think you both may have raised a few hopes in that department.” Venetia shook her head. “We did have a similar conversation to this one, Kitty, if you recall. I must reiterate my opinion that he would indeed be an excellent match for you…,” her voice betrayed a slightly hopeful tone.
Kitty smiled. “Don’t get excited, Aunt. I shall never marry. I am quite decided that the life of a beloved Aunt to my brothers’ and sisters’ children will suit me well. You’ve set an excellent example in that regard. And I like the freedom to do as I please when I please.”
“But…” Violet’s eyes met Kitty’s, and the older woman just sighed. “Well, time will tell, I suppose.”
Kitty glanced at the grey skies outside the window. “Thank goodness the weather has been so awful. It has reduced the amount of immediate gossip, since so many of us have been stuck indoors.”
There was a tap on the door and Hecate popped her head around to peek inside. “Hallo. May I join you?”
“Of course, darling, do come in.” Aunt Venetia smiled warmly and patted the couch next to her ample bottom. “Sit here and tell me what your plans are for the day.”
“Hallo Hecate. You look lovely,” offered Kitty. Her eyes took in the delicate blue of her sister’s gown and the matching knot of flowers just beneath her breasts. “The flowers are the perfect touch.”
“From an admirer, no doubt,” giggled Aunt Venetia as she turned to Kitty. “You keep our invitation tray filled, and Hecate keeps our vases busy. Such fun.”
Hecate sat on the couch, leaning into the corner with comfortable informality. “I merely mentioned I missed the spring flowers growing around Ridlington.” Her lips compressed into a wry moue. “That seemed to be all it took to guarantee a parade of blooms arriving on the doorstep.”
“A mark of the affection in which you are held, dear,” complimented her aunt.
“Or the silliness of the Ton,” added Kitty.
“I’ll accept your opinion, Kitty,” chuckled Hecate. “Some people really are quite silly.”
“Where are you off to today, sister? Plans for the evening?”
Hecate stretched her arms into the air above her head and breathed deeply. “Let me see. Today I have an appointment with Madame Margarethe in Bond Street, thanks to Aunt Venetia.”
“Don’t mention it,” answered her aunt. “It’s time for some lighter spring dresses.” She glanced outside. “Assuming spring ever arrives.”
“Well, the fittings will take a good portion of the afternoon. So Mrs. Windersham is bringing Susan and Alicia over to meet me. They have new gowns to be fitted as well, I believe. She has promised us all tea afterward. Then it’s back here.”
“How lovely.” Kitty approved wholeheartedly. Dress fittings and tea with the Windersham girls left no room whatsoever for any importunate gentlemen.
“How about this evening?” Aunt Venetia asked. “Do either of you have plans?”
“The DuClos masquerade,” they answered in tandem.
“You’re going?” Kitty leaned forward, surprised Hecate had plans to attend. “Isn’t it a little…er…fast for you?”
Hecate snickered. “It’s only fast if you keep company with people like Mr. Seton-Mowbray. I shall be with Heather and Margaret Basset, and their Mama, Lady Eugenia Basset.”
“Ah,” said Kitty, not reassured in the least. “Well, I shall be there as well, so perhaps we can keep each other company.”
“And will Mr. Seton-Mowbray be attending, dear?” Aunt Violet’s question was far too casual.
“I believe so, Aunt, but I shall be in the company of Lord and Lady Standish. Louise invited me to accompany them some time ago.”
“Hmm.” Aunt Venetia looked coy. “Well, a masquerade does allow for a little more flexibility, shall we say, in your social interactions. I’m sure he’ll have time for a dance or two with you.”
Kitty sighed and glanced at Hecate. “She won’t give up hope.”
Hecate grinned. “A woman of perspicacity. And you might do well to heed her words.”
“What?” Kitty’s eyes widened.
Her sister merely smiled.
“Sometimes, Hecate, I could just lean over and box your ears.” Kitty felt her teeth grinding together. “When you say things like that, it is really annoying—to the point of violence.”
“Keep that fire burning, Kitty. It’s what makes you strong and important.”
Kitty snorted. “To whom?”
“To all of us. Your family. You have inherited much of strength of our father.”
“Dear God, don’t even think that.” Kitty’s mouth dropped in horror. “I want nothing from that terrible man.”
“None of us do, dear,” soothed Hecate. “But we have some of him within us, just the same. You have strength, courage and a mind of your own. Quite different to Richard, and he’s your twin. So you must ask where those characteristics came from, if not the Baron?”
“Well this is all quite fascinating,” interjected Aunt Venetia. “But I’d much rather hear if you will be wearing costumes this evening?”
Kitty took a breath and let Hecate’s words settle in the back of her mind. She would explore them later, she knew, but not with Aunt Venetia looking hopefully at the two sisters. “A mask and my domino for me,” she answered. “The deep purple will match my gown if I decide to remove the cloak at any point.”
“I’m going to do that as well. I managed to borrow a lovely pale blue one from Lydia Revenhall. She decided that green was more her colour.” Hecate chuckled. “She’s quite wrong, of course. It will make her look sallow. But since Lord Foster’s son Archibald will be in attendance, she’s quite determined. It would seem his favorite colour is green, and thus…”
Venetia nodded her approval. “Her mama is looking out for her future, and the blue will suit you admirably, Hecate.”
As the conversation drifted into talk of colours and fashions, Kitty allowed her mind a brief moment to wonder if Max had a favourite shade…
*~~*~~*
The swirling fog and occasional drizzle hadn’t dampened the spirits of those invited to the DuClos masquerade that evening. Max made the observation as his carriage pulled up into the line of carriages disgorging their occupants at the imposing front steps, becoming one of line that threatened to clog traffic all the way to Regent’s Park.
After fifteen minutes, he took matters into his own hands, grabbed his mask and hopped out. “I’ll make my own way from here, Harris. You find a spot somewhere near the door, all right?”
“Yes, sir.” The driver gave his master a respectful nod and gratefully steered the horses out of the long line. Max knew he’d be more likely to find a place close to the steps and thus be able to depart with less fuss and bother. Always a goal of the Seton-Mowbrays. Max had toyed with having that phrase “no fuss and bother” translated into Latin and incorporated into some kind of family crest. But he wasn’t sure the College of Arms would look favorably upon it.
It was the matter of moments for Max’s firm stride to eat up the distance from his carriage to the grand portico and the impressive doors of Steenmere House, the current residence of the DuClos family. Comte Arnaud DuClos and his wife Natalia were welcoming their guests, standing amidst a profusion of exotic flowers. Their perfume was overwhelming, and Max barely managed to restrain a sneeze as he bowed over the hand of his hostess.
“Ah, Monsieur Seton-Mowbray.” Her voice was a sensual purr, her eyes glittering at him through a mask that must have held about a thousand small diamonds. “I trust you will enjoy the evening.” Her décolletage was barely decent, her breasts full and luxuriant, and he was treated to a revealing view as she breathed in deeply after her comment to him.
“Indeed, Madame. I’m sure I shall.” He smiled, allowing her to believe anything she wanted.
Her lips parted. “Très bientôt, mon ami.”
He moved on, knowing the line behind him was growing. And listening. As far as he was concerned, there would be no “very soon”, nor was he her friend. He had other prey this evening, and he wondered if she had arrived yet.
“Max, dear chap.”
The hail from behind him was not particularly welcome. He turned. “Evening, Dancey.”
“I haven’t seen much of you lately,” commented the younger man, moving alongside Max as he walked toward the ballroom.
“I’m sure we’ve both been busy.” It was a curt response, but the only one Max felt like making.
“Indeed.” Miller-James sounded hesitant. “Well then, I’ll be seeing you later, I’m sure.”
“Of such wishes are dreams made,” answered Max obscurely. He found his distaste almost palpable and wondered at himself as the other man left his side. Had he developed a conscience? Was he growing old? Shaking off the horrid notion, along with the urge to find a mirror and check for grey hairs, he found a spot at the side of the ballroom and surveyed the swirling throng.
They were waltzing, and although the dance was still regarded as rather shocking by a few, it had been wholeheartedly embraced by the many. The brilliant mêlée of colors, costumes, gems and feathers was the result, moving like the surface of some fantastical lake buffeted by a strong wind.
Since identities were concealed by masks and costumes, Max had no idea who might be clasped in who’s arms, or what husband might be holding another woman far too close—right under his wife’s nose. Many men had opted for the safe anonymity of black—as had Max. The folds of his cloak and the mask hiding his features offered the chance to enjoy a dalliance with anyone of his choosing.
But there was only one woman his gaze sought amongst the crowd. And he knew, if she was present, he would be able to distinguish her from the throng.
He’d discovered there was something about Kitty Ridlington that lifted her above the rank and file of the Ton. He was eagerly anticipating the opportunity to find out what that something was.
Several women met his initial criteria…elegant style, good dancer, right height, right hair color…but none of them tweaked that single nerve in Max’s brain. The one that said quite clearly “her”. It would appear she either had not yet arrived, or was somewhere else in the building.
Somewhat disheartened, he was about to turn away from the view when his eye was attracted to a domino that seemed to be all colors of the rainbow. He craned his head for a better look—and that little annoying nerve tingled. It was Kitty.
Her hood and cloak were purple, but it was the sort of fabric that shone in many different shades depending on the light. Rather like the breast of a full grown pigeon—one that could go from green to blue to purple as it flew down to the ground and landed.
Unique amongst the vivid throng she was easy to follow, and his eyes did just that. From one group of people to another, she moved smoothly and without pause, her head moving now and again as if she too sought someone. Max was vain enough to hope it might be him.
But he made no move to attract her attention; he was content to observe at this point.
The music changed to a more stately measure and he saw her accept the hand of a masked and bearded gentleman. Lord Standish, thought Max, recognising the pure white beard. A man of intelligence, widely regarded with favor by many in the government, and at least twice Kitty’s age.
He knew it was absurd, but he found himself heaving a sigh of relief anyway.
As he watched, he noticed Miss Hecate also engaged in the dance. His eyes narrowed as he searched for Dancey; odds were good that he was around somewhere, unless he’d foregone his previous intention of seducing her.
He cursed beneath his breath since he found he could not recall Dancey’s garb. Did he even look at the man? He didn’t think so. Now, of course, that was a damned nuisance because he could be anything from a pirate to a Harlequin to one of the many men in a simple mask and domino.
As the final measures of the dance concluded, Max gave up the task of seeking Dancey, and returned his attention to Kitty. She was now with a small group at one side of the ballroom, but her attention seemed to be on the guests rather than her companions. She frequently glanced around, tilted her head and surveyed the colourful throng.
Then her eyes found him. Max almost felt the impact as they settled on his face. She smiled a little, nodded, and then returned to her conversation. All quite casual and most proper.
And not what Max intended at all.