Page 114 of Lessons for Marquesses
“No, when Lady Tufton appeared at the castle. The joy vanished, and only when she appeared did I realize that what had vanished was joy. And you, you are the one who placed it upon his countenance.”
What did he mean that he wished to be worthy of her love? Why did he seem almost guilty?
“I cannot wish to think about it now.” Though it was all she thought about. Georgiana nudged her friend’s chin. “Tell me more about your infatuation with Lord Greville. Or should I say, his with you. I swore he was going to eat you when you fell to your back at the picnic.”
After slanting a delicate black brow, Kitty smiled. “I think I prefer Anthony.”
“Did he fondle your buttocks, too?”
“No! But Mr. Fitzwilliam considered my bosom.” Kitty frowned at her bodice. “Likely trying to make it out.”
“It fits you perfectly.”
“Hmmm. Yes. Tiny.”
“Poor Julian,” Georgiana said, trying to get to the nature of their quarrel. “He must be heartbroken that you have fixed your affections elsewhere.”
Pain streaked across Kitty’s eyes. She laughed. “Do you know, Julian’s friends plan to travel to Paris after the ball and journey through the continent during winter? They are to end in Venice, and they’ve invited me.”
Old Lord Staverton or Venice? Respectability or ruin? If Georgiana were Kitty, regardless of the scandal, she knew which one she would choose.
But Georgiana was practical. “You have no funds for it.”
“But they do. Anthony is the heir to the Wetherden earldom. Lord Greville is in business. Mr. Fitzwilliam’s father is the Duke of Bramley. Lady Sybil is a wealthy widow. I’m not certain of Mr. Blackwell. I do believe he is a mystery.”
And what would Kitty have to do to secure their support?
Kitty gripped her hands, yearning in her large, hazel eyes. “Georgiana, please tell me I should go.”
“You would be ruined. Your father would disown you.”
“I cannot marry Lord Staverton. He is over sixty. I’ve wished for him to die so I may be free. How wicked of me. And I shall die if I have to live in the north. I’ll never understand a word they speak. The sun never shines. I want to live. I want to love.”
“And when it ends?” Georgiana wished she could raze the pragmatism from her soul. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t, only that you require a plan for when it does end.”
Kitty squared her petite shoulders. “Then I shall find an abbey in France and become a nun.”
Caroline was not present at dinner, under physician’s orders and the attention of her suffering lady’s maid. Oliver stewed, flicking his black eyes to Caroline’s empty chair. He shoved away the salad placed by a new footman and ravaged a fish en croute.
In light of Oliver and Charlotte’s presence, Kitty did not reveal her decision to join the stoics on their continental journey, but there was a genuine lightness in her laughter and speech which her friend had lacked in the past months with her marriage to Lord Staverton looming.
Kitty’s heart required mending, and Georgiana peered down the table to the man who had surely shredded it.
Julian had many times decreed he would never marry, for a wife would interfere with his dreams of building ships. Kitty had shared those dreams, and Julian had discarded her for women, wagering, and drink. Since Kitty’s arrival, her cousin had refused to acknowledge her existence. When they retrieved Kitty for the picnic, Julian hadn’t spoken a word to her.
They had once been in love. Young love, true, but still love. And then, four years ago, Julian had left for Southampton and his shipbuilding, and Kitty, shortly after, had fled England with distant relations. If not for Sir Jeffrey Babbington’s insistence that his daughter marry fat old Lord Staverton, Kitty had admitted she would never have returned home.
The stoics discussed the merits of Paris.
“You forget,” Oliver said, “there are Frenchmen there.”
Fitzwilliam slid his teeth over his fork. “And Frenchwomen.”
Julian’s voice cut through the laughter, spearing Kitty with a cold, sharp gaze. “You’ve been to Paris as I recall, Miss Babbington.”
Paris? Kitty had been in the wilds of Scotland, hadn’t she? At least, the few letters Georgiana had received had been posted from there.
Kitty pasted a dazzling smile and feverishly praised the Tuileries Garden, the moonlight on the Seine, the statue of Louis XIV in the Place des Victoires. While Julian absolutely glared.
