Lady Midnight (21 page)

Kate turned her attention back to the crowded dance floor. Michael had extricated himself at last from the Ross daughters and was now partnered with a surprisingly dashing lady in a stylish gown of Turkey-red silk and a demiturban of gold satin pinned with a diamond sunburst. The lady was quite tall and used her height to great advantage to stare intently into Michael's eyes as they clasped hands and turned in allemande.

Kate frowned to see that stare, the soft smile the woman gave him. A smile that was returned. The line of dancers shifted, and the pair was lost to sight.

Kate glanced down at her own dark blue silk gown. She had enlivened it as best she could, with her pale pink gloves and a silver ribbon woven through the sleek twist of her hair. But it was still a very plain, matronly gown.

A bit of the sparkle twinkled out of the evening. She sipped at her lemonade and turned her attention back to the dance.

Michael and his partner briefly reappeared, marching down the line. "That is a very dashing gown," Kate commented.

"Hm?" Christina murmured, obviously dragging herself back from her daydreams of plants and soil. "Which one, Mrs. Brown?"

"The Turkey-red one your brother's partner is wearing."

Christina's gaze searched the floor. "Oh, yes. That is Mrs. Ruston. She is the vicar's new wife. Mother and Lady Ross say she will only wear gowns from London, never from the local modiste, and that she has far too many airs for a clergyman's wife." Christina took a thoughtful drink of her own lemonade. "I think I would not mind assemblies half so much if I could wear a gown like
that,
and not these insipid pastels."

"You can wear any gown you like after you're married," Kate answered, her heart lightening.
The vicar's wife!
Surely there could be no unseemly flirtation going on
there.
"In the meantime, you look lovely in yellow. And I am sure others have noticed, too."

Christina laughed. "Others, Mrs. Brown? Such as my mother, you mean?"

"No." Kate's gaze scanned the room in search of the young man she had seen noticing Christina earlier, when they first took their seats. He was very tall, and not bad-looking despite the spectacles that perched on his nose and the extreme slimness of his figure. He had rich, blond white hair, and the bronze of his complexion suggested he spent as much time outdoors as Christina did herself.

Ah, there he was. Standing in the corner across the room from theirs. Still watching Christina, with what he obviously thought was great secrecy.

"There is that young gentleman there," Kate said. "He has been looking at you since we arrived, even though he tries to hide it."

Christina's brows arched in amazement. "What gentleman?"

Kate gestured surreptitiously with her empty glass.

"Oh. Yes," Christina said dismissively. "That is Mr. Price. Andrew Price. His family owns an estate a few miles away, Keppleston Abbey. He is rather interested in botany, too, and sometimes loans me books on the subject he buys in London. We have also shared one or two interesting specimens we've discovered."

"Well, he obviously admires you," Kate said. "Do you not think he would like to dance with you?"

"Andrew Price?" Christina exclaimed. "Of course not. He is just a friend, far too much a
boy
for me to dance with."

But Mr. Price had obviously noticed their attention. He swallowed hard, placed his glass down on a nearby table, straightened his cravat, and made his way across the room toward them. Christina had already gone back to her daydreams, but Kate watched him. He seemed rather sweetly nervous, tugging at his gloves and the sleeves of his dark green coat as he dodged knots of people, and tables and chairs, on his journey across the assembly room.

Finally, he stood before them. Kate saw that his eyes were very green, handsome and glowing behind his spectacles, but their edges twitched with anxiety as he bowed to them.

"G-good evening, Lady Christina," he said. "What a grand surprise to see you here this evening."

Christina gave him a smile, pleasant and polite enough, but rather like the smile one would give an overfriendly puppy. "Good evening, Mr. Price. May I present my governess, Mrs. Brown? Mrs. Brown, Mr. Andrew Price."

"How do you do, Mr. Price?" Kate said.

"How do you do, Mrs. Brown?" he answered. "I'm sure you must find yourself very fortunate to have such a brilliant pupil as Lady Christina!"

Kate gave a small, secret smile at his eager enthusiasm. "Indeed, I am. Lady Christina and I get along very well. I understand, Mr. Price, that you and she share an enthusiasm for botany."

"Oh, yes, of course, Mrs. Brown! Though Lady Christina is far more advanced in her studies than I am." He turned back to Christina, obviously steeling his courage to talk to her again. "I have been in Brighton these last few weeks, Lady Christina, and I managed to procure many new volumes while I was there. Thomas Nuttall's latest work is particularly fascinating. I would so enjoy discussing his theories of the genera of North American plants with you."

Christina brightened. She eagerly sat up straighter, the lemonade jostling in her glass. Kate rescued the vessel before it could spill on Christina's pretty gown, and put both their glasses down on the nearest table.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Price, I would enjoy that very much!" Christina answered. "I read his book last year, and was most impressed."

The dancers were just finishing up the set, bowing and curtsying before dispersing from the dance floor. Soon, a new set would form. Quickly, Kate said, as tactfully as possible, "Perhaps the two of you could discuss the work of Mr. Nuttall during the next dance?"

"Oh, of course!" Mr. Price declared eagerly. "I do enjoy a dance. Lady Christina, would you do me the honor?"

Christina glanced uncertainly at the milling crowd, then down at the reticule on her lap. Kate gave her a discreet nudge, and at last Christina nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Price. That would be very enjoyable."

Kate watched them walk away, arm in arm, a warm, satisfied glow growing in her heart. She had a small inkling now of how her mother must have felt when men admired her daughter—satisfied, proud, sorry, anxious. But of course, Kate was only sending Christina out to dance with a respectable young man with whom she shared an interest in botany.
Not
launching her into a life of rich, artificial debauchery, where the tilt of her head, the sound of her laugh, and the shrewdness of her sensuality meant the difference between wealth and degraded poverty.

Kate suddenly wondered, as she observed Christina taking her place in the dance with the sweet, shy Mr. Price, how her own mother could have even contemplated sending her child into such a life. Could have groomed her for the arms of men such as Julian Kirkwood, knowing the falseness, the baseness of it all. The loss of all morality and self-respect. Lucrezia Bruni had known no other life, of course. She would not have known how to help her daughter find a new way, not until after she, Lucrezia, died and could reappear as a ghost or a dream to help steer Kate's life into better channels.

But what could she have felt on the morning she arrayed her child in jewels and clinging silks, piled her hair high atop her head, and led her onto that yacht?

For Kate found that she would kill any man who looked at Christina with anything less than the utmost respect, who treated her as anything less than the respectable, innocent, intelligent lady that she was. No man would ever gaze at Christina and assess her fleshly worth as if she were a mare at Tattersalls. Kate would protect her with her own life if she had to, and little Amelia, too. And her own daughters, if she was ever so blessed. None of them would ever have cause to doubt their own worth, as Kate had. None of them would ever have to submit to the touch of a man they found frightening or repellent.
Ever.

Kate suddenly felt greatly in need of some fresh air. The room was warm and crowded, and her fierce new thoughts only added to the closeness. Her gaze sought out Christina and saw that she was dancing happily enough with Mr. Price, and the set was likely to last for a long while. Mr. Lindley was nowhere to be seen—perhaps he had escaped the Ross girls into the card room. She would not be missed for a few moments.

She stood up and crept out of her corner, slipping silently around the edges of the crowd until she found the door and emerged gratefully into the cool night. She had no shawl or wrap, and the breeze raised bumps on her bare arms and neck, but its chill felt good after the heated room. The deep drafts of clean air cleared her head.

Kate moved down the short stone flight of steps and around the corner of the building into a small garden. There was no one else about, and the pathways were very dim under the meager light of the moon and the few stars. Kate welcomed the precious privacy, and she moved between the neat flower beds in search of a quiet place to sit. The only sounds were the echo of music and laughter from the assembly room windows and the crunch of her slippers on the gravel path.

The past is dead,
she reminded herself for what felt like the hundredth time.
Gone.

Would she ever truly believe it?

She rounded a corner where a tall tree held court, and nearly screamed aloud when she collided with firm, warm, living flesh. Her memories of the past, of Julian Kirkwood touching her, calling her his Beatrice in his eerie, intense voice, were too fresh, and bitter panic welled up in her throat. She took a swift, involuntary step back, and her flat slipper caught on a loose stone.

A strong hand caught her arm before she could fall, and the warm clasp pulled her upright. She reached out instinctively to claw the man's face, to gain her release however she could, when the sound of a whiskey-dark voice stopped her.

"Mrs. Brown?" Michael Lindley said, his words rushed with surprise and concern.

"M-Mr. Lindley?" Her hand curled around his arm to steady herself. She stared up at him in the meager light, her gaze frantically searching his visage to assure herself that it was really, truly him.

That she was safe.

"Of course it is me," he answered reassuringly. "I didn't mean to startle you. Again."

"I—it is quite all right. I'm fine now." Her breath was steadier, its frightened rush in her lungs slowing. Her skin didn't prickle anymore, but she longed to throw her arms around his neck and cling closely, losing herself in his warm strength.

But instead she stepped away, clasping her hands tightly together at her waist. "I just needed a breath of fresh air. Lady Christina is dancing a set with Mr. Price."

"Ah, yes. Young Price. He and Christina have been friends since they were children." Michael gave her a rueful glance, then held up his other hand to display a smoldering, half-smoked thin cheroot. "I escaped out here to indulge in the vile habit of smoking."

Kate had to laugh. He looked too much like a boy caught out in some mischief. "Vile, indeed."

"I will put it out." He bent down to extinguish the cheroot against the gravel, but Kate stopped him.

"No, please, don't let me interrupt you. Please finish it," she urged. "I am intruding on your indulgence."

"Not at all, Mrs. Brown. I would far rather talk with you than smoke alone."

Kate felt a sweet tinge of pleasure at his words, which quite eclipsed her earlier cold fear. He
liked
to talk to her. It was far from the most effusive compliment she had ever received, but it was much more precious than any ode to her eyes and hair and toes could ever be. "Then I will stay and talk while you finish your cigar," she said, and leaned back against the stout tree trunk.

Here, in this chilly little garden, surrounded by the sounds of dance music and the sweet-acrid scent of cigar smoke, she felt happier than ever before. The past was indeed gone—when she was with him.

Here was a man whose touch and kiss she would welcome, even revel in. But he stood apart from her, as surely he always would. At least right now she was with him, watching him, listening to his voice.

"So, what do you think of our local soiree?" he asked, exhaling a wreath of silvery smoke.

"I have been enjoying it very much. The dancing is quite lively."

"And the music?" he said, a hint of laughter in his voice.

Kate chuckled. "That, too. The musicians are so enthusiastic."

"I fear they don't get the chance to practice very much."

"Yes. Yet everyone appears to be enjoying themselves. You yourself danced several times, did you not, Mr. Lindley?" She gave him a sly glance. "You seem particularly popular with the lovely Misses Ross."

Michael laughed wryly. "You noticed that, did you? You could be very useful to me, I think, Mrs. Brown."

Indeed, I could,
Kate thought. "Useful, Mr. Lindley?"

"Yes. You can report to my mother that I did my duty to her friends. But by no means must you say that I was particularly enthusiastic in dancing with Miss Emmeline."

"Miss Emmeline?"

"Hm. Mother is convinced she would make me a most suitable bride. She and Lady Ross have been trying to set a parson's mousetrap for months."

Kate was beginning to rather enjoy their conversation. "And you think differently?"

"Indeed I do. Miss Emmeline is nice enough, to be sure, but she giggles far too much."