Teach Me Under the Mistletoe (6 page)

Every burning muscle stiffened as Hugh braced himself for his brother’s invective. Had he found out about the indiscretion with Lady Caroline? Without giving it much consideration, Hugh formed his hands into fists. Nothing Dougal could say would be any harsher than the words Hugh had been using with regard to his stupidity for most of the afternoon. Rather than responding and giving his brother even more fodder with which to reprimand him, Hugh merely cocked his head to the right and waited.

“What are ye doing cleanin’ the stalls Joseph already mucked this morning?”

Chills rolled over Hugh, and he consciously relaxed his fists as the tension drained. So it wasn’t about Lady Caroline. He looked at the row of stalls he had yet to attack, for the first time noticing the clean bedding. Heat rushed to his face.

“Sorry,” he muttered, turning back to Dougal but not quite meeting his brother’s eyes. “I was distracted.

A slow, crafty smile spread over Dougal’s face. “Does yer distraction have something to do with that pretty housemaid I saw ye speaking with yesterday?”

Housemaid? Ah, Lady Caroline’s maid, Henrietta.

Odd. He’d never considered the girl in that particular way before, since she and Joseph seemed to care for one another. Yes… yes, he supposed she
was
pleasing on the eye. Nodding fervently, Hugh took the easy way out, especially as he wasn’t truly lying. “Aye, something to do with her… yes ‘twas.”

Dougal tapped Hugh on the side of the head. “Well, get over yer distraction, brother. Lord Strickland’s guests are arriving.”

“Beg pardon?” Hugh blinked. “Guests?” Hadn’t Lady Caroline told him the holiday function was a fortnight off?”

Dougal clunked the side of Hugh’s head again. “Aye, ye have gone daft. I told ye this mornin’ the earl was hosting a small dinner party.”

Had he? Hugh frowned. Perhaps Dougal
had
mentioned something when he’d been in a mood to talk earlier. But with the note from Lady Caroline occupying his thoughts, Hugh hadn’t paid his brother much heed. “Right,” he murmured.
And who will be at this dinner party?

The tingling in his blood began again, bubbling through his system as he thought of Lady Caroline, dressed in her finery, flirting, enticing… inviting…

“What are ye waitin’ for?” asked Dougal, irritation sharpening his voice. “I need ye to direct the carriage drivers and see if their horses have any needs.”

Sending his brother a dark glower, Hugh took up the cart handle and pushed it toward the rear of the stables. Trust Dougal to remind him of his place without even knowing he needed reminding.

* * * *

Kitty fussed with the black ribbon trailing from her bosom to her lap as she shifted her seat on the green brocade settee. Was she sitting straight enough? Perhaps she should turn a little to the side. Would she be more appealing if she tilted her head? She angled leftward, frowning at the awkward feel.

Across the room, Lord and Lady Chambers, lifelong friends of the family, held her parents enthralled with tales of their recent trip to India. Hopefully, the entire supper table wouldn’t be held hostage with their stories. Kitty couldn’t think of a place she was less interested in than India.

Maybe a tilt to the right… She canted her head in the other direction and sighed. At least that felt less unnatural.

An elbow poked at her right side, digging painfully into her ribs. “For pity’s sake,” hissed Jenny from the seat next to Kitty. “Why are you fidgeting so?”

“I want to look my best for our guests,” Kitty whispered back.

Jenny swiveled in her seat and raked Kitty with a critical gaze. “You look marvelous,” she said, shaking her head. “A bit overdressed for a simple dinner, but quite lovely. Why? Whom are you expecting to see?”

Kitty almost tittered out loud.

“Presenting…” intoned Mr. Warwick from the doorway to the salon. “…Lord Randall Berwyn, son of James Berwyn, Second Baron of Thistledown.”

Randall!
Kitty’s entire body jerked in surprise at the name.

A boy with an angelic face and nut-brown hair that fell across his forehead swaggered into the room. His black dinner coat contrasted nicely with the white cravat. Kitty had to stare hard to confirm he was, indeed, the same boy who had spent summers with their family several years before, when they’d been children. Finding him particularly clumsy and boring, she’d spent most of his visits avoiding him, dogging Jenny and begging to be included in outings with her older sisters.

A certain determined arrogance settled in his expression as he fairly marched across the red patterned Turkish rug in Kitty’s direction.
Oh, heavens, he believes he’s here to escort me.
Her stomach squeezed upward against her chest.

Randall smiled a bit wider than was polite as he held out his right hand toward Kitty. Upon passing the drum table, the toe of his boot caught on one leg, and he lurched forward. Poor Randall took flight, sailing through the air, the tails of his coat flapping like pathetic bird’s wings.

The look he wore on his face echoed Kitty’s horror when she realized he was flying straight for her. She had to get out of the way! But Jenny, on her right slapped at her urgent movements. The arm of the settee pinned her on the left.

Young Lord Randall landed with a thud, a clunk, and an
ooph
, flat on his chest, with his face planted directly atop Kitty’s gray silk slippers. When he lifted his head off her feet, one ear caught the hem of her gown and the garment followed him as he pushed himself upward.

Unbelievable. First he had apparently labored under the mistaken impression that he’d been invited to escort her, and then he’d made a spectacle out of himself. Kitty snatched at her gown with a soft growl. Heat rose into Kitty’s face as she tried to rearrange her gown for modesty.

“Announcing,” continued Warwick as though guests flying across the room happened every day, “Roger Peter Scriven, Eighth Baron of Strathern, and his cousin, the Dowager Lady Frances Braithwaite.”

Dimly, the last name registered, and she paused in her frantic movements. Hadn’t Lady Frances been
recently
widowed? And she was Lord Strathern’s cousin? Kitty’d not heard of that connection. She leaned forward a bit, seeking a better look.

At her feet, Randall grabbed her gown where it hung up on his shoulder and made as though to pass it to her. Snatching the cloth from his hand, she sent a furious glare at her would-be suitor and smoothed her gown. Again. “Oh, get off the floor. And then go away,” she ground through her teeth.

“But I—”

Another hard stare quelled his protest, and he heaved awkwardly to his feet, swaying a bit to his left before he completely righted himself.

“Pity’s sake, why can’t you manage to stay on your feet?” she whispered, wishing far away from her. She turned what she hoped was a dazzling smile on Lord Strathern. How dear of him to have escorted his widowed cousin.

Kitty’s gaze slid rightward, finally able to take in the woman as the pair of them entered the drawing room, her hand tucked firmly in the crook of his elbow. Black silk flowed like a dark waterfall from the black velvet bodice that embraced a generous bosom. Milky fair skin shown to advantage by the low-cut neckline made the black velvet seem even darker. A necklace of white pearls looped around her throat, the clasp in front set off with a large, dark ruby. When Lady Frances tilted her head and sent Lord Strathern a sweet smile, a matching clip that graced her honey gold hair glittered in the light of the candelabra overhead. A matching flash of ruby fire from the gold ring on her right hand completed the set.

Gracious, for a widow she certainly was festive.

And young.

Lord Strathern dipped his head and murmured something private to Lady Frances. She tittered, giving a toss of her head that thrust her ample breasts forward. Then she seemed to spasm with soft laughter as she stepped impossibly closer and slid her hand along his forearm until their arms seemed to be twined together.

“Quite close for cousins, aren’t they?” murmured Jenny in Kitty’s ear.

Kitty startled. Oh, dear, she
had
been staring, hadn’t she? Her eyes strayed to the couple again just as Lord Strathern led Lady Frances to the brown brocade chair near the fireplace. The lady settled into the seat with elegant grace and the couple again exchanged a glance before he stepped away. He looked around the room, his eyes pausing for a heartbeat on Kitty. Thrilling little flutters began in her middle. But then he moved on. Finally, he seemed to spy what or whom he had been seeking. With sure steps, he crossed the room and joined a group of men surrounding her father.

In a swirl of sapphire silk, the always-elegant Ellie approached and perched gracefully on the edge of the settee next to Jenny. “Will you look at that gown…”

Jenny raised her fan and hid a soft titter. “I dare say, apparently, one can be grieving
and
stylish.”

“Did you notice her mourning ring?”

“How could a person
not
notice it?” murmured Jenny from behind her fan. “I dare say that ruby must weigh on her hand a fair bit. It’s enormous.”

Ellie leaned closer. “I imagine it’s quite a weight on her conscience, considering her behavior with her
cousin,
and her husband not yet gone three months.”

“What a cruel thing to say,” whispered Kitty. “You shouldn’t be gossiping.”

“What’s truth isn’t gossip,” announced Ellie with a smug smile. “I happened to run into her at Miss Lucy’s shop at the end of the summer when I was fitting for a new traveling gown. It wasn’t her
cousin
she was clinging to then but a commoner. Only he didn’t look terribly happy about the attention.” She waved her fan. “He repeatedly stepped aside when she touched him and kept muttering something in a northern accent.”

“What was she doing at the dressmaker and her husband not cold in the grave?” Jenny lowered her fan and stared across the room, a look of blatant disgust marring her pretty face.

“Commissioning a trunk full of dresses for a trip she plans in the spring, apparently,” answered Ellie in a cool voice. “I happened to spot her ring and admired it. Do you know she had her husband’s hair removed and the enamel replaced with the ruby? She was quite proud of the inscription Sir Braithwaite had designed into the band.” Her smile widened. “
Nunquam fidelis
. The words twine around the body of a snake that makes up the bezel.”

“A snake!” Kitty recoiled.

“My Latin is rusty, I’m afraid. What on earth does
nunquam fidelis
mean?” asked Jenny, lifting her fan again.

Ellie shook her head. “I don’t recall much of our lessons either, so I asked. According to Lady Frances, her husband wanted the world to know his wife was always faithful.”

That wasn’t right… Kitty mulled the words over in her head.
Fidelis
translated to faithful, but the other word… She struggled to recall her lessons. Always would have been
semper
.
Nunquam
meant… never. Her eyes widened. Sir Braithwaite had crafted the words “never faithful” into his wife’s mourning ring? Kitty pressed her fingers against her lips lest she speak out loud.

She stole another look at the widow. Her fair skin gleamed golden in the candlelight, and when she moved the ruby in the center of her chest slipped over the curve of one breast, hinting at an intimate mimicry of a caress.

Kitty straightened her back and squared her shoulders, painfully aware that the motion did nothing to enhance her smallish bosom. Still, Lord Strathern’s gaze had lingered on her when he’d looked about the room. Should she have sent him a coy smile? Or raised a self-assured eyebrow?

The guests seemed to disappear into her daydream as she imagined him lifting an eyebrow in return, as they exchanged a secret language. She would blush and look away, and when she glanced back, he would be standing closer, the corners of his lips lifted in a bemused expression, as though unable to believe she was real.

A throat cleared to her left. With her breath catching in her throat, Kitty twisted her head to discover Randall holding out a hand. “They’re preparing to announce dinner, Lady Caroline.”

“And why would—”

Behind Randall, across the room, Lord Strathern held out a hand to Lady Frances.

No! Mama hadn’t! She couldn’t have. She wouldn’t have dared invite Randall to escort Kitty to dinner. Oh, that would be too unfair.

But a glance around the room revealed the truth. Handy Randall was the only unattached male in the room, and Kitty the only unattached woman. Even Jenny had drifted over to Stephen, her post captain.

“Shall we, Kitty?” the young Lord Randall murmured.

“Do
not
call me that,” she said, ignoring his outstretched hand and rising from the settee.

Chapter Six

“Eleanor, will you play for us?” asked Kitty’s mother as they all retired to the drawing room after the meal. She made an expansive gesture toward the pianoforte.

Groaning inwardly, Kitty forced her hands to remain folded in her lap. She’d suffered through the interminable dinner, listening to Randall’s inane attempts at conversation. She’d sat directly across the table from Lady Frances — who hardly conducted herself with the manners of a lady, let alone the decorum of a recent widow. It had been impossible not to see Lord Strathern constantly showering the woman with attention, leaning over and whispering in her ear, passing her the asparagus tips or the roast of beef with soft words murmured for her ears only. And those light, flirtatious laughs the woman periodically emitted. Shameful! Even Walter, Ellie’s fiance, occasionally turned his head and seemed to drink in the sight with a smile gracing his lips.

But dinner was over. Was it too much to expect that
dinner
guests
left
after dinner? Of course, she couldn’t voice the thoughts. And should her mother develop an inkling of her thoughts, Lady Louise would surely chide her uncharitable attitude. Kitty didn’t consider herself particularly spiteful. What she was, though, was miserable. Every time she might have caught Lord Strathern’s eye, that juvenile fop — that remnant of a childhood she’d rather forget — had inserted himself like a wall between them. As far as she was concerned, Randall Berwyn could fall into a well and she would sooner fill it in than help him out.