Kitty dabbed at her eyes again with the sodden pocket-handkerchief. Perhaps she had best swallow her yearnings and take up the latest in a series of beastly posts the Duck wished to thrust upon her. Only what hope had she of emulating the success of her dearest friends as governess in a household where the eldest son was but eleven years of age, and there was not a widower in sight?
A fresh deluge of tears cascaded down her cheeks at the melancholy remembrance of Helen Faraday’s coming nuptials. The letter handed over to Kitty at breakfast this morning by Mr Duxford, who always dealt with the post, had been couched in rhapsodic terms wholly unlike Nell’s usual manner. Kitty held the handkerchief to her eyes as she vainly attempted to stem the flow. She was happy for Nell, she told herself miserably. Had she not predicted this outcome the moment she had heard of the widowed Lord Jarrow and his Gothic castle? She had told Nell to fall in love with him, and her friend had done it within a few short weeks. While as for Prue—! Who would have thought that so unpromising a creature would have captured any man’s romantic fancy? Mrs Rookham she was now, and disgustingly happy. It was too bad!
But no sooner had this unkind thought passed through her mind than Kitty chided herself for a beast. She could not envy darling Prue. Nor would Kitty have settled for a mere mister! But it was hard indeed to be the only one left, and with no prospects. Of the three, she had been the one to repudiate the future to which she had been raised, and if she ended after all as a governess, it would be the greatest injustice imaginable!
There was but one consolation, her present status permitting her to escape now and then upon the flimsiest of pretexts. This morning she had volunteered to nip out to the village shop in order to procure three pairs of the regulation hose for the latest orphaned arrival, along with a toothbrush and a tin of toothpowder—essential items that had been mysteriously forgotten by the persons who brought the child. Having made the purchases, Kitty had thrust them into her inner pockets and dawdled in the shop as long as she dared without buying anything more. Having used every penny of the last of her pupil’s allowance, as well as her new wage, she had no money left to spend.
But the thought of returning to the Seminary, and to the task of listening—her unenviable occupation now of a Friday afternoon—to one of the worst-fingered pupils in the place practising upon the pianoforte, was altogether unbearable. Especially at a time when she was severely moved by Nell’s good fortune—and no privacy in which to indulge it. The two other beds in her shared accommodation were now occupied by girls much younger than herself. Seventeen and eighteen—and Kitty was one and twenty in all but a month or two.
One and twenty! It was all of a piece. By rights she should have made her come-out and been long betrothed, if some ill-disposed person had not cut her off from the heritage she was convinced should have been hers. And condemning her thereby to a life of drudgery. She was the unluckiest female in the world!
A sound unusual in this out-of-the-way village penetrated her self-absorption. A vehicle coming down the lane, and drawn by several horses? It could not be the stage, for Mr King’s coach boasted but one pair, and it was travelling too fast for a carrier. Distracted from her troubles by an idle curiosity, Kitty looked towards the sound, which was coming from the direction of Westbourn Green.
Around the corner swept a team of matched greys, drawing a smart-looking open carriage. It was driven by a man who looked to be a gentleman, with a liveried fellow up beside him, whom she took to be his groom. Tutored by her avid reading, Kitty recognised a fashionable spencer in the short green jacket, worn over a brown frock coat, the whole topped by a stylish hat. She watched the approach of the carriage with a feeling of envy. How she would love to be driven in so dashing a vehicle! Was it a curricle?
The carriage sailed by, and Kitty could not help but preen herself a little upon seeing its occupant glance in her direction. Especially when she thought she caught an expletive bursting from his lips. She was used to being an object of male attention, even if her admirers were for the most part bucolic yokels like the baker’s boy. It did her heart good to know that her features had caught the interest of a personage of this calibre.
And then Kitty realised that the carriage was slowing. In some surprise, she watched it come to a halt, and saw the groom jump down and run to the heads of the leading pair of horses. Had the driver mistaken the way? A riffle disturbed her pulses as an enticing thought struck her. Perhaps he took her for a village maiden, and had leaped to the notion of indulging in a little flirtation.
The horses began to back, guided by the groom, and Kitty experienced a moment of doubt. Hitherto, her flirtations had been confined to the ilk of old Mr Fotherby, who lived in the house at the top of the Green, and knew how to keep the line. Lord, what if this man were to—
There was time for no more, for the carriage was coming level with where she perched, the gentleman’s attention fully directed upon Kitty. She took in a vaguely pleasing countenance, just now marred by a heavy frown, and a glimpse of yellow hair under the wide-brimmed beaver, brown in colour. And then the gentleman addressed her, in strongly indignant tones.
‘I thought it was you! Dash it, Kate, what the deuce are you about? How did you get here? You haven’t run away, have you, silly wench? Didn’t I tell you not to fret?’
As Kitty stared at him, utterly bemused, his glance raked the surrounding area and came back to her face, a pair of blue eyes popping at her.
‘What the devil—? Have you come here alone? Where’s your maid? Gad, Aunt Silvia will be having a blue fit! I’d best take you home without more ado. Come, get off that fence and hop up!’
Bewilderment gave way to wrath, and Kitty found her tongue. ‘I shall do no such thing! Who are you? I do not know you, nor have I heard of your aunt Silvia, and I’ll thank you to take yourself off, sir!’
‘Oh, will you?’ muttered the gentleman grimly. ‘Stop playing games, Kate, for the Lord’s sake!’
‘I am not Kate,’ stated Kitty bluntly. ‘I do not know who you are, and my name is Kitty.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ argued the young man. ‘Kitty indeed! Never heard such flimflam.’
‘It’s the truth!’
‘And I’m a Dutchman.’
Kitty blinked. ‘Are you? You sound English to me.’
The young man groaned. ‘I’ll throttle you in a minute! Now be sensible, there’s a good girl. Leave off joking, for I haven’t got all day.’
Kitty began to feel desperate. ‘Sir, I am not joking. You are quite unknown to me. I am not this Kate, whoever she may be, and—’
‘Next you’ll be telling me I’m not your cousin Claud!’
‘I haven’t got a cousin Claud! Indeed, I have no cousin at all.’
Claud—if that was indeed the gentleman’s name—gazed at her in a look compound of disbelief and frustration. Kitty pursued what she perceived to be an advantage, and assumed as haughty a mien as she could.
‘Be pleased to drive on, sir.’
The gentleman threw his eyes to heaven. ‘Will you stop behaving like a third-rate play-actress? Are you going to get into this curricle, or do I come and get you?’
A rise of apprehension made Kitty grasp tightly to the bar of the fence upon which she was perched. Was the man mad? Her voice quivered a little as she tried again to disabuse him of his strange delusion.
‘Sir, I have n-never set eyes on you in my life! You are m-mistaken in me, I do