Page 50 of A Daring Desire

My dear Lady Bainbridge,

How touched I was by the letter I have this day received from you. It was all the more delightful for being unexpected. I had no notion of being so fondly remembered, but you are all kindness and consideration to have spared a moment of your busy time in thinking of me.

Indeed, it is so long since our last meeting and I much regret the illness that has kept me from returning to society. Though I am physically much better than I was, my doctor tells me I am suffering from melancholia. My father is out of patience with me, but even his rage does not pierce my quiet solitude. I am living in a little bubble, quite out of time and space and content enough to remain there. All the time my brother, Richmond, remains in town, I find myself quite at peace with my situation. I have no interest in the world outside the gates of Beresford and certainly no interest in returning to gratify his grace’s wish for a splendid match. I have determined to remain a spinster, a situation which he refuses to accept. For now, my doctor protects me, for even his grace could not force a sickly daughter among the ton and withstand the inevitable backlash, but he is not pleased by my belligerent stubbornness.

Your invitation to stay with you was one of such kindness I hardly know what to say in gratitude for it, but I shall thank you by refusing it, for I am a poor guest and not in the least ready to converse or take part in society. I am afraid your wonderful and lively family would not know what to make of such a faded little dab as I have become. Forgive me for being so poor spirited.

I send you affectionate thanks and gratitude for your solicitude and continuing friendship.

―Excerpt of a letter to The Most Hon’ble Arabella Grenville, the Marchioness of Bainbridge (daughter of Mr Nathanial and Mrs Alice Hunt) from The Right Hon’ble Lady Fidelia Ponsonby.

9th January 1850, The Countess St Clair’s New Year’s Ball, St James’s, London.

Cat, still breathless from the dance, stopped gratefully but stared up at Kilbane, startled by his expression. Her husband stared directly ahead of them, his face white but resolute and her heart sank. Turning to follow his gaze, she was unsurprised to see her mother, towards whom they had been making their way. Then she noticed, standing rigid with displeasure at her mother’s side, her father.

Kilbane’s grip on her hand tightened a fraction, and she wondered if he knew he had done it. She squeezed it back encouragingly. “We’re married. He can’t keep us apart any longer.”

Kilbane glanced down at her, a cynical gleam in his eyes. “If you believe that, you do not know your darling papa as well as you think, little wife.”

“I shan’t let him,” she said, her voice fierce.

He searched her gaze, as if looking for some chink in her certainty, some weak link in her attachment to him. Cat stared back at him, hiding nothing of herself. Kilbane let out a breath. “Once more unto the breach, dear friends,” he muttered caustically, settled Cat’s hand upon his sleeve, and moved forward.

They stopped before her parents and Lord Kilbane bowed politely. “My Lord Montagu, Lady Montagu. Good evening.”

Her father’s gaze did not stray to Cat for a moment; his icy contempt settled on Kilbane alone.

“Good evening, my lord,” her mama said quickly, filling the awkward moment and extending her hand to him. “How do you do?”

“Well, ma’am, and I need not ask the same of you, for you are as lovely as always. I do not think you have aged a day since the last I saw you.”

For once there was none of the biting sarcasm or innuendo he was so famous for. Nothing, in fact, but quiet sincerity. Her mama heard it and smiled at him. “You flatter me.”

“I flatter no one,” Kilbane replied with a mocking smile. “Ever.”

“A word,” her father said, a command that was cold and clipped. “In private.”

He jerked his head towards the exit, but her mother laid a hand on his arm.

“My lord, you will not cause a scene,” she said, her voice soft but firm.

He did not take his gaze from his son-in-law. “I am not making a scene. I am asking for a quiet word in private with Lord Kilbane. However, if it is denied to me, I may disappoint you.”

“Lucian!” her mother said sharply, and her father glanced at her, fury simmering in his eyes.

“I will not stand for it,” he bit out.

“There is nothing for you to stand,” Cat said, her heart beating too hard. “I am with my husband. You have no right to interfere.”

Hurt flashed in her father’s eyes and she felt the pain of regret, but she would not allow him to destroy her chance at happiness in his bid to protect her.

“Catherine, if your father wishes to speak to me, I have no objection, but everyone is watching us. May I suggest we remove to somewhere private, as he suggests? But perhaps with every appearance of equanimity between us, to keep the tongue wagging to a minimum. If you think you can uphold the appearance of civility long enough to reach the doors, my lord?” he added, addressing her father coolly.

“Impudent dog,” her father ground out, his eyes flashing, but her mama once more laid her hand upon his arm and it seemed enough to make him relent. A bare moment later, his face was impassive, any trace of emotion wiped from his eyes.

“My lord, Kilbane, shall we?” he said, gesturing for Kilbane to walk ahead of them.

He nodded, and they made their way unhurriedly through the crowd to the doors that would lead them out of the ballroom. They paused here and there to exchange a word or two with friends or acquaintances, all of them agape to see the Marquess of Montagu with his despised and scandalous son-in-law.