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Silverton raised his eyebrows in inquiry and Cranborne, with a glance over his shoulder to ensure the rest of the party continued somewhere behind them, went on, “Tunley tells me he’s been reliably informed that Lord Beecham, a fairweather associate of Debenham’s, has on several occasions mentioned the name of our Regent’s most despised wife. Suspected plans are afoot to publicly discredit her, giving the Regent grounds for divorce.”
“I thought she’d provided sufficient grounds without anyone’s help.”
Cranborne gave a short laugh. “That may be, but we have our suspicions that certain individuals may gain a great deal from ensuring that her fall from public approval is as thorough as it can possibly be. She has been living abroad, but during her next visit to London, it is thought some public humiliation is in the wind. Something to air in the newspapers to give the Regent greater grounds for following his inclination to be rid of her. It’s just the sort of havey-cavey affair Debenham likes to dabble in—politics and the chance to grist the mill. Has Debenham let anything slip?”
“I’ve fallen out of favor with Debenham.” Silverton lowered his voice even more as he passed through the opened double doors at the top of the house, flanked by two footmen. “He suspects I’m not the friend he once thought me to be. He’s more than returned the favor. Though he would deny it, I know he was behind the attempt to discredit me through the reappearance of some ill-advised letters I sent to Lady Harvey some years ago. Fortunately, it came to nothing. I suspect he’s behind a few other extortion attempts I’ve recently had wind of.” He sighed. He was weary of his complicated life suddenly. A woman he was obliged through family obligation to marry, and a number of nasty blackmail cases involving high profile members of society, had sapped his energy. “Perhaps this weekend will go some way toward restoring the dubious trust we once shared. Sufficiently, at least, for us to go gaming.” He gave a significant nod. Gaming was one activity where Debenham was guaranteed to let his guard down.
“Just as it will be a wonderful opportunity for you and Miss Mandelton to be reunited after so many months apart. How many has it been since you last saw her?” Cranborne raised his voice so that their conversation floated convivially in the air.
“Six.” Six months, Silverton thought after Cranborne had left his side and he was ushered into the drawing room to take refreshment with the rest of the family. Those six months had been the happiest of his life as he’d become entranced by the playful, flirtatious Miss Kitty La Bijou whose rescue had become a surprising addendum to the sober life he’d planned following his formal offer of marriage to Miss Mandelton.
Duty and doubt swirled through his head as he sipped the amber liquid Lord Partington pressed into his hand. Then Kitty’s lovely, smiling face seemed to coalesce as he held his glass up to the light in contemplation of the future and of Octavia’s arrival in the morning.
His heart hitched, and his groin ached as desire coursed through him. However much he tried to be honorable, he knew he could never give up the delightful, charming, and utterly enchanting Miss Kitty La Bijou.
The following tomorning, not far away, and unbeknownst to Kitty and Silverton how close they were to one another, Kitty clutched her shawl more closely at her throat and put her head down as she hurried through the small country town’s market square. She wasn’t sure whether the churning in her belly was due to nerves at the possibility of being recognized by her father or someone else she knew, or possibly running into her mother.
Why, oh why, was she feeling so afraid? She could get through her lines on stage without being recognized, surely? She’d be taking on the role of another person. Tonight’s performance should be no different to performing on a London stage in front of thousands. She swallowed, and her palms felt clammy as she acknowledged that tonight’s audience would include her father. Her knees literally buckled with fear.
In London, she was never fearful. She marched about with her head held high, proud to be recognized and acknowledged with a nod or a flourishing bow. So many in London knew her face and her name. She was London’s most celebrated actress.
But here?
Why should she suddenly be reduced once again to the frightened, downtrodden village child she’d always felt herself in the shadows of these very elms? Shouldn’t she be lording it over those who might have once shunned her but who would now see her as she now was—the celebrated actress Kitty La Bijou?
It was an irony that shame had driven her to London. She’d left her village a pure and virtuous young woman— but reviled because of her illegitimacy— however, only after she’d actually committed the so-called crimes of becoming an actress and a kept woman, had she received the adulation that was continually leveled at her these days.
Well, she would do it all again, she decided, raising her head and clenching her teeth with determination. And even though she was within walking distance of the house at the end of the bridge where she’d grown up, she would not go and see her mother. She doubted her mother would want to see her either.
She was crossing the village green, when a burst of frenzied yapping caused her to stop and turn to see a young woman standing by a stagecoach by the local tavern, holding a small dog in her arms. Kitty, who loved animals, was just contemplating whether to go over when the little creature sprang out of its mistress’s arms and bolted across the village green. It brushed past Kitty’s ankles and disappeared through the hedgerows. Impulsively, Kitty hurried after it, finding a break in the hedge, while the young lady’s plaintive cries could be heard in the distance entreating “Poppet” to “come back!”
As Kitty drew closer, she could see the small dog in the distance, dancing about some ducks by the edge of a small pond. She picked up her skirts and increased her pace.
It was a sweet little King Charles Spaniel she saw upon coming closer, with devilry in its large, chocolate brown eyes. Of course, the ducks had the advantage of being able to swim, much to the frustration of their would-be playmate.
Kitty had always wanted a pet dog. Lord Nash had never particularly liked them, but Silverton was very fond of dogs and had promised they would have one, together.
Kitty realized that the young lady who’d lost her traveling companion was in a difficult position in an unfamiliar town. She’d not been dressed for a country ramble, whereas Kitty didn’t mind risking a bit of mud on her skirts if it meant doing a good turn. Especially one that involved a puppy.
When the ducks had progressed far out of reach, the spaniel finally started paying attention to Kitty, who’d reached within a few feet of it, and when Kitty proffered the piece of bun she’d kept from her lunch for the purpose of feeding the ducks, it was easy to entice the puppy into her arms.
“Here’s your little friend,” she said with a smile a
s she returned the runaway to the young lady who looked like she’d been crying. “A little muddy, I’m afraid, so perhaps I should put him straight into your carriage.”
“If he’s muddy Aunt Bertha will be most put out!” The young lady appeared positively anguished at such a scenario. “I can’t possibly do that. She didn’t want me to travel with Poppet, but as she goes everywhere with me, I couldn’t possibly have left her on such a journey as this one.”
Kitty saw her jump as a gravelly voice full of disapproval could be heard from the waiting carriage. “Octavia! What are you doing? Come here, now! I’m tired and hungry, and we haven’t all day.”
Clearly, the young lady was in terror of her guardian, so Kitty went up to the window and said sweetly, “It’s my fault I’m holding her up, ma’am. I fear I frightened the little dog out of the young lady’s arms and it ran into the mud.”
“For heaven’s sake, Octavia, girl! I said you weren’t to bring that creature in the first place, and if it’s covered with mud it will have to stay behind.”
Kitty took up a position of solidarity with her new friend. She looked into the window again and said quickly, “It won’t take a moment to get the puppy cleaned up, and then I know where the nicest Eccles tarts in the whole district can be found. Do let me fetch you a couple.”
Before the young lady had time to object, Kitty hurried past her, indicating for her to follow her to the water trough in front of The Black Swan. The young lady’s Aunt Bertha had looked formidable and, given her girth, would probably be ameliorated by a couple of nice tarts, which really were acclaimed in the area.
“Let me do that,” she said, taking back the muddy little creature and swishing its feet in the pool of water. The young lady really looked as if she didn’t quite know what to do. Clearly, traveling with that old tartar was a terrifying business.
