Chapter 14

There had never been a lot of gossip about Kitty around London, mostly because she had very few secrets about herself. Whatever it was that people saw from her, that was precisely what they got. On the rare occasion she was accused of being a shameless flirt, her face would light up. "Oh yes," she would reply, usually with an enthusiastic clasp of her hands, "isn't it marvellous?"

Her sudden absence from society was noted, however, and perplexing. Her parents were still in town, though their circumstances were notably straightened. They had retired from their customary home to a smaller one, though still just this-side of fashionable. Mrs. Johnson had made several pointed comments At Volume about how the move was due to their no longer needing the space, and certainly no other reason.

"But where has Kitty Johnson gone?" was usually the hushed question that followed, though never to Mrs. Johnson. Neither she nor her husband would entertain any inquiries regarding their daughter.

When the ton did not have the facts, it was quite adept at making their own. The highest of the high society might turn their noses up at playwrights and novel writers, but they were no less adept at producing fiction to entertain themselves. Kitty was kept abreast of these tales about herself via letters from Lady Patience Chester. Despite the fraught nature of their earlier acquaintanceship, Kitty found her to be a surprisingly compassionate friend.

In no particular order, Kitty's favourite tales about herself were: That she had locked herself in her room from her embarrassment regarding the baron's ill-fated display; that she was so heartbroken that she could not marry the man she truly loved, she had run off to a convent ( That one hit a little too close for Kitty's comfort.); and, her personal favourite, that she had disguised herself as a sailor and run off to New Spain.

Given that she had been sequestered for a year, she was under no illusions that her return to society, when it did happen, would be no small cause for conversation. She was no less sure that her radical transformation would equally cause a stir. Still, that was a problem for her to solve weeks from now.

Or so she had thought.

It had been a day much as any other, with Kitty busy helping Lady Veronica settle menus for the week. Cook had passed on word that she found a fishmonger who would give a good price, and would include lemons as well. As always when Cook passed along one of these tips, Kitty would gently push Lady Veronica to include it in the menus, always letting her think it was her own idea.

"Did I tell you that I saw Lady Beauchamp in the park the other day when I was walking Quincy?" Kitty asked casually, not taking her eyes from the papers she was making lists on. This was a complete fabrication, as she happily paid the kitchen boy, Jimmy, to take Quincy for his daily constitutionals.

She was sat with the viscountess at her writing table, Kitty in the position of scribe, and Lady Veronica sitting beside and opposite her. As ever, Quincy was seated in the place of honour on his mistress' lap, with Lady Veronica absently scratching him about the ears.

"Did you indeed?" Lady Veronica replied, moving her hand to tickle Quincy under the chin.

"Mm," Kitty said, noncommittal. "She found Quincy to be a handsome little chappie." She sat back, stretching her neck a little, all with forced casualness. "She would know, of course, you know how fond she is of her spaniels."

"Oh, quite true," Lady Veronica agreed. "She has those dogs at her side more often than her husband. Poorly behaved little brutes, too." She paused, lifting Quincy by his armpits, holding him so that his face was quite near hers. "Not like my handsome little man, who is every bit a gentleman. Why, I saw her one time bring them to a ball at Carlton House. When it was time for dinner, she was positively enraged because her precious babies did not have their own seats at the table."

Kitty watched, transfixed and a little repulsed, as Lady Veronica began to make kissing sounds at Quincy. The poor little dog wiggled his pudgy body until it looked as if he were swimming in the air, little pink tongue flicking out like a snake. She held up a bit of the ladyfinger she had been eating, just out of reach so that Quincy had to stretch for a nibble. Lady Veronica laughed, then popped the rest in her mouth.

"Have you ever heard of anything half so ridiculous?" Lady Veronica demanded. "Can you imagine, a dog at the Prince of Wales' table? That woman has no sense of boundaries, or propriety."

Kitty could only stare for a moment. She was aware that she was doing so, and she was equally aware that her hand was poised over the page, the ink-filled nib just hovering. There would surely be ink blots if she did not move now , something that would result in Lady Veronica demanding that she copy the whole page over from scratch. And yet, she could not stop staring.

"I've never heard of such an egregious thing," she said at last. "I suppose some people have no sense of decorum."

"I mean honestly, at the Prince's table," Lady Veronica said, brushing crumbs from the fur around Quincy's mouth.

"I shouldn't think he'd mind," Kitty said, turning her attention back to the menus. "I imagine he'd be rather comfortable around one of his own kind."

Lady Veronica's head snapped toward Kitty. "That is entirely too much pertness," she admonished. "He is still the heir to the throne."

Kitty shrugged, entirely unchastened. She had learned by now that the viscountess was a lot of bark, and very little bite. Incidentally, this was the direct opposite of Quincy, who was very happy to demonstrate the power of his needle-like teeth on any unsuspecting ankle.

"Back to the salient point," Kitty continued, "Lady Beauchamp said that she feeds her dogs fish once a week. You know how handsome their shining coats are? She says it's all down to the fish."

Kitty stopped talking there; she could almost hear the viscountess' mind at work. Kitty made a great show of bending over her work, her pen scratching along the paper. It would only be a matter of moments before—

"Well, perhaps we might add fish to the menu this week, then," Lady Veronica allowed. "We haven't had any for quite some time. Mind, tell Cook that I shan't tolerate any outrageous expenditures. If she finds some that isn't too dear, then we might have some."

"I'll be sure to tell her," Kitty assured her. "I have been very clear with your instructions regarding economy."

"It won't all be for naught," Lady Veronica said, resettling Quincy onto her lap. "I have been pinching all of our pennies for a particular reason."

"Oh?" Kitty asked.

"The time has come for us to emerge from our seclusion. We are going to re-enter society," Lady Veronica announced, punctuating her sentence with a firm nod of her head.

Now Kitty really did blot the paper—she let the quill pen drop from her hand, splattering all over the page as it rolled down the sheet. "We're—you're coming out of your mourning?" Kitty asked, her eyes wide and searching.

"I am, and not a moment too soon," Lady Veronica said, frowning disapprovingly at the mess that Kitty had made.

Simply so that her hands would have something to do, Kitty turned back to the desk, retrieving the quill and sprinkling sand on the ruined page before putting it aside. Her mind raced as she opened the shallow drawer at the centre of the desk and withdrew a clean sheet.

"I am glad to hear that," Kitty said slowly, carefully, considering each word as much as if they were footsteps across an icy lake. One misstep, and she could fall through the ice. "I am sure that it will be a relief to all that have missed you."

"But?" Lady Veronica prompted, her sharp brown eyes on Kitty.

"Do you—do we—have the means to be out and about? I should hate to think of you going out in anything less than you ought to be," Kitty supplied, daring a glance at the viscountess.

"I have been carefully saving all of my pen money, and only barely touching the interest of my settlement I was gifted when Seth was born," Lady Veronica sniffed. "I tell you this only because you have a hand in the running of this house, and are familiar with the accounts."

Kitty stared for a moment, unsure if she empathised with the viscountess' frugality so that she might have new dresses, or furious because they had been barely scraping by. Before taking this position, Kitty would have been hard-pressed to make that choice as well.

"I can hear you from here, Catherine Johnson," Lady Veronica said, her dark eyes staring unflinchingly at Kitty. "Do not think I am ignorant to the privation and struggle of the last months. You have managed admirably; truly, you are a credit to this house. However, it is not so simple as a desire to go out and attend parties and dinners."

"Oh?" Kitty asked, intrigued in spite of her trepidation.

Lady Veronica looked down briefly, stroking Quincy's head again. For a moment, she had the look of a schoolgirl who was avoiding confessing something terrible to a schoolmaster. Kitty waited, the menus completely forgotten.

"Before he died, the late Viscount, my husband, was about to embark on a project of land development," Lady Veronica began, refusing to meet Kitty's gaze. "He purchased a quantity of land on the outskirts of London, convinced that the city would have no choice but to grow in that direction."

"I have heard that more people arrive to London every day," Kitty said weakly.

Lady Veronica rolled her eyes a little. "Farming folk, certain that they can find riches just laying in the streets, waiting for them to pick them up and slip them in their pockets." The viscountess paused, shifting a little in her chair so that she was sitting up a bit straighter, if such a thing were possible. She folded her hands carefully in her lap. "This scheme was no mere row of little townhouses for the nouveau riche ; this was to be a grand undertaking. Shops, homes, streets, even a school for boys."

"How very ambitious," Kitty offered, a little staggered by the scale of it.

"To say the least," Lady Veronica agreed. "The trouble is that my late husband was having to rely on a number of investors. They have naturally been a little…well, hesitant , since his death."

Kitty tilted her head, fixing Lady Veronica with a significant look. The viscountess caught her expression, and gave a sigh and a little helpless gesture with her hands. "They wish to abandon the project altogether. They do not think my son can manage it, and with his prolonged absence, they only grow more uneasy."

"Well, that is a shame if they must call it off, but—"

"Work has already begun," Lady Veronica interrupted, her voice low and urgent. "It was imperative that work was commenced immediately in order to satisfy the investors. After my late husband's death, they graciously let things lie as they were in deference to my loss."

Kitty could not help but stare at Lady Veronica. If she were not afraid of being admonished for it, her jaw would have surely dropped open as well. "That is why you wished to see out the entirety of your mourning period without budging," she breathed, somewhat in awe.

"It was the proper thing to do," Lady Veronica sniffed, tossing her head a little. "I lost my husband; it was only natural that mourning be fully observed."

They fell into a contemplative silence. Kitty had frequently seen the rules governing so much of women's lives as nothing but silly restrictions; it had never occurred to her that they might be turned to her advantage, if she were clever.

Such an education I have received in this house , she was tempted to say. Instead, she rummaged about in the writing desk, withdrawing a clean sheet of paper and laying it over the blotted and forgotten menus.

"Very well," she said, taking up her quill again and dipping it in the ink. She turned to the viscountess expectantly, the nib hovering over the page. "What must we do?"

The viscountess turned to stare at Kitty, surprised and assessing. "What?" Kitty countered. "You do not think that I have worked so hard to keep us all afloat these months so that I can see the household ruined by a few grubby bankers, do you?"

Lady Veronica was not a woman given over to great expressions of emotion, unless they served her in some fashion. This was particularly true of smiling; Kitty could not recall seeing her ever engage in a true, open smile that reached her whole face. Now, however, a smile of such satisfaction and pleasure spread over her countenance that Kitty could not help but answer it in kind.