Chapter 22

The unknown, uncertainty, had very little appeal for Kitty these days. Her situation had been too perilous, too nebulous, for her to enjoy mystery and intrigue the way that she once had. She had developed an appreciation for the practical and tangible. She supposed this was a symptom of her being forced, at long last, to grow up. She was, after all, now a woman of five-and-twenty, staring spinsterhood in the face.

To that end, the uneasy nature of the evening weighed heavily on her when she at last took to her bed. She laid there, the quilt pulled tightly up to her chin, and stared at the ceiling. In the dark, scenes played over and over in her mind. It was obvious that Sir Wright was intrigued by her, too much, clearly. This was a point weighted in their favour when it came to negotiating with him. The trouble was, Kitty doubted that he would be content with a simple flirtation; she would not be surprised if he presumed that she was part of the bargain.

And then there was Seth. He had behaved gallantly by some measure, but Lady Veronica clearly fretted that he had insulted Sir Wright. Kitty doubted this, and said as much that evening when she was conversing with Lady Veronica before she retired to bed, as was their custom.

"That man is far too used to getting what he wants," Kitty had said, sneering a little.

"That is true," Lady Veronica allowed. "He did only seem to take a real interest in you when you became a little impertinent."

"Precisely," Kitty agreed. "The idea of being put off by anyone is probably the most interesting thing to happen to him in weeks."

Their conversation had placated Lady Veronica, putting her mind at ease. It seemed a little unfair that she could be troubled by anything when Seth had returned, but that was not for Kitty to say.

An errant stick popped in Kitty's fireplace, bits of kindling left from starting the fire in her grate. It was a nice luxury, being allowed such a built-up fire before bed. Her hands, too, felt oddly soft, no cracks or roughness from the cold or scrubbing. It was a day of odd contrasts, and it made sleep elusive.

It certainly, absolutely, was not because of the undeniable knowledge that Seth was sleeping down the hall, tucked safely into his own bed. True enough that his room was in the opposite wing of the house, but that was closer than he had been for more than a year. It boggled the mind.

He's home, he's safe…that was all that you asked for, isn't it ? she asked herself. That was true, too, that she had been only asking for his safe return and nothing more. She had no hopes or expectations about what he might intend for her, particularly given the nature of their parting. He had made it clear that she should not expect anything from him because of his reduced circumstances.

And what possible explanation could she possibly give for pushing into his home like this? It was absurd at best, insane at worst. She did not want to be another Claire Clairmont, chasing a disinterested nobleman all across Europe. That was a sobering thought indeed, one that caused Kitty to reach up and scrub at her face with both hands. They had not had time to talk, which was intentional on Kitty's part: She had fled upstairs at the earliest opportunity, completely dodging Seth.

"No point in wallowing now," Kitty muttered to the dark stillness of her room. It was not likely that she would sleep, and the longer she stayed up there, the more she would make herself miserable. Besides which, she had little doubt that quite a quantity of dishes had piled up below stairs; despite their small windfall and influx of cash, Kitty knew that they were still desperately short-staffed.

Resigned, Kitty threw back her quilt, inhaling sharply at the cold as it rushed over her. Ignoring it, she slipped quietly from her bed, knowing good and well that the floor in her room creaked particularly badly in the cold. Deftly, she traded her nightrail for a chemise, wriggling into her jumps easily. She pulled on a morning dress and tied a ribbon about the loose curls on her head, leaving the rest in the customary braid cascading over her shoulder that she wore to bed.

She had become accustomed to navigating the house without the aid of tapers, what with their limited means. Without much thought, her feet knew where to step to avoid squeaky boards, and her hands found the bannister on the stairs easily. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, because no one was looking, she hopped over the last stair, using the bannister for leverage so that she turned the corner at the same time.

It was quiet and even darker in the servants' area downstairs. She did not dare to hop down these stairs at all, for they were unforgiving stone. There was always an oil lantern left by the bottom of the stairs, however, and this was thankfully still lit. She carried it with her, finding her way into the kitchen. As she suspected, there was still much to be done, though Cook and the scullery maid had made good progress.

With a sigh, Kitty took up her customary apron, and put it on as she made her way to the cold pantry. She had not eaten much at dinner, and it would not do to begin scrubbing on an empty stomach. She found some fruit tarts and slices of roast beef, and from the dairy took out some cheese and butter. Her arms thus loaded, she made her way back into the kitchen proper, hoping the stove was still a little warm.

"Ah, I see I am not the only one hunting for victuals."

Kitty nearly dropped all of the procured food in shock, barely managing to muffle a shriek. The voice had spoken out of total darkness, scaring her out of her wits.

"I'm so sorry," Seth said, stepping forward into the circle of light made by the lantern. He darted forward, taking the things out of Kitty's arms. "I thought you had seen me, I never meant to—are you alright?"

With one hand on her stomach, the other helping to steady herself on the sturdy wooden worktable, Kitty gulped down a few deep breaths. "You gave me such a start," she breathed, "I shouldn't be surprised if I've gone grey."

"Here, sit," Seth said, pulling over one of the stools the servants sometimes sat in while they shelled peas or polished the silver.

Kitty accepted gratefully, sitting for a moment. She avoided Seth's gaze, who looked at her expectantly. "What are you doing down here?" she asked at last.

"I did not have much of an appetite at dinner," he responded, pulling up another stool on the opposite side of the heavy table. "Truthfully, I did not eat much on the crossing back to England, either."

"Rough seas?" Kitty asked, nodding sympathetically. She had heard her own brother complain many times about that.

"No, a rough cook," Seth replied.

In spite of herself, Kitty laughed. "Yes, I've heard those ships' cooks can be deadly."

"You've no idea," Seth muttered darkly. "Never want to see a piece of hardtack again." He paused for a moment, tilting his head curiously. "What are you doing down here?"

Kitty shrugged, attempting to appear nonchalant. "I could not sleep, and I, too, did not have much enthusiasm for dinner. Besides which," she said, nodding toward the sink and counters that were piled high with pots and pans, "I thought I might give Cook a head-start for tomorrow morning."

Seth followed the direction of her nod, then seemed to truly look over Kitty. "You are in the habit of helping Cook?"

"I am," she confirmed. "I do a bit of whatever needs done these days. To that end," she said, sliding from her stool and making her way to the stove. Cautiously, she put her hand on it. "Well, at least it's not gone totally cold," she said. With practised ease, she opened one of the doors, and began piling in little bits of kindling from a nearby stack. She withdrew one of the paraffin-dipped reeds from the canister on the shelf over the stove, and motioned at Seth. "Bring that lantern over, would you?" she asked.

He complied, and she opened it up, using the small flame within to light one end of the reed. Carefully, mindful of the danger of dripping paraffin, she brought it to the stove. After a couple false starts, the kindling took and began to crackle. Gently, Kitty blew on it to encourage the small flame. Once sure it was properly lit, she closed and latched the little door, stood, and opened some of the flues to ensure airflow.

Once she was satisfied that the fire was crackling away, she located a shallow cast iron skillet, and after lifting one of the dampers, placed it over the licking flames. Wordlessly, she located a cutting board and began cutting the bread, having put a couple pats of butter into the skillet.

She was aware that Seth was watching her closely, and it made her uneasy. She couldn't begin to imagine what he was thinking, what he might have thought of her now. She was no longer the carefree, light-hearted young society lady that she had once been. Her hands were work-roughened, her smiles a little more rare than they might have been when he had left.

"What are you making, then?" Seth asked softly, watching her work with a curious gleam to his face.

"Sippets," Kitty answered easily. "I am rather fond of them." She paused. "I hope this meets approval with Your Lordship's palette."

Seth smiled slowly. "Don't worry yourself on my account," he reassured her. "Heaven knows I've been eating rougher than this for quite some time now. Besides, I'm rather partial to butter, myself."

Satisfied, Kitty continued to cook. Once the sippets were well-toasted and covered with butter, she pulled the skillet from the stove, but left the damper off so that the kitchen was a little warmer and lighter. With a gesture, she invited Seth to eat with her, as she took up her stool again.

They ate in companionable silence, neither of them entirely sure what to say. It was a strange situation to say the least, and Kitty had no idea how to even begin addressing the wide gulf between them.

"I am not sure what the proper conversation is in this situation," Seth admitted.

Kitty smiled wryly. "I'm fairly certain that we are long past the bounds of propriety."

Seth nodded, chewing slowly. "It's a little strange to be having any conversation, really."

"Why is that? You can't mean you were alone the whole time you were in the wilderness!" Kitty said.

Seth shook his head. "No, but…not the same. It feels…different. I'm different."

Kitty could not help but give him an appraising look. This much was clearly true: He was dressed in trousers and a crisp shirt, with a quilted dressing gown overtop for warmth. Even so, it was clear that he had lost a bit of weight, his waist narrowing and his shoulders broader than ever. His face, always handsome, had lost all of the boyishness, with cheekbones and chin more prominent.

"I suspect that we are both very different people from who we were just a year ago," Kitty said softly.

Seth smiled and nodded, a little sadly. "That is true. I was quite fond of the old Kitty."

"And what of this new Kitty?"

Seth's smile widened. "Well, she makes a decent sippet, so I am inclined to think favourably of her."

Kitty scoffed and tossed a piece of pie crust at him. "A decent sippet he says, as if he did not sit there and eat a half dozen all on his own." Seth chuckled, a deep rumbling from within his chest. "So, I've learned to cook sippets—what did you learn in your absence?"

Seth looked thoughtful, a kind of far-away expression coming over him. "To chop wood," he answered finally.

"I suspect it was a great deal more than that," Kitty said, biting into a fruit tart. She was pleased to discover that it was cherry, one of her favourites.

" I suspect," Seth said slowly, "that we have both learned quite a bit. I also suspect that you are the reason the house has continued to run at all in my absence." He hesitated, then looked down at his hands. "It…could not have been easy."

"It has been a different sort of education, I'll admit," Kitty allowed. "But it was a choice I made myself."

"When my mother wrote to me of her companion named Catherine, I never would have believed it to be you," Seth said. One side of his mouth pulled up into a crooked smile. "Can't believe you spent all these months with her without strangling each other."

"There were moments I was tempted, I will own to that," Kitty said with an answering grin. "Of course, the real tyrant of the house everyone has grown to fear is Quincey."

"Quincey?"

Kitty lowered her voice, looking about as if she expected him to spring forth at any moment. "That incorrigible dog you saddled us with."

"Oh. That bad, is he?" Seth said, his grin spreading.

"I would suggest you take to wearing your boots at all times if you value your ankles," Kitty said. She paused, then added, "Or your stockings."

Seth chuckled again, which made Kitty laugh softly too around another mouthful of tart. His face became serious then as he stared at her from across the table, and he leaned forward a little.

"I hope Mother did not—that is, she should not have asked you to do anything that you were…that was in poor taste," he said haltingly, his eyes searching Kitty's.

"I would be lying if I said that it had been easy, or that she hadn't taken some kind of liberties," Kitty admitted. "But I couldn't let all of this come down around her ears, not while you were gone. What would you have come home to?"

"If she intimated that you should be given to Sir Wright in some kind of transaction, I will—" he began hotly, with more temper than Kitty had ever seen him display.

She rolled her eyes a little. "She did not," she said firmly, waving him off. "And I was not a damsel in need of rescuing, either, for that matter," she stated firmly.

"He was distressing you," Seth objected.

"Did I look distressed?" Kitty retorted.

"No," Seth allowed, grudgingly. "You looked…contemplative."

Kitty grinned again, feeling more like her old self than she had thought possible. "That is because I was contemplating where to kick him."

Seth laughed again, which evaporated the rest of the tension. "You'd crush your poor toes in those little slippers you were wearing. Shame."

"About my toes, or the slippers?"

"Both. They were pink—your favourite colour."

Kitty laughed again, secretly delighted that he had remembered. "Then we have established that he was not, in fact, distressing me. More of an annoyance than anything."

"Fine," Seth sighed, grumbling a little. "Perhaps he was distressing me. "

"Well, I would advise you to take firm hold of your scruples. I suspect that we will be seeing more of him, for he still holds some of your finances in his grasp," Kitty warned.

A dark look came over Seth's face. They were silent for a moment. "Then," he said slowly, a glint in his eye, "perhaps you ought to consider wearing boots at all times as well."

"And why is that?" Kitty asked.

"More leverage for kicking."

Laughter seized Kitty then, and Seth joined in, both of them uproariously taken with humour. This was the manner in which the scullery maid found them, grey light in the high kitchen windows beginning to filter in. The girl said nothing, but gave Kitty a knowing look.