Chapter 5

Something was amiss in the Johnson household. Kitty, so far gone in her own quiet misery, did not notice the warning signs of it. Truthfully, she had missed all indication of it, first being so absorbed in the hopes she had pinned on Lord Cluett, and then having them dashed so suddenly. There were always men of business coming and going from her father's home, so that was not even particularly noteworthy. This inattentiveness was thoroughly out of character for Kitty.

It was not until one evening, after dinner, that her father joined herself and Mrs. Johnson in the sitting room that Kitty had any real notion of it. After dinner, Mr. Johnson typically retired to his study for a brandy and pipe, joining the ladies only when it was nearly time to retire for the night.

The fact that Mr. Johnson was forgoing this nightly ritual to pointedly keep company with the ladies of the house was enough to rouse Kitty from her gloom. Curiously, she sent a querying glance to her mother, who looked away. After the footmen had been dismissed, Mr. Johnson took a position in front of the fireplace, hands clasped behind his back.

"Family," he began, which immediately set off Kitty's wariness, "we have come to an impasse of sorts."

"What do you mean, Father?" Kitty asked, looking askance at her mother again. Unusually, she gave nothing away to Kitty, when typically she could be relied on to act as a silent informant, sending significant looks and minute gestures.

"I have always endeavoured to protect both of you from the matters of business that have provided our family's income and standing," Mr. Johnson said, speaking as if he were giving some kind of sermon. "This is the right and proper thing to do, though Mother has always known little bits of the whole." He paused, his nose twitching a little. "It is now prudent that I inform you both that these investments have not gone well of late."

Instantly, Kitty's mind flashed to Lord Cluett. "How ‘not well' do you mean?" Kitty asked. Mrs. Johnson was busy looking away, and Kitty understood that this was a pantomime for her benefit; whatever it was, clearly Mrs. Johnson already knew.

Mr. Johnson cleared his throat, but lowered his voice, lest the servants overhear. "Not to put too fine of a point on it, but if something does not change, we shall be destitute by the start of summer."

"Destitute? Destitute ?" Kitty repeated, unable to comprehend. "Is it really as bad as all that? Surely you've put something aside for this occasion?"

"It never occurred to me that I would not have a living son," Mr. Johnson said crisply, biting off the ends of his words.

Mrs. Johnson looked pained, briefly, then blinked furiously as if fighting back tears. Kitty knew this was a sore subject; she'd had a brother, once, but like so many other sons, he had never returned from France. It was not something they discussed, but Kitty had never suspected that her father's denial had grown to include denying the future that was marching toward them.

"That's hardly Mother's fault," Kitty said, immediately defensive of her mother. "Or mine, for that matter."

"I did not know that you had become such an expert," Mr. Johnson snapped. "So far as I knew, you excelled only at spending money, not making it."

"James, this is not helping—" Mrs. Johnson began.

"Well, it's a fine thing for her to sit there in judgement, when she has contributed more than her fair share to this predicament. Everyday, bills from the milliner, the mantua maker, the cobbler!"

"Mantua maker?" Kitty asked, arching an eyebrow. "Father, it's not 1750."

"The point , Kitty," Mrs. Johnson said firmly before the argument could devolve further, "is that we are facing financial ruin."

"Well, we shall simply have to adapt, I suppose," Kitty replied.

"There is another solution," Mr. Johnson said, staring expectantly at Kitty.

"Why are you looking at me like that, Father? What can I do?" Kitty asked, looking between her parents.

"It's quite simple," Mr. Johnson answered, "you must marry—quickly, and well."

"Father, you cannot be serious!" Kitty objected. "I'm already spoken for!"

"Are you?" Mr. Johnson asked pointedly, stepping closer. "I do not recall any young men offering for you."

"Well, no, it's nothing official—yet—but I have ever hope that Lord Cluett—"

"We cannot live off hope , Kitty," Mr. Johnson interrupted. "Especially as I understand that his situation is as dire as our own."

"I'm not giving him up, not yet," Kitty said, lifting her chin stubbornly. "He'll return to England, and—Mother, tell him!" she implored, jerking her head toward her father.

To her surprise, Mrs. Johnson turned to Kitty, folded her hands in her lap, and adopted a tone that was somewhere between pleading and patronising. "Be reasonable, Kitty," she said, almost wheedling. "Even Lord Cluett requested that you not pin all of your hopes on him. This is something you can do now , not ten years from now when the bloom is quite gone off the rose."

"I wish I could say that I was surprised you were eavesdropping, Mother, but that would taste of a falsehood. One of these days, you will hear something you do not like at a keyhole," Kitty sighed. Mrs. Johnson gave Kitty a despairing look that seemed to indicate that she already had.

"It's as simple as this," Mr. Johnson said, his tone becoming sharper. "You have been asked to do very little in your gilded life to aid this family. Now is time for you to contribute, as is your duty."

"Why is this fallen to me? Surely I have some say in this matter," Kitty argued.

"Kitty, you are a charming enough girl, I will grant you that, but do you think any man of standing would be fool enough to offer for you without a proper dowry? As it is, we will have to scramble and pin all of our hopes on your new husband's generosity," Mr. Johnson said, now standing directly before Kitty, forcing her to crane her neck upward to see him.

"Why bother hoping for generosity? Why not simply find the oldest possible suitor and wait for him to die and leave me a wealthy widow?" Kitty said sardonically. When her parents said nothing, her eyes darted between them, her mouth falling open. "Oh God, you've already picked out some shambling horror! Oh Mother, you cannot really want me to go along with this!"

"There's nothing further to discuss—you will do this, Kitty, and I will not have any further histrionics about it!" Mr. Johnson snapped.

"I shan't do it! You can drag me to the altar if you wish, but I shall kick and scream the whole way, and when the vicar—" Kitty cried, leaping to her feet in a rare flash of temper.

"Now, peace, Kitty, peace!" Mrs. Johnson said, also standing and interposing herself between father and daughter. "You do not have to commit to anything just yet. All that we will ask you to do—for now—is to simply meet the man in question, and see if you can't get along with him. Who knows, you may find that being a baroness is a prospect that agrees with you," she said soothingly.

Kitty took a deep breath. "I cannot prevent you from making whatever introductions you wish, but I will make no promises." This seemed to placate Mrs. Johnson, at least until Kitty turned her attention back to her father. "But I shall also in the meantime be searching for alternatives. If I find some other means to ‘contribute,' as you so kindly put it, then I shall do so."

And with that, Kitty turned on her heel and flounced from the sitting room. It was egregiously disrespectful, especially to her father, but Kitty had stomached about all of the high-handed talk that she could of an evening. She was sure to receive a lecture from her mother on the importance of honouring thy father, but for tonight Kitty had a sense of pyrrhic victory.

She was sorely tempted to slam the door to her apartment, but resisted the urge. It was rare for her to have a fit of pique, but the past few days had been a great deal for her to bear. She had fully realised the depth of her attachment to Lord Cluett, only to have him unfairly snatched away from her. It was a good match, whatever his present or future circumstances, if only for the fact that they were exceedingly well suited.

Still seething a little, she flopped face-down onto her bed. It was tall, piled high with mattresses and pillows and bolsters, everything she could ever want for her comfort. Kitty turned her head to the side, and took in the white lace bed curtains, the dressing table with pots of cream and powder, scented pomatum, and bottles of scent. Beyond that, through a door in the far wall, was her dressing room. Even from here, she could see the cedar wardrobes within, all filled with dresses, gowns, petticoats, shawls, spencers, and all of the other accoutrement a fashionable young lady could desire.

Even the basic comforts were present, in the form of thick woollen rugs that covered the wood plank floors. She knew that all she had to do was ring for a servant, and she would be provided with warm water in her pitcher at the basin. Here, in her room, it was impossible for her to deny that her father was at least partially right: She had lived a privileged life, free from care, worry, and want. His words had stung because there was a ring of truth to them, which only made Kitty all the more bitter with herself.

Sighing, she rolled over, one arm above her head, the other on her stomach. If she were going to hold herself thoroughly accountable, that was not the only thing that had gotten under her skin. For the briefest of moments, no more than a split second, she had actually considered her father's words.

The future, if she even had one, with Lord Cluett was far from certain. There was a great chance that it would be one of hardship, the kind of which she had never faced before. It was easy for her to swear her loyalty to him now, but when there was no more money for candles or a joint of meat, or coals for the fire, would she still feel the same? It would be easy to be a baroness by comparison, even if her groom were to be hunchbacked with age.

No, Kitty thought firmly, I am not so weak as this. Would I really put a few frilly petticoats above the affection I have for Lord Cluett? What a terrible trade that would be. Mirthlessly, she laughed a little, throwing her arm over her eyes. And Father says that I have no head for business. Hah!