Chapter 7

As it was November, there were not very many social occasions of note in London. Much of the city had departed, either for their estates in the country or Bath, even Bristol. The city that was left in their wake was notably subdued. There were a few intrepid souls who hosted dinners, and of course there were the public assembly rooms.

It was the first real, concrete sign that things were not as they should be in the Johnson household that they, too, did not migrate with the fashionable crowd. Kitty could not remember a time when they had remained thusly in London. Those that remained in London did their best to put a brave face on things, forcing smiles when they encountered one another and insisting that it was their choice not to travel.

This would have made anyone dreary, but Kitty was particularly in the doldrums because of the continued absence of her dear friend Eva. She sighed much, finding her good spirits diminishing rapidly under the weight of her situation, and the lack of anyone to confide in. If anyone were to understand being trapped under a parent's scheme for an advantageous marriage, it would be her.

Each passing day only highlighted just how thoroughly Kitty was trapped, too. Her father had graciously allowed that if Kitty could find an alternative, suitable match on her own, then he would be amenable to it. The trouble was, there were scant few eligible men, young or otherwise, in London currently.

As if that were not all bad enough, even should Kitty receive an invitation, she was unsure if she should accept it on the grounds that her dress allowance had completely evaporated. It wasn't that she had unacceptable ensembles, or that they were hideously out of fashion (quite the opposite, actually), and it wasn't that she hesitated to wear them more than once; that was the standard procedure for even the wealthiest of ladies. However, it was expected that young ladies in particular should "smarten up" their dresses and gowns between wearings, adding lace here, a ribbon there. Kitty had no pin money at all now, and the very idea of going out and damaging her reputation as one of the en mode of London was anathema to her.

Nevertheless, she found herself being dragged, more or less unwillingly, to an evening party given by a Colonel Smythe and his wife. The colonel was lately returned from North America, and thus was eager to reintegrate himself into London society, no matter the state of it. It was not a ball, but like all parties held toward the latter end of the day, there was likely to be some impromptu dancing.

Kitty dressed in defiance of the season, donning a mint-green silk gown, so light it was almost white. This was accented with ribbon embroidered flowers in a cascading pattern down the skirt in silken shades of pink. In deference to the temperature, she donned long gloves in palest blush pink with a delicate row of buttons at the wrist. She opted for a fur-lined tippet overtop, burying her hands into a silk-lined muff that matched the tippet exactly. She looked like a primrose, fresh of face and a wistful reminder of spring.

Perhaps this will not be so terrible , she consoled herself as their carriage pulled up to the colonel's townhouse. It had lately been given a new fa?ade, inspired by the architectural taste-maker John Nash. Through the new, larger windows at the ground floor, Kitty could see that the rooms were already quite full, with guests milling about and chatting amiably.

"My, what a crush this is," Mrs. Johnson murmured when they entered. Kitty was inclined to agree, finding that there was barely room for her to slip out of her tippet with the assistance of a harried-looking maid.

Once her outerwear was suitably dispensed with, Kitty looked about, trying to ascertain if there was anyone there that she knew. It soon became abundantly clear that Kitty had no real acquaintances, though she did recognise the parents, aunts and uncles of some of her contemporaries. In fact, it seemed that there was scarcely a person there younger than forty years.

Well, that is typical, of course, Kitty sighed inwardly. Still, she was inclined to make the best of the situation; Mrs. Smythe, the colonel's wife, was a kind and gregarious host, inclined toward laughter. She also clearly kept an able cook, for though the food may not have been as decorative as some of the finer houses of the ton, it was excellent seasoned and plenty of it.

It was over a table piled high with jellies and aspics that glittered like jewels in the candlelight that Kitty came face-to-face with the hostess first. It did not matter that they had not been introduced, for Mrs. Smythe began to speak to her as if they were old friends.

"Well, aren't you a sprightly young thing!" Mrs. Smythe said brightly, smiling at Kitty. "Such a delightful breath of spring on such a dreary day."

Kitty could not help but smile in return. "If it pleases you, then I am glad that I wore it."

Mrs. Smythe let out a chortling laugh, her soft, fleshy face tilting upward as she did so. "Oh, lah, you! Such pretty manners from such a pretty girl. Tell me, are you here with your parents?"

"I am," Kitty said, gesturing toward her mother. Her father, as was his custom, had disappeared to some inner chamber or another, likely to stand over a card table and tut sagely with a brandy in hand.

"Ah, I see. And have you been a guest in our home before?" Mrs. Smythe inquired, shuffling along the table as she selected dainties for her plate.

"I have not previously had the privilege," Kitty replied politely.

"Well, then I feel it only fair to warn you that you must not ask the colonel about his travels, or you shan't be able to get away for the next several hours," Mrs. Smythe advised good-naturedly.

Kitty could not help but smile. "He is lucky, then, to have so many interesting things to say. I can't say the same for all of society."

"Oh, you cheeky thing!" Mrs. Smythe laughed.

"Is the colonel very well-travelled then?" Kitty asked, pulling a candied plum from a dish for herself.

"Oh yes. He does not get to many exotic ports of call, but he has lately been in Canada," Mrs. Smythe said with a proud look at her husband across the room.

"Canada?" Kitty asked, her interest piquing. "He has lately been in Canada?"

"He has," Mrs. Smythe confirmed. "Have you an interest in that part of the world?"

"I—yes," Kitty said, feeling her cheeks grow warm. "That is, someone I am… acquainted with has departed for that provincial outpost."

"Oh, I see ," Mrs. Smythe said with a knowing smile and a nod. Kitty did not mind the presumption, as she was sure that as a colonel's wife, Mrs. Smythe had seen more than her share of sweethearts separated by sea and land. "It may comfort you to know that the colonel found it an exceedingly lovely country, full of natural beauty."

"Well, that is not particularly reassuring in terms of wanting to ensure that he desires to return home at all," Kitty quipped.

Mrs. Smythe laughed. "Oh, no, dear one, there is nothing to compare to London society. I do not think you will have to fear on that score."

There was a parting in the crowd then which curtailed any further conversation. Both Kitty and Mrs. Smythe turned to see what the disruption was, and found that it was due to someone pushing insistently through the crowd. Kitty felt a sort of shrivelling sensation in her stomach, suspecting that she knew precisely whom it was causing such a kerfuffle.

"Out of my way, blast ye," a cantankerous voice called out, and the crowd obligingly pulled back, though not without a significant amount of lips curled in distaste and yelps of distress regarding toes and hems. Like the Red Sea, the crowd was split open, and shuffling crookedly down the lane came the Baron Sheffield.

He leaned heavily on his cane, his face etched into what Kitty suspected was a now-permanent scowl. To her great mortification, conversation had stilled, with all of the guests present craning their heads to see what the disruption was. He made his way directly toward her, his eyes fixed on her so that it was impossible for her to slip away.

When he was within speaking distance of Kitty, he stopped and straightened his posture. Awkwardly, and without comment, he thrust forward a small posy of flowers. Kitty simply stared at him, uncomprehending. It was traditional for gentlemen suitors to pay their compliments to young ladies by presenting them with small nosegays. However, this was typically done before they departed for the party, with messengers arriving to deliver the dainty bouquets so that the ladies might select which they would like to carry for the evening. Gentlemen frequently took this as an opportunity to posture and demonstrate their means, competing with each other to see who could provide the most exotic hothouse blooms and the most luxurious silk ribbons.

It was unheard of for a hopeful suitor to present a gift in such a public manner. Kitty felt that she was rooted to the spot, her legs turned to lead. Likewise, her tongue felt heavy in her mouth, and she did not know what to say. Helplessly, she looked about, wishing desperately that someone would swoop in and save her from this dreadful situation.

"Oh," Mrs. Smythe said at last, her voice warbling uncertainly, "why, what a—a handsome gesture. Are those orange blossoms? How perfectly…seasonal," she attempted.

Kitty swallowed hard, willing herself to speak, but she merely continued to stare. At Mrs. Smythe's urging, Kitty woodenly reached forward and mutely took the posey.

"I understand it is the sort of thing young ladies expect," the baron stated. He looked expectantly at Kitty, as if awaiting an effusion of gratitude.

Obligingly, she buried her nose in the flowers, hoping that it would suffice. For emphasis, she added what she hoped passed for a smile, peeking up over the bouquet. Mollified, the baron gave another stiff nod, his expression smug. Without further comment, he turned and shuffled away again. Slowly, the crowd closed behind him; in another room, a piano began tinkling in the background. Conversation resumed, though it was impossible to miss the multitude of glances and whispers pointed in Kitty's direction.

Kitty was still stuck to the spot, staring down at the flowers. Whatever hopes she had entertained of keeping all of this quiet were well and truly dashed. While London was not as full as it would be when the Season commenced, she had no doubt that a flurry of letters would be dispatched the next morning detailing the whole scene in excruciating detail. In a strange twist of irony, she found herself grateful that Lord Cluett was far afield, and hopefully outside of the scope of any gossips.

"I believe the gardens are quiet just now, should you wish a moment to reflect," Mrs. Smythe said quietly, giving Kitty's arm a sympathetic squeeze.

Kitty gave her a look of gratitude, and quietly slipped away. It was easily done, for Mrs. Smythe had quickly recruited the colonel and some other men in uniform to take up positions near the pianoforte, and they were noisily engaged in belting out marching songs in quick order. It was a rousing, heartening display, and under normal circumstances, Kitty would be admiring it right at the forefront, fluttering her fan and perhaps bestowing bits of ribbon or lace as favours on some of the young bucks.

Instead, she was reduced to slinking away. Though the night was chilly, she did not begrudge the chance to be alone with her thoughts. With a sigh, she found herself plonking heavily on a cement bench. It was a particular cruelty that there was a statue of Cupid and Psyche in the centre of the circular garden path just before her. Still, at least the noise and merriment of the party were somewhat muted, though the windows afforded her an unwanted view inside, light spilling out across the garden.

Sighing, Kitty lifted the posy of flowers. With one forefinger, she found the silk ribbon wrapped about the stems. It was a muted, dusty pink, which in fairness did match somewhat with her dress. It appeared to be of a reasonable quality, the edges hot-cut to prevent any fraying. Kitty was tempted to begin thinking more reasonably of the baron—he couldn't be all bad if he was thoughtful enough to provide such a gift, even if somewhat ill-timed—when her fingers strayed to the ribbon tail that hung from the posy.

Curiously, Kitty lifted it between her thumb and forefinger, tilting it toward the light to see it better. As was custom, there was something printed on it. Kitty half-expected one of the usual sentiments: "To a girl of charm," "A posy for a posy," even a simple "With my compliments." She squinted, hoping to see anything that would better her opinion of the baron. She tilted it this way and that, and…

"Miss Catty ?" Kitty said aloud. She was certain that she must be mistaken, but no; the very simplest of addresses that one could put on the ribbon, and he had gotten it wrong. Moreover, it showed a startling familiarity if he believed that he could address her by her forename. "Oh, eugh ," she said, fed up. She tossed the posy down beside her, folding her arms over herself.

"I assume then that the aged Romeo's love-gift was not all that you had hoped it would be?"

Kitty started upright. Standing before her was an elegantly dressed matron, a single streak of grey at the front of her light brown hair. Though it was dark, there was no mistaking her: Lady Veronica, Viscountess Cluett. Kitty paled, wondering if she had been recognised.