Chapter 8

Straight from the frying pan and into the fire , Kitty muttered to herself, swallowing hard and trying not to panic. She blinked up at the viscountess.

"I am not surprised," the viscountess continued, tossing her head in the direction of the party. "The Baron has never been one for nuanced social interactions."

"You are acquainted with him, then?" Kitty asked, her throat feeling dry.

"Well, as much as anyone can be, I suppose. We've been on the fringes of the same circles for…well, longer than I care to admit." The viscountess stepped closer, a thoughtful mien to her face. "I would like to tell you that he was a charming man in his youth, but I suspect that would smell of a rank lie."

"It would, though mostly because I cannot imagine that you knew him in his youth," Kitty said, falling back on the tried and true ease of conversation that she had always enjoyed, even with strangers.

"Oh? And why is that?" the viscountess asked. The light from the rear windows of the colonel's house landed on Viscountess Cluett's face just enough that Kitty could see her arch a brow aristocratically.

"You are far too young, for one thing," Kitty replied succinctly.

The viscountess' lips quirked, as if she were considering smiling. "Does shameless flattery get you very far?"

"Usually," Kitty answered without hesitation.

The viscountess absorbed this, lifting her chin and contemplating Kitty. "May I?" she asked, indicating the space next to Kitty, currently occupied by the discarded, hated posy. Kitty nodded her assent, clearing the way. Carefully, the viscountess settled herself, spreading the skirt of her black crepe gown so that it would not crease.

Clearly feeling Kitty's eyes upon her, the viscountess said, "Do you think me terribly fast for coming out in my mourning weeds?"

"No," Kitty said immediately. She did not wish the viscountess to form a poor impression of her, for no matter how much Kitty told herself that it was no longer a realistic prospect, she still harboured some hope of a connection with Lord Cluett. "That is," Kitty amended, "I have never particularly understood why it is that we expect those most in need of company and cheering to remain locked up in their homes like nuns in a convent."

"Because that is the way that things are done," the viscountess replied firmly.

Kitty did not reply aloud, merely tilted her head and gave the viscountess a significant look from head to toe. This made the viscountess huff out a sound vaguely like a laugh.

"That is entirely too chittish of you," she said. "In my own defence, I am not really here, at the party proper. I have come here to counsel with Colonel Smythe; my son, you see, has lately departed for Canada."

"Yes," Kitty said, her voice a little strangled. She swallowed again. "At least, I had heard that he was leaving London."

"Ah, I knew that I recognised you," the viscountess said, turning more fully toward Kitty. Her brown eyes scrutinised Kitty's face, and Kitty felt her hands grow cold with nerves. "I have seen you in the company of that Eva Stanton, haven't I? Yes, you helped to orchestrate that business at the theatre."

"Well, I—" Kitty began, attempting to shrug modestly.

"Come, come now," the viscountess admonished her, "that was a clever bit of work. I did not approve of the public nature of the whole affair, but I acknowledge that it was likely the only way to get Lady Stanton to capitulate."

"I am just glad that things turned out so well," Kitty said.

The viscountess scoffed. "I am not sure I would call the marriage of a genteel young lady, no matter her reputation, to a dancing master ‘ things turning out well ,' but at least my son was clear of it."

Kitty had nothing to say to that, nothing polite at least. She tightened her jaw and willed herself to stay silent. It had ever been a problem for her, this compunction to defend her friends out loud and vehemently. She still hoped to make a good impression on the viscountess, so she bit back her words and choked them down. It was also clear that the rumours of Kitty's own presumed attachment to Lord Cluett had somehow not reached his mother's ears.

"Well, it would seem that you, too, have an opportunity for things to ‘turn out well,'" Lady Cluett said, reaching over and picking up the posy from Kitty's limp hands. "At least it's a handsome bouquet, I'll grant him that. Oh," she said, catching sight of the ribbon, "oh, that is…unfortunate. It does seem entirely in his character, for I have never known him to keep track of anyone's name that was not his hounds or his horses."

"It is an entirely practical match, or so I have been told," Kitty offered. Despite her best efforts, there was no way to prevent her tone from betraying her feelings.

The viscountess turned to regard Kitty again. "And you've no other options, mm?"

It was a very direct and forward question, verging on the rude, but Kitty found that she liked Viscountess Cluett's direct approach in comparison to the rest of polite society. There was no dissimilation, no double-speak.

"I thought I had, not so very long ago," Kitty admitted. "But he is…no longer available."

"Ah," Lady Cluett said, nodding her head sagely. "I expect there has been rather a lot of that in the past several years: Young men full of love and the fancies of spring before being shipped off to whichever port of call to defend the Empire."

Kitty did not bother to correct her; it was a plausible cover story, one that would shield her from the truth.

"You speak well enough; are you educated as well? How is your reading?" the viscountess inquired.

"Well enough, I imagine. Mother likes it when I read poetry to her," Kitty replied, unsure of where this particular line of questioning was going.

The lines around the viscountess' mouth deepened, and Kitty was under the impression that she had not answered entirely correctly.

"And how are you with a needle?"

Kitty considered for a moment before answering. "I haven't my mother's talent for embroidery, but she says that she has not seen anyone with a daintier hand for darning than myself," she answered honestly.

"That will do," the viscountess murmured, almost inaudible. Suddenly, she rose, leaving Kitty a little bewildered at the startling nature of her departure. "It seems to me that there is a rather obvious choice before you, one that faces many girls: Shall you marry practically, without a thought to your own feelings?"

"Please forgive me if I speak bluntly, but I find myself in a situation with diminishing options of making a good marriage," Kitty said, casting her eyes downward.

"Yes, I'd heard some interesting rumours regarding Mr. Johnson and the East India Trading Company," the viscountess said.

Kitty felt her eyes widen. "Father? Embroiled with Bloody Jack?"

"Perhaps," the viscountess said. "So, his means, and consequently yours, diminish by the day, then?"

"I shall have to marry a fishmonger next week if I do not marry the Baron this week," Kitty replied dryly.

"Then I shall make an entirely different proposal," Viscountess Cluett said, drawing herself up. "I find that I am not at ease being on my own in London. I am sure that you have heard my own circumstances are greatly reduced, but I am able to live comfortably on the interest from my own settlement if I am careful and modest with it. I have never been good at being on my own, and find myself wanting companionship."

"I'm not entirely sure I understand," Kitty said cautiously.

"I am in need of a lady's companion, someone that will accompany me when I am to venture out into society. You will also be responsible for more genteel needs when at home," the viscountess continued. "I must warn you that I cannot pay you a great salary, but you shall have a small allowance, and a small stipend for appropriate dresses." This last statement was made with an eye toward Kitty's pastel confection that she was currently wearing. "In time, you may save enough to invest and live on your own modest means, or even to entice a vicar into marriage."

Kitty simply stared for a moment, sure that she could not possibly be hearing properly. Lady Veronica, the Viscountess Cluett, was offering her employment in her household. It was too absurd for words, the very notion of working in the home that Lord Cluett had lived in, eating where he had eaten, being among his things…

That brought Kitty up short. She had no illusions that it would be a trying thing indeed to work for the viscountess, doubly so because something in the colour of her eyes was so like Lord Cluett's that it made Kitty's heart a little sore. Still, could she really pass up such an opportunity? Not only to escape a loveless, miserable marriage to a loveless, miserable man, but also to be somehow nearer to her dear Seth?

Slowly, she stood as well, her heart pounding in her ears. It was a very big decision that she was faced with, one that would be irrevocable once made: If she cast her lot in with the viscountess, she would henceforth be known as a lady's companion. She would not be a servant, but she would be considered as having taken quite a tumble down the social ladder.

Would it be worth it? Kitty asked herself, biting her lip just a little as she thought. Casting her eyes about herself, as if something would provide a clear answer for her, she caught sight of the baron through one of the large windows. Even from this distance, the scowl on his face was visible. As a footman passed, Kitty could see the baron rapping on the floor with his cane to summon the servant, jabbing one bony finger at the poor young man. Involuntarily, her face became pinched; she could not imagine spending five minutes with the odious man, nevermind the whole of her life.

Without flinching, she met the viscountess' gaze, nodding her head. "I would be happy to accept," she said, her voice firm and resolute.

The viscountess stared down at her, not quite smiling, but something very like. "Very well. I shall give you to the end of the week to farewell your parents. Should you have any appropriate dresses, you may bring them with you. I shall expect you no later than nine o'clock on Saturday morning."

After drawing out a card from her reticule and passing it to Kitty, the viscountess withdrew without another word. In the dull light in the garden, Kitty held the card gingerly between the fingers of one gloved hand. She tilted it toward the light, catching the embossed letters.

Oh, good Lord, what have I just done? Kitty asked herself, the full implication of what she had agreed to settling on her shoulders like a stony mantle. Her parents would, without question, be furious with her.

Glancing up, Kitty caught sight of the baron again. This time, her parents were standing with him, her father leaning close and listening to something the baron was saying. Mrs. Johnson, no doubt trying to spot Kitty, looked about herself. By chance, she caught Kitty's gaze and tried to subtly beckon her inside. Kitty found herself almost obeying automatically, but checked herself, her free hand clenching into a fist so tight that she could feel her fingernails biting into her palm even through the pink silk of her glove.

"No, Mother," she softly apologised to herself, "but I shall soon be my own woman."

If she could not have the happy ending that she had hoped for, dreamed of, then at the very least, Kitty Johnson would be responsible for her own fate.