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Authors: Kay Springsteen
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the need for funds to maintain her lifestyle had the lady venturing into public whilst still wearing her widow’s weeds. Dougal might be interested, if for nothing but the humor he would find in her desperate situation.
Hugh’s gaze found Lady Caroline again. Back with her original partner, she had taken on an expression of boredom except for the odd time she looked in Strathern’s direction. Worldly… yes, the man obviously appreciated the more worldly attributes of Frances Braithwaite.
The thought of his Lady Caroline competing against the ilk of Lady Frances for the attentions of the worldly gentleman turned Hugh’s stomach as he considered exactly what such a competition might involve. He turned to walk away but stopped again, wincing against the pain of his heart attempting to beat its way from his body.
His Lady Caroline? He shook his head in a vain attempt to think more clearly. Best he disabuse himself of that notion immediately. Madness lay down that path. He stole a last look over his shoulder but failed to catch sight of the lady. He did, however, see the object of her desire laughing with Lady Frances just before the music ended and the pair retired, arm-in-arm, to a quiet area of the room. Gravel crunched beneath his feet as he hastened to the stable.
* * * *
Kitty yanked at her gown, struggling to rip it over her head, uncaring if such harsh treatment would likely rend the tender fabric. She’d certainly never wear the blasted thing again. It hadn’t come close to accomplishing its intended purpose. Lord Strathern had hardly spared a glanced for her all evening. Even when they had been briefly partnered during the dance, his gaze had kept straying to his widowed “cousin.”
“Widow!” A harsh laugh escaped as she managed to free one arm from the silky bonds of her gown. “Whore is more like it.” The woman had seldom left his side, touching and stroking his arm and hand with her long, harlot’s fingers. “And she’s probably not his cousin, either.” She tugged at the other sleeve, dismayed to find she’d twisted the gown, and it now held her firmly trapped.
The soft thunk of the door closing gave her pause. The whisper of footsteps on the plush carpet told her she was no longer alone.
“Help me out of this dress,” she demanded, cross and beyond caring to whom she was speaking.
“I might decide to help you,” said Jenny softly. “And I might not, depending on whether you ask nicely.” But her gentle hands were already working the silk loose.
With a sigh the fabric was whisked over Kitty’s head, and she stood in just her thin undergarments while Jenny took care to fold the gray gown.
“You’ve managed to tear one of the seams but I’m certain it can be mended.” Jenny opened the wardrobe and set the gown inside.
“I don’t care if it’s mended or not,” snapped Kitty. “I don’t wish to ever see it again.” She retrieved her pink woolen nightdress from the wardrobe before Jenny closed the doors and drew it over her head.
“But it’s a beautiful gown,” protested Jenny. “And it’s certainly not the fault of your dress that you had a horrid evening.” She leaned against the rosewood and crossed her arms over her chest. “What was the matter with you anyway?”
Helpless to respond, Kitty shook her head. How could she expect Jenny to understand something she barely understood herself? But her sister cocked her head sideways and waited, obviously expecting her to say something .
“Whatever possessed Mother to invite Randall as my escort?” she burst out.
“You and Randall were once friends, you know,” admonished Jenny, and she heaved an exasperated sigh. “And Mother had to invite someone to even out the table. Or would you have her dress up one of the stablehands and invite him inside?”
In the process of tying the laces on her nightdress, Kitty suddenly battled for her next breath. “St-stablehand?” She tried to laugh but the sound that came out
Hugh’s gaze found Lady Caroline again. Back with her original partner, she had taken on an expression of boredom except for the odd time she looked in Strathern’s direction. Worldly… yes, the man obviously appreciated the more worldly attributes of Frances Braithwaite.
The thought of his Lady Caroline competing against the ilk of Lady Frances for the attentions of the worldly gentleman turned Hugh’s stomach as he considered exactly what such a competition might involve. He turned to walk away but stopped again, wincing against the pain of his heart attempting to beat its way from his body.
His Lady Caroline? He shook his head in a vain attempt to think more clearly. Best he disabuse himself of that notion immediately. Madness lay down that path. He stole a last look over his shoulder but failed to catch sight of the lady. He did, however, see the object of her desire laughing with Lady Frances just before the music ended and the pair retired, arm-in-arm, to a quiet area of the room. Gravel crunched beneath his feet as he hastened to the stable.
* * * *
Kitty yanked at her gown, struggling to rip it over her head, uncaring if such harsh treatment would likely rend the tender fabric. She’d certainly never wear the blasted thing again. It hadn’t come close to accomplishing its intended purpose. Lord Strathern had hardly spared a glanced for her all evening. Even when they had been briefly partnered during the dance, his gaze had kept straying to his widowed “cousin.”
“Widow!” A harsh laugh escaped as she managed to free one arm from the silky bonds of her gown. “Whore is more like it.” The woman had seldom left his side, touching and stroking his arm and hand with her long, harlot’s fingers. “And she’s probably not his cousin, either.” She tugged at the other sleeve, dismayed to find she’d twisted the gown, and it now held her firmly trapped.
The soft thunk of the door closing gave her pause. The whisper of footsteps on the plush carpet told her she was no longer alone.
“Help me out of this dress,” she demanded, cross and beyond caring to whom she was speaking.
“I might decide to help you,” said Jenny softly. “And I might not, depending on whether you ask nicely.” But her gentle hands were already working the silk loose.
With a sigh the fabric was whisked over Kitty’s head, and she stood in just her thin undergarments while Jenny took care to fold the gray gown.
“You’ve managed to tear one of the seams but I’m certain it can be mended.” Jenny opened the wardrobe and set the gown inside.
“I don’t care if it’s mended or not,” snapped Kitty. “I don’t wish to ever see it again.” She retrieved her pink woolen nightdress from the wardrobe before Jenny closed the doors and drew it over her head.
“But it’s a beautiful gown,” protested Jenny. “And it’s certainly not the fault of your dress that you had a horrid evening.” She leaned against the rosewood and crossed her arms over her chest. “What was the matter with you anyway?”
Helpless to respond, Kitty shook her head. How could she expect Jenny to understand something she barely understood herself? But her sister cocked her head sideways and waited, obviously expecting her to say something .
“Whatever possessed Mother to invite Randall as my escort?” she burst out.
“You and Randall were once friends, you know,” admonished Jenny, and she heaved an exasperated sigh. “And Mother had to invite someone to even out the table. Or would you have her dress up one of the stablehands and invite him inside?”
In the process of tying the laces on her nightdress, Kitty suddenly battled for her next breath. “St-stablehand?” She tried to laugh but the sound that came out
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