Always a Lady by Rebecca Hagan Lee
“I’m honored,” he said, at last, his voice hoarse with emotion. “Thank you.” He backed away from her.
Mariah started to turn around, but Kit stopped her. “No, don’t.” He smiled a self-deprecating smile. “If you turn around, I may not be able to walk away. Do you understand?”
Mariah nodded.
He traced the indention of her spine with his index finger from the nape of her neck to the curve of her buttocks, then reluctantly backed his way to the door without taking his gaze away from her.
Reaching behind him, fumbling for doorknob, Kit gently eased the bedroom door open. “Good night, Mariah. Don’t forget to remove your jewelry from the dress.”
“I won’t,” she whispered.
“Sweet dreams.” He backed into the hall and began to close the door, but halted when she said his name.
“Kit?”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
“Mariah …”
“I always knew you would come back for me.”
Chapter Twenty
By all means use some times to be alone.
—GEORGE HERBERT, 1593–1633
Kit didn’t sleep that night. He returned to the second-floor study in order to sit and think—how he could have been so extraordinarily blind?
For years he had kept the little girl in the tower a secret. He had never breathed a word of his meeting with her—or his spontaneous offer of marriage. Growing up, he had led the usual sort of life that the heirs to great family fortunes lived.
He had gone off to school, made lifelong friends with Dalton and Ash, gone to university, completed his Grand Tour, and spent a few months languishing in London before returning to Swanslea Park to concentrate on learning the family business—which in his case included managing an enormous amount of real estate and cash, breeding Thoroughbred horses, and learning the game of politics and statesmanship.
At two and twenty, Kit had planned to begin his bachelor life on the estate he’d inherited in Ireland, to spend a few years setting up a fine stable where he’d breed and train Thoroughbred horses before settling down to marry and raise a family of his own.
But fate, it seemed, had other plans for him.
Mariah Shaughnessy had reentered his life and reminded him of the promise she thought he had forgotten. But the truth was that Kit hadn’t forgotten it. Or her. He realized now that the eight-year-old boy who made that impulsive offer of marriage had been as steadfast in his resolve to keep his promise as she had been in hers. The proof was in the fact that he had never kept a mistress or seriously entertained the notion of doing so.
While other young men at university had set demireps and actresses up in discreet houses in London or near the university, he hadn’t felt the need.
Kit inhaled, then blew out the breath. Oh, there had been a few women in his past—a demirep or two, a slightly older widow in need of companionship, and surprisingly enough, a friend, and a young lady of good family who had eloped to Gretna Green with a soldier and been abandoned and disgraced. He had enjoyed all of them, but there had never been anyone who captured his heart until now.
Kit smiled, remembering how he’d approached his father with the question of what to do about the need for a certain sort of female companionship. He had been fifteen at the time, and he and Drew were supervising the breeding of his father’s prized Thoroughbred stallion to Felicity, his mother’s favorite mare. As they watched Zeus go through the mating dance, asking and receiving permission from the mare before he finally covered and mounted her, Kit had timidly asked his father how he should manage his urge to mate.
And he had never forgotten Drew’s succinct answer. “With your hand.”
“Sir?”
“Use your hand,” Drew told him. “In the same motion Zeus is using, and you’ll receive the same satisfaction with none of the consequences.”
“Ash’s father has already provided him with instruction from a wh—”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Drew answered.
“Why, Papa?”
“Because you’re fifteen,” Drew said. “And at fifteen you’re too immature to appreciate the experience or to handle the consequences of such intimate relations.”
“You mean a baby?”
“A baby or venereal disease, or a host of other complications, including the emotional attachment you will feel for the woman who shares your first experience.”
“You think that I would form an emotional attachment to a whore?”
Drew’s eyes flashed fire. “Don’t ever let me hear you say anything like that again! Do you not have a mother, two sisters, and a governess you dearly love?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you need to know that in our world, few options are open to women. We are fortunate in that we have land and position and capital, but not all families are so fortunate. For some families, the difference between living and dying depends upon a woman who willingly—or unwillingly—offers herself up for men to use in exchange for cash. Listen carefully, Kit. If you learn nothing else from me, I want you to understand that every whore you see on the streets, every demirep, fallen woman, governess, shop girl, or servant is someone’s daughter or sister or mother or aunt or cousin or friend. They belong to a family just as your mother and sisters and governess belong to our family. They do not deserve your contempt or need your pity. They are in need of your consideration and your understanding.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“And the answer to your question is no. I don’t think you’ll form an emotional attachment to the woman who shares your first experience. I know you will. We all do.” Drew smiled. “We all remember our first time. Usually with equal measures of pride and chagrin, and bittersweet regret.” Drew reached down and patted Kit on the shoulder. “You cannot let go of your emotional attachment to Lancelot. And he was only your first pony. How do you think you will feel about your first time with a woman?”
“I see your point, Papa. But …” Kit frowned.
“You aren’t going to hell,” Drew said. “And you aren’t going to go blind. Trust me, son. Everyone does it. They just don’t speak of it.”
“Even?”
“Yes.” Drew nodded. “When the time is right for you to expand your knowledge with a female, you’ll know it. And if you do as Zeus did and wait for permission and follow her lead with tenderness and care, you’ll be fine.”
“Why does Zeus always wait for permission? He’s the stallion. He’s bigger and stronger. He could easily mount Felicity and spill his seed whether she was ready or not. But he waits.”
“He waits because nature gave Zeus more sense and more manners than he gave most men. Zeus wants a mare who is his equal in heart and in strength. He can subdue her and force her to submit, but if he does that he runs the risk of having other stallions or mares do the same to her.” He looked at his son. “Have you ever noticed that he doesn’t always cover all the mares we offer him?”
Kit nodded. “And you always let him have his way.”
“I do it because he’s a horse and I believe he understands better than I do which mares will throw the strongest foals.” He reached over and ruffled Kit’s hair as he had done when Kit was little. “And I also believe he has the right of refusal. Lord knows I’ve never had the inclination to mate with everything that was offered to me. And Kit, always remember that a true gentlemen doesn’t indulge his carnal appetites with children, animals, or those who do not wish it.”
Kit nodded. “Papa, how old were you?”
“Nineteen.”
“That old?”
“That old,” Drew confirmed. “And even at nineteen I was unprepared for my feelings.” He winked at Kit. “I should have listened to my father.”
“What did he say to do?”
“He said to use my hand.”
Kit smiled at the memory. The day after their talk a discreetly wrapped package appeared in Kit’s bedroom. It contained several packets of French let
A letter from Drew accompanied the unusual gift. “My son,” Drew had written, “I hope these will be of help to you in preparing for the future. Trust your instincts. When the time is right and the opportunity presents itself, you will know it and be the better lover for having taken the time and the care to learn. Also remember that there is no shame in taking instruction from your partner. Indeed, that is the most enjoyable way to learn, and there will always be wonderful, fascinating women who care enough to nurture and further your instruction. Treasure them, my son, appreciate, admire, respect, and protect them as they have appreciated, admired, respected, and protected you in the moment of your greatest vulnerability. Love, Papa.”
Kit still had those books.
His father had been right. About everything. The opportunities that had presented themselves were experiences to be treasured. Experiences that had all led him to the place he found himself in now. Falling in love for the first time in his life with a girl who had waited fourteen years for him to remember.
Kit shook his head in wonder and stared at the little brass lantern sitting on his desk. The same little brass lantern he had given her to light her way on her journey to and from the tower all those years ago.
He knew it was the same lantern, not because Mariah had used it to light her way through Telamor Castle’s maze of passages last night, but because the words Kit’s Light were engraved upon the side.
The lantern had been a birthday gift from his mother. A lamp to light Kit’s way as he explored Swanslea Park and all of its surroundings. It was a child’s lantern. Smaller than the normal lanterns, easier for a child to manage, and his father had patiently taught him how to light it, trim the wick, and how to clean it, preparing it for the next day’s adventures. Kit had carried it with him on the family’s Irish holiday, but he hadn’t brought it home.
Weeks later his father wondered what had happened to it, and Kit had truthfully replied that he had left it at the tower. Drew assumed Kit had forgotten it and replaced it with a new lantern the following week.
But Kit hadn’t forgotten it. He had given it to the brave little girl who sneaked out of the convent at night and walked a mile or so down the narrow path that ran along the cliffs in order to climb up to the tower and sit and wish upon the stars.
To wish for the return of a mother who had been murdered. To wish for cake she wouldn’t eat because a spoiled, thoughtless boy had told her no one would marry her if she got fat from it. To wish for a handsome earl instead of a handsome prince because the earl had impulsively promised to marry her.
Kit squeezed his eyes closed to keep the hot sting of tears burning them from falling. She had been as constant as the sun and had waited fourteen years for her earl to appear. And that stupid ass of an earl had come within a hair’s breath of marrying her off to some country squire to save himself a bit of inconvenience. She must think him a heartless blackguard and yet …
I love you. I always knew you would come back for me.
Kit looked up and glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was forty-one minutes past the hour of six. He pushed back from the desk, stood up, and walked over to the bellpull to ring for Ford.
The butler appeared at fifty-two minutes past the hour. He carried with him a tray containing a pot of hot coffee, a cup and saucer, a plate of buttered toast, and a freshly ironed newspaper. “I took it upon myself to bring you a bit of breakfast, sir.” Ford entered the study, set the tray on a side table, and poured Kit a cup of coffee.
“Thank you, Ford.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
“How long have you been in service here?” Kit asked.
“A score and six years, my lord. I began as a footman and worked my way up to my current position.”
“So you were in service here when Lady Siobhan and Miss Mariah came to live here after Lady Siobhan’s husband died.”
“Yes, sir.”
“How did Mr. Shaughnessy die?”
“His carriage overturned, sir. In London.”
Kit exhaled. Carriages frequently overturned, and the occupants often died as a result of it. “Was there anything to suggest that Mr. Shaughnessy’s accident was anything but an accident?”
“Not that I am aware of, sir.”
“What about Lady Siobhan?” Kit asked.
“She slipped on the path and tumbled to her death.” Ford paused. “Permission to speak frankly, sir?”
Kit nodded.
“We’ve always been very fond of Miss Mariah, sir, and found it quite sad that she should have to grow up at St. Agnes’s. The staff and I are very happy to see that you have restored her to her rightful home.”
Kit picked up a slice of buttered toast and bit into it. “Where is Miss Mariah this morning?”
Ford hesitated a second too long.
“Don’t tell me. Let me guess. She’s in the kitchen baking bread for Saint Elizabeth of Bohemia’s Second Day.”
“Quite so, sir,” Ford answered.
“Blast it!” Kit set his cup down with enough force to rattle the saucer. “I didn’t bring her here to work.”
“For Miss Mariah, baking is a labor of love, sir. It’s something at which she excels and something she enjoys immensely. And, indeed, sir, if she were not in the kitchens baking, we would have no bread.” Ford quickly explained that the castle had been buying its bread from the convent, and as the convent had recently lost its head baker, it was not able to fulfill the orders.
“Damnation,” Kit muttered. “If it makes her happy, she has my permission to continue so long as she doesn’t miss her fittings or her lessons.” He looked at Ford. “She will soon be one and twenty. If she’s to have any chance at all to succeed in society, she must make a good showing.” Kit knew that Mariah’s debut into society would be successful because he knew that she would conclude her season by marrying the very wealthy earl of Ramsey and Kilgannon, heir to the marquess of Templeston. But he didn’t want that to be the only reason her season was successful. He wanted it to be successful because she’d earned her place, not married it. “Agreed?”
“Agreed, sir.”
“Now”—Kit poured himself another cup of coffee—“I noticed when I was in Miss Mariah’s room last night …”
Ford’s usually impassive expression was clearly disapproving.
“That’s right,” Kit said. “I was in Miss Mariah’s room last evening. I mention it now because I noticed that other than a hairbrush, a handkerchief, and the few pieces of jewelry her mother was wearing the day she died—jewelry the abbess turned over to Mariah the day she left the convent—there were no personal items in the room at all. No jewelry box, no pin boxes, no embroidery baskets or perfume bottles, none of the items one would expect a young woman of her station to have. What happened to her mother’s things? Surely, Lady Siobhan possessed those sorts of personal items. Items her daughter might like to have.”
“Of course, sir.” Ford shook his head as if to clear it. “How thoughtless of us. We stored everything away years ago in preparation for whoever would succeed the old earl. You see, sir, we had no way of knowing if that person would be you or if you would bring your family with you. Lady Siobhan’s jewels are locked in the safe in the master bedchamber, sir, along with Lady Alanna’s, and I believe the remainder of Lady Siobhan’s things are stored in the attic for safekeeping.”
Kit nodded. “See that they are removed from storage and placed in Miss Mariah’s room. And see to the im
Ford winced. “Lady’s maids are hard to come by in Inismorn, sir. I may have to use an agency in Dublin or London.”
“Nevertheless, Miss Mariah should have one. The reason I entered her room last evening was to help her remove her evening gown.”
Ford coughed suddenly.
“She came looking for someone to help her and found that everyone had retired for the night. I was the only one awake at that hour. If you cannot locate a lady’s maid right away, please see to it that someone is available to help Miss Mariah the next time the dressmaker pins and sews her into one of her creations.”
“Indeed, sir.” Ford bowed. “Lord Everleigh and Mr. Mirrant are at breakfast below and have asked when they might join you, and the dance master you asked me to secure will be arriving later this morning in time for Miss Mariah’s afternoon lessons. If there is nothing else you require of me, I will see to your instructions.”
“Thank you, Ford. Please inform Everleigh and Mirrant that they may join me here now. When the dance master arrives, have him await me in the morning room. And have someone drive Mariah to mass in the carriage and send a footman along to accompany her.” The butler bowed and would have withdrawn from the study, but Kit stopped him. “Oh, and Ford?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Do you happen to play cards?”
“I have in the past, my lord, but not lately.”
“I understand that you and Lord Everleigh will be instructing Miss Mariah on table settings and the etiquette concerning dinner parties, luncheons, at homes, and teas.”
“Quite so, sir.”
“Then plan to join us for her instruction in cards. In order to instruct her, Miss Shaughnessy and I will play as one person, so we need another to make a foursome. We play for money just as we do in society. Don’t worry, I’ll stake you.” He smiled at his butler. “I wouldn’t ask you to gamble your own money away just to further Miss Mariah’s education.” Kit handed Ford a duplicate key to the one on his key ring. “That key fits this cashbox.” He opened the top drawer of the desk and showed Ford the cashbox he had installed in the false bottom of the desk drawer. “You and I have the only keys to it. Take what cash you need from here. I would like you to keep half of anything you win. If that’s acceptable to you.”