Virginia Henley (12 page)

“Fifty acres planted in Sauvignon and fifty in Merlot. They produce a full-bodied red
premier grand cru.
I also think champagne is the coming thing here in London. Soon it will be as popular as it is in Paris. Especially if we keep the prices outrageous,” added Patrick.

The acquisition of the chateau was accomplished without Patrick having to set foot outside London.

Kitty’s youthful vitality soon reasserted itself; however, she was troubled in her mind. She wished she could have gone to her grandfather for advice and understanding. She dreaded a confrontation with Patrick and knew that so long as they were both under the same roof, meeting would be inevitable. She was glad that the drudging tasks of housework had been replaced by the lighter tasks of nursing and realized that it was a step up on the social scale. The doctor was pleased with O’Reilly’s improvement but was very strict with regard to his diet and absolutely forbade him intoxicants.
He was allowed out of bed a few hours a day now, and he spent these complaining bitterly to anyone who would listen. When Kitty brought him a bowl of clear soup, he pulled his face and began another tirade.

“I’d rather be dead than live on gruel for the rest of my life! Bloody doctors! No smoking, no drinking, but did you ever see one who practiced what he preached? Fornicators!”

Kitty said thoughtfully, “I wonder what your own doctor would say? The one in Bolton, I mean. He might suggest that we feed you up to get your old strength back.”

“Do you think so? Kitty, try to smuggle me something more substantial from the kitchen, there’s a good lass.”

“Well, it’s very difficult with that chef down there and then there’s always that butler poking his nose into everything. Now, if it were your housekeeper in Bolton, Mrs. Thomson, I wouldn’t have any trouble at all,” she said sweetly. She saw the wheels begin to turn. She had planted the seeds of suggestion, all she had to do was wait until they took root.

Another week passed in which O’Reilly seemed to have returned to normal, except for tiring easily. He called his children together for a conference. “I’ve been thinking, and I’ve decided I’d be much happier in me own home, in me own bed,” he said, coming straight to the point.

Julia looked alarmed. “But, Father, we can’t return to Bolton now. It’s less than a month to the wedding.”

“Now, who said anything about
us
going back? I’m talking about
me.
You can manage without me at the wedding. Patrick can give you away and then fetch Barbara home to Bolton after the wedding.”

Secretly, Julia was relieved. She was ashamed of her father, and if his presence were removed, her social life would be vastly improved.

Patrick questioned, “Are you sure you will be well enough for the journey?”

“I’m fit as a fiddle, or will be once I get back on my own midden. I’ll take young Kitty with me. She’s a good lass and pleasant to look at.”

Patrick’s mouth tightened. “I’ll get you a nurse, Father.”

“Keep your nurses—I’ll take Kitty, thank you. We deal very well together,” Jonathan said firmly.

“I’ll send her brother along with you then, but I have my doubts about such a long coach ride. It will take at least twenty-eight hours from London to Bolton and even allowing an overnight stop in Leicester, that’s at least two fourteen-hour days on the road. I think you should go by rail. These new locomotives cut the traveling time in half. If I get you settled in a railway carriage first thing in the morning, you’d be home by nightfall. What do you say?”

Jonathan stroked his chin reflectively. “Well, I wouldn’t say ‘no.’” He tried to veil the look of excitement that sprang to his eyes at the thought of trying out this new method of transportation.

“Good; I’ll arrange your tickets. When would you like to go?” asked Patrick.

“Tomorrow,” Jonathan answered without any hesitation whatsoever.

Late that night all Patrick’s thoughts centered on Kitty. He had kept away from the house during the daylight hours because being under the same roof as the tempting beauty played hell with his peace of mind, to say nothing of the physical effect she had on him. His inventive mind built one fantasy on top of another relentlessly and he knew he was besotted with the beautiful little baggage.

A dozen times he’d almost gone to her room in the dead of night. Her exotic beauty lured him like the moon lured a
lunar tide. The one taste he’d had merely whetted his appetite so that each night he felt more ravenous than the last. He was in one hell of a state. He’d tried easing his hunger with other women, but soon knew the only cure for what ailed him was Kitty … Kitty!

Perhaps it was for the best that she was going back north. At least he’d be able to concentrate on business again. But he felt so reluctant about letting her go. He wanted her back at Half-Moon Street as his exclusive property, but she pretended she’d have none of him and he’d be damned if he’d go down on his knees and beg her!

On the other side of the house Kitty lay awake thinking of Patrick O’Reilly. In spite of his wickedness he was the only man she would ever want. If he’d ask her to marry him, she’d say yes in a flash, but fat bloody chance there was of that. He just wanted her for his fancy piece and she was relieved she was leaving for Bolton before she gave in to temptation.

She dashed a tear away before it dared to form and wrapped her arms about her aching breasts. Then she sighed and gave herself up to her dreams, which with any luck would fly her to Patrick’s waiting arms.

On the station platform Kitty was rather nervous of the huge iron monster, chugging out clouds of dirty smoke, ashes and cinders. The noise was a clattering assault on the eardrums and everything was confusion and disorder as baggage was loaded before the passengers. Kitty carried a lap robe for over O’Reilly’s knees and a wicker lunch basket of food. Suddenly a cinder blew into her eye and she let out a little scream and tried to rub it away.

“Don’t do that,” Patrick commanded. He took out a white linen handkerchief and lifted her face without so much as a by-your-leave and extracted the foreign body. The moment he touched her, Kitty began to tremble. As he looked into her
eyes, she blushed a deep pink and lowered her eyelashes. “Look at me,” he ordered. Her eyelashes fluttered upward momentarily and he said, low, “Do you forgive me?”

She caught her lip between her teeth but could not speak, so she shook her head vehemently. “To hell with you then!” he said savagely.

Soon the dirty buildings fell away and they were traveling through green hills and then fields of golden ripe wheat, dotted with red poppies. Farmers were haymaking and the scenes were so peaceful that Kitty fell into a sort of daydream. In a way she had hated to leave the excitement of London, and she hadn’t enjoyed saying her farewells to the girls last night. Barbara, bless her, almost had been in tears. Julia was so full of the wedding, of course, she could think of nothing else. Kitty, realizing the next time she saw Julia, she would be a married woman, felt it her duty to forewarn her of what to expect from Jeffrey. She broached the subject by asking, “Julia, aren’t you just a little bit afraid of marriage?”

“Afraid? Of course not,” she said and laughed. “I can’t wait. Married women have much more freedom, you know.”

“I suppose so, but you will be expected to share your husband’s bed,” persisted Kitty.

“Oh, no, I shall insist on my own bedroom. Oh! I know what you’re hinting at—the intimacy business,” laughed Julia.

“Oh, Julia, don’t laugh. It will shock you so deeply. You have no idea what it’s like to be with a man that way.”

“Don’t I?” Julia arched her brows. “What quaint notions you carry around in that head of yours, Kitty!”

She was brought abruptly back to the present as Jonathan O’Reilly shook her arm for the second time.

“Yer off somewhere wool-gathering, lass. Be a good girl
and open that lunch basket and let’s see if we’ve got ’owt worth eating, eh?”

There was some cold chicken and some small jars of calves’ jelly for invalids. A dozen small red tomatoes had been carefully packed to keep them separate from the russet apples.

“What muck!” Jonathan complained. He brought out his wallet and handed some money to Terry. “Here’s a quid, lad. At the next station go and get us some pork pies and a bottle of hock.”

Kitty almost protested, then realized that he would have his way no matter who put forth objections. However, an hour after he had partaken of the heavy pork pie, he was rolling about with indigestion.

Kitty was very anxious for him. “Mr. O’Reilly, you don’t think you are having another stroke, do you?”

“Nay, lass, it’s the wind. Next stop get me some peppermints. Ask for Mint Imperials; they should do the trick. I’m often plagued with wind. You know, life’s funny—when I was a little lad I went hungry many a time, and now that I can afford anything I like, it doesn’t like me. By gum, I’m feeling poorly.”

By the time the little party wound its way to Hey House, all three were suffering from exhaustion. Terrance soon made himself scarce and after Mrs. Thomson helped Kitty get O’Reilly to bed, Mrs. Thomson took her into the kitchen, where a bright coal fire blazed.

“Take a load off yer feet, child, and I’ll get you a cup of tea. If himself rings in the next half hour, you just ignore him. He can be a mithering old devil.”

“Oh, Mrs. Thomson, I’m glad I’m back,” said Kitty helplessly.

“They say that there London just seethes with vice. It’s
nothing but a den of iniquity. Did anything happen to you out of the ordinary?”

Kitty looked at the bright eyes, avid for a juicy tidbit. She said slowly, “Just one thing: I stopped being a little girl.”

October 1 was a cool, clear day. The wedding went off without any hitches until the reception was well under way. Julia followed Patrick from the crowded salon into the library, where they would be alone.

“My God, Patrick, how could you keep it from me that Sir Charles Drago is a widower, and here in London again? Do you realize when his father kicks the bucket, he’ll be the Duke of Manchester? Just think, I could have been a duchess! You made me settle for a viscount,” she accused.

“I ought to take my riding crop to you, you mercenary little bitch! How can you say such things when you’ve just exchanged vows? By God, I wouldn’t wish you on a fine man like Charles; he deserves better. Have you taken the trouble to thank him for that magnificent set of Wedgwood china? Thank God I don’t have the managing of you anymore. Damned women are all alike—want your cake and eat it too!”

“Well, there’s no need to be offensive to me, Patrick. I swear, I think you must be foxed,” she hissed as she swept from the room.

Patrick sought out his friend in the crowd. “Society weddings are all alike, dead boring.”

Charles finished off his drink and set the glass aside. “I’m just back from Drago Castle. Things are bad in Ireland, Patrick.”

“I know. Father shipped all our people to Lancashire to
work in the mills. Not a very rosy future, but better than dying in the streets.”

“County Armagh is very bad. Of course, we’ve a lot more people than you, but they’re leaving in droves. They clustered about me thick as flies for news of the West Indies. I’ve advised any who can beg, borrow or steal passage to go. Some of them are willing to indenture themselves for years in lieu of passage. It fair breaks my heart to see them leave their native sod. It’s hard work on a plantation, but there’s plenty to eat and they’ll never be cold again.”

“Charles, you
are
depressed. After we get rid of the happy couple, let’s go along to Madam Cora’s and sample some of her soiled doves.”

Charles would rather have died than admit to Patrick that he hadn’t been able to perform with a woman for over a year now. He knew it was from the dissipation of life in the tropics. Too much liquor; too many native women. Overindulgence had rendered him impotent, but he said quickly, “Delightful idea! What could be better than good music, good food, good wine and a bad girl?”

In the early hours of the morning, Jeffrey lay awake with his hands behind his head. Despite the maidenly modesty Julia had displayed, he knew that he hadn’t been the first. She had enjoyed it just a little too much for that. It was an age of complicated standards, where one type of behavior was accepted from men, but the female population was sharply divided into two groups. Bad girls were expected to be lustful, but good girls weren’t supposed to know anything about sex whatsoever. In polite society, trousers were called inexpressibles, underwear was referred to as unmentionables and legs were whispered of as limbs. It was an age of hypocrisy where even piano legs were covered. Thus it was a shock to Jeffrey to doubt his wife’s chastity. A quiet and prudent man,
he decided some things were better left unsaid. But he also decided he would never give her the opportunity to be unfaithful to him. He would get her with child immediately, which would give him the upper hand by putting her at a physical disadvantage. He began to feel better. After all, there were advantages besides her money. Having a responsive, passionate woman in bed with you, especially when that woman was your wife, was a thing to be desired. He reached over and ran his hand possessively down her back and over her buttocks. She roused from sleep, turned toward him and opened up to him eagerly.