A Kiss at Midnight

Page 37

Kate burst into laughter. “What on earth are you talking about?”
“They’re all in love with you,” Effie repeated. “Lord Dimsdale, and Lord Hathaway, and the prince too. I saw his eyes, remember? They were wild with fear.”
“ You have a natural gift for melodrama,” Kate said. “Oh good, there’s Rosalie.” She sent the maid to bring another round of cocoa and some more buttered toast as well.
Then she sat back down. “I’ve got the shivers just listening to you talk about the black, black water and the torchlight bouncing everywhere.”
“It was awful,” Effie said. “I kept imagining that a hand draped in seaweed had come up and dragged you into the murky depths.”
Kate laughed again. “That lake doesn’t even have fish in it; it’s just a pond fed by an underground stream. There aren’t many weeds!”
“You never know what lives in an underground stream,” Effie said, her big eyes growing even bigger.
“Minnows, maybe,” Kate said. “No one’s in love with me.”
Her tone must have been convincing, because after a second Effie said, “Well, Lord Dimsdale is, of course.”
She’d forgotten her fiancé again. “Except Algie,” Kate agreed.
“You’re so lucky. I would love to have a fiancé like Lord Dimsdale. He’s so considerate, and young, and handsome.”
“Well, so it is Lord Hathaway,” Kate said, rather surprised.
“Actually, he is older.”
“But he is very handsome, and kind. Steady,” Kate added.
Effie nodded. “I know. My mother says that too.”
“But you’re not excited by steady and kind.”
“He’ll make a good husband, I’m sure. He didn’t dive in after you, though.”
“A black mark against him,” Kate agreed.
“He said afterwards that he couldn’t see you, and so what would have been the point? Which is logical, but not what a woman wants to hear, particularly if she were dead.”
“Maybe he would have plunged in for you, just not for me,” Kate offered.
“I doubt it. I think he feels sorry for me, which is not the same as the kind of mad adoration that Lord Dimsdale obviously feels for you.” She hesitated. “Did you hear what . . . what happened to me?”
Could she mean the fork? “No,” Kate said. “Your mother did speak of your father in the past tense . . .”
“First he died, just before my first season, and then my aunt died the next year, and then my great-aunt died.” Effie’s soft little face took on an edge. “They ought to make an exception for mourning when a person just has to make her debut. People talk about me as if I’m an old maid, and I had barely one season!”
“Nonsense,” Kate said, pushing away the memory of Henry’s casual description of Effie as an octogenarian. “I’m—” She just caught herself before she confessed her age. “I look older than you do. That’s all that matters.”
“Things were going very well last year,” Effie said, sipping her cocoa, “and then an awful thing happened with Lord Beckham. Have you met him?”
Kate shook her head.
“My mother was so affronted that she took me to the country after I’d been to only two balls. So then I had to start all over this year.”
It had to be the fork. “What happened?” Kate asked.
Effie rolled her eyes. “He’s barking mad. He said . . . You may not understand this, Kate, but he told everyone that I pawed him. In a private area!”
“No!”
“Yes, he did. And the truth was that he had tried to kiss me. I wouldn’t have minded so much, but he pressed against me in the most revolting way. I twisted away and told him he was a repellent slug. It made him angry and he grabbed me down—down there, with his hand .”
Even given Effie’s talent for melodrama, the man was odious. “What a toad,” Kate said. “We had a baker in the village like that once. My father had to throw him out of the county.”
“He wouldn’t have done it if my father was alive,” Effie said. “Because my father would have skewered him. At any rate, we had carried our plates of apricot tart onto the balcony, so I snatched my fork and stuck him in the hand. Since my father wasn’t around to skewer him, I suppose you could say I did it myself. But next thing I knew, his story was everywhere.”
“You should have stuck him in the breeches,” Kate said.
“He was telling a lie, but no one believed me except my mother, of course. So we had to retire to the country. And this year”—she looked rather miserable—“well, someone like Lord Hathaway is so logical and kind that of course he doesn’t listen to that sort of rumor.”
“Horrible,” Kate said. “That is horrible. I knew the moment I met you that it couldn’t be true because—”
“So you did hear it too!” Effie said, and she burst into tears.
Fortunately Kate was inured to tears after living with Victoria, so she poured her another cup of cocoa, and gave her a pat on the hand. And left her to it. With Victoria, every expression of sympathy just prolonged her weeping.
Sure enough, Effie wiped her eyes and apologized. “I’m nervous,” she said, “because Beckham arrives today, and I haven’t seen him since last year.”
Kate narrowed her eyes. “He’s coming to the castle?”
“Yes, today,” Effie said damply. “Isn’t that bad luck? I managed to avoid him all season because my mother bribed one of his footmen, so we always knew what he was doing. But now my mother says we can’t leave because Lord Hathaway is close to proposing to me.” She didn’t look terribly happy about that prospect.
“I like Lord Hathaway,” Kate said.
“So do I, of course,” Effie said, sighing. “It’s just—well—he’s not exactly romantic, is he? He would never bring me flowers unless they happened to be in his garden and he tripped over them.”
“You have quite an imagination,” Kate said.
“I can just see his poor wife,” Effie said. “She’ll be waiting expectantly for her birthday to arrive, hoping that he’ll bring her a diamond tiara or at the very least, an Indian shawl, and he’ll turn up with a tea cozy. Tears will come to her eyes, but since she really loves him—and it’s not his fault—she’ll swallow her sadness.”
“And buy herself an Indian shawl, I would hope,” Kate put in. “You’re a superb storyteller! I could almost see her weepy eyes. Why don’t you just put about the real story of Beckham? I’m sure you could convince people.”
Effie shook her head. “My mother feels strongly that a lady should never mention such matters. She feels everything so deeply. In fact, she’s not getting out of bed today because she feels so distressed over my near death last night.”
Kate raised an eyebrow.
“I know . . . most people think you nearly died instead of me.” Effie sighed.
“If you told my godmother, Henry, she could squash Beckham,” Kate said.
“Does she really like to be called Henry? It’s such an odd name for a woman.”