A Kiss at Midnight

Gabriel didn’t know what to say to that, so they set off through the maze without another word.

Eighteen

W hat do you mean, I have to sit with the Lady Dagobert?” Gabriel said. “I don’t want to.”

Wick lit a cheroot and glared at him over the trail of smoke. “You’re acting more like a four-year-old child than a grown man. Of course you’re sitting next to the countess. She’s the highest-ranking individual in the castle barring yourself; she has known you since you were a child; she will be to your right.”

“I want to sit next to Kate,” Gabriel said, ignoring the truth of Wick’s statement. “Like last night. I’ll dine en famille .”

“You will not,” Wick stated. “Miss Katherine Daltry, sometimes known as Victoria, is to sit with her godmother, Lady Wrothe, as well as Lord Hathaway. I don’t want to puncture whatever pleasant dream you’ve having of transforming the illegitimate swineherd’s daughter into a princess—or something less respectable—but her godmother is clearly planning to match her to Lord Hathaway.”

“Kate can’t marry a lord. She’s illegitimate.”

“All I can say is that Lady Wrothe gave me two guineas to put them together, and since she’s not a brothel keeper, my guess is that she’s found some way around Kate’s irregular birth. It could be that she’s not as illegitimate as I am.”

“Nothing about Kate makes sense,” Gabriel said. “Why are her hands callused if her godmother is Lady Wrothe?”

“The only thing completely clear about the situation is your infatuation,” Wick said. “Let me sum it up for you: Kate, very sensibly, shows no interest in you. Frightened by the imminent arrival of your bride, you are now running shrieking in the direction of the one woman who not only doesn’t want you, but isn’t eligible. Really, could you be a bit more original?”

“I almost took off Toloose’s head for an ill-considered remark about her bosom,” Gabriel said moodily. “He was decent about it, but he was angry to the bone. Damn it, and I like him.”

“Then stop this ridiculousness,” Wick said. “You’re chasing the girl to distract yourself. It’s not kind to her, since you couldn’t marry her anyway. She’s already got competition; Lady Starck gave me four guineas to put her daughter and herself next to Hathaway, so the man’s in demand. Kate will need all her wits about her.”

Gabriel frowned. “Lady Starck, whose daughter is Miss Effie Starck? She’s no competition! Kate will crush her into the parquet.”

“Miss Starck is presumably of excellent birth, and likely has a dowry,” Wick pointed out.

“I’ll give Kate a dowry,” Gabriel said instantly.

“One minute you want to seduce her, and the next you’re championing her marriage to Hathaway? And just where do you plan to get the money for a dowry? I’m worried about feeding the lion, for God’s sake.”

“I’m just saying that Effie Starck is a monkey’s arse compared to Kate.”

Wick sighed. “Forget Kate.”

“ You should dower her,” Gabriel said moodily. “Six guineas from that table alone . . .”

“The going rate is much higher to sit at your table,” Wick said, grinning. “I gather all the young ladies are hoping Princess Tatiana’s ship will founder.”

“So it’s to your benefit to keep me unwed.”

“I know you don’t really want your Russian bride, Gabe,” Wick said, his voice softening.

Gabriel glanced up at his brother. Wick never called him Gabe anymore; it was always Your Highness or, more often, Your Heinous, occasionally varied with Your Knaveness. “It’s not that I don’t want Tatiana. I don’t want any bride.”

“So run off to Carthage. We’ll all survive here, and you wouldn’t be the first bridegroom to flee before your wedding night.”

For a split second Gabriel actually considered it, imagining himself dropping all responsibilities and promises, running for Carthage like a man with a devil on his tail.

Then he shook his head. “Promises were made, and we need the money,” he said, hoisting himself up. “I’m aiming to be a prince rather than a total ass. I’d better hie myself off to Pole. He gets twitchy if I don’t give him at least an hour.”

A s the castle now held nearly one hundred gentlepersons, Wick had removed the vast oak table that usually spanned the dining hall, and placed tables for six and eight around the room instead. He himself met every person at the entrance to the hall, and with the seating arrangements safely stowed in his head, dispatched them to the appropriate table in the tender care of a footman.

The whole system was working more smoothly than did most military regiments, Gabriel thought, moving to the head of his particular table, Lady Dagobert on his arm. “What a pleasure to meet your daughter, my lady,” he said, bowing to Lady Arabella.

Arabella smiled at him with the guileless charm of a young lady trained to bag eligible gentlemen at fifty paces. He sighed and let the conversation wander where it would, and the table was quickly embroiled in a discussion of the French blockade’s influence on hemlines.

He didn’t let himself look over to Kate’s table. Not even when he actually heard her laughing. One had to assume that Lord Hathaway was amusing.

Lady Arabella gave him a startled look when she heard the low growl that came from somewhere in his chest, but he controlled himself and smiled at her, and she melted.

Like snow hitting a steaming pile of horseshit, he thought to himself.

Across the room, Kate would have agreed that Lord Hathaway was amusing. He wasn’t a wit, not in the way that Mr. Toloose seemed to be. But she liked him.

She liked the sturdy set of his shoulders, and the way his hair curled over his forehead, as if he were a little boy. He was charmingly boyish, really, while managing to be very much a man. The only problem was Miss Effie Starck, who was seated to his left.

As Henry had warned, Effie was making a dead set for Lord Hathaway. And it looked to Kate as if she was likely to succeed, given the way she kept putting her hand on his arm, as if they were as close bosom friends as Henry and her wax companions.

Effie was quite pretty, in a mouse-eyed kind of way, Kate thought uncharitably. She had soft yellow curls, a round chin, and straight little teeth. She wasn’t stupid either.

“You’re very fortunate,” she said, smiling lavishly at Kate, who, of course, she thought was Victoria. “I wish I were celebrating my betrothal in a castle. It’s just so romantic!”

“I am very privileged that my uncle is so kind to me,” Algie put in, just to make sure that everyone remembered his relationship to royalty.

“Of course,” Kate said a bit sheepishly. Victoria would have loved to sit at this table, accepting accolades for her betrothal. She felt as if she were stealing flowers that had been sent to her sister.

Effie turned to Lord Hathaway. “Do tell me more about the blackbirds, Lord Hathaway.”

Kate blinked.

“That came out of the blue, didn’t it?” Lord Hathaway said, his eyes twinkling.

“Yes,” Kate said. “It’s oddly fascinating, though. For example,” she said to Effie, “if you had said, Tell me more about the crows , it would have a rather sinister tone, whereas blackbirds make one think about pies.”