“Julia, stop—!”
But there was no stopping Lady Julia now she’d started.
Lissa saw that Lucinda had gone pale and was gripping the back of the sofa as she stared from Lord Beecham to Lady Julia.
“Oh, you were only too happy to find an excuse to have me here when it suited you. I’ve done more than my share of dirty work for you. And I’ve tried, believe me. I’ve tried to instill some feminine graces into that girl, but she is obstinate and obdurate. She offers me no respect. Not that she offers her governess any either. Eyes only for you, Beechy.”
Lissa heard her young charge’s gasp, before the pale-faced girl pushed past her and ran from the room.
“That’s enough, Julia!” Lord Beecham thundered. “Where is the respect you owe me? And the thanks for taking you in when your husband was no longer to your liking? Or did he cast you out? That the truth, really, isn’t it? Well, you can leave now! Miss Hazlett!”
Lissa took a step back, her heart hammering. She should have heard nothing of all this, of course, and now could only be at fault for being in the wrong place when tempers were at snapping point.
There were just the two of them now, and Lord Beecham was pointing his finger at Lissa as if he were about to give her a piece of his mind.
“Miss Hazlett!” he repeated, his face apoplectic. Lady Julia seemed to have upset him more than was warranted, although something like this had been brewing since the day they’d returned from Araminta’s party. Suddenly, it seemed he didn’t know what to say. “Go upstairs and do what you have to in order to placate that wretched child!” he finished lamely. “And don’t let me hear another word about tonight.” His shoulders slumped as he turned to the sideboard where she heard him draw the stopper from the whiskey decanter. Lissa didn’t wait to hear the liquid splash into the glass.
She hurried from the room as fast as she could and up the stairs, pausing outside Lucinda’s room. Muffled sobs could be heard. Lissa knew what it felt like to be unwanted. Of course, she should go in and offer what comfort she could though the girl would push her away and make it even clearer how much she despised Lissa.
With a sigh, Lissa carried on up the passageway to her own room.
With a final feather in her headdress, Kitty was resplendent and ready. The giggles of the chorus girls on the other side of the curtain had risen to a crescendo. They were nearly onstage while Kitty had another five minutes before her debut.
Taking a deep breath, she glanced about her dressing room. The multiple bouquets of hothouse and garden blooms ought to have eased her pained heart, but only exacerbated its torment. A moment ago, when she’d been fully in her character, she’d been able to put aside the pain of being Kitty La Bijou, celebrated London actress. Or just Kitty Hazlett, unacknowledged daughter of Lord Partington. A hard and unyielding man, who believed his illegitimate daughter had none of the rights of his nobly-born offspring, and therefore no right to marry into the strata of society from which he’d effectively barred her through his own selfishness.
Not that that mattered when she only wanted Silverton. Oh Lord, how she wanted him.
Four minutes.
She heard the call as if through a curtain of despair. In a moment, she’d have to plaster a smile on her face and dazzle the crowds like she did every night. The only times she felt respite from the perpetual ache in her heart was when she was performing.
“Come!” she called out in response to a rap on her door, expecting to see Mr. Lazarus.
To her horror, it was Nash. Nash, the man she’d nearly married only a few months ago. She didn’t have time to order her thoughts before he was standing before her, clutching her hands having deposited a dozen long-stemmed red roses on her dressing table.
“Now that Silverton is to be married, and you are no longer his mistress, will you come back to me?” He looked grim, rather than loving. “I am prepared to take you back, even after everything you’ve done.”
“As your mistress?” she clarified.
He looked surprised. Then he gripped her hands even tighter. “I could hardly make you my wife after you declared before the world you’d rather be mistress to my adversary than wife to me. Even if I wanted it.”
“And would you?”
“What?”
“Want me for your wife?”
“I want you, Kitty!” He dropped her hands to put them to his face; his tone anguished as he muttered, “It’s irrelevant if I want you for my wife, because that can never be after your appalling behavior. But I’m prepared to forgive. I hear you’ll be giving up the lease on your house now that Silverton has given you his congé. Well, I’ll set you up in finer lodgings than that, and we can be as we were before.”
“As we were before, Nash?” She felt dead inside. “How could that ever be? When I fell in love with you, it was like a thunderclap. I came to London expecting to meet the man of my dreams, and you materialized in front of me like the dashing prince I’d been searching for my whole life.”
Clearly, he did not see where she was going with this. His voice became fond. “Was I not good to you, Kitty?” He drew her into his embrace, resting his chin on her head. “Did I not get you everything your heart desired? A fine house, beautiful clothes, your own carriage. Jewelry to cement our union. I even asked you to marry me, for God’s sake, despite knowing how opposed the pater and rest of my family would be. Silverton wasn’t prepared to do that, was he?”
“But he didn’t cheat on me,” Kitty whispered. “He didn’t go from my bed to find his pleasure at Mrs. Montgomery’s, or take the woman I called my friend into his bed the moment I was unavailable.”
Nash drew himself up. “Am I never to be forgiven? One lapse—”
“Two…that I know of.”