That tempted Kitty to be dissatisfied with all of them, but she wouldn’t. Henry deserved to be happily in her right place.
She sent the letter to the agency and then, with her entourage, she toured shops and warehouses to select everything she needed to make her suite of rooms at the Abbey tolerable. She regretted not having Ruth to advise her, but she’d do her best. She also stayed alert for Christmas trimmings—the brighter, the better—and anything that might be a suitable gift.
She’d never clung to a dark mood, and this day was no different, especially when she could make choices without a care for the cost. She couldn’t help but enjoy the way she was treated as a titled lady with two servants. Frequently the owner of an establishment would hurry out to give her special attention, offering refreshments and an abundance of samples to take away.
At one point Kitty murmured to Henry, “I could have refurbished my rooms in Moor Street with all these so-called samples.”
“Then you’ll be able to pass them on when you no longer need them, dear.”
Benevolence. Something else she’d rarely been able to indulge in. When she thought of Beecham Dab and the Abbey, she didn’t see much need, especially with Ruth and Andrew doing their duty so responsibly.
There’s an abundance of need in London, which is why there are so many charities, many needing noble patrons and patronesses....That way lay the dismals, so she plunged into the investigation of some small rotating bookcases. As she turned one, testing how smoothly it moved, she wondered how Braydon was faring with the Duke of Sussex.
This was 1817, not the middle ages, or even Tudor times, but she worried that a royal duke could retaliate if threatened. Braydon had been too dismissive of that.
She shook her head. They described love as a madness, and it must be if it led to her thinking Braydon couldn’t cope without her at his side.
Chapter 44
Braydon had previously seen the Duke of Sussex only at a distance. He knew Sussex suffered from asthma, but there was no sign of the ailment as the prince greeted him. His frailty as a youth had prevented him from taking up a military career, which might have left him free to develop reformist and even egalitarian ideas. It was said the king had favored the military for his sons to remove them from idleness and indulgence.
That hadn’t been a great success.
Sussex had the family tendency to run to fat, but he seemed in reasonably good health. Of course, he was only in his forties, whereas the Regent was approaching sixty.
Braydon gave Sussex credit for being true to his principles, for he was invited to sit down, gentleman to gentleman. Such a shame those principles had led to his making an illegal marriage, so that his children were technically bastards. He’d married in Italy in a wild passion, or so it was said. The relationship hadn’t survived the subsequent storms. Did he now regret it, thinking that he might have married with approval and produced legitimate heirs? Or had that ecstasy of love been worth it?
Ecstasy of love...
“Dauntry?”
Braydon grappled together his distracted thoughts.There’d been no hint of guilt or fear in the prince’s manner, so what was the purpose here?
He was in a chair placed across a table that held a chessboard. He hoped he wasn’t going to be obliged to play. He didn’t care for the game, and he certainly didn’t care for the delicate diplomacy of playing with princes. Sussex was reputedly cleverer than his brothers, so it might not be too hard to lose.
“I understand that you are enquiring into the recent event at Mrs. Courtenay’s house,” Sussex said.
“I am, sir. At the request of the Home Secretary. As you were there, sir, perhaps you can shed some light on the matter.”
“I know no more than anyone else of the event.”
“Someone knows a great deal.” Braydon watched Sussex as he added, “The person who planned the explosion, sir, and the person or persons who attempted to put it into action.”
Sussex put a finger on a chess piece, as if contemplating a move. “You think them two different parties?”
“It’s no light matter to plan the assassination of three princes. The person capable of that is unlikely to choose to trundle beer through a backyard and into a cellar.”
Sussex chuckled. “True, true.”
Interesting.That was knowing humor. Either Sussex was amused at the thought of delivering the barrel himself, or because it was equally ridiculous about a known other. The tone implied the latter.
Who?
Braydon also realized there was something indulgent in the prince’s manner. Sussex didn’t believe the plan had ever been murderous.
“We have considered,” he said, “that the plan went forward exactly as intended, sir. That there was never any intention of an explosion.”
“Ah.” Sussex attempted surprise, but however clever he might be, he was a poor actor. “What would be the point of that?” he asked, brows high, eyes wide.
