in the middle of polite
farewells when a footman appeared with a message for her ladyship who, it
appeared, was wanted to restore peace below stairs, which had been disrupted by
an acrimonious dispute between chef and housekeeper. Lady Horatia, who was
beginning to believe that Brabington had been much maligned, had no hesitation leaving
him alone with her ward and sallied forth to deal with her recalcitrant staff.
Scarcely had she
left the room when Lord Brabington threw himself upon his knees before his
cousin and seized her hand, which he kissed passionately, crying, “Dearest,
sweetest Kitty, forgive me, but I must speak!”
Kitty gazed at
him in wonderment, too surprised to withdraw her hand. “Cousin! Whatever are
you about?” she demanded, supressing a giggle.
“Please hear me!”
he cried dramatically. “I love you! Have loved you since I first saw you. I
know it is too soon, that I have startled you, sweet innocent that you are, but
make allowance for my passion, I beg!”
“Are you
making me an offer, Cousin?” inquired Kitty, who was rapidly reversing her
favourable impressions of her cousin. He looked so very foolish upon his knees.
“Do, I beg of you, rise, Sir!” she continued in exasperation.
“An offer?”
repeated Lord Brabington, palpably taken aback. “Er, yes...that is...if you
would consider it, cousin.” He surveyed her with scarce-concealed annoyance.
Here he was making passionate love to this country innocent and, instead of
being cast into adorable confusion or showing any agitation, she coolly asks if
he is offering for her. The scene was not going at all as he had planned. He
rose and dusted his purple velvet knees with a scented handkerchief. “Only, say
that you will be mine,” he finished lamely.
“Thank you, Cousin,
for the great honour you have paid me, but I must decline your very obliging
offer,” answered Kitty, with difficulty preserving her countenance.
Brabington seemed
nonplussed by this unlooked-for reply. Then, as though to demonstrate the depths
of his passion, he clasped Kitty in his arms and planted a series of rather wet
kisses upon her face and neck.
Before Kitty could
recover from her surprise, the door was flung open to reveal a wrathful Lord
Debenham, who surveyed the scene before him with smouldering eyes.
“Oblige me by
releasing my ward, Brabington,” he commanded curtly. “Kitty, come here!”
Thankfully, she took his hand and stood quietly as, in a voice of icy
politeness, he informed Lord Brabington that he was unwelcome and that they
could well support the prospect of his prolonged absence.
Mustering what
dignity he possessed, Brabington faced his cousin and formally begged her pardon
for having distressed her. He then swept from the room with a rather
magnificent air of injured innocence, leaving Lord Debenham alone with his
ward.
The Earl became
aware that he was still holding his ward's hand rather tightly but, as he tried
to release her, he found his hand retained by the force of a grip that surprised
him. Glancing down, he saw that large tears were rolling down her cheeks.
Stricken, he took her in his arms and held her close, stroking her hair soothingly.
“There, there,
my sweet,” he murmured. “What's this? It's not like my brave Kit to be afraid
of a paltry fellow like that.”
“I was not
afraid, Sir!” cried Kitty indignantly, lifting her face from his shoulder.
“Then, tell
me, my love,” adjured Lord Debenham, leading her to a small chaise-longue and
seating himself beside her.
“Oh, Sir,” she
said in a choking voice, “for so long I was a boy and I never thought about
love or romance at all. Then I became a girl again and, at first I hated it,
but then I began to enjoy being a lady, and I dreamed that…someone… would fall
in love with me and he would be the first man to kiss me. But now I shall
always have to remember that he was the first and how hateful it was!”
“Shall I put a
sword through him?” asked
farewells when a footman appeared with a message for her ladyship who, it
appeared, was wanted to restore peace below stairs, which had been disrupted by
an acrimonious dispute between chef and housekeeper. Lady Horatia, who was
beginning to believe that Brabington had been much maligned, had no hesitation leaving
him alone with her ward and sallied forth to deal with her recalcitrant staff.
Scarcely had she
left the room when Lord Brabington threw himself upon his knees before his
cousin and seized her hand, which he kissed passionately, crying, “Dearest,
sweetest Kitty, forgive me, but I must speak!”
Kitty gazed at
him in wonderment, too surprised to withdraw her hand. “Cousin! Whatever are
you about?” she demanded, supressing a giggle.
“Please hear me!”
he cried dramatically. “I love you! Have loved you since I first saw you. I
know it is too soon, that I have startled you, sweet innocent that you are, but
make allowance for my passion, I beg!”
“Are you
making me an offer, Cousin?” inquired Kitty, who was rapidly reversing her
favourable impressions of her cousin. He looked so very foolish upon his knees.
“Do, I beg of you, rise, Sir!” she continued in exasperation.
“An offer?”
repeated Lord Brabington, palpably taken aback. “Er, yes...that is...if you
would consider it, cousin.” He surveyed her with scarce-concealed annoyance.
Here he was making passionate love to this country innocent and, instead of
being cast into adorable confusion or showing any agitation, she coolly asks if
he is offering for her. The scene was not going at all as he had planned. He
rose and dusted his purple velvet knees with a scented handkerchief. “Only, say
that you will be mine,” he finished lamely.
“Thank you, Cousin,
for the great honour you have paid me, but I must decline your very obliging
offer,” answered Kitty, with difficulty preserving her countenance.
Brabington seemed
nonplussed by this unlooked-for reply. Then, as though to demonstrate the depths
of his passion, he clasped Kitty in his arms and planted a series of rather wet
kisses upon her face and neck.
Before Kitty could
recover from her surprise, the door was flung open to reveal a wrathful Lord
Debenham, who surveyed the scene before him with smouldering eyes.
“Oblige me by
releasing my ward, Brabington,” he commanded curtly. “Kitty, come here!”
Thankfully, she took his hand and stood quietly as, in a voice of icy
politeness, he informed Lord Brabington that he was unwelcome and that they
could well support the prospect of his prolonged absence.
Mustering what
dignity he possessed, Brabington faced his cousin and formally begged her pardon
for having distressed her. He then swept from the room with a rather
magnificent air of injured innocence, leaving Lord Debenham alone with his
ward.
The Earl became
aware that he was still holding his ward's hand rather tightly but, as he tried
to release her, he found his hand retained by the force of a grip that surprised
him. Glancing down, he saw that large tears were rolling down her cheeks.
Stricken, he took her in his arms and held her close, stroking her hair soothingly.
“There, there,
my sweet,” he murmured. “What's this? It's not like my brave Kit to be afraid
of a paltry fellow like that.”
“I was not
afraid, Sir!” cried Kitty indignantly, lifting her face from his shoulder.
“Then, tell
me, my love,” adjured Lord Debenham, leading her to a small chaise-longue and
seating himself beside her.
“Oh, Sir,” she
said in a choking voice, “for so long I was a boy and I never thought about
love or romance at all. Then I became a girl again and, at first I hated it,
but then I began to enjoy being a lady, and I dreamed that…someone… would fall
in love with me and he would be the first man to kiss me. But now I shall
always have to remember that he was the first and how hateful it was!”
“Shall I put a
sword through him?” asked
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