Kitty Bonus Scene

It was a decided struggle for Seth, Viscount Cluett, to keep a bemused grin from his face as he watched his new bride, Kitty, now Viscountess Cluett, pack her large trunk. A maid assisted her, holding up dresses for inspection, which Kitty would then look at with pursed lips. They were bound for North America within two days’ time, but Kitty was still struggling to decide on what to bring with her. She was clad in her jumps, chemise, and petticoat so that she might try on clothing as needed, so the scenery was quite to Seth’s taste.
Catching Seth looking at her with indulgent affection, Kitty arched an eyebrow at him. “Don’t mistake me, I’m under no illusions as to our destination,” she said, nodding in approval at a pink silk evening gown. “I know that we are going to live in some backwater wilderness—no, it is precisely what I want, do not look at me so—but I should still like to be the most stylish one there.”
Seth absorbed all of that for a minute, sitting back in the Louis-style chair pressed against one wall of Kitty’s dressing room. He was there ostensibly to offer his opinion when it was solicited, which so far meant only nodding in agreement with Kitty.
“We’ll be taking a house in Halifax, not living in a cabin in the forest,” Seth reminded her gently. “And you’ll be the light of society anywhere you go, even dressed in a flour sack.”
Kitty gave him a saucy look, as if she were accepting a challenge of some sort. Carelessly, she laid aside the day dress she had been contemplating, her eyes fixed on Seth. With a grin curling the corners of her mouth, she stalked across the dressing room on bare feet. Without hesitation, she curled up on Seth’s lap, and his large arms went around her automatically.
“I am very much looking forward to taking up residence in a home that is ours,” Kitty sighed, laying her head on his shoulder. “That is, I know that technically this is our house, but…” she trailed off, the weight of unsaid words anchoring the silence.
Seth knew precisely what she meant; his mother, Lady Veronica, now the Dowager Viscountess, had not objected to his marrying Kitty, but there was a sort of tension between the three of them that he doubted would ever be fully resolved. At best, it could be said that a sort of parity had prevailed in the Cluett house, but there were simply too many vying for the proverbial crown to be a peaceful environment.
Despite her abundant enthusiasm for this transition in their lives, Seth was still under no illusions that it would be a huge shift for Kitty. She had changed much over the past year and a half, but he knew her well enough to know that there were some London amusements that she would miss. Hence, they were to have an evening at the theatre, their last for some time; reminding Kitty of this fact was the original reason that Seth had sought her out in her dressing room before he had been recruited to provide a second opinion on sartorial choices.
“You may want to select a gown for this evening, Wife,” he reminded her gently.
Seth could feel her grumble beneath the hand he had pressed to her back. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay in?” she asked, burrowing her face against his neck.
“I would not wish to deny you a last night out on London,” Seth chuckled, pressing a kiss to her dark curls.
“I am fond of the theatre,” Kitty agreed, wrapping her arms about her husband’s neck and planting a kiss against his handsome cheek.
* * *
“I am not fond of this theatre,” Kitty grumbled, feeling a little petulant. As a general rule, she did her very best to never pull a sour face in public; however, it was hard not to as their carriage pulled up in front of the Lyceum. It had fallen to Seth to gently shepherd her through the doors, across the foyer, and to their box seats.
It wasn’t so much that Kitty objected to the Lyceum in and of itself, but rather the performers therein. Or to be more specific, one particular performer. The principal dancer these days was one Beatrice Heart, long of limb and daringly short of hair. There was a coolness about her at all times, as if she were a cat sunning herself, waiting to swipe at passers-by with her sharp little claws.
“I really am sorry,” Seth said, all contrition as he helped Kitty to arrange the little stool for her feet. “It was the only showing I could get tickets for at such short notice.”
Kitty sighed, resignedly settling back into her seat. There were other acts to see, and she was determined to enjoy them, at least. The great and good of London were out in force too, and their diamonds and silks twinkled and shone in the soft glow from the stage lights. For Kitty, this was every bit as enjoyable as whatever performer was strutting across the stage.
In fact, she had nearly forgotten herself by the time that Beatrice took to the stage. Kitty was not entirely sure it was even her at first, for she wore a red wig piled high atop her head in the style of the last century. There was no mistaking the way that she glided and prowled across the stage, however; Kitty would have known that anywhere.
It was a short performance, but the truncated time did not detract from its power. It told the story of a nymph who fell in love with a shepherd boy, and was broken-hearted when he died. Beatrice’s sadness shone through in a particular kind of heaviness in her limbs. By the end, even Kitty was moved to pity, and she could not help but wonder how much of this was acting.
When the performance was done, there was a beat of silence as the audience simply absorbed what they had seen; when the spell was broken, a wave of applause swept through the theatre like a tide. Kitty joined in enthusiastically, forgetting that she had been intent on holding a grudge, just a little one, against Beatrice for all time.
“Does this mean that you have forgiven Miss Heart, then?” Seth leaned in and murmured to Kitty over the applause, his lips brushing her ear.
“Certainly not,” Kitty replied, lifting her chin proudly. “One does not simply forgive the interfering baggage that nearly ruined the happiness of a dearest, most-loved friend.”
“Eva seems to have mostly forgiven her,” Seth commented blithely.
Kitty paused, considering, her hands slowing in their clapping. “Well, I suppose when one is so happily married to the man of their dreams, that it is easier to be magnanimous in a happy ending.” She punctuated this statement by turning a radiant smile on her husband, which made the viscount laugh, which never failed to make Kitty laugh.
The audience was beginning to settle, and Beatrice took one last bow with a flash of her graceful arm. Kitty tilted her head, thoughtful. “I wonder if Beatrice will ever get her own happy ending.”