Keeping Katerina (The Victorians) Read online

  "I’m sure."

  "Good evening, son," Julia said warmly, "May I introduce you to a friend of mine?"

  "Certainly Mother."

  "This is Miss Katerina Valentino. Katerina, my son Christopher Bennett."

  He took the delicate, long-fingered hand and lifted it to his lips, and then raised his eyes to hers. She met his gaze for a long unguarded moment, as though stunned, and then a wave of nervousness visibly swamped her and she dropped her eyes to the floor. As Collin had said, powerfully timid.

  "Pleased to meet you, Miss Valentino. How do you like the party?"

  She replied so softly he couldn’t hear her.

  "Katerina," his mother said gently, "It’s very loud in here. You needn’t screech, but do raise your voice a little."

  She took a deep breath. "It’s very… crowded. The hosts must be quite popular." Her voice was delicately pitched and well modulated, and the sound sent an agreeable shiver up his spine. He could listen to this woman talk for hours.

  "Yes. Very."

  "I was… glad to be invited."

  "I am also glad you were invited," he said, trying to be charming. A little hint of color stained her cheeks. So she was susceptible to a compliment. Good.

  "The violin is… out of tune."

  Christopher listened for a moment. What an astute comment.

  "You’re right. I suppose hiring the highest level of musicians isn’t necessary in this din. Do you like music then, Miss Valentino?"

  "Yes, very much." She raised her head at that, and he saw a hint of passion in her eyes.

  "Do you play any instruments?"

  "The pianoforte."

  "Well?"

  Her eyes met his. "Yes."

  He raised his eyebrows. While most young ladies did learn to play the instrument, admitting right out that one played well, rather than well enough or some other self-deprecating comment, might be considered immodest. However, given how shy she was, that might be a modest assessment of her talent. How interesting it would be to hear that hint of passion expressed in music. He hoped she wasn’t too shy to play for him some time.

  "I would enjoy hearing it. I love music. Alas I have no talent."

  "He exaggerates," Julia said, "He sings rather well."

  "Perhaps. Well, Miss Valentino, would you care to dance?"

  The young woman looked up at him briefly, and the nodded once, returning her gaze to the floor while her cheeks flamed.

  "Very good." He extended his hand. Hesitantly, she placed her hand in his and let him lead her onto the floor.

  "My dear," he told her as the waltz began, "I have a singular problem making conversation with your hairline. If you’re a musician, then I’m sure you have enough rhythm to take your eyes off your feet and look at me. Can you do that?"

  She raised her face. This close to her, he could see the luscious curve of her lower lip. She had a mouth made for kissing. Her slender body fit perfectly in his arms. She was tall enough that their position aligned naturally, with no need for him to stoop, which was quite unusually pleasing.

  "Thank you for asking me to dance," she said softly, "I know your mother put you up to it."

  Christopher inhaled in preparation to speak and the soft aroma of lilacs teased him. In the heart of icy winter, this woman smelled like spring. He answered her honestly. "Not at all. She put me up to meeting you. I asked you to dance because I wanted to."

  That hint of color darkened her cheeks again.

  "Why on earth would you?"

  "You’re quite… pretty. Why would I not?"

  Her blush darkened further. "Never mind."

  "Right. So, let’s talk about something. I see you like music a great deal. Any favorite composers?"

  "Beethoven. I also like Chopin very much."

  "Not surprising. Do you play other instruments besides pianoforte?"

  "Harpsichord. I’m afraid I’m useless on organ. Those foot pedals defeat me."

  "No doubt. Do you sing?"

  "I sing well enough."

  "Alto?"

  "Soprano."

  "Hmmm. I would like to hear that as well."

  "Why?"

  "You’re Italian, and you’re a soprano. Sounds like opera to me."

  She grinned. "Nothing like that, I assure you."

  At the sight of her shy smile, Christopher became even more entranced. She was more than lovely. She was… glorious. Between one heartbeat and the next, getting to know this woman changed from being his mother’s desire to being his own.

  The conversation died, and they continued to dance in silence, but not the uncomfortable kind of silence, which speaks of a desire to get away from each other. This was a wordless exchange of attraction. He studied the details of his dance partner… the curve of her little ear, the smooth line of her jaw, the slender column of her throat, the softness of her shoulder where it disappeared into her gleaming white dress, the dip of the bodice where it created the tiniest hint of cleavage. He could see her bosom was small, but she was so slender it only looked proportional. In fact, she was rather more than slender, almost emaciated. Her body felt fragile in his arms. He felt a surge of protective attraction and squashed it down irritably. It wouldn’t do to become too enamored too quickly.

  She shifted her fingers in his grip and he made himself relax. The hand in his was really quite remarkable as well, dainty, but strong, the hand of a keyboard player. What would it be like to have those little hands apply themselves to caressing a man’s body?

  Christopher shook himself again. What was wrong with him? This was no time for lewd speculations. She was a decent girl, so the only opportunity to be touched by her would be in a marriage bed, and he was certainly not ready to commit to that.

  But he would commit himself to furthering the acquaintance. He disagreed with Cary. She was not boring in the slightest. She was… entrancing.

  The music was winding down, with a long trill on the out-of-tune violin. Katerina winced.

  "Thank you, my dear, for dancing with me. May I claim another, later this evening?"

  She looked at him, startled.

  "Oh, is your card full?"

  "Heavens, no. But don’t you think you’ve fulfilled your duty to your mother?"

  "Yes. She asked me to meet you. I did. Me wanting to dance with you again has nothing to do with her."

  "Are you… joking?"

  "Not at all. Will you consider it, Miss Valentino?"

  "I will."

  "Consider it?"

  "Dance with you."

  "By any chance, do you have the supper dance free?"

  "Yes, if you would like."

  "I would like that. Shall we plan on it?"

  "Yes."

  "All right then, here’s my mother, and I shall be back to claim you later." He kissed her hand again and headed out of the room.

  The crowd thinned in the hallway, dropping the temperature significantly. Christopher sighed in relief. His evening wear was uncomfortably hot, and his sudden arousal had increased it even further.

  "Blast," he muttered. The last thing he wanted was to be struck by a mad attraction. On the other hand, not exploring this feeling would be much more foolish. Miss Valentino was delightful, and he wanted to know her. He would know her. There really was no help for it.

  ***Chapter 4***

  "Good Lord, Bennett. Late again? I think for your next birthday I’m buying you a pocket watch." This time the offered drink was a glass of hot spiced wine, perfect for a chilly evening.

  "Sorry Cary. I’ve been rather busy lately," Christopher replied, cradling the warm beverage in his icy hands. He had lost his gloves somewhere and was freezing. "Father and I are making several improvements at the cotton mill."

  James nodded. The Bennett Mill was already one of the most progressive, with children under twelve and pregnant women forbidden to work there, rather high wages, and safeguards on the equipment to minimize injuries. All this cut into profits, but for the Bennetts, good wor
king conditions made for the best employees. They certainly attracted the hardest workers with their congenial environment, and Christopher and his father always strived to make the mill an even better place to work.

  "Where’s Collin tonight?"

  "Meeting with a potential creditor. The tenant houses on his estate are falling into ruin and people are leaving. He’s hoping to get a loan to improve the buildings so people will stay and work the land."

  "I must say, the aristocracy’s in trouble."

  "They are. Poor Collin. He’s too stubborn to admit defeat."

  "What choice does he have?"

  "None, but the land on his estate is so overworked, he’ll never grow enough to earn a profit."

  Both friends shook their heads at their friend’s woes.

  "So what did you find to read tonight?" Christopher asked, changing the subject.

  "Well, I recall you enjoyed the first Browning poem, so I found you another."

  "Lovely," Christopher said sarcastically, "What’s this one called?"

  "’My Last Duchess.’"

  "Good Lord, the nobility again? All right, let’s hear it."

  So Cary read it. And then he looked at his friend, puzzled.

  "What happened? I don’t understand."

  "He killed his wife."

  "How on earth do you know that?"

  "Right here. Look. ‘I gave commands/Then all smiles stopped together.’"

  "He killed her for smiling too much? That’s just unrealistic. No one would do such a thing."

  "Do you really think every woman in this world who is abused has earned it with bad behavior?"

  "Well, no, but for smiling? And who’s the old man telling this to?"

  "To the representative of the woman he wants to marry. See the reference to a dowry?"

  "Good Lord. I don’t like this Browning fellow at all."

  "Why, because he wants us to think and not just feel? There are women in the world who are treated terribly. Remember the sister of that fellow we knew at Oxford?"

  "Which one?"

  "Williams. She was beaten by her husband, remember? It was so bad she miscarried. Then Williams went and beat him."

  "You’re right. He took his sister and fled to the continent."

  "That’s the one. Can you imagine someone hurting Nellie, Cary?"

  At the mention of Cary’s beloved teenaged sister, his jaw tightened. "Fine. You win. People shouldn’t be treated this way."

  "Right."

  "So, would you like to go for some dinner tonight?"

  "I can’t. I promised I would attend a musicale this evening."

  "What? Not the one we talked about last week?"

  "Yes."

  "But you didn’t want to go."

  "Now I do."

  "Why?"

  "There’s someone I want to see."

  "Not that one your mother arranged… Oh Lord, Christopher, you’re going on purpose to see Katerina Valentino?"

  "Yes."

  "Why?"

  "She’s intriguing."

  "She hasn’t got anything to say."

  "True she’s not inclined to prattle, but when she does speak she’s articulate and intelligent," Christopher disagreed, defending his new friend.

  "You got her to talk?"

  "Yes."

  "About what?"

  "Music."

  "Oh."

  "Yes. Hence the musicale."

  "Well, good luck to you then. I’ll see you next week."

  "Yes. Try to find something more uplifting next time would you?"

  "I’ll try."

  Christopher left his friend and hailed a Hansom Cab to drive him across town. The vehicle, pulled along on its two huge wheels by a hefty bay colored horse, sported a seat on the back part of the roof for the driver, and was lacquered black and completely open on the sides. Christopher tucked his hands under his legs and thought longingly of his missing gloves.

  Outside the cab, the shabby row houses gave way to a series of little shops: a tobacconist, a fruit seller, a milliner. He grinned at the sight of the wildly feathered and brightly colored hats in the window of the last. The shops flowed into another row of homes, this area much statelier than James’s neighborhood. They pulled to a stop in front of the one on the farthest end of the street; the home of a wealthy middle class couple, where a trio would be entertaining a few select guests on the harpsichord, voice, and flute.

  He was a little late, and the music had already begun when he handed his greatcoat to a footman and slipped into the parlor. Walking softly so as not to disrupt the performance with the sound of his boots echoing on the wooden floors, he approached the seated guests. Several were ignoring the performers and conversing softly amongst themselves.

  It only took him a moment to locate Katerina. She was sitting in the back row, alone with empty seats on either side of her. Her attention was focused solely on the music. He slipped in beside her and placed his hand on the bare space between the top of her long glove and the arm of her pretty flowered dress. She started at the soft touch on her exposed skin, and turned. Then, recognizing him, she smiled broadly.

  He returned her smile. Her skin was silky and warm.

  "Good evening," he said in an undertone.

  "Good evening."

  "Is this seat taken?"

  "Yes."

  He raised his eyebrows.

  "It’s taken by you."

  The sweet little joke made him smile even wider. "Ah. How’s the music."

  "Fine so far, although…" she hesitated.

  "Although what?"

  "It’s nothing really."

  "Tell me," he pressed, wanting to know what she thought.

  "I don’t think the contralto is really doing her best. Perhaps because so few people are listening. The harpsichordist is excellent."

  "And the flute?"

  "Perhaps it’s best if I don’t say."

  Christopher listened for a moment. "Agreed. Say nothing. It’s a performance completely unworthy of note. Neither good nor bad."

  "Exactly. In some ways a truly bad performance is better than a tepid one."

  "‘So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth.’"

  "Revelation 3:16," she said softly, "how apt."

  He ran his hand down, over the glove, to clasp hers gently. They listened to the ragged performance for several minutes before Katerina shuddered.

  "Have you heard enough Miss Valentino?"

  "Yes."

  "Shall we step out? I dislike interrupting performers."

  That little comment earned him a lovely smile. He may not see himself as a musician, but he did understand how to take music seriously. He was an excellent audience member. They slipped unobtrusively into the hallway.

  "Well Mr. Bennett," Katerina said softly, "I’m rather surprised to see you this evening."

  They traversed the corridor with its rug of cream and gold scrollwork, bordered in black with little red roses and a row of black stars down the center. Christopher took Katerina’s arm and placed it around his, laying his hand on top of hers, where it rested on his bicep.

  "Why would you be? I told you I would come."

  "Yes, you did."

  "Did you think I would break my word?"

  "I wouldn’t hold it against you if you did."

  "No, it would be unmannerly. Besides, I wanted to see you." His voice grew intense.

  "You did? Why?"

  "Why not?"

  She couldn’t answer the question, so she just fell silent, looking at the floor.

  He stopped walking and turned to face her. Removing his hand from hers, he put it on her chin and lifted gently, so she was looking into his eyes again. There was no need to speak. The sudden connection passing between them in that moment, in that gaze, was sufficient for him to know all he needed to know, for her to see he was not jesting. He honestly wanted to know her. His thumb touched her full lower lip. She winced.


  "What?"

  "Oh, it’s nothing. I bit my lip earlier. It still stings a little." He looked. Sure enough there was a tiny split there.

  "Sorry."

  "It’s fine."

  "Miss Valentino…"

  "You don’t have to."

  "Have to what?"

  "Call me that. I think… I think I would like to be your friend." Then, having shocked them both senseless with her unreserved invitation, they fell silent another moment to consider it.

  "So, I should call you Katerina then?" he asked at last.

  "Yes please." Her cheeks were pink but her gaze was steady. She really did want this little intimacy. Good. So did he.

  "My name is Christopher, you know."

  "Yes, your mother told me. May I?"

  "Certainly."

  She smiled at him. His hand was still on her face. She liked it. It felt… warm, kind, a pleasant touch. She leaned her cheek against him a little.

  "And what would you say, Katerina, if I asked you to accompany me on a little drive one day?"

  Her face fell. "I can’t. My father would never allow it. I’m sorry."

  "Is he so very strict then? Why does he let you come to these events? Is he here?"

  "Oh, no. He rarely leaves the house. I’m here because it is a public place, and there are many women around. Actually," her voice dropped to a whisper, "he thinks I’m with your mother right now."

  "Ah. Does he know she has a son?"

  "I’ve never mentioned it."

  "Katerina, don’t you think it might be a good idea for you to broach the subject of a… male friend with your father at some point? Does he not want you to find a husband some day?"

  "I think he does not want that. He wants me to himself, to run the household, you see. My future is of little interest to him. I’m sorry Christopher."

  "Don’t be sorry. But consider, Katerina. It’s usually best to be honest with people."

  "He’s my father. I know how to handle him best."

  There was an edge to her tone which surprised him greatly. "Of course. You’re quite right. So…" he released her face and wrapped her arm around his instead, leading her down the hallway again, "when will I see you next? Is there another public event where we might meet ‘accidentally’?"

  "Perhaps. There is a ball next week. I’ve received an invitation, but I haven’t decided whether to attend."