CHAPTER 33
“I’m sorry, kid,” her dad said over the fuzzier-than-usual phone line. “I’ve spoken to every priest and cardinal who’s ever shown any affection for the Kennedy family, and I’m afraid no exceptions can be made.”
Kick sank down into one of her hard wooden kitchen chairs, but her legs continued to shake. She’d been counting on this, the exception that could—would—be made for her, because of her family. And there it went, poof, like a cloud of smoke.
“Kick? Are you there?” her father shouted.
“I’m here,” she said quietly.
“I know this must be a terrible disappointment. You’d have made a terrific Duchess of Devonshire.”
“That’s not the reason I want to marry him,” she said.
“I know it’s hard to believe now, but there are other men out there who will be better for you, sweetheart. Who you’ll love just as much.”
Kick shook her head, though she knew her father couldn’t see it. It surprised her that she wasn’t crying. Instead she felt numb, weightless. She could scarcely feel her feet on the ground.
Next came a letter sent rush air service from her mother that surprised her with its compassion, the extent to which Rose understood how much she wanted Billy. She told Kick how sorry she was that she couldn’t have her heart’s desire. Like her father, though, she assured Kick that her heart would mend, and implored her to come home soon. “My darling Kick. Let me help. Let the Florida sunshine and the comforts of your church and family embrace you.” Kick couldn’t sleep for days on end, and went through her routines at the Red Cross in a barely cognizant state. She began to wish for John White’s back rubs, of all things. Anything to get some decent sleep so she could think clearly.
Billy hadn’t been able to get any leave time since the election, so she hadn’t seen him in weeks. He invited her to come up to Yorkshire, where he was temporarily stationed, and stay with his cousin Jean Ogilvy, now Lloyd. By the time she got there, Kick was spoiling for a fight.
There were things that needed to be said. She hardly knew where to start. He showed up for dinner the first night with lobsters and champagne for everyone, but Kick had little appetite for the treats. During dinner, as Jean and her husband and Billy talked about “the old days” like they were long gone, not just five years ago and on their way back once the Germans were vanquished, Kick finally exclaimed, “You sound like a lot of grannies! We’ll dance again. If not to the Big Apple, then to whatever’s the next big thing. We’ve been dancing throughout this whole ordeal, haven’t we?”
“That may be,” conceded Jean’s husband David. “But I doubt it’ll be the same.”
Billy nodded. “I don’t think the dukes of Devonshire will live in Chatsworth the way my grandfather and his ancestors did, that’s for certain.”
Kick was at the end of her patience—for all of it. She’d had enough of bad news, for herself and Billy and England. “None of us here has a crystal ball. All we have is what history tells us,” she said, glad to be able to use Billy’s precious history against him for once. “And England’s risen from worse than this in the past.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Billy said, though she could tell he didn’t believe it.
At last, they were alone. After brandies in the kitchen, Jean and David retired upstairs at a much later hour than Kick had expected, and she muttered, “At least our friends with children go to bed earlier.”
Billy laughed and put his arms around her. “You’ve seemed rather . . . on edge all night.” Her back was up against the kitchen counter. She wondered if Billy knew he’d pinned her there. Normally she’d have enjoyed the position, but not tonight.
Enough. Securing her palms on the wooden surface behind her, she said, “I spoke with Father Talbot. He was a wonderful, kind man and very learned, but . . . I can’t get married in a Protestant church. It would be too much for my family. It goes against too much of what I believe to be true and sacred.”
“All right,” said Billy, his voice even despite the fact that she could tell she’d taken him off guard.
“That’s not a problem?” she demanded.
“I’m not sure yet,” he said. “What else did you and Father Talbot talk about?” He released her and took a step back.
“The children, you mean? The future little dukes of Devonshire and their sisters? Who will never live at Chatsworth?”
“There’s no need to be hostile, darling.”
“Why not?” she exploded. “You’re asking me to give up so much.”
“I know, and I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry? That’s it?”
Billy stepped toward her and took her hands in his. “Kick, we balance each other so well. You are fiery and alive, and I am reserved and . . .”
“Stubborn,” she concluded for him.
“I prefer persistent,” he said, obviously hoping to lighten the mood.
She was not going to let him do this to her, not right now. “To make matters worse, my father says there are no loopholes. Which means that the Catholic Church will say I’m endangering my soul by marrying you. And my mother will believe it.”
“Do you believe you’d be endangering your soul by marrying me?”
She didn’t. Not as long as she believed there might be more priests like Father O’Flaherty on earth. But she did not want to lose that bargaining chip yet, so she challenged him. “I’d feel a lot better about my soul if I knew my future husband was willing to compromise on some aspect of this mess, to show everyone who’s watching us that he doesn’t want to endanger my soul.”
“Is our marriage really about everyone who’s watching?”
“How can it not be, Billy? You stand for everything your class of people admires. It’s why you want your children to be Protestant. You are England. But I stand for everything my people admire, too, which is why if I’m going to raise my children Protestant, I want to show in some way that I didn’t give in on everything that was important to me.”
Billy was silent for a moment, and he frowned as he thought. He put his hands behind his back and opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He went to the table and chairs near the window, whose eyelet curtains were closed. He sat and invited her to do the same. She did, recognizing that sitting, he didn’t tower over her so completely. He arranged his chair so that they were face-to-face and their knees touched. He folded his hands between his legs and looked at her. She wove her fingers together the same way she did at church, self-consciously aware of the eternity ring on her left hand, and tried to ignore the sparks she felt running up her legs at the touch of his knees.
“You’re right,” he said. “I can see absolutely why you feel the way you do, about our respective positions in relation to ‘my people,’ as you called them, as well as your people. I’m sorry I didn’t see it that way before.”
“Thank you,” she said. “So you see that I cannot marry you before the world in a Protestant church?”
“I suppose I do. But what does that leave us?”
“The registry office. We can have a legal, but not religious, ceremony.”
Billy did not break eye contact this time, and searched her determined face. At last he said, “I hadn’t thought of that before.”
“Father Talbot was the one who suggested it,” Kick countered. “And you did say he was a wise man.”
“I did,” he admitted grimly.
“So . . . ?” she asked.
“I’d like to think about it,” he said.
There wasn’t a name for the dance they were doing. It was torture, though. She wanted nothing more than to lollygag with him before a fire, take romantic walks, and peel off every layer of his guards uniform, throwing each piece on the floor, one by one. She envisioned each of these movements in painful detail while he was away the next day. At the same time, she wanted to shout at him that he was putting her in the worst possible position. And there was also the fear that surged through her whole body in waves throughout the day: What if I lose him—again?
But he showed up the next night at Jean’s, as promised, with another set of lobsters.
“This is getting ridiculous, Billy,” laughed Jean as she happily put an enormous pot of water on the stove to boil.
He also had an announcement: “My regiment’s been called up. I finally get to go back.”
He sounded so happy about it. Kick’s stomach contracted painfully, as it had on that train ride from Cannes. But hadn’t she been ashamed and disappointed in John White for not wanting to go?
While Jean cooked, Billy took Kick by the hand and led her into the back garden, where an early-spring twilight beamed pink rays through the branches of tall oak trees. He kissed her there, fully on the mouth, and she leaned up on her tiptoes so she could wind her fingers into his hair and feel the firmness of his long body against hers. They kissed like that for a long time, and as a host of images and sensations flashed through her mind, all of Kick’s answers became clear. It was like praying. After a while they were interrupted by Jean’s voice strained through the waning light. “All right, lovebirds! Time for dinner!”
Jean and David retired early that night, as soon as the last dish was dried. When they were gone, Billy poured himself and Kick two glasses of the champagne left over from their meal, and they went to sit on the sofa in the drawing room. They sat at each end of the three-seater, facing each other, not yet touching.
He sipped, then asked, “If I agree to the registry wedding, would it make things easier with your parents?”
“I hope so,” she said. “As much as it’s possible anyway. My mother’s not likely to make anything easy. But someday I hope she’ll see that I did the best I could with the choices I had.”
“Would it help if I wrote to her myself, to explain the situation from my side? I don’t want the burden to be entirely on you,” he said, his eyes in wide earnest. “You’re already giving so much. I cannot say that enough, Kick. I do understand.”
“And I understand that if you go back to France to fight for what you believe in, you must do that with a pureness of spirit,” she said, “without having given in on this issue that for you is synonymous with England. I wish I didn’t love that about you, but I do. Ironically, you have my father and brothers to thank for it.”
Billy’s relieved and surprised smile nearly broke her heart. “Then I shall thank them, many times over,” he promised. Then he moved to the middle seat of the couch and set his glass down on the nearby table.
He looked down at her left hand and used his index finger and thumb to twist the eternity ring on her slim finger. He looked up at her and said, “So, I agree to the registry wedding. Does that mean . . . ?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
He laughed then, a splendid and loud and thankful laugh.
“Shhhhhh,” she said. “You’ll wake Jean and David.”
He rocked back on the couch and pulled her on top of him, and they kissed even more fervently than they had in the garden before dinner. Then he said, very quietly, “I’m the happiest man in England, thanks to you.”
“And I’m the happiest woman in England and America,” she countered, and despite everything that had gone before and was still to come, she knew it was the truth.
No sooner had she and Billy each sent their letters of announcement and explanation to Rose and Joe Kennedy than the campaign began.
The first was a telegram from her mother:
AM IN BED SICK WITH THE NEWS FATHER KELLER VISITS ME DAILY TO PRAY WITH ME FOR YOU TO CHANGE YOUR MIND THINK KATHLEEN THINK AND PRAY REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE
Next came a letter from Eunice:
Have you any idea what you’ve done? What this is going to do? I can’t believe you’d be so selfish.
So much for Eunice being the charitable one, Kick thought.
And Bobby:
Mother’s in a tizzy. And I’m in shock, I have to admit. I never thought you’d go this far. Are you sure you’ve thought it through? I’ve always admired your independent spirit, but maybe this is taking it too far?
And even Teddy:
If there is anything you can do to make this better, please, Sister Kick, please do it. Everyone’s miserable, Mother’s checked herself into a hospital she feels so poorly.
And on and on. She didn’t hear from Jack or Joe Jr. right away. With each new communication from her other siblings, she replayed her last conversation with Joe, in which he’d said he’d stand by her, and hoped that when she saw him again, he’d make good on that promise. Jack’s silence felt more ominous. She’d written repeatedly, asking his advice for months, and told herself the problem was that her letters took too long to get to the Pacific theater, where he was stationed, but surely he’d gotten them by now. And he must have gotten her short plea for help by telegram. Why hadn’t he replied yet?
Meanwhile, spring brought the color back to London. Daffodils, then tulips and cherry trees, in fluffy waves of yellow, then white and pink and red. And Billy’s mother and sisters rushed to London to take her to lunch and shopping for china and crystal. They showered her with congratulations and warm hugs of relief and welcome. “You’ve made us all so happy,” the duchess said after kissing Kick on each of her cheeks, twice. “All of us,” she further emphasized. “Eddy, too. He sends his love as well.”
Kick went to mass every chance she could, always trying to get to St. Mary’s to feel closer to her favorite priest and the kind of church she felt she belonged to—a more tolerant one, which valued goodness over rules. She no longer prayed for guidance but for peace and joy. Holy Virgin, please help Mother and Daddy and my brothers and sisters to see how happy I am to be marrying Billy, and what a wonderful life we will lead that I want so much for them to be part of. Vacations at Lismore Castle in Ireland, hunts at Chatsworth, and a brood of grandchildren and cousins with funny little accents who will want to know and love their mother’s side of the family. Help them see there is no impediment to our continuing to love each other.
And also, on her darker days: Please God, allow me to find bliss in my marriage despite my sins. I am not perfect, but I want to lead a virtuous life. Help me to be content, and good. If I can be happy, I will know I have your grace.
She finally saw Joe Jr. at Crash-Bang on a day off from work. He took her on a glorious footpath through hedgerows and pastures with cows and sheep grazing on the long, whispering grasses. They walked awhile, then took a seat at the top of a slope where they could see a patchwork of small farms spread out like a green quilt before them.
“I believe congratulations are in order,” Joe said, smiling broadly at her. He looked so handsome, so relaxed and content.
“Daddy couldn’t find any loopholes, though, so the registry office it’ll be,” she said, still nervous, though her brother appeared nothing but happy for her.
“I know,” he said.
“You do?”
“I’ve gotten a crate of letters and telegrams begging me to talk some sense into you.”
“You did? And you didn’t tell me?”
“Have I ever been able to talk any sense into you?” he teased.
“No one has,” she sighed. “They think that’s my problem.”
“Well, some of us think it’s your strength.”
Tears flooded her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered hoarsely.
He bumped her shoulder with his. “I mean it. I wish I had half your courage.”
Not trusting herself to speak, she rested her head against his arm and tried to enjoy the view.
She and Billy decided that to minimize the publicity that was bound to follow their announcement, it was best to have the shortest possible engagement and get married right away—“And anyway,” Billy added with unconcealed lust in his voice, “I’m tired of waiting, aren’t you?”
“Very,” she had replied. “We’ve waited years.”
In a little less than a week, before they told the papers, Kick quit her job, much to the sneering relief of Scroggins, and packed up her little flat with all the borrowed linens and other collected knickknacks that would now comprise her trousseau, since nothing was coming from America. Occasionally, she sat and cried, longing for her mother and sisters. She was getting married! She’d already given up her cherished childhood fantasy of a long white dress, fabulous flowers, and luxurious reception and honeymoon. It turned out those trappings were infinitesimally less important than family. Rose and Rosie, Eunice, Pat, and Jean—they were supposed to be with her, fussing and reminiscing, and giggling about her future happiness! When she thought of Rosemary especially, alone somewhere like Kick was, she cried all the more.
As one of those fits was starting and she was telling herself to get on with the packing and organizing, there was a knock on her apartment door. She was surprised to see Sissy and Debo with their brood of little children. And Debo herself was practically bursting with the new baby, due any moment now.
“We came to help,” said Sissy. Seeing Kick’s red-rimmed eyes, she added, “And it looks like we got here just in time!” Kick fell into her friend’s embrace and sobbed as Debo efficiently ushered the confused children into the sparse room, opened a tapestry bag that held jacks and soft rabbits and a few other diversions, and then went to hug Kick herself, which was so difficult to do given her enormous belly that it made both of them laugh.
“Thank you both for coming,” said Kick, hiccupping now between laughter and tears.
“Darling,” Sissy cooed, rubbing Kick’s back, “tell us what’s wrong.”
“I miss my family,” she said, feeling the sobs gather again like a storm in her chest.
“Of course you do,” said Debo, sliding down into a chair at the table. “They should be here.”
Sissy went to make some tea, and after a few deep breaths, Kick said, “Of course they can’t be here because of the war and all—”
“Kick,” interrupted Debo firmly, “there’s no need to pretend with us. We know you’re not talking about the Atlantic Ocean or the Germans.”
“Have they written at all?” asked Sissy gently.
“Nothing I’d want to share with you,” admitted Kick.
But Sissy frowned and said, “I’m sorry. No one should be unhappy about starting a new life with a wonderful man.” Kick was so touched by this, she burst into tears again.
Sissy actually laughed, and sat down next to her friend. “I didn’t think that was such a dangerous thing to say.”
Sissy’s fine features blurred in Kick’s watery eyes. “It’s just that I wish, I wish . . .” she gasped.
Debo reached over and put her hand on Kick’s. “We know. You don’t have to say more.”
“Please don’t tell Billy,” Kick whispered.
“Welcome to being a wife,” said Sissy.
“Exactly.” Debo grinned slyly, and despite her pregnancy-plumped face, she looked exactly like the party girl of eighteen Kick had colluded with six years ago.
Towheaded Julian wandered over to them and said to Sissy, “May I have a biscuit, Mummy?” Then, catching a glimpse of Kick’s red face, he asked in such a proper manner that Kick blushed at the absurdity of the moment, “Are you all right, Miss Kennedy?”
Sissy intervened. “She won’t be Miss Kennedy much longer, Julian. You’d better start to practice calling her Marchioness.”
Safely back in the territory of etiquette, Julian gave Kick a little bow and said, “I hope you feel better, Marchioness.” Clearly bewildered, he took a handful of digestive biscuits and rejoined the other children.
Kick and Sissy and Debo dissolved into hysterical laughter, an absolute balm on her soul. Her friends’ visit also proved essential for her housewarming preparations, as they were able to advise her on the sorts of items that would be most useful in her post-honeymoon life in a hotel in Alton near Billy’s regiment. Debo said, “I’ve never been so bored as I’ve been as an army wife, so bring plenty to read.”
Sissy removed the nicer dresses from the packed trunks, saying, “Leave those in storage. There won’t be anywhere to wear them in Alton, and while you honeymoon at Compton Place, well, I’m sure Billy won’t want you wearing much of anything,” and again Sissy and Debo exchanged amused looks.
“Sissy!” Kick said, embarrassed but also flushed with anticipation.
“She’ll likely have to dress for dinner once,” Debo pointed out. “Duke and Duchess might pop by for supper.”
“Actually, speaking of . . . all that,” Kick said, hardly able to believe she was asking, “do you know anywhere I might be able to buy some satin sheets?”
Sissy grinned and said, “They cost more than gold at Harrods because of the fabric restrictions, but I have a set to give you. Consider it a gift. David prefers cotton.”
In the evening post the next day, a brown paper parcel arrived, and inside was Kick’s very own set of freshly washed yellow satin sheets that smelled like sunshine and dried lavender, and a note in Sissy’s hand that read, “A marchioness should sleep on satin sheets. Enjoy them.”
In the same post was a short note from the duchess saying that earlier in the day, Debo had delivered Peregrine Cavendish safely into the world. “It appears our family is growing and growing, and I couldn’t be happier,” she concluded.
Kick put the note between the pages of the Book of Common Prayer and packed it to take with her into her new life.