Kit and Elizabeth

by Tuft, Karen

  It also explained why Papa had not joined them inside.

  What could possibly be going wrong, besides the debacle surrounding the betrothal?

  Elizabeth could hardly keep her attention on the stage, consumed as she was by her thoughts and self-conscious of the eyes glancing in her direction during the first act. Before she knew it, intermission had arrived.

  “I need to stretch my legs,” Mama said, rising to her feet. “You may join me or not.”

  Elizabeth stood.

  The two gentlemen rose, and the two ladies watched them closely as they left the box.

  “Never mind,” Mama said once they were out in the corridor that surrounded the theater boxes. “I believe I’d rather you not join me. I see some friends over there—Lady Osgood, for one, and Lady Kettering. Do some mingling of your own. Find a single gentleman to flirt with. Be useful.”

  Elizabeth wasn’t in the mood to flirt. She was rather tired of the word. Instead, she followed discreetly behind Mama, who had joined Lady Osgood and Lady Kettering and had continued strolling down the corridor. Never in her life had Elizabeth felt so uncomfortable in her own skin, as though the eyes of everyone she saw were peeling away layers of her and leaving her bare to their scrutiny.

  She would return to the safety of the box and the courteous strangers within.

  Just as she was about to turn back, she spotted Lord Halford and Amelia strolling toward Mama and her friends. Elizabeth watched and held her breath.

  Mama stopped, appeared to look Amelia right in the face, then turned abruptly away, with Lady Osgood and Lady Kettering following her lead.

  They had given Amelia the cut direct. Others would follow their example, and Elizabeth thought she might be sick. She must rectify the situation somehow. But what to do?

  She knew where the Ashworth box was. It was directly across the theater from their own box—or what had been their box. She hurried as discreetly as she could to it. Once there, she slipped through the curtain and into the box, where she found Lady Walmsley, a close friend of the Ashworth’s, sitting and fanning herself.

  “Oh, well look who has arrived to visit me,” Lady Walmsley said. The elderly Lady Walmsley, widow of the former Earl of Walmsley, had been at Ashworth Park just days ago when Elizabeth and her parents had left and must have returned to Town at about the same time Amelia had. Elizabeth had gotten to know her and had found her to be refreshing company. It was a relief to find a friendly face. “Come, sit, girl. You look like you need a good rest.” Elizabeth didn’t need a rest—she was far too agitated. But she sat, and Lady Walmsley patted her hand. “Now what is the matter, dearie? For I can see by your expression that all is not well.”

  Elizabeth fought back tears. “Mama and her friends have just given Amelia the cut direct. I do not understand it. I told them I was in full agreement with Lord Halford, but they don’t seem to care. They will not listen. They were intent upon us marrying, and I cannot make them see reason.”

  Lady Walmsley shook her head. “I’ll tell you what I don’t understand,” she said. “I don’t understand how—please forgive what I’m about to say—how the likes of the Duke and Duchess of Marwood managed to produce such an exceedingly kind and beautiful daughter.”

  It was intended as a compliment, but Lady Walmsley’s words about her parents stung, nonetheless. And yet, Elizabeth understood what prompted her remarks.

  The curtain parted, and Lord Halford and Amelia entered the box. Elizabeth quickly stood.

  “I heard,” Lady Walmsley said in a foreboding tone. “Lady Elizabeth has told me what happened.”

  “I am sorry, Amelia,” Elizabeth said. “I cannot seem to make my parents see reason.”

  “It was not your doing,” Amelia said.

  “They hold much influence,” Lady Walmsley said, “but are not invincible.”

  “I must go now,” Elizabeth said. “Mama will be looking for me. I only wanted to offer what little support I can.”

  Amelia took Elizabeth’s hands in her own. “I do not blame you. I consider us friends.”

  Elizabeth smiled sadly, then left the Ashworth box. Oh, how she wished she could be friends with Amelia. But as the daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Marwood, it would never be possible. Not because Amelia was beneath them in rank but because they were beneath Amelia in dignity. Of that, Elizabeth was hopelessly convinced.

  ***

  Kit spent his time in London being more social that he’d ever been before. He was a man of action, although not necessarily a man who enjoyed mingling with the beau monde. But to help Anthony and Amelia, he visited all of the gentlemen’s clubs, frequently with Phillip in tow, speaking highly of the lovely and modest Miss Clarke, and declaring what a lucky fellow the Earl of Halford was.

  “I heard it was all rather scandalous,” Sir Richard Egan, one of Anthony’s friends from university, said. “Heard it straight from Sir Frederick Putnam, in fact. Said he was there when it happened.”

  “Consider the source,” Kit replied. “I know Miss Clarke personally, and I can assure you there isn’t a finer example of gentility and grace than Miss Clarke.”

  “Well, I’d rather believe you than Sir Frederick, at any rate,” Hugh Wallingham, another friend of Anthony’s, said before sipping his ale. “The man’s probably just irritated that one of his daughters didn’t snag Anthony for herself.”

  Sir Richard chuckled.

  “Do what you can to spread the word,” Kit said. “Do it for Tony.”

  “Anything for Tony,” Hugh said, raising his glass.

  Sir Richard nodded his agreement.

  Kit visited Tattersall’s, where he combined the search for good horseflesh with the task of turning acquaintances who were there toward having a favorable view of Amelia. He went riding in Hyde Park to do the same. He even worked it into the conversation at Angelo’s Fencing Academy on Bond Street while he was there wielding his foil.

  Not everyone was as ready to overlook Anthony’s actions as Hugh and Sir Richard had been. Frankly, the gentlemen seemed more willing to overlook the fact that Anthony had been caught in a passionate embrace than they were that he’d felt he must marry the common daughter of a vicar.

  They all seemed to agree, however, that the ladies of the ton would be less forgiving of the passion that had been on display than the forced marriage that was to follow.

  Eventually, Kit had done all he could without drawing overt attention to the subject. And it seemed to him that Anthony and Amelia had found a comfortable routine. He’d run into them on more than one occasion strolling through Hyde Park. It seemed to Kit that Anthony looked more robust than he had in Oxfordshire a mere two weeks before, and Kit was glad to see it. It was not a stretch for Kit to conclude that much of Anthony’s renewed health could be attributed to Amelia.

  Tonight, however, was the Atherton ball, which the Duke and Duchess of Atherton hosted near the end of every Season. Everyone would be in attendance, and many would even return to Town to attend. This ball would be the test. Tonight, they would know if Amelia would be accepted by the ton or find herself rejected. And Kit—and Phillip and Hugh and Sir Richard, at least—intended to be there to lend their support and do all in their power to see the matter brought to a positive conclusion.

  As Kit washed, shaved, and dressed for the ball, Phillip sauntered into his room, already dressed in his evening clothes, even though it wasn’t set to begin for an hour or so.

  “I’m not riding to the ball with you, Kit,” Phillip said. He squinted at Kit’s reflection in the vanity mirror, where Kit sat scraping a day’s growth of beard from his cheek. “You missed a spot. Just here.” Phillip pointed.

  Kit pulled his razor over the spot.

  “As I was saying,” Phillip continued, “I’m not riding with you—but I’ll be there shortly after you arrive, I promise. Having a bit of a catching up with
a few friends beforehand. But don’t worry, I’ll be there.”

  “If this is an excuse to avoid the Putnam sisters—”

  Phillip laughed. “Not at all. Friends from university, in town for a few days. Told them I’d meet up. Although, perhaps I should take my time arriving after all. Avoiding the Putnam sisters is an added incentive.”

  “Very funny,” Kit said. He checked his face and then wiped off the remaining lather with his towel before turning to look at his brother straight on. “You look very smart, by the way.”

  “Thank you, big brother. Now, while you are doing your duty to assist Tony, how about you find yourself a nice bride so you may begin siring heirs and so that I may begin my travels to faraway lands.” He grinned.

  Kit flicked him with the towel. “I could say the same to you, you know. I have an heir—you. You don’t.”

  “I have nothing for an heir to inherit. Ah, I see where this is going—you are too generous, dear brother, wishing to remain single for my personal benefit. But I would rather be free of the constraints of Cantwell Hall and see you happily married with a large brood of children. I am more than content being the second son. The role of country squire is not for me.”

  Kit smiled ruefully. “No one ever said it was for me either, and yet here I am. Off with you, then; enjoy yourself. I’ll see you later.”

  Phillip gave him a jaunty salute and left.

  Perhaps Phillip was right. Perhaps it was time for Kit to take a bride and sire a brood of children. At the ripe old age of thirty, it was certainly a reasonable thing to consider. Except the role and responsibilities of being the earl had been thrust upon him much sooner than he’d desired, and he had no wish to add to his responsibilities yet. Or, at the very least, no particular lady had moved his heart to the point where he’d felt inclined to marry. He liked being able to maintain the sense of freedom he currently had.

  Unkempt blonde hair and twinkling blue eyes flickered through his mind, but he considered it an errant thought. A three-legged race with a lady did not a romance make. Especially if that lady was the daughter of the contemptible Duke and Duchess of Marwood.

  ***

  Elizabeth and her parents arrived at the Atherton ball fashionably late. Elizabeth had, once again, taken great care of her appearance so as not to incur the wrath of Papa.

  He had rarely been home over the past two weeks. Mama constantly gave excuses for him, but Elizabeth could tell that even Mama was worried and upset. He was always very good at hiding his activities from them, but Elizabeth was no fool, and she’d overheard enough mutterings amongst the servants to be alarmed. The laundress had complained to the maids about the smell of stale perfume and smoke. Elizabeth had heard their words as she’d walked toward the back of the house in search of the housekeeper. Papa’s steward had sold two or three of the painted landscapes, and Papa rarely left his rooms—if he came home at all—until midafternoon.

  But tonight, for the Duke and Duchess of Atherton’s ball, he appeared nearly like his former self, but surly. Elizabeth had a pit in her stomach. Mama looked as though she’d eaten a lemon.

  They exited their carriage and made their way through the line of guests to greet their hosts. Papa’s version of making their way through the line of guests was to simply assert himself, and people moved out of his way. Mama and Elizabeth followed.

  Elizabeth did her best to smile and mouth “sorry” to anyone who looked in her direction.

  “Marwood,” the Duke of Atherton said with a wooden face. “Duchess.”

  “Atherton,” Papa replied. “Duchess.”

  The Duchess of Atherton gave him a nearly imperceptible nod.

  Mama followed the duchess’s lead.

  “Lady Elizabeth, how breathtakingly lovely you look,” the Duke of Atherton said to Elizabeth.

  Mama looked back at her with irritation.

  “Thank you, Your Grace,” Elizabeth said, curtsying.

  “Lady Elizabeth, my husband speaks the truth,” the duchess said. “I’m so glad you could join us.”

  Papa wouldn’t care that Elizabeth had been so warmly welcomed, but Mama did. Mama was seething right now; Elizabeth could tell by the rigidity of her back. Papa cared little what people thought and was already in a frame of mind to create trouble. Elizabeth was certain that trouble would be directed at Lord Halford and Amelia, for certainly they would be here. The Athertons were great friends of the Ashworths and would do all they could to help introduce Amelia to Society.

  Oh, she wished she and Mama and Papa had not come tonight.

  She must do what she could to avert another confrontation like the one that had occurred at Ashworth Park.

  “I have seen you safely inside,” Papa said. “And now I will leave you for a while. I will join you later.” He turned.

  “Marwood,” Mama whispered. “You cannot simply abandon us here like you did at the theater. People will talk.”

  “I care not one whit for the talk of others,” he said, his eyelids half shut as if to block Mama and Elizabeth from his sight. “I have serious business I must attend to. I have seen you safely here. I will return within the hour.” He stalked off.

  “I’m sorry, Mama,” Elizabeth said softly.

  Mama turned a stony glare on her. “Too little, too late, Elizabeth. But, please, feel free to enjoy yourself.” She strode off and soon disappeared into the crush of people in attendance.

  Elizabeth could hardly breathe. She hadn’t expected the evening to be the typical social obligation, all things considered, but she hadn’t expected this either. She must warn someone about the emotional state her parents were in. She prayed her fears were misplaced, but she doubted it.

  She went in search of an ally. It was difficult, considering the number of people in attendance. She smiled and nodded and tried to ignore the murmurs that arose everywhere she walked, although she was becoming accustomed to it by now.

  The first person she spotted was Lord Cantwell. She heaved a sigh of relief.

  He smiled when he saw her coming toward him. Strangely, it brought tears to her eyes, which she luckily succeeded in blinking back.

  “Lady Elizabeth,” he said, bowing to her. “You are a sight for sore eyes.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “But there is no time for pleasantries.” She hadn’t intended to be quite so blunt, but the words had simply spilled out of her upon seeing a friendly face.

  He became serious. “What is wrong? How may I be of assistance?”

  “I must warn Lord Halford,” she said. “Papa bears a great malice for Miss Clarke—all out of proportion. I fear he will take out his anger on Miss Clarke this evening. And Mama takes his side in the matter. They cannot let it go. I must find Lord Halford.”

  “I will help you find him,” he said. He offered her his elbow. “I saw him not long ago near the refreshment table. Let’s look for them there.”

  “Thank you,” she breathed, feeling as though she might collapse with relief.

  He led her through the crowd, and she eventually spotted him with Amelia, standing with a group of young gentlemen Elizabeth recognized as friends of his. But there was no time to politely greet them any more than there had been with Lord Cantwell.

  “Miss Clarke, how splendid you look this evening,” Lord Cantwell said, shooting a serious look at Lord Halford. He bowed over Amelia’s hand. “Perhaps I can persuade you to take a turn on the dance floor with me?”

  “Thank you, Lord Cantwell,” Amelia replied. “I would enjoy that.”

  Elizabeth watched him lead her out to join the dance already in progress. Lord Halford was standing at her side. She must say something. Now.

  “May we walk, Lord Halford?” she murmured so that no one else would hear.

  “Certainly,” he said and offered her his arm.

  They strolled around the perimeter of the bal
lroom toward the french doors. Once outside, he escorted her away from others who had stepped out for a bit of fresh air.

  “I must warn you,” she blurted once they were alone.

  “What is this about?” Lord Halford instantly looked more like an army captain than an earl.

  “I am dreadfully sorry, Lord Halford. I don’t know what more to do. I cannot get him to see reason, and Mama refuses to listen to me as well. Something is terribly wrong. Father has not been at all the same since the dance at Ashworth Park—he is rarely at home, and when he is, he is angry and . . . pardon me, but to speak bluntly, he is usually quite foxed. He barely says two words to me, and Mama even scolded me after our stay at Ashworth Park.” She could hardly hold back the tears now.

  “What in blazes is going on?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she answered, her throat tight, “except that our decision not to marry seems to have been the final straw.”

  “That makes no sense. I am beyond confident you will have no trouble attracting other suitors, scores of them. I do not understand why your parents refuse to accept our decision and are putting you through this.”

  “Neither do I; I wish I did. Regardless of that, there is a specific reason I am speaking to you about this tonight. You see, my father believes Amelia is the primary cause of all this. Do not trust in my father’s ability to be rational right now, Lord Halford. He is truly not his normal self. I fear for him. I only hope that when he arrives at the ball, he will content himself with disappearing into the cardroom and into his cups. Perhaps, if he does, I will be able to convince Mama to help me take him home. Stay away from him if you can, for Amelia’s sake.”

  “Thank you for the warning, Lady Elizabeth.” He looked through the french-door windows. “The current dance appears to be drawing to an end, and I suspect Kit and Amelia will be looking for us.” He smiled. “It would seem you have an eligible suitor already.”

  Lord Cantwell had been very kind to her recently, and she was grateful to him, but to expect anything more than that was pointless to consider. “Lord Cantwell is very charming, but I think his only intentions are to enjoy himself tonight and return Miss Clarke to you. Now, if you will excuse me, I am going in search of my mother. I suspect she may be complicit with my father in undermining Amelia. I intend to do what I can to minimize any effect her words may have on others.”