Kit and Elizabeth

by Tuft, Karen

  She was grateful to have Kit’s arm as an anchor while they joined those waiting to greet their host and hostess. For as soon as they had exited Kit’s carriage, the whispers had begun: Marwood, scandal, mourning, sad, poor girl, debt . . .

  Never liked the man.

  But that gown!

  “What a lovely evening it is,” Kit said, not particularly trying to be subtle. “I am so glad you were willing to join us, Lady Elizabeth, after already spending a year in mourning. What an admirable daughter you are; such a credit to your family. Wouldn’t you say so, Lady Walmsley?”

  “You’re pouring it on a little thick,” Elizabeth murmured to him, hoping no one heard what she said.

  Lady Walmsley cackled.

  “Ah, there is my good friend the Earl of Iverson, and it would seem his wife is with him. Excellent.” He freed himself of Elizabeth’s grip so he could beckon to the earl. “Do you know him?”

  “I have never been introduced,” she said. The waves of anxiety she was feeling were becoming stronger.

  “We called the fellow Chad until he became the earl; now he’s simply boring old Iverson,” Kit explained while Elizabeth watched the earl and his wife walk toward them. “Congenial fellow though. You’ll like him and his wife. Haven’t had the pleasure of meeting his wife. Ah, Iverson, good to see you and your fine lady again.”

  “Likewise, Cantwell.” The earl smiled politely at Elizabeth. “And it looks as though you have the company of the two loveliest ladies here—excepting Lady Iverson, of course.” He smiled dotingly at his wife.

  “You see, I am the most fortunate of men, Iverson. Lady Elizabeth, Lady Walmsley, please allow me to present Jonathan Chaddon, the Earl of Iverson and his wife, Lady Iverson.”

  “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Elizabeth said, hoping it was true.

  “I remember your father,” Lady Walmsley said. “Good friend of my husband’s, if a bit of a rascal. I wonder if you are much like him in that regard?”

  “I’ve always considered him a bit of a rascal, Lady Walmsley. It can be such an endearing trait—some of the time,” Lady Iverson said.

  Lord Iverson laughed.

  “You and I think alike in that regard,” Lady Walmsley said.

  “In my defense, I believe Lord Cantwell here is as much of a rascal as I am,” Iverson said.

  “Come now, Iverson,” Kit said. “It wasn’t I who won the curricle race to Brighton last month—”

  “Not for lack of trying,” Lord Iverson replied.

  Elizabeth spun to look at Kit after that remark. “A curricle race? To Brighton? After Alex—”

  “He exaggerates my efforts,” Kit said. “I doubt Lady Iverson was thrilled to learn of your victory.”

  “That would have been one of those times when being a rascal was not endearing,” Lady Iverson said. “I warned him that I would set a torch to his curricle myself if he ever attempted such a thing again.”

  “Foolish young men and the chances they take,” Lady Walmsley said, shaking her head. “Well, enough of that for now. It appears it’s nearly our time to greet Lord and Lady Bledsoe.”

  “It has been a pleasure making your acquaintance,” Lord Iverson said to them, bowing slightly to Elizabeth and then to Lady Walmsley.

  “Indeed,” Lady Iverson said. “I should very much enjoy getting to know you better.”

  “I would like that very much,” Elizabeth said—and realized she meant it.

  They were nearly to Lord and Lady Bledsoe’s side.

  “Don’t you worry, Elizabeth,” Lady Walmsley whispered to her. “I intend to give Lady Bledsoe a piece of my mind about claiming this was an intimate gathering of friends. You see if I don’t.”

  “You needn’t—”

  But before Lady Walmsley had an opportunity to open her mouth, Lady Bledsoe was hugging her and bussing her cheeks. “Margaret! I’m so glad you’re here!” she exclaimed before reaching for Elizabeth’s hand. “Lady Elizabeth. And Lord Cantwell too. Thank you for coming.” She dropped her voice. “I must apologize for the size of the gathering. It simply blossomed—Bledsoe had specific people he wanted to invite, and when others heard who would be performing this evening, well, it created more of a stir than I’d anticipated, and I simply couldn’t ignore all the excited comments and yearning looks from my friends and acquaintances in just the past few days alone! But I shall do my best to ensure that your time here this evening is an enjoyable one.”

  “I’m sure it will be a lovely evening I will remember for some time to come,” Elizabeth replied.

  If anyone can face this crowd with grace and dignity, it is you.

  Kit’s words flashed through her mind, drowning out for one brief moment the whispers behind fans, the raised quizzing glasses, and the arched eyebrows.

  You are Lady Elizabeth Spaulding, intelligent and strong and beautiful.

  She had worn breeches and fenced. She had dressed as a commoner and danced. She had never done any of that before, but she had done it. She could mingle with her peers. She had done so on countless occasions. She knew what to do, was as trained as anyone to know what to say and do.

  Kit looked at her, and she realized she’d stopped walking, and he was studying her to see if she was all right. She straightened her back and nodded.

  “Oh, there is the Duchess of Atherton,” Lady Walmsley said. “I must say hello. Please excuse me; I shall come right back. But if I don’t, I will find you both later.” She dashed off before either of them could respond.

  “Well, there she goes. I promise you I won’t leave your side,” Kit murmured to Elizabeth as they watched Lady Walmsley hug the duchess. “She is certainly a hugger, isn’t she?” he added.

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said. She’d been momentarily stricken by the sudden abandonment, but Kit’s promise to remain reassured her.

  They continued making their way with the crowds toward the music room.

  “And how is your mother, Lord Iverson?” Elizabeth asked since the earl and his wife had stayed near them after greeting their host and hostess. “I understand Lady Walmsley called on her recently.”

  “Doing well enough, but sadly, she does have a bad day here and there,” Lord Iverson replied. “It’s kind of you to ask after her. Lady Walmsley has been a good friend to Mama.”

  “She has mentioned what a dutiful son you have been,” Elizabeth replied. She had always tried to be dutiful to her own mother, despite everything.

  “I owe her a great deal, so it is not a burden in the least,” Lord Iverson said.

  “I have told Iverson he must be as good to his wife in her old age as he is to his mother,” Lady Iverson said with a mischievous smile.

  “And I have told her that she must do the same for me.”

  “I shall certainly ask the servants to take care of you,” Lady Iverson said. “It will probably take an army of them to see to all your aches and ailments.” She shot a conspiratorial glance at Elizabeth. “He is such a child already with even the most trifling of colds. I find I must say, ‘My poor dear, take your medicine. My poor dear, here is your liniment. My poor—’”

  “I think they get your point,” Lord Iverson said, laughing. “I assure you, she exaggerates.”

  “There was this one time—” Lady Iverson began.

  “Enough, woman! You would be wise to remember that I have stories of my own I could tell.”

  “You wouldn’t dare! Oh, you are only teasing. He would never say anything; he’s such a dear man.”

  “Indeed, I am,” Lord Iverson said, puffing out his chest in a comic fashion. “And don’t you forget it. You could certainly have done a lot worse.”

  “That is true, but it was you who took my heart. And for that reason,” Lady Iverson said, poking a finger into his puffed-out chest, “if you ever race to Brighton again, I will follow throu
gh with my threat. Mark my words!”

  They all laughed.

  By the time they reached the music room, it was nearly full to capacity, which forced Elizabeth and Kit to separate from the Iversons. Elizabeth was sad to be parted from them for the concert. She’d been comfortable with them and had enjoyed their witty banter. It had worked to distract her from her fears and had filled the void Lady Walmsley had left, who Elizabeth could now see was seated by the Duchess of Atherton, chatting away.

  Kit led Elizabeth to two empty chairs he’d spotted near the front of the room on the left side, where they would, fortunately enough, be able to watch the accompanist’s hands at the keyboard as well as have a clear view of the soloist. Elizabeth was aware once again of whispers around her—surely, they couldn’t all be whispers about her, could they? It was absurd to think so, wasn’t it?

  She placed her hands in her lap and waited for the music to begin.

  ***

  When Lord Bledsoe took his place on the small stage at the front of the music room, the murmur of the crowd silenced. “Family and friends, ladies and gentlemen, it is with great delight that Lady Bledsoe and I are able to share the talents of this extraordinary young man with you this evening. He is already developing quite a name for himself, but he has generously agreed to perform for you, first on violin and, subsequently, a composition of his own on the pianoforte. May I present Richard Cudmore.”

  The audience applauded loudly as a young man came onstage and bowed. An older gentleman went to sit at the pianoforte while all of this occurred.

  “Thank you,” Mr. Cudmore said once the applause ceased. “Allow me to present my accompanist, Mr. Pitt.” He gestured toward the piano with his bow, and polite applause ensued for a moment.

  Kit would rather dance to music than sit and listen to it. So he found himself pleasantly surprised when Mr. Cudmore began his first notes. The fellow was actually quite good—a step above most of the violinists Kit had heard over the years.

  “Ohh,” Elizabeth breathed.

  Kit turned his head to watch her.

  She seemed transfixed by the music, and her rapture, combined with the music, was breathtaking. Her cream-and-gold gown, along with her simple cream shawl, matched her skin and hair color remarkably. Where once people had said she was like a statue, cold and aloof, she now appeared warm in appearance—even her skin and the slight flush in her cheek. Her nose was straight, her lips full, and her golden lashes long around eyes the color of the noon sky. She was still a bit too thin; nonetheless, she looked utterly ravishing—not like a statue at all and not the broken wretch he’d encountered in Surrey, either, but a warm and glowing woman.

  He dropped his gaze to his lap. He was enamored with the person who’d been betrothed to his best friend. His dead best friend. And she still loved and grieved for him.

  He felt panicked and suddenly angry that Anthony and Amelia had made him promise to be at Lady Walmsley’s beck and call and equally angry that Lady Walmsley’s beck and call had required him to go to Surrey with her to get Elizabeth, which had placed them in close proximity and had prompted this growing attachment to her.

  The music ended, and the audience broke into applause. He hadn’t been paying attention, other than the music had enveloped him and had added another layer of romantic rubbish to the moment. He was a fool heading for disaster, if he wasn’t careful.

  “Mr. Cudmore’s performance was magical,” Elizabeth said to him as everyone, including the two of them, continued to clap. Her eyes sparkled, and her countenance glowed. She was enchanting.

  “Remarkable,” he said flatly.

  Her brow furrowed. “Are you well?” she asked.

  “Of course I am,” he replied. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  She studied his face. Too closely. “I don’t know.”

  Luckily, before she could press him, Mr. Cudmore began his next piece.

  He could not, would not, betray the legacy of his friend, regardless of his feelings for Elizabeth.

  ***

  Something had happened to Kit between the time they’d sat to listen to Mr. Cudmore’s performance and the end of his first piece. Elizabeth had no idea what it could have been, but it was as if a candle had been snuffed out—one minute, there’d been light and warmth and the next, nothing.

  What had happened? They’d simply been sitting here listening to Mr. Cudmore performing Mozart. And yet, something had happened. Elizabeth had tuned her senses long ago to the moods of her parents and recognized when such a thing had occurred in someone else. Always, it had seemed, it had been because of something Elizabeth herself had done.

  What had she done this time?

  She pondered the question while trying to appreciate the virtuosity of the music being played. She finally gave up on listening to the music and concentrated on what had happened to affect Kit’s mood. What she might have done. After much serious thought, she came to a conclusion: she had done nothing.

  She had done nothing. She was not to blame for his change in mood. It seemed rather odd—and liberating—to comprehend it after a lifetime of feeling guilt and shame and responsibility.

  It was entirely his own concern. That it had affected his behavior toward her was still upsetting. She could sense his withdrawal from her and was hurt by it.

  She relied on her training to sit with a serene look on her face as the music continued. There was nothing that could be done about the situation right now anyway, despite the heaviness in her heart.

  Eventually, Mr. Cudmore finished the violin sonata he was playing, he and his accompanist together received their ovations, and the guests were left to mingle and enjoy refreshments. Elizabeth stood, pretending to ignore Kit’s hand when he offered it to her.

  “Perhaps you would care for a drink?” he asked politely.

  “Thank you,” she replied equally politely.

  He bowed and left to go to the refreshment table. Despite his earlier assurances to her, he had left her side, after all, even if it was under the guise of doing her a service.

  She refused to stand here by herself as though she were a lost soul adrift in a sea of her peers. She glanced about her for a familiar, hopefully friendly face.

  “Lady Elizabeth Spaulding, as I live and breathe,” a deep baritone voice said behind her.

  She turned to see to whom the voice belonged and found herself facing an elaborately folded neckcloth held in place by a large diamond stickpin. Her eyes continued upward to the strong jaw, then the straight mouth and aristocratic nose to the dark, piercing eyes of none other than the Duke of Aylesham.

  She extended her hand for him to bow over. “Good evening, Your Grace,” she said.

  He raised his quizzing glass halfway to his eye as he gazed at her. Elizabeth held her breath. She was acquainted with George Kendall and had been since he’d been the Earl of Kerridge before inheriting the dukedom.

  “You look stunning this evening, Lady Elizabeth. I must say, however, that your gown is an unusual shade for a person in mourning . . . but then, I suppose that if you were actually in mourning, you would not be here this evening, would you?”

  “I have mourned the loss of my father for this past year, Your Grace. Would you hold me to another year as well?” She couldn’t believe she’d summoned up the bravado to say such a thing to the Duke of Aylesham. He had always been aware of his status and responsibilities and held himself to an incredibly high standard and held others to that same standard too. She knew very well that his next words would either help her ease back into Society or do the exact opposite.

  He studied her gown. He studied her face. She stood as serenely under his acute gaze as she could.

  “One cannot allow such a bloom of Society to languish away in the country for years at a time, now can one?” he said at last, dropping his quizzing glass. “There is only so much one can be expected t
o do for the sake of the rules of propriety. One must do what one must for one’s own good opinion, wouldn’t you say?”

  She let out the breath she’d been holding while awaiting his answer. “Why, yes, Your Grace, and thank you. I am most grateful for your insight and understanding.”

  “I am merely being selfish, Lady Elizabeth.” He smiled at her and raised her hand to his lips again, allowing them to linger there. The Duke of Aylesham had never paid her this kind of particular attention before. He’d always been polite, of course, but as she’d always been intended for Alex, their exchanges had never been anything more than polite.

  It was a bit unsettling after so many Seasons to have a gentleman, dare she say, flirt with her. It was odd to realize that she was not intended for anyone and that, for the first time, she might consider having suitors. She’d never had one before. Additionally, by now, she was considered on the shelf at twenty-three years of age.

  “Ahem,” another male voice said behind her. She recognized this voice. It was Kit, who’d returned with her drink.

  “Cantwell,” the Duke of Aylesham said cordially, gradually allowing Elizabeth to free her hand and straightening to his full stature. Goodness, but she was surrounded by tall men at the moment! “I see you are playing the gallant and have brought the lady refreshment.”

  “Aylesham,” Kit said. He handed Elizabeth a glass of lemonade. “I’m surprised to see you here this evening.”

  “Lady Bledsoe and my mother came out together, so I do what I can when I have the time,” the duke said. “Besides, I had heard good things about this Cudmore fellow, which, in point of fact, have turned out to be true.”

  “I enjoyed his performance thoroughly,” Elizabeth said. “Such a delight after . . . well, it has been some time since I have heard anything so elegant.” She shouldn’t have referred to her year of self-exile in even the most obscure of ways, not if she wished to have it put behind her publicly.

  “As it has been for us all,” the duke said. “He’s a prodigious talent.”

  Elizabeth was grateful that he’d covered her poor choice of wording with such ease.