Kit and Elizabeth

by Tuft, Karen

  Lord Ashworth turned his head to stare out the window.

  Kit fought the urge to fidget.

  “Since her father is deceased, as is mine, and she is not well-acquainted with her father’s successor . . .” Kit’s words tapered off as he tried to read the marquess’s expression. “Elizabeth has already reached her majority and can do as she likes, you know,” Kit continued, hoping he wasn’t making an utter fool of himself, “so it would really be more symbolic than anything else. But I think she might appreciate the gesture.”

  Lord Ashworth looked at Kit and then looked out the window again, and Kit prepared to stand and apologize for being presumptuous when the marquess cleared his throat. “I am humbled by your request,” he finally said. “I have always found Lady Elizabeth to be a person of the highest quality and character.” He smiled, and Kit relaxed. “Not only will I give my permission, acting as surrogate for her father, but I will go one step further, if I may. I would consider myself honored and humbled to stand in for her father at the nuptials—if Lady Elizabeth agrees. I do not wish to overstep my bounds, especially since I have concluded that I overstepped my bounds when it came to her previous marriage prospects, and for which I hope to make amends.”

  Kit stood then and offered his hand to Lord Ashworth. “Thank you,” he said as they heartily shook hands. “It means a great deal to me that you would do this, and I’m sure it will to Lizzie as well.”

  “Lizzie, eh?” Lord Ashworth said.

  Kit only grinned.

  At supper, which followed the conversation in the study, Kit rose to his feet after everyone was seated at the dining table and the first course had been served. “I would like to make an announcement,” he said.

  Everyone turned as one to look at him.

  “I want to share my good news,” he said. “And I find I cannot wait any longer. Yesterday afternoon, I proposed marriage to the beautiful lady before you, Lady Elizabeth Spaulding, and she accepted.”

  Elizabeth beamed at him.

  Kit heard Louisa sigh, which was a bit distracting at the moment, but it was Louisa, after all, so he really didn’t mind. And then he turned to Elizabeth, took her by the hand, and assisted her to her feet before dropping to one knee. “Lady Elizabeth Spaulding,” he said. “I have known you all my life, and yet, it is only recently that I have gotten to know the real you. I love you with my whole heart and ask that you will give me yours in return and marry me.” He reached into his waistcoat pocket and retrieved the sapphire ring he’d placed there earlier and held it out to Elizabeth. It had been his mother’s ring.

  Elizabeth’s eyes met his; she had recognized his desire to make amends for his impulsive, poorly executed proposal the day before.

  “Christopher Osbourne, Lord Cantwell,” Elizabeth replied. “It is only recently that I have gotten to know my true self, and I couldn’t have done it without the wonderful people gathered around this table, but I especially couldn’t have done it without you. I thank God every day that you and Aunt Margaret showed up at Marwood Manor. I love you more than I can say and will gladly be your wife.”

  Kit slid the ring on her finger and kissed her. Sighs and applause erupted from those around the table. He hoped the sound gladdened Elizabeth’s heart as it did his.

  “What a happy moment!” Lady Walmsley exclaimed, clasping her hands together. “And it all went according to plan.”

  All eyes turned to Lady Walmsley at that pronouncement, including Kit’s and Elizabeth’s.

  “What do you mean by ‘according to plan’?” Kit inquired.

  Lady Walmsley looked at Kit indignantly. “I’d grown very fond of Elizabeth last summer, you know. And the more I thought about it, the more it made sense to free her from the exile that had been imposed upon her—out of no fault of her own, mind you.”

  Kit bit on his lip to keep a straight face. He honestly wouldn’t put it past Lady Walmsley to think she’d concocted such a scheme—

  “So I let Cantwell believe it was he who planted the seed, you know,” she said.

  His teeth pierced his skin and drew blood. “I—what?” he asked, suddenly confused.

  “Well, I kept mentioning I was lonely, and so you said that I needed more companionship than just you, and then I recalled how I’d seen you dancing with Elizabeth last summer and the looks you’d given her, and I thought . . . why not?” She shrugged.

  “You are a terrifying woman,” Kit said, “and yet I thank you, all the same.” Everyone around the table laughed.

  “And I thank you too, dear Aunt Margaret,” Elizabeth said.

  “Here, here,” Anthony exclaimed, raising his goblet. The others around the table followed suit, the sound of goblets clinking and hearty good wishes coming once again from each member of the family.

  “And now that we have you all in a celebratory mood,” Kit said when the congratulations had died down, “we would like to ask a great favor of you all. You see, I do not wish to wait to marry. I’m afraid she might think better of her decision to marry me and flee.”

  Everyone laughed, as he’d hoped they would.

  “That means I must travel to London for a special license. Are you willing to watch over her and make sure she doesn’t bolt while I am gone?”

  They all laughed again.

  “I have a better idea,” Anthony said. “If Amelia and my parents are amenable, that is. We intended to have Alexandra christened a fortnight from this Sunday. What if we were to delay the christening by one week? That would give you the three necessary Sundays for banns to be read, and we shall combine both celebrations into one—with the christening on Sunday and the wedding on the Monday following. We share most of the same friends, and it will be easier on all of them in terms of travel as well.”

  “What a wonderful idea!” Amelia exclaimed.

  “The invitations have not been sent yet,” Lady Ashworth added. “So it is entirely possible for the date of the christening to be pushed back a week. And that extra week will be good for Amelia and the baby too.”

  Kit looked at Elizabeth. “What say you, my love?” he asked.

  “I think I would like that very much,” she said.

  That was all he needed to hear.

  ***

  The invitations were written and sent out over the next few days following the family dinner. Elizabeth and Lady Ashworth wrote most of them, although Amelia helped when she wasn’t nursing the baby or trying to catch up on her sleep. She was still recovering from her confinement, but she was looking more like her usual self each day. Louisa also helped with the invitations, but she was a very involved mother, and her children were a lively lot.

  Aunt Margaret also helped—usually by volunteering to hold baby Alexandra so Amelia—“with her much finer penmanship,” according to Aunt Margaret—could put her talents to use. Whenever the nurse assigned to baby Alexandra attempted to return her to the nursery, Aunt Margaret would simply shoo her off and tell her to go make better use of her time by helping shepherd the Farleigh children.

  Kit wrote to his brother, Phillip, himself. Elizabeth was both excited and apprehensive about seeing Kit’s younger brother again and getting to know him better. She had met him several times over the years, as Kit and Phillip were Alex’s and Anthony’s best friends, but she’d been so intent on Alex that she’d paid little attention to anyone else. She wished to make up for that omission as quickly as possible. She also wrote to the Duke of Aylesham again. She hadn’t received a response to either of her letters, and she thought his lack of correspondence peculiar and even troubling. The Duke of Aylesham was meticulous in everything he did. His secretary, at least, should have corresponded with her.

  During the days the invitations were being prepared, Elizabeth thought a great deal about whether she should invite Mama and Uncle John and Aunt Charlotte . . . or the new Duke and Duchess of Marwood, for that matter.
Society would certainly have words to say about it if she didn’t. They were her family, her own flesh and blood, and not inviting them would create rifts that could last a lifetime. But her family had also caused her a great deal of pain, something she was only now coming to understand and work through. Would seeing them again bring back all the pain and insecurities, the feeling of worthlessness she’d felt at their hands? She thought about asking Kit, but she was almost sure he would not be in favor of it; besides, deep down she wanted to weigh her own feelings both for and against their presence at the wedding before making her final decision.

  She eventually decided to write invitations for them and then set the invitations aside in the escritoire in her room. She would give herself an extra few days to think about it and decide how she truly felt; it would still give her family the time they would need to travel to Ashworth Park if they chose to attend—if she chose to invite them.

  Elizabeth spent each afternoon with Kit, and most evenings too. He was intent on adding to her list of likes, and she hadn’t had the heart to tell him it had served its purpose, so she went along.

  And she was glad she did, for because he was so intent on putting things on her list, she inevitably discovered that she liked a great many more things than she would have considered otherwise. Who would have thought she’d like the whisper of wheat stalks as they blew in the wind, for example? Or the sight of an old gardener dancing to a tune only he could hear, a spider spinning her web, or a fussy wren on a tree branch?

  She discovered she liked the little wrinkles at the sides of Aunt Margaret’s eyes that appeared whenever she smiled, which was often, the dimple in the center of baby Alexandra’s chin, and the fond looks the Marquess of Ashworth gave his marchioness when he thought no one was watching.

  Kit had also taken her to the gamekeeper’s hut near the pond again, and they’d continued her swimming lessons, and they’d even fenced a bit. She didn’t think she’d ever really like fencing much, except to watch others demonstrate the sport, but she was beginning to enjoy swimming as her confidence in her skill grew.

  Elizabeth asked Kit if she could go to Cantwell Hall to meet the staff there. As countess, she would be in charge of the household. She was also concerned that since they’d been without a lady of the house for so long, there might be jealousies at her arrival. But Kit told her to be patient, assuring her that his staff would love her, that her duties would begin soon enough, and that as she’d trained for such a role since she was in leading strings, he preferred that she spend her last weeks as a single lady as a single lady of leisure. “The real world will intrude soon enough, Lizzie,” he told her. “Enjoy this respite while you can.”

  So she decided to follow his advice.

  On Sunday, she sat next to him in the village church as the first of the banns were read. And that evening, as she retired for the night, she took the invitations to her mother and uncle and aunt and cousin out of the drawer in the escritoire and looked at them. She turned them over in her hand contemplatively before returning them to the escritoire.

  She had decided: she was not going to send them after all. She had pondered it all week, testing all the reasons attached to inviting them and not inviting them, and had finally concluded that not inviting them was the right choice. But it was also a conclusion that broke her heart.

  ***

  Kit tried with all his might to look indignant. “You cannot move a bishop like that,” he said to Elizabeth as they sat together in the family sitting room with the rest of her greatest admirers—for if the Ashworth family’s affection for Elizabeth hadn’t already grown when she’d been intended for Alex and, briefly, for Anthony, it had certainly grown now.

  Just this evening when he’d arrived, for example, he’d been informed that she was with Louisa reading a bedtime story to the children, and Kit had nearly had to pry her out of the nursery. It hadn’t been made any easier for him, either, when all the children had protested, and the youngest of the lot, one-year-old Clara, had raised her hands to Elizabeth and cried “Izzy” repeatedly before Louisa had patted her little daughter’s head and told her to hush.

  Such scenes were in Kit’s near future. He hoped he was man enough to face them.

  “Move a bishop like what?” Elizabeth asked innocently. “Oh, that’s right. The rook moves that way.”

  “Yes,” he said. These past three weeks were testing his patience. He should have ridden to London and gotten a special license. At least he would be doing something and not merely waiting for the days to pass.

  “The bishop moves like this, then?” she asked, drawing his attention back to the game.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Checkmate,” she replied.

  Kit heard Anthony chuckle in the background. “Perhaps you should take up needlework, Kit. That’s twice she’s bested you at chess in as many days.”

  “I have some mending you could do, if you’re interested,” Louisa offered. “I can’t get Farleigh to do it.”

  Farleigh laughed. “True enough, my dear. You value your clothing too much to trust it into my hands.”

  “Laugh all you like,” Kit said while Elizabeth began setting up the chess pieces for the next game. “I may have fallen for her wiles and feigned innocence far more than I care to admit, but I will lay odds that my beautiful chess novice here could rout any of you in a match.”

  “No, thank you,” Anthony said. “No offense, Elizabeth, but I am too sleep-deprived to give you a good game, and I don’t wish to sully my reputation as a chess master when I am not at my best.”

  “No offense taken, Anthony,” Elizabeth said demurely.

  “He only claims he is sleep deprived because he’s heard Farleigh use it as an excuse when his and Louisa’s children were born,” Amelia said. “I daresay both gentlemen get as much rest as they ever did.”

  “I will neither confirm nor deny that statement,” Farleigh said. “But as I am not even close to Anthony’s league when it comes to chess, Elizabeth, we will acknowledge you as our new favorite chess master and spread your fame far and wide.”

  Elizabeth laughed.

  Kit never got tired of the sound of her laughter, despite his slightly battered ego at present.

  There was a knock at the door, and Buxton stepped inside. “Callers have arrived, your lordship,” he said, addressing his words to Lord Ashworth, but there was something about the butler’s tone that caught Kit’s attention. Buxton presented three calling cards on a salver to the marquess, who picked them up and read them.

  The marquess’s brows furrowed as he read the cards. “Oh dear,” he said, turning one card in particular over and over in his hand. “It appears the former Duchess of Marwood has paid us a call, along with the new duke and duchess. But who on earth are Mr. and Mrs. John Froggatt? Well, put them in the parlor for now, Buxton, and inform them that someone will greet them presently.”

  After Buxton left, the marquess looked at Elizabeth.

  “Mama’s brother and his wife,” she said.

  “It sounds like a few of us need to have a brief conversation before we receive our callers,” Lord Ashworth said. He started to rise from his chair—

  The sitting room door flew open. “How dare you!” The former Duchess of Marwood—Kit loathed referring to her as Elizabeth’s mother, even in his mind—stormed into the room, pushing a clearly annoyed Buxton away from the door as she did so. “Out of my way, sir. I have been a guest here many times, and I know my way around without requiring your assistance. I demand to be received this instant.” She was followed by two indignant-looking older couples—the current Duke and Duchess of Marwood, whom Kit had already had the misfortune to meet, and an exceeding overdressed, pompous-looking couple, who were also Elizabeth’s relatives, heaven help her.

  Elizabeth rose to her feet. “Lord Ashworth, Lady Ashworth, everyone, may I introduce Papa’s cousin, the n
ew Duke of Marwood, and his duchess, and my aunt and uncle, Mr. and Mrs. John Froggatt of Yorkshire? You are already acquainted with my mother, of course.” Her voice diminished with each word, and she stopped speaking without formally introducing them to her family, which was completely fine with Kit—and the others too, apparently, based on the looks of distaste on their faces. “Mama, perhaps we can step outside—”

  “Of all the things you could do to show spite to your father and retaliate at me, this is the worst!” the duchess cried. “Can you imagine the utter mortification I felt while walking down Bond Street, intent on my own business, when I am informed by the Duchess of Atherton, no less, that my own daughter, my flesh and blood, is to be married in less than a week?”

  “Madam,” Lord Ashworth said, rising to his feet. “I would politely ask you to allow my butler to escort you and the others to the parlor where we may continue this conversation in private,” he said.

  “This does not concern you,” she spat at the marquess. “My husband outranked you, and had you the wherewithal to bring either of your sons to heel, none of this would have happened.”

  The ladies in the room gasped, and the gentlemen all came to attention.

  “Mama,” Elizabeth said in a pleading voice. “Cousin, Uncle John, can you not persuade her to do as Lord Ashworth says?”

  “I certainly will not,” the new duke said. Kit had not liked the man when he’d met him before and disliked him even further now. “I resent being pulled away from my new duties to the Marwood dukedom because of an unpardonable slight to my family. Impoverished, apparently, because of your choices.”

  “Nor will I,” Elizabeth’s Uncle John said stiffly. “Your mother has endured a great deal these past few years as a result of your unmitigated selfishness, Elizabeth. Had I known her circumstances this past year were so lamentable, I would have traveled from Yorkshire posthaste. Seeing my dear sister thus, widowed and penniless when she should be a highly esteemed member of Society grieves me. As her brother, I stand at her side and support her completely. I am ashamed of you.”