Kit and Elizabeth

by Tuft, Karen

  Kit stood and took a step toward the man, his hand clenched.

  Lord Ashworth raised his own hand in warning. “If the five of you would care to retire to the parlor as I have already invited you, we may have a more civilized conversation regarding all of this,” he said calmly. “I judge it to be the best recourse for everybody at the moment.”

  “I refuse to be sent off to some private corner like a poor relation,” the former duchess declared. “You and your family have ruined what is left of mine, and I will stay and be heard.”

  “Precisely,” the Duke of Marwood said. “I have been appalled at the state of the dukedom I inherited. From what I understand, you did nothing to ensure that the marriage or settlements, as outlined in the contracts, came to fruition. It was utterly dishonorable of you.”

  “And then, to not even be informed of my daughter’s imminent marriage—to learn about it from an acquaintance on the street! How dare you, Elizabeth?” her mother cried.

  “Excuse me, Duke, Duchess, if I find myself having to speak bluntly, but I will not stand for this sort of behavior in my home,” Lord Ashworth said firmly. “Buxton, please gather some of our footmen to escort our visitors from the premises since it appears they prefer a confrontation to a conversation.”

  “Yes, your lordship.” Buxton bowed and turned to leave.

  “You may try to make us leave, but I will have my say first,” the duchess said defiantly.

  “Wait!” Elizabeth cried.

  Buxton paused at the door, and everyone turned as one to look at Elizabeth. Including Kit.

  And the expression he saw on her face made his blood run cold.

  ***

  Elizabeth had heard enough from Mama and her uncle and cousin and was thoroughly disgusted by it.

  It had also given her surprising clarity.

  “You have decided to make your case in front of my friends here,” she said, surprised that her voice sounded as calm as it did. She felt anything but calm. “So be it. I will apologize to them now for being subjected to the words that will be shared between us in their presence. They will surely be able to draw their own conclusions when we are finished here.

  “You are angry that you were not informed of my upcoming nuptials,” she said. “It may surprise you to learn, then, that I wrote out invitations for you. I still have them. They were never posted. For I realized you wouldn’t wish to attend, so I made the decision for you.”

  “You have no right to make my decisions,” Mama hissed.

  “And yet, you have made nearly all of the decisions in my life—that is, until I gave Anthony the freedom to marry the woman he loved and then, most recently, when I chose to leave with Lady Walmsley.”

  “I am your mother!” Mama cried. “You have never shown any regard for me or your father. You have no feeling whatsoever!”

  Elizabeth turned and smiled at Lady Walmsley, whose eyes were filled with anguish, before turning back to her mother. “You are my mother. And now Lady Walmsley is my Aunt Margaret,” Elizabeth said with all the love she could put in her voice. “For, you see, Mama, she is my true family now.” She turned to look at Kit, who was staring transfixed at her. She had the feeling that if the situation called for it, he would jump in to defend her. “And my love, my Kit, will be my true family in only a few more days, Mama.”

  “Kit,” Mama nearly spat his name. “Of course you would be marrying a Kit.”

  Mama thought she’d made a little joke of his name, no doubt, as though he were merely some young wild creature, but Elizabeth would not allow disparaging remarks to be made about him, no matter by whom. “Do not—” she began.

  “The Earl of Cantwell, at your service, ma’am,” Kit said, stepping forward and offering a stiff bow that accompanied his heated glare. “My friends refer to me as Kit. You may call me Lord Cantwell.”

  Mama’s face went a shade redder. “How dare—”

  “Oh, I dare,” Kit said, taking a step closer. “Do not doubt me on that.”

  She recoiled from him as though he had struck her.

  “Insolent puppy!” the Duke of Marwood exclaimed.

  “Watch yourself,” Lord Ashworth said in response.

  “Mama,” Elizabeth said, hoping to be able to explain herself and be done with it. “For my entire life, I have striven to do everything I could to please you and Papa. I tried my best to be the perfect child, the perfect daughter. I wished to make you both proud. You know I did.”

  “I know no such thing,” Mama said.

  “You have to know. Everything I ever did was with the sole intention of making you and Papa love me. I never raised my voice. I never did or said anything amiss. I studied diligently with my governesses, practiced and practiced everything until it was perfect just to hear you or Papa say even once that you loved me.” She smiled sadly. “But you never did. Not once. I would have remembered. I would have exulted in it.

  “All my life, I thought it was my fault that you didn’t love me. That I was a failure because I was not the male heir Papa had dreamed of having. I always knew I was a disappointment. And though I did everything possible to redeem myself in your eyes, I finally realized that my efforts were doomed from the start. And I was right, for you blame me still.”

  Elizabeth felt herself become stronger with each word she spoke. “But I have witnessed the birth of a firstborn baby girl, and I have seen her be loved and adored by both her parents and her grandparents. She will never be the heir, but she is loved entirely for who she is. Just a newborn and already held in such high esteem. Seeing her, I have begun to learn that I am more than the disappointment of my birth, that I am a person of worth simply because I am Elizabeth.

  “And so, Mama, Cousin Samuel, Cousin Minerva, Uncle John, Aunt Charlotte”—she addressed each one by name and by their family relationship to her—“you may leave here knowing that I am happy. That I have found family and friendships so rich that I will be daily blessed. I will marry Lord Cantwell on the day following the one in which I will rejoice at the christening of a tiny girl who will always know she is loved exactly for who she is. Farewell, Mama. I hold no ill will. But I believe in my heart of hearts that, at least for now, we must be estranged from each other. Perhaps at some future time we may find peace in each other’s company. But that time is not now.”

  The room was completely, utterly silent. Mama’s face had turned to stone.

  And then Elizabeth heard a clap.

  It was Kit. He clapped slowly and dramatically, and then he looked at her with glowing eyes and said, “Brava, my love. Brava, Lizzie.” And he continued clapping, faster and louder, and the other family members joined in.

  Lord Ashworth turned to his visitors. “I think we’ve finished our business here. And now I would like to spend time with my family.” And he looked specifically at Elizabeth and Kit as he said those last words, and Elizabeth knew she’d found her home at last—at Cantwell Hall with Kit, and here at Ashworth Park as well.

  She might have been their daughter already had life worked out differently. But it didn’t matter now, for they were her family now, just as they were Kit’s. For some bonds were stronger than lineage, and some loves deeper than blood.

  ***

  Lady Alexandra Julia Eleanor Hargreaves was successfully christened on a slightly overcast but otherwise beautiful Sunday morning, despite the fact that she objected loudly throughout the entire religious proceedings. The congregation, which, on this occasion, completely filled the village chapel, seemed to find her screaming rather humorous, if the chuckles that could be heard in the chapel were any consideration, and it was generally concluded the baby’s vigorous protestations at having water sprinkled in her face would become a lasting and charming memory, although the vicar was definitely a bit worse for wear afterward.

  Lady Alex’s mama immediately took her outside the chapel to a quiet, s
ecluded spot, where she could soothe the irate baby and feed her so they would both be able to participate in the luncheon at Ashworth Park in Lady Alex’s honor that followed the christening. The vicar politely excused himself from attending, saying he wished to prepare for the wedding to be held the next day, but the guests speculated that his absence was so he could make sure his hearing hadn’t been damaged permanently.

  The following morning, Christopher “Kit” Osbourne, the Earl of Cantwell, stood at the front of the same chapel by the altar, along with the vicar, whose hearing seemed to have survived the ordeal of the day before. The earl’s brother, Phillip, who had arrived home just the evening before, was acting as best man and currently stood next to him. Kit’s opinion was that Phillip seemed more nervous that he himself was.

  For, in truth, Kit wasn’t nervous at all, so any nerves exhibited by Phillip would have won the day. Kit had been patient. He had waited. And now it was his time—his and Lizzie’s—to act. To marry. To begin their lives as one.

  The organist began to play. The vicar asked the congregation to rise. And then Lady Elizabeth Spaulding, Kit’s beloved Lizzie, walked up the aisle toward him, her hand resting on the arm of Lord Ashworth. She wore a simple gown of pale-green silk trimmed with lace, and white gloves.

  Appropriately, she held a small bouquet of daisies.

  He locked gazes with her, and she smiled, and the green dress faded from his sight, and Kit saw a soaking wet Lizzie with tendrils of hair hanging in her face, her blue gown a sodden mess. And his heart filled with such a profound love for her that he vowed, there and then, to remember this moment and call it to mind often. To remember Lady Elizabeth, the daughter of a duke; and Elizabeth, the young lady struggling to understand who she was inside; and then his sweet Lizzie, the girl who’d donned rustic clothes and had danced at a country assembly, who’d worn breeches and had fenced with him, and who bested him at chess too often for his comfort or his ego.

  He would need to remember all of these parts of her character, for there would be days ahead for them both when the hardships of life would bear down upon them. They had both experienced them, and there would be more to come, for that was the way of things. But he had watched her prevail over her hardships, and she had helped him overcome some of his.

  That was the best kind of beginning anyone could hope for.

  Lord Ashworth presented her to Kit, kissed her cheek as a kindly father would, and backed away.

  Kit took Lizzie’s hand.

  “Dearly beloved,” the vicar began.

  And Kit couldn’t have agreed more with those particular words.

  ***

  Elizabeth knew the chapel was full, but she was so riveted by Kit’s expression that afterward she wouldn’t have been able to say who had been in attendance beyond Kit, the vicar, and herself.

  After the ceremony, after the vicar had declared them man and wife and had had them sign the parish register to make it official and she and Kit had arrived at Cantwell Hall, where the wedding breakfast was being held in their honor, her awareness was a different matter entirely, and she greeted everyone in attendance with great delight, realizing they were here supporting her and Kit. There were no whispers behind her back today.

  The Duke and Duchess of Atherton had made the journey from London, as had Lord and Lady Bledsoe. “So delighted for the both of you,” the duchess said to Kit and Elizabeth after the Bledsoes had offered their congratulations. “Margaret had such high hopes for the two of you when she decided to bring you up from Surrey, my dear.” And then she wandered off to mingle with the other guests.

  Kit and Elizabeth looked at each other with raised eyebrows and then turned as one to look at Aunt Margaret. She was looking at them too, and then she smiled and nodded knowingly at them.

  Kit laughed. “That crafty old—”

  Elizabeth laid her forefinger over his lips. “I am doubly blessed because of her,” Elizabeth said.

  Kit nipped playfully at her finger. “As am I, my love. I am impressed, not annoyed.”

  “That was why you chose ‘crafty’ and ‘old’ to describe her, then?”

  “She would appreciate my word choices, I think,” Kit said. “But for your tender ears’ sake, I will substitute ‘clever’ instead of ‘crafty,’ and ‘old’ refers to the wisdom that comes with age, you know.”

  “You will have to do better than that, my love,” Elizabeth said, trying not to laugh. He was right; Aunt Margaret would have adored being called a crafty old lady. “For it is my dear aunt of whom you speak.”

  “Dear aunt, indeed,” Kit said with a chuckle. “The dearest of aunts, I’d say. Now, I spied someone I would like for us to say hello to.”

  Kit took Elizabeth by the hand, and they made their way through the crowd to the Earl of Iverson and his wife, who had also traveled up from London. The earl had brought his somewhat invalid mother with him and his wife to Cantwell Hall.

  “So glad you could join us, Chad, Lady Iverson,” Kit said, shaking the gentleman’s hand heartily after receiving his well wishes. “And how are you, Lady Iverson?” he kindly asked the earl’s mother.

  “I seem to have misplaced my spectacles, young man, but otherwise, I’m doing rather well. You’re the young buck whose wedding we just witnessed, aren’t you?”

  “Indeed I am, my lady,” Kit said with a grin. “And here is my beautiful bride.”

  “And so you are,” the dowager said, peering at Elizabeth closely. “Beautiful hardly describes you, my dear.”

  Elizabeth bit her lip. She wondered if Lady Iverson’s compliment would be quite so effusive if she were actually wearing her spectacles. “Thank you so much, Lady Iverson.”

  “I was worried that the journey here would take a toll on Mama,” Lord Iverson said to them in a low voice. “But I think the excitement of it all has invigorated her. She’s having an excellent day.”

  “And her spectacles are in her reticule,” the earl’s wife whispered behind her hand to Elizabeth and then followed it up with a little smile. “We don’t think she needs them as much as she thinks she does, for she certainly notices small details when she wishes to.”

  Elizabeth laughed.

  Elizabeth had spoken only briefly to Phillip the evening before. He had changed in appearance since last summer and looked much like his older brother now, but there was a smooth, studied grace about him that was not at all like Kit’s physical readiness. And yet, he did have something of Kit’s intensity about him. She hadn’t had an opportunity to speak to him since the ceremony but could see him in the crowd. “Kit,” she said after he finished the conversation he was having with Lord Farleigh. “There is Phillip. May we go speak to him?”

  “Certainly, my love,” he replied.

  They made their way once again through the mingling guests, exchanging greetings and receiving congratulations as they went. When they reached Phillip’s side, Elizabeth was surprised to see that he was speaking to the Duke of Aylesham, of all people. The duke’s name hadn’t been on the list of invitations, nor had she heard back from him after writing her letters to him.

  “Please forgive me for intruding on your special occasion as an uninvited guest,” the duke said, nodding to Kit and then bowing over Elizabeth’s hand.

  Elizabeth glanced at Kit, who was studying the duke and Phillip closely.

  “He is not entirely uninvited,” Phillip said. “I extended the invitation to him, you see, and as I’m the brother of the groom, I presumed I could invite a guest if I wished.”

  “Aylesham is always a welcome addition,” Kit said, although he seemed to still be studying the duke.

  “Many thanks,” the duke replied. “I had business with Phillip, you see—of a legal nature—and when he said he was coming here, I thought, well, I can take care of two matters at once.” He turned to Elizabeth. “May I speak with you privately for a moment, L
ady Cantwell?”

  Elizabeth nearly glanced at Kit for permission and then thought better of it. It was her decision if she wished to speak with the Duke of Aylesham. “Certainly, Your Grace.”

  He offered his arm, and they strolled until they’d separated themselves from the other guests. “I would first offer my congratulations to you and Lord Cantwell on your nuptials,” he said. “However, I would be dishonest if I didn’t say that I am disappointed—or perhaps envious is a better word. He is an extraordinarily fortunate man. I hope he knows that.”

  “Thank you. I am humbled and grateful for your words.”

  He nodded slightly. “Secondly, I must apologize for not writing back to you immediately upon receiving your letters. I’ve been out of town, you see, until just recently and hadn’t seen your letters, which my secretary had put aside for my personal attention—I have spoken to the man about that particular matter. I am sorry for any distress it may have caused you. Nor had I heard the news of your betrothal until just the other day when Phillip Osbourne told me about it. I am truly happy for you both.” He bowed and kissed her hand and then returned her to Kit and the others.

  The duke had said he was envious. Had he intended to court her? Elizabeth would never know, and it really didn’t matter anyway. She loved Kit.

  Elizabeth took a moment to look around the banquet hall and all of the guests—the smiling, mingling, laughing guests—one last time before everyone was invited to be seated for the breakfast: the Bledsoes and Athertons, Lord Iverson and his family among them. Aylesham. All of the Ashworths were gathered together. Anthony’s good friend, Lucas Jennings, the friend who had saved Anthony’s life in Spain, and Mr. Jennings’s wife, a breathtakingly beautiful redhead who looked vaguely familiar to Elizabeth, although she couldn’t place her at the moment, had traveled all the way from Lincolnshire to be here and had brought Lucas’s elder sister Susan with them. Mrs. Jennings was currently holding baby Alex, and Elizabeth marveled that a woman of such extraordinary beauty could look so stunning while making faces trying to get an infant to smile.