by Reid, Stacy
for all eventualities. Taking a bracing breath, she
spun tales of hopes for them, of an eventual meeting
when he returned from Scotland, and how they
would take the last of their money and order three
new daring ball gowns for herself, two for Anna,
dancing slippers, and assorted fripperies. It was such
a gamble to spend the last of Mamma’s portion, but
she also had to look the part of a duke’s fiancée, and
Anna had to be out in society for the plan to bear
fruit.
Now that the news had been announced, the
wave of interest and curiosity into their lives would
move unchecked.
Her mother stared at her for quite a while, and a
lump grew in Kitty’s throat at the emotions she spied
in her mother’s eyes.
“Sometimes it steals my breath and crumples
something in me when I think of the weight of the
responsibility on your shoulders, my dear,” her
mother said softly, an odd sort of knowledge in her
eyes. “You’ve always been a lively and daring spirit,
Katherine, and for so long I’ve worried the onus of
taking care of us would dim your charming light.
You’ve not flinched from everything required of you
and have taken on a burden to see this family well, a
responsibility that should belong only to your father
and me. My Artie would be so very proud of you, my
dear.”
Kitty swallowed and nodded, offering her mother
a watery smile.
While they sipped tea and ate sandwiches that
had the cheapest fillings, she gave them hope, and
in return, her family bestowed on her the brightest
smiles she had seen since before her papa had died.
And it was in that moment the last kernel of
doubt died.
I’ll not fail you.
* * *
Two weeks later
Dear God in heaven…. I’ve really done it.
Kitty had remade herself into the fiancée of the
reclusive Duke of Thornton, was declared by the
scandal sheets as incomparable, and was toasted for
snagging the elusive duke. The eager reception in
society of the news of her betrothal to a man of rank
and fortune had sent her mother into swift recovery,
pleasing Kitty, for she had been dreadfully worried
she would lose her mamma to melancholia.
Only this morning, her dear friend Maryann had
sent a footman to deliver over a dozen invitations
to balls, musicales, soirees, and even an invitation
to a scandalous house party that had arrived at
Maryann’s parents’ elegant town house in Berkeley
Square for Kitty. They had thought it wise to drop
hints here and there that Kitty resided with the earl
and countess of Musgrove for the season. The small
house her mother had managed to rent in Cheapside
must not be discovered by the ton as her place of
dwelling during the season.
Kitty glanced down at the small packet of invitations
in her hands. Oh dear.
This one was for the Marchioness of Sanderson’s
ball a couple of weeks from now. She had never been
invited to that auspicious and most sought-after
event before. It was all absurd, of course, as she was
the same person who had been among society for
the last three seasons. But the almost daily articles
published by Lady Gamble had wrought changes
Kitty and her family hardly knew what to do with.
The articles had rambled on about the idea of
such a match, assessing if it was imprudent or the
society pairing of the season. The wave of interest
that followed had been more than she had allowed
possible. The solicitor who had executed Papa’s will
approached her and suggested letting a town house
in Mayfair. Kitty had nearly expired from shock
and embarrassment, for Mr. Walker had politely
suggested he would send the bill to the duke’s
lawyers.
At first, she had been confused, and then awareness
had dawned. Financial avenues had also been
opened to her family because of her fake engagement.
She had denied Mr. Walker, of course. That
night before bed, she had prayed twice as hard for
her eternal soul.
And now one of those startling changes was
seated on the sofa by the fire, seemingly both nervous
and self-assured—Mr. Adolphus Pryce. Kitty
was pretending to quickly read the stack of invitations
in her hands while they awaited refreshments
so that she could take the measure of the man. He
was thin and carefully but plainly dressed. Pryce had
high coloring on his cheekbones, and his curly hair
was trying to escape from his pomade into pretty
kiss-curls at his forehead. This was a very curious
contradiction, and Kitty wondered how he had found
her. The card he had presented said he was a lawyer
from a prominent law firm.
The door to the parlor remained ajar to lend the
correct air of respectability to their meeting. Anna
brought in a tea tray and shot Kitty a questioning
look. She lifted her shoulder in an elegant shrug, for
she had no idea why a young solicitor from Smith
and Fielding’s had called upon her. The painful
cramps in her stomach suspected that the duke had
seen the article, and perhaps she was being sued for
misrepresentation and fraud.
Nevertheless, tea and cakes were served, and her
sister departed, leaving her alone with Mr. Pryce.
“How may I be of assistance, Mr. Pryce?”
He hurriedly gulped down his tea and settled
the teacup and saucer atop a small scraped walnut
tablet. His apparent discomfiture relaxed her.
“Miss Danvers,” he started, tugging at his cravat,
which truly seemed as if it were choking the man.
“I am a part of the team that handles His Grace the
Duke of Thornton’s affairs.” At that pronouncement,
his chest puffed with pride, and he sat a bit straighter
on the sofa. She dearly hoped it wasn’t the lumpy
cushions affecting his posture.
Kitty clasped her cup, the warmth soothing to
the chill forming in her heart. She had to cleverly
handle him without his awareness. A hysterical laugh
bubbled in her throat, and she swallowed it down.
How complicated her ruse got day by day. “Yes?”
“Ah…my superior has tasked me to…ah… We
recently became aware our client is betrothed to you.”
She pinned him with an unflinching stare. “Yes?”
“The team has tasked me to, ah…” He blushed,
and her throat went tight. “I’m to make discreet
inquiries… Ah, that is to say we were not aware the
duke had intended to take a duchess.”
The team wanted to find out if the engagement
was real. Of course.
But why had they approached her and not the
duke directly? Could it be that he was reclusive even
with the people who managed his estates?
“Has A
lexander not informed everyone of the
happy news?” she asked with a small smile, desperate
to portray a serene countenance, hoping her
probing was on point. Kitty was very deliberate with
the intimate use of the duke’s name, and Mr. Pryce
stiffened. “Why haven’t you written to him? I am
sure he will respond. He did promise it.”
“He did?”
She took a sip of her tea and then responded
graciously. “Of course.”
Mr. Pryce’s shoulders relaxed. “My superior Mr.
Fielding did send an inquiry to the duke, but we’ve
received no reply.”
“How odd, and perhaps not so unlike His Grace.”
Kitty hoped the duke was an indifferent correspondent
and she hadn’t just blundered. Her pause was
deliberate. “But how may I help your office?”
He glanced around, his gaze landing on the wornout
sofas and the threadbare peach carpet. “It took
some time to find you, and I did not expect to see
the fiancée of the duke residing in Cheapside.” The
man was now watchful, his light blue eyes calm and
calculating.
Her composure was rattled, and she took a delicate
sip of her tea, her thoughts churning furiously.
“My father’s solicitor’s office is currently seeking a
more suitable establishment at the duke’s behest. Mr.
Walker of the Dunn and Robinson firm…you are familiar
with them?”
“I am,” he said tightly.
“Yes, Mr. Walker found the most delightful town
house in Mayfair, but I am afraid Alexander was
not at all pleased with the selection. I believe his
words were that only the very best was suitable for
his betrothed.” There, that would explain why she
still resided in Cheapside, and yet the terrible sense
of unease lingered. There were days she hated the
depth of deception she weaved, and today was such
a day. Why did this man have to show up here?
Still, better him than the duke…
Adolphus Pryce blanched, and he sat straighter
on the lumpy sofa. “His Grace…His Grace went to
another firm to handle this matter?”
The man’s shock had alarm flipping in her belly
and a realization dawning. They had been concerned
because the duke hadn’t used their offices to draft
up any sort of agreement, or even an offer of the
marriage contract. They were worried the duke
may not be satisfied. Of course they had thought it
prudent to investigate these new rumors. It occurred
to her then they must have investigated the other
past rumors as well.
Drat. She frowned, tapping her chin thoughtfully.
“It was my suggestion to go with that firm, for they
dealt with my papa’s estates. Alexander does indulge
me, shamelessly.” She paused in the act of selecting a
cake. “Do you believe your firm is capable of finding
a house that would please His Grace?”
Relief lit the man’s eyes, and he nodded eagerly.
“Of course, of course, Smith and Fielding is always
honored to cater to His Grace’s needs. We will get
on the matter right away. By the end of the week, I’ll
find a town house in Piccadilly or Grosvenor Square
and open a line of credit for you, Miss Danvers,
at various shops. You may assure His Grace you
will want for nothing, and the offices of Smith and
Fielding will gladly serve all your needs.”
A line of credit? Dear God. This was going too
far.
But who would genuinely believe she was the
fiancée of a duke as powerful as Thornton if she
lived in Cheapside and wore last season’s modes? Or
only the three new ball gowns recently procured?
If she refused this offer, would they then write
to the duke? Vast holdings such as the Duke of
Thornton’s had several stewards and solicitors
dancing attendant to his orders. Minuscule affairs
were not brought to his notice. If she rejected this
offer and insisted her father’s solicitor would deal
with the matter of a town house, the office of Smith
and Fielding would feel compelled to bring the
matter to the duke, for fear of losing even a bit of his
patronage.
Doubts once again rose in her. But would they
not also alert the duke that they had found her
suitable apartments? “I cannot credit that Alexander
did not respond to your office’s queries. I will speak
with him.”
Another grateful sigh issued from the man. So
their client was an ogre, was he?
“That would be very satisfactory, Miss Danvers.”
Mr. Pryce then opened a slim black leather case
and retrieved a sheaf of paper, a small inkwell, and
a pen, then got down to business. He was quite
thorough, even demanding to know the type of
drapes she desired to frame the windows, the furniture
required for each room, and if a seven-roomed
town house would be sufficient for her needs. They
discussed how many servants she would need to
staff the house and the shops she would need for
the lines of credit. An hour later, Mr. Pryce departed
with a confident spring to his steps.
She dropped the faded damask silk curtains as
the hackney rolled away down the street with Mr.
Pryce. The web she had woven had just gotten so
frightfully tangled, Kitty doubted she would ever be
free.
She hugged an arm around her waist. There was a
ball to prepare for, and she must not dawdle.
When the news had appeared in The Scruntineer,
she had found the gumption to visit one of London’s
reigning modistes and ordered three new ball
gowns and most delightful riding habits for herself
and Anna. Then she’d suddenly been offered a
considerable discount on the bill and found that they
were able to add some new day outfits as well.
Being the duke’s fiancée had more than one
advantage.
That night she had cried in her pillows, for her
heart had been heavy with uncertainty at using the
last of the monies Papa had left. Come winter, they
wouldn’t have two shillings to rub together.
Now a line of credit was being opened at the
most famous shops in London. She would have to be
very careful not to make any purchases, even if the
situation became dire. While she would borrow the
man’s reputation and connections, taking money felt
sordid and far too nefarious. But what was she to do
about the town house? Kitty fretted as she made her
way from the parlor, down the small hallway, and up
the stairs to her bedroom.
I will pay him back every penny, she vowed.
…
Several days later, Kitty strolled through Hyde
Park with Ophelia. The day was quite dreary for a
spring afternoon. The morning had dawned cold;
intermittent rain had fallen in a listless, icy drizzle.
That had not prevented numerous
callers from
descending on her newly occupied town house.
Her mother had been beside herself at the duke’s
generosity, even though such a gesture stretched…
more like shattered the bounds of propriety.
Her mother had sniffed and declared that it
was not as if the duke intended to reside under the
same roof. And he was the soul of kindness and
gentlemanly honor to be so concerned with their
welfare. “Of course, no man of his stature would
have his fiancée’s family living in Cheapside!” her
mother had declared, marshaling them to pack their
few belongings like a general.
Still, Kitty had not expected the bevy of nosy
bodies who had descended a few hours ago. Her
mother had basked in the attention and had taken
to her role as hostess quite effortlessly, managing
cakes and refreshments adroitly and keeping the
conversation surrounding the mundane and light
gossips, skillfully deflecting all questions pertaining
to the duke.
A suffocating dread had risen inside her. The
success had felt too surreal, too alarming, with unalterable
consequences stalking her, promising ruin
and scandal. Kitty had mumbled some nonsense and
had escaped as if the devil had been nipping at her
heels.
Grabbing her bonnet and parasol after donning
sensible walking shoes, she had made her way from
the house. A carriage had paused by her several
minutes later; she had been quite glad to spy
Ophelia, and her dear friend, sensing her turmoil,
had suggested a stroll through the park despite the
inclement weather.
They walked along a winding path, and Kitty
was grateful the park was not overly crowded. Dear
Ophelia appeared resplendent in a fetching dark
green pelisse and a walking dress a shade lighter, but
there was a bit of forlornness about her eyes.
“Are you well, Ophelia?” Kitty asked softly. “It
has been several days since we last spoke.” And it
made her wonder if Ophelia was perhaps hatching
her own daring plan.
“I believe we should call a meeting of our group
soon. Perhaps a saloon of sorts? There is much I
would like to discuss with everyone, and I can sense
that you are troubled.”
“Oh, we shall,” Kitty declared, truly wondering
how everyone fared. “There is much to discuss.”
Ophelia slid her a considering glance. “And can
your troubles wait until then?”
