by Lily Reynard
Cranbourne House, like most of the other estates along the banks of Thames, had a stone jetty with stairs leading down into the water, so that visitors and vendors could arrive and depart at both ebb and high tide.
The footman tooted vigorously on a carved whistle to summon one of the passing watermen. Kit gazed down into the greenish waters, musing that it might be easier to elude pursuit by stealing a boat and traveling downstream a few miles once he'd subdued the countess.
As two of the small boats raced each other towards the Cranbourne House stairs, Kit asked, "Does the countess not have her own boat?"
"Oh, she does, all done up in black and gold in the Italian style," the footman assured Kit. "But it’s being scraped and repainted at the moment."
Kit filed that fact away for future reference. He might need the boat when it was river-worthy again.
After a moment, the footman said, a little shyly, "Heard what you did for Lady Cranbourne, sir. We were all glad to see her safe and sound."
Kit raised an eyebrow. "Like working for her, do you, lad?"
The youth, fresh-faced under a mop of dark curls, nodded. "We were all worried at first—her being a city girl and not accustomed to the ways of the Quality. Those kinds usually don't know the proper way of dealing with servants, you understand?"
"But Lady Cranbourne is different?" Kit prompted.
"Oh yes, Mr. Fitzgeorge. She knows that you give tips for any extra errands, and she always pays her wages on time."
"And how do you feel about her remarrying?"
One of the watermen had succeeded in winning the race. His rival rowed off, salting the air of his departure with a few choice comments about the winner's mother.
The young footman frowned as he gestured the waterman to wait.
"All those suitors sending her gifts and letters and calling upon her and trying to kidnap her—and none of them good enough for milady!" he declared stoutly. "She needs a prince."
And instead, she'll get Julian, Kit thought, as Lady Cranbourne and a young, soberly-dressed woman came towards them.
* * *
Kit, sitting across from Lady Cranbourne in the small boat, took note of her silence and studied her covertly. She had put on her mask and a heavy layer of cosmetics to go out.
The bodice of her dark gown was modestly filled in with a lace kerchief, concealing her splendid cleavage, which was a damned shame.
He shifted his attention to the countess's companion. She had the sallow complexion of a city dweller. Her thin mouth stretched in a smile. "I'm Polly, milady's new maid."
"Temporary maid," Lady Cranbourne corrected, frowning a little. "Until Jemmy has recovered, and Mall rejoins me."
Kit saw Polly's jaw muscles tighten, though her pleasantly cheerful expression did not change.
So, this chit is trying to usurp Mall's position? He wondered how the red-haired maid would deal with the challenger, then reminded himself that he would be long gone before Mall returned.
After another extended silence, Polly said brightly, "We're almost there, milady."
Kit noticed Lady Cranbourne's almost imperceptible flinch, and asked, "Are you well-acquainted with the earl your nephew?"
"I haven't seen him since he was sixteen and came to Long Cranbourne for the summer to learn the estate's affairs. I was fifteen, and newly wed to his uncle, and I think he was somewhat infat—" she began, then gave a short huff that fell short of a laugh.
Polly was listening avidly.
When Lady Cranbourne continued, her tone was dry. "You are most perceptive, Mr. Fitzg—Kit. In truth, I hardly know how I shall be received."
"Why is that?" Kit leaned forward, intrigued.
So did Polly.
"Two of my husband's best properties were deeded to me upon his death, including the house here in the city. I cannot but wonder whether the new earl still feels kindly towards me despite our previous acquaintance..." Her voice trailed off, and she turned her head to look out across the broad greenish brown expanse of swirling water. "Well, we shall know soon enough."
Kit felt a quick stab of compassion for her.
Against his better judgment, he reached over and touched her hand. It felt cold, even through her glove.
Polly frowned severely at this liberty, but he ignored her. "My lady, I predict that the earl is trembling in his parlor at this very moment, contemplating your approach. And you have not even brought your pistol!"
The countess laughed. "I have no need of a pistol, for you are guarding me, are you not?"
Her stiff pose relaxed insofar it was possible in her heavily boned gown.
Kit felt his smile congeal. She trusts me. Good.
Gaining her trust was necessary. But contemplating its betrayal felt wrong, and he hated it.
Lady Cranbourne tilted her head, and the light gleamed on the silver-embroidered edge of her mask. "Now, if only you could guard me against the earl's poor opinion..."
He was spared the necessity of a reply when the boatman bellowed, "Buckingham stairs, milady! Watch'er step!"
The little skiff bumped up to a rickety wooden dock several yards past the elaborate marble arch that marked the Duke of Buckingham's estate.
Kit scrambled out and steadied Lady Cranbourne by the elbow as she gathered up her sweeping skirts and attempted to step out of the precariously rocking vessel.
Once she was safely on the landing, Kit offered his hand to Polly, but received a haughty look before she stepped up without his assistance. She paid the boatman, all the while pretending that Kit did not exist.
They hailed a hackney coach from the line that stood waiting at the riverside, and clattered away.
Left to his own devices, Kit could have easily walked to their destination, but Lady Cranbourne's slippers and trailing skirts were clearly not meant for anything more strenuous than climbing in and out of coaches.
* * *
Hampstead House, the residence of the present Earl of Cranbourne, was located in Covent Garden, one of the newest and most fashionable upper-class areas near Whitehall Palace.
The long gallery where the seventh earl chose to receive his aunt-by-marriage was pleasantly airy, with a bank of large windows overlooking a courtyard garden of fancifully pruned shrubs and fountains.
The gallery's tables and shelves were crowded with fragments of ancient sculpture.
As she followed one of the earl's footmen into the chamber, Antonia caught sight of a slender marble hand, posed in an interrupted blessing, placed on top of a neglected-looking pair of virginals. A line of cabinets along the inside wall displayed Roman coins, green-encrusted bronze figurines, and painted Greek vases in varying states of decrepitude.
Lionel Greenhurst, the present Earl of Cranbourne, was dressed in a suit of sober gray, out of deference for his uncle's passing.
He was a year Antonia's senior, with a pleasant, snub-nosed face. He started forward, smiling broadly, as she entered. The smile abruptly snuffed out when he saw Kit.
"Aunt Antonia," he said, in dry monotone. "How pleased I am to see you again. It has been far too long."
"My lord Cranbourne—Lionel..." she replied, with a nervous flutter in her stomach.
With an effort, she stopped herself from clenching the folds of her skirt between sweaty palms. His words had been polite enough, but his tone far from friendly. Had she done something to displease him? "I hope I find you well?"
"Very well, indeed."
Courtesy required that she remove her mask indoors. She saw his shocked reaction to her ruined face, and felt her heart shrivel with humiliation.
Worldly vanity, Antonia reminded herself, but it stung nevertheless.
Lionel had spent his summers at Long Cranbourne staring at her with lovesick intensity. Now, to see his shock fading to a pitying expression...
He stepped forward and gallantly kissed her cheek, before glancing significantly at Kit.
"This is Christopher Fitzgeorge, a gentleman of my household," she expla
ined.
The earl examined Kit coolly, as if sizing up an opponent.
"I had not heard that you favored a particular...companion," he said to Antonia.
Antonia's face heated at Lionel's implication. "He's my guardsman! He's related to the Earl of Thornsby, and he saved my life two days ago."
Kit smiled very slightly, came to stand at Antonia's shoulder, and bowed, very properly polite, yet somehow possessive of her. "My lord Cranbourne."
As she told the earl the story of what had transpired on the Dover road, a servant entered with a tray of wine and biscuits.
Antonia and the earl seated themselves in two of the heavy oak chairs, while Kit stood politely out of the way, apparently intent on examining Cranbourne's collection of Greek vases.
When she mentioned how Kit had rescued her from the highwaymen, she glanced over at him, and was unreasonably charmed by the blush rising up the back of his neck, exposed by his cropped hair.
Cranbourne saw her looking, and scowled. She felt as if she had been caught doing something shameful, but gave him her best attempt at a serene smile.
"I have therefore placed my widowhood in Mr. Fitzgeorge's keeping, for I have no wish to remarry," she said, concluding her account of her move to London.
The earl looked relieved, but asked, "Was your union with my uncle an unhappy one, then?"
"Oh, no!" Antonia hastened to assure him. "My lord Cranbourne—God rest him—was the best of husbands. Thus, I wish to honor him by remaining faithful to his memory, and by prudently managing the great estate he entrusted me with."
And I have lost my looks and have only my fortune to recommend me now, she added silently, ashamed of her unworthy sentiment.
Cranbourne cleared his throat. "I have long meant to thank you—I am grateful that you had such a care for my late uncle in his final days, and at such great risk to yourself. He was always kind to me, and I enjoyed corresponding with him during my travels through Italy and Greece."
"And he greatly enjoyed receiving your letters. I only wish I could have done more," Antonia said, looking down into her goblet, feeling renewed sorrow at her loss.
A moment of respectful silence followed.
"But you have not told me of yourself," she said, picking up the threads of the conversation. "How do your studies go?"
"I must confess that I have allowed them to fall by the wayside over the past year, Aunt. I had not counted on," he said, a little ruefully, "how much time it takes to be an earl. Why, reviewing the household accounts alone can easily take up a morning!"
Antonia smiled. "And then there are the consultations with the bailiff over how much breeding stock to purchase, and whether the south field should be planted in wheat or barley this year. And which tenant's cottages need repairs after a storm...I love every minute of it. And I miss Long Cranbourne already."
"So, your visit to London will be a short one, then?"
"No, for I have been summoned to serve the queen as one of her ladies in waiting," Antonia replied.
"Aunt Antonia, you can't possibly go to Court!" Cranbourne looked horrified.
Her face heated with humiliation. She looked down at her hands and forced words out of a tight throat. "Surely, with a few patches, the pockmarks won't—"
"That's not what I meant!" interrupted the earl, his own face reddening. "But—but you're a virtuous woman. You were a good wife to my uncle, and as a widow, your conduct has been above reproach."
But his glance skittered away in Kit's direction.
"I'm glad you approve," she interjected, a little more sharply than she had intended.
To her surprise, Cranbourne flushed. "What I mean to say, and I know I am expressing myself poorly, is that you'll be a tender prize to those—those predators at Whitehall. Aunt, you cannot imagine what a cesspit this court has become!"
"I cannot refuse an appointment from the queen," she replied, touched by his concern. "But I thank you for your care."
"I hold you in the highest regard. Your selfless nursing of my uncle during his final illness—well, I can only hope that my future wife will be as devoted." He frowned. "If you must go to Court, I'll make it known that you have a protector in me. I may not move in the most exalted circles, but my rank will shelter you."
"That's very kind, my lord," murmured Antonia, relieved that her worries about the new earl seemed to have been for naught.
"In fact, I can think of no better statement of my support for you than to throw a ball in your honor!"
Antonia's relief dissipated. A ball? Where I'll be forced to parade my ruined face for the fashionable world to mock? "But I am scarcely out of mourning!"
"You must have a ball, or people will think I am ashamed of our connection, and assume that you are fair game for any sort of—of low insult." The earl set his jaw and looked quite determined.
"I thank you, my lord."
Perhaps she could talk him out of the idea later. It was apparent that he would brook no opposition now.
Antonia drank off the rest of her wine, then rose from her chair. "Will you come for Sunday dinner at Cranbourne House?"
He rose, too, and bowed gallantly over her hand. "Nothing would please me more, Aunt. And we can discuss plans for your ball. We should hold it as soon as possible, to ease your introduction to Court."
Antonia left Hampstead House, her stomach churning. A ball!
Kit and her maid escorted her outside, but no one spoke until they were safely settled in the hackney carriage and on their way to their next call in Fetter Lane.
After a while, Kit said, "Well, my lady, it appears that the earl likes you very well, indeed."
"And I am glad of it, only..." She sighed. "Kit, what am I going to do? A ball—and all those people staring at me!"
He grinned conspiratorially. "Wear the right gown, my lady, and they'll be staring at you for the right reasons."
Antonia laughed, and warmed herself on Kit's smile. He was very gallant to flirt with her despite her ruined looks.
Beside her, Polly inhaled sharply. "How dare you speak to milady like that!"
Chapter Eight
And ever shall
With true observance seek to eke out that
Wherein toward me my homely stars have fail'd
To equal my great fortune.
—Shakespeare, All's Well That Ends Well, Act II, Sc. v.
Antonia knew she had behaved badly by laughing at Kit's outrageous remark.
It was not the response expected of a sober, respectable widow. But the unmistakable appreciation in his vivid eyes kindled a warmth like brandy in the pit of her stomach.
"My apologies if I offended, my lady," he said softly.
But he didn't look sorry, and that gladdened her.
It was a refreshing change from having men treat her as if her disfigurement had made her invisible. But she knew that she had never been invisible to Kit, even at their first meeting.
His every smile, every glance betrayed an awareness of her as a desirable woman. His regard felt like rain on a thirsty garden.
In the aftermath of her illness, she realized that she had always taken male admiration and interest for granted. It had been a shock to have men look right through her when they passed on the street or in a crowd.
"Farthing for your thoughts?" Kit leaned forward, earning another disapproving look from Polly.
Antonia hoped devoutly that Jemmy would make a swift recovery and that Mall would soon return.
Not wanting to share her musings on her injured vanity, Antonia said, "Having survived my interview with the earl, it's time to face the dragon in her lair, and call upon my mother."
Kit raised his fair brows. "Surely, having faced down highwaymen, a mere mother offers an inconsequential threat."
"You haven't met my mother," Antonia said, grimly. "And I haven't seen her since my wedding day."
Kit leaned back, a sympathetic look on his face. "I'm sorry to hear it. Did you quarrel?"
"
Not precisely," Antonia said. "My father was a very successful merchant; he imported silk, cotton, all matter of fine cloth. My parents, but most especially my mother, desired a match for me with the nobility, and when the Earl of Cranbourne made an offer, my mother would not accept refusal."
"So, you did not consent to the match?" Kit was frowning.
And Polly was hanging on to each word. No doubt the story would be eagerly repeated in the servant's hall tonight.
"My lord Cranbourne was an old man, and I wanted to marry a young one. But I consented...in the end," Antonia said, bitterly.
She turned her head and looked out at the tall brick houses passing by as the hackney carriage left Covent Garden. "Three days without food and with stout whippings worked a remarkable lesson in humility and obedience."
"Ah." The depth of compassion in Kit's expression made Antonia want to kiss him.
Instead, she forced herself to shrug. "My marriage was a happy one, so I suppose my parents were right to insist. But I found it difficult to forgive them."
That day, Antonia had realized that she was a commodity to them, just like the bolts of silk in her father's warehouse, to be sold or traded for the greatest advantage.
"And now that you are now a countess, and far above them in station?" Kit asked.
Antonia gave a short laugh. "It makes things more difficult. How do I approach my mother—as her daughter or as the Dowager Countess of Cranbourne? I mislike the prospect of playing the submissive daughter, but to arrive as the grand lady and force my mother to stand in my presence..."
"—is surely tempting," Kit finished, with a slight smile.
"Yes," admitted Antonia. "But I don't want to make the visit more difficult."
She sighed, and decided to change the subject slightly. "What of your parents, Kit? Do you also come from a quarrelsome family?"
"My father was already married when he met my mother, who was a servant in his household," Kit said, in a monotone.
Antonia realized that she had clearly probed a tender wound. His smile had vanished, and the set of his shoulders radiated tense self-control.
Kit continued, "He did not acknowledge me, and I saw him only occasionally. After I left to seek my fortunes on the Continent..." He stopped, his eyes distant. "I never saw my mother again. And she never got to meet my wife or my daughter."
