Kit and Elizabeth

by Tuft, Karen

  Elizabeth, thank goodness, still had an acquaintance or two who wrote her occasionally. As a result, she had learned that Amelia was now Lord Halford’s wife, which had been the outcome Elizabeth had hoped for all along.

  Tucked into the pocket of her day dress was a letter she had received just a few days ago, a letter she’d read several times since, and the words written within it had been both terrible and wonderful. She hadn’t replied to the missive yet, and she hadn’t shown it to Mama either.

  But the letter had set her to thinking.

  “Lady Elizabeth! You must come quickly! Oh, my lady!” Mrs. Reed rounded the corner of the house, her face red from the heat of the kitchen and apparent anxiety.

  Elizabeth stood abruptly and pulled off her gardening gloves. “What is it?” she asked, alarmed by Mrs. Reed’s sense of urgency. “What has happened?”

  “The worst thing possible! Oh, you must come. Your mother . . .” Her voice trailed off.

  “My mother what?” Elizabeth asked, beginning to tremble. She reached behind her back to untie her apron. “Here, help me with this, please.”

  Mrs. Reed swiftly untied the apron strings. “A letter arrived just now. She’s terribly upset. Oh, my dear girl, I’m that sorry for you.”

  Elizabeth’s stomach seized. She breathed deeply as she tugged her apron over her head and walked—a duke’s daughter did not run—through the gardens, fighting the urge to hurry. When she entered the house, she paused to pat her hair into place and checked to see that her clothing was in order. She took another deep breath and proceeded down the corridor with the demeanor required of the daughter of a duke—regardless of what she was about to encounter, she must retain the dignity Mama expected of her.

  “Her Grace is in the dayroom, my lady,” Stokes said as she approached. He said nothing more, but his face was gray and taut. He opened the door for Elizabeth.

  “Thank you, Stokes,” Elizabeth said, grateful that there was no tremor in her voice.

  She entered the room.

  Mama was, as per usual, sitting on the chaise longue, but instead of reclining in it, she was seated on the edge, her body doubled over, her arms wrapped tightly about herself as though to keep herself intact. She was moaning.

  Elizabeth approached Mama quietly, not wishing to disturb her. The letter Mrs. Reed had mentioned was dangling from Mama’s fingers. Elizabeth gently removed the letter from her grasp and sat beside her on the chaise.

  With shaking hands, Elizabeth opened the letter and read.

  To Your Grace, the Duchess of Marwood,

  It is with great sadness that I must inform you of the death of your husband, the Duke of Marwood, while he was in residence on the island of Madeira. Our office was informed of his passing and was asked to forward the news to you. Owing to his rank as one of the highest members of the Peerage, I thought to take on this task myself. May I offer you my heartfelt condolences.

  Yours faithfully, Robert Stewart, Viscount Castlereagh

  Secretary, Foreign Office

  That was the extent of the letter, and yet those few words spoke volumes.

  Papa was dead.

  He had left them, gone to Madeira without telling them where he was, and now he was dead.

  “Mama,” Elizabeth said.

  Mama flung an arm out, striking Elizabeth. “Stop,” she said. “Say nothing to me. Oh, what am I to do? What am I to do? And they didn’t even have the decency to tell me in person!”

  Elizabeth remained silent.

  “I should have gone with him, foolish, selfish man, and I daresay he’d still be alive if I had, but now he’s gone. He’s gone! And this means that wretch of a cousin of his will arrive at any moment—oh, you can be sure he has sniffed out the fact that he is the duke now—and he shall gloat and treat us as poor relations, and he shall discover that there is nothing for him here. Nothing to inherit except the title and estate. That is my only comfort. But since he is rich as Croesus, he will care not a whit and will care nothing for our welfare and shall soon have Marwood Manor—my home—running smoothly again, if only to make your father look worse.”

  “Mama—”

  “I must write my brother. I refuse to stay in the dower house one minute with that person coming here and residing in my home and gloating. I must beg for the love of a brother to see to my welfare. If only he didn’t live in Yorkshire, of all places, but never mind that.”

  “Mama—” Elizabeth said again. Her hand moved to rest on the pocket that held the letter she’d received that week.

  “Why did you have to refuse to marry Lord Halford?” Mama said, turning to look at Elizabeth for the first time. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face contorted in grief and anger. “After all your father and I did for you your entire life, the least you could have done was to be obedient. Oh, why am I even talking to you about this again?” She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. “The matter is done and cannot be undone. Stokes!”

  He immediately entered the room.

  “Stokes, I must write to my brother immediately. I cannot delay even for a minute. Have my writing box brought to me.”

  “Yes, Your Grace,” he said and discreetly left.

  Mama had made no mention of including Elizabeth in her letter to Uncle John. And frankly, Elizabeth didn’t wish to wait to be informed that she would not be included in Mama’s plans. Her hand crept into the pocket and touched the letter for courage.

  “Mama,” she began. “I have been invited to stay with Lady Walmsley in London. And I believe I am going to accept.”

  ***

  Kit, dressed in his finest evening wear, lifted the knocker on the door of Lady Walmsley’s London townhouse, having promised to escort Her Ladyship to an assembly this evening at the home of the Duke and Duchess of Atherton.

  Last summer at the wedding between Anthony and Amelia, it had been discovered—to everyone’s surprise—that Lady Walmsley was, in fact, Amelia’s great-aunt. As Lady Walmsley and her deceased husband had had no children, it had been a blessing to both her and Amelia to discover the family bond they shared. Amelia had pleaded with Kit to watch over “Aunt Margaret,” as Amelia now called her, while he was in London, as she and Anthony were to remain at their estate in Oxfordshire while they awaited the arrival of their first child. Lady Walmsley herself had returned to her home in London until such a time as her great-grandniece or -grandnephew made its debut into the world.

  Kit had promised and promised again and then had crossed his heart and promised a third time that he would care for Lady Walmsley as though she were his very own dear great-aunt before Amelia had finally been reassured—although Kit had noticed that the elderly woman herself had rolled her eyes at all the fuss.

  Then she had made the most of it.

  “You must be at my beck and call, Lord Cantwell,” Lady Walmsley had told Kit while Amelia had hovered over her as she’d prepared to enter her coach and Anthony had hovered over Amelia. “For I am old and frail, you see, and also becoming quite forgetful. Age is a terrible trickster, you know. What was your name again?” She’d cackled and had kissed Amelia on both cheeks and then had allowed Anthony to assist her into the coach.

  “She’s about as frail as the pyramids of Egypt,” Anthony had whispered into Kit’s ear when the coach had driven off, and Amelia had repeatedly dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief. “Still, it will be a great relief to Amelia to know that you will be watching out for her great-aunt. Amelia has little family to speak of, and to discover such a connection is a true blessing.”

  “I shall be happy to be of service,” Kit had assured him.

  Kit had been true to his word thus far. And despite the comparison to the Egyptian pyramids, Lady Walmsley was rather elderly, and he had discovered that she was inclined to cut her evening entertainments short as a result and return home at a relatively early hour. So, although
he had promised to escort Lady Walmsley to an assembly being held this evening at the home of the Duke and Duchess of Atherton, Kit knew there would be no scheduling conflict in also planning to join Hugh and a few other friends at the theater later. There was a particularly lovely actress who had caught all of their attention, a pretty young thing who had stepped into the limelight after the ravishing Ruby Chadwick, the Darling of Drury Lane, had suddenly vanished from the stage.

  Kit happened to know, as few others did, that the stunning “Ruby” had miraculously transformed into Lavinia Fernley and had married one of Kit’s friends, Lucas Jennings, and settled happily in Lincolnshire.

  Lady Walmsley’s geriatric butler opened the door. “Good evening, Lord Cantwell,” he intoned, bowing formally and gesturing for Kit to enter. “I shall inform Lady Walmsley of your arrival.”

  “Never mind, Foster,” Lady Walmsley said as she approached Kit. “I can see for myself that Cantwell is here. My shawl, if you would be so kind.”

  “Certainly, your ladyship.” Foster shuffled over to assist Lady Walmsley in draping the lace shawl across her shoulders. “There you are, your ladyship—or perhaps you would prefer the woolen one? The air is a bit brisk this evening . . .”

  “The lace shawl will do, Foster.”

  “If you’re sure, your ladyship.”

  “I am, thank you. Come, Lord Cantwell. Let us be off before Foster has me swaddled in blankets with hot coals tucked in for good measure.”

  Foster looked aggrieved but said nothing.

  Kit bit the inside of his lip to keep from laughing and extended his elbow to Lady Walmsley. “Very well,” he said. “The Duke and Duchess of Atherton await.”

  Once Lady Walmsley was seated inside his carriage, with him seated across from her, Kit gave the coachman the orders to get underway. As the coach pulled away, Kit observed through the window that Foster had not retreated inside the townhouse but was standing on the porch, watching their departure.

  “I don’t have to look to know the fool man is still outside,” Lady Walmsley said, noticing the direction of his glance and waving her gloved hand in the direction of the window. “He is more mother hen than butler these days. He must leap to attention every time I so much as squeak. One would think I didn’t have a housekeeper and personal maid to see to my every whim already. I would give him the sack, but dear Walmsley himself hired the man, and he’s been here ever since. I daresay he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if I were to let him go. No wife, no family to speak of. And so I must keep him on out of the kindness of my heart—despite his many annoyances. Hmph.” She folded her hands in her lap and stared straight at Kit, daring him to add anything to her monologue.

  It was a dare Kit was more than willing to take up. “Have you been squeaking more than usual lately, Lady Walmsley?” he asked, trying to keep a serious look on his face.

  “Hmph,” she replied.

  He tapped his chin in feigned thought. “Personally, I would call that more of a grunt than a squeak.”

  She glared at him.

  “I myself am more of a grunter than a squeaker. I should be laughed out of the gentlemen’s clubs if I were a squeaker. In your case, if Foster is suggesting that the sound you are making is a squeak, then the poor man’s hearing should be checked.”

  “There is nothing at all wrong with his hearing,” Lady Walmsley snapped. “His hearing is too good, in my estimation. And furthermore, simply because the old coot has caught me napping at various times of the day—”

  “Aha.” Kit grinned.

  “Simply because he has caught me napping a time or two,” she clarified with emphasis, “he is of the opinion, I’m sure, that I am getting old and frail and am in need of coddling, when the truth is he’s older than I am! It’s insufferable. Hmph.”

  “Definitely a grunt,” he said.

  “I am not old, and I do not grunt! The very idea! And what is wrong with shutting one’s eyes briefly on occasion, I ask you?” she said. “Nothing!”

  It was a rhetorical question, so Kit bit the inside of his lip again and did his best to look somber and not amused.

  “I’m sure you think this all very silly—”

  “Not at all, Lady Walmsley—”

  “But I do not squeak, nor do I grunt. Nor do I nap excessively. I am not ill or getting feeble, and I have all of my wits. What I am is bored.”

  Kit sat up a bit. This was informative, and as it might reflect on him and his promise to Amelia, he needed to pay attention. “I sincerely hope I am not contributing to your current state of mind.” He had always endeavored to be solicitous of her ladyship whenever he was with her, which, truthfully, had been easy, for she was genial, not to mention entertaining, company.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, you silly boy. Pay attention! I have never napped in your presence, now, have I? Were it not for our occasional evenings out, I should probably sleep the entire day through. Eat, read, eat, sew, tolerate callers, take tea, eat again, sleep. Then do it all again. Oh, there are the charities and other benevolent societies . . . and of course I am a patroness of them . . . but there is something vital lacking in these activities as of late.”

  Ah.

  “I am undoubtedly speaking out of turn,” Kit said when she finally paused to take a breath, “but I wonder perhaps if you are not missing the company of your grandniece—”

  “I will not impose myself on them,” she said emphatically. “I shall visit when it is time for the blessed event to occur and there is a baby to fawn over, but not before.”

  “I understand,” Kit said, although he was not entirely sure he did. “That being said, it is my belief that they would have you live with them year-round if you were to permit it. In the meantime, however, may I suggest another option?” Lady Walmsley continued glaring at him but raised an eyebrow. As she hadn’t come right out and told him he was being impudent, he forged onward. “You might consider hiring a companion.”

  “Hmph,” she said.

  “It was you yourself who suggested Amelia,” he reminded her.

  “That is true enough, but dear Lady Ashworth was nursing her ailing husband alone in the country and needed the distraction and support of a kindly young female; whereas—”

  “Whereas you are entirely alone.”

  “Hmph.”

  “It is not a sign of weakness to want companionship, you know,” he said.

  “Which is why you are undoubtedly going to abandon me in a few hours to pursue more companionable endeavors than playing court to an old lady. I am not a prude, young sir. I know what kind of companionable endeavors you and your friends are about.”

  He ignored her comment—especially since he and his friends were guilty of precisely that. “I will remain at your side for as long as you would like to stay at the Athertons’ this evening, Lady Walmsley,” he assured her.

  “Speaking of which, we are here at last,” she said, glancing out the window. “And about time too. I may take you at your word and keep you here at my beck and call until the cock crows, Lord Cantwell. It would serve you right if I did.” She cackled.

  Kit grinned. She’d thrown another dare at him. She was a delightful old bird, and he truly did enjoy her company. “We shall see who is caught napping first, my lady.”

  She cackled again.

  The footman opened the carriage door and assisted Lady Walmsley down. When Kit alighted from the carriage, he offered his arm to her, and they proceeded up to the open, welcoming doors of Atherton House and the light and laughter within. “A companion, eh?” she said. “Hmph. You are agreeing to play escort to two of us if I did decide to get a companion?”

  “I have given my word,” he said.

  “Good.”

  There seemed to be something more implied in that single word of hers than her simply agreeing to his suggestion. She was a sly old bird, and he
had the feeling he’d been taken in somehow. But he hadn’t long to ponder it, for the two of them were swiftly engulfed in the crush that was the Atherton assembly.

  Chapter 5

  The moment Kit arrived in the White Chamber at Westminster the following day, he could sense that something was afoot. Besides the usual murmur of conversation, there was a heightened buzz in the air that made Kit’s skin prickle. Due to the fact that Kit had barely arrived and taken his seat before the House of Lords was called to order, he was unable to discover what it might be and would need to wait until after the session recessed in early afternoon.

  Whatever it was was not formally discussed during the meeting. As he was leaving the chamber for the recess, he spied Jonathan Chaddon, the Earl of Iverson, in conversation with the Duke of Aylesham and others. Iverson was an amiable gentleman and had been sympathetic after the untimely death of Kit’s parents and helpful to Kit as he’d assumed his father’s place in the House of Lords as the new earl. As a result, they’d developed a strong friendship.

  Iverson gestured him over to the group. “What do you think of the news, Cantwell? Considering your close friendship to Halford, I imagine you have an opinion or two.”

  Kit couldn’t imagine what news there could be regarding Halford, especially since he and Amelia had opted to stay in Oxfordshire and miss the Season.

  His face must have betrayed his confusion.

  “Ah! You haven’t heard, then,” Iverson said, leaning toward Kit. “Marwood is dead,” he whispered. “Aylesham here was told by Castlereagh himself.”

  “Marwood? Dead?” Kit asked, utterly shocked at the news.

  “It’s true,” the Duke of Aylesham said, obviously overhearing Kit’s question. “The fellow absconded to Madeira, and it appears his sojourn there ultimately got the better of him.”