Kit and Elizabeth

by Tuft, Karen

  She glanced from one side to the other. No one in the dining room seemed to react. “If, as you say, there is beef and dessert to follow, I would prefer to moderate what I eat now to accommodate them,” she replied in a low voice.

  “This soup is delicious!” Lady Walmsley exclaimed. “Such a nice, rich broth. I’m sure a few more swallows won’t hurt, now, will they?”

  Her voice seemed even louder than Lord Cantwell’s, and Elizabeth looked around the room again. This time, a man eating alone glanced up from his food.

  “Oh, very well,” she said on an exhaled breath. She drew the bowl back toward her and took a few more sips of the soup.

  The serving girl removed the soup bowls and quickly returned with the main course, which was beef and root vegetables, just as Lord Cantwell had said it would be. He dug into his meal with great enthusiasm; the broth soup seemed only to have whetted his appetite and had in no way blunted it.

  Lady Walmsley, too, took up her knife and fork and dug into the beef. “Nice and tender,” she announced after chewing and swallowing and dabbing at her mouth with her napkin. “Not the least overdone, as one might expect. And so juicy—you must try some, dear girl. Beef is good for the blood, you know.” She took another bite and chewed and swallowed.

  Elizabeth reluctantly picked up her knife and fork. All this talk of beef and blood was making her feel queasy. She set her knife and fork down and picked up her goblet and sipped. Her hand shook.

  A robust-looking man of middle years, wearing an enormous smile, approached their table. “Good evening, Lord Cantwell, Lady Walmsley. May I have the pleasure of meeting your young lady friend who is our guest this evening?”

  Lord Cantwell rose from his chair to greet the man. “Lady Elizabeth Spaulding, may I present Mr. Timmons, owner of the inn and our host this evening.”

  The man’s eyes widened. “Our very own Lady Elizabeth from the manor house?” He studied her appearance carefully, and Elizabeth cringed inside. “Why, it is she, after all. How do you do, my lady?”

  “I am well, thank you. How do you do?” Lady Elizabeth said, relying on years of formal training.

  He bowed to her. “Very well, my lady. Very well, indeed. Such an honor to have you with us this fine evening.” A woman hurried across the dining room. “Ah, my dear,” Mr. Timmons said, “you’ve arrived in time to meet our other honored guest. Lady Elizabeth, may I present my wife, Mrs. Timmons?”

  Elizabeth managed a nod.

  The woman’s face broke into as big a smile as her husband’s. She curtsied. “Such an honor, my lady. I never thought I’d see the day when anyone from the manor would—”

  Her husband nudged her gently with his elbow, and she stopped speaking.

  It was as if Lady Elizabeth felt that nudge herself. He’d wanted his wife to act appropriately before noble guests, something Elizabeth completely understood, having experienced similar on too many occasions to count. “Thank you for your generous hospitality,” she said. “Thank you both.” She conjured up another smile. “Our accommodations are excellent, and the food is delicious.”

  “Indeed it is!” Lady Walmsley said, beaming at the couple. “Such fine fare you serve here! Were I to stay here more than one evening, I would need to have all my dresses let out. I imagine your fine wife here has something to do with that, sir.”

  “Thank you for the kind words, my lady!” Mrs. Timmons gushed, her cheeks flushing bright red. “My Mr. Timmons is such an expert with roasting the meat that I leave that task to him, but I made a lovely custard for dessert that I hope you’ll enjoy.”

  “I’m sure we shall,” Lady Walmsley said.

  “And will you be attending the dance tonight?” Mrs. Timmons asked, earning another gentle nudge from Mr. Timmons.

  “A dance, you say?” Lord Cantwell said.

  “Yes,” Mr. Timmons said. “It’s a good thing the rain is finally beginning to let up, isn’t it? What with the womenfolk in all their finery, trying to arrive at the assembly room without getting muddy. The menfolk, too, for that matter.”

  “Ah, that reminds me,” Lord Cantwell said. “Will you arrange for me to lease a horse for our journey back to London tomorrow? I know it’s late notice, but if the rain is letting up, as you say, I think the ladies would prefer their own company in the coach.”

  “I hear you!” Mr. Timmons said. “All that hen talk. Not a problem at all, my lord. Consider it done.”

  “I’d better check on that custard,” Mrs. Timmons said. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  “And I’ll leave you to enjoy your supper,” Mr. Timmons added. “I do hope you’ll consider attending the dance. What excitement that would bring to the village! And if I may be so bold”—Elizabeth held her breath—“I wonder if you would do me the honor of reserving a dance for me, Lady Walmsley, should you decide to attend.”

  Elizabeth exhaled in relief.

  “Oh, how delightful!” Lady Walmsley exclaimed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had such a tempting offer. Thank you, sir. I shall see if my old knees are up to it.”

  He bowed and left them.

  “We’re not attending the village dance, are we? I cannot attend a dance,” Elizabeth whispered once the Timmonses were both out of earshot. “My father just passed away. I’m in mourning—or should be in mourning. The fact that I am wearing blue might make it appear otherwise, but to appear in public at a dance the very week my father passed is beyond the pale. I cannot!”

  Lord Cantwell leaned toward her across the table. “You have mourned long enough. Lady Walmsley and I are agreed upon this.”

  “Truly, I cannot attend a dance,” Elizabeth said.

  “Simply listen for a moment. I have a plan,” Lord Cantwell said.

  I have a plan.

  Were there four more terrifying words that could be said after what had already occurred today?

  ***

  Kit needed to think fast.

  He’d just told Lady Elizabeth he had a plan, but the only plan he had at present was to do something. It was the reason he’d been hoping to escape the House of Lords for a few days—the frustration of carefully chosen words that did nothing to change the impasse being discussed. Successfully removing Lady Elizabeth from Marwood Manor—actually doing something—had been refreshing.

  But here they were again. Stuck at an impasse.

  His mind raced.

  Lady Elizabeth needed to do something, he was sure of it. Something vital, and the dance seemed a perfect option, even though Kit understood the social demands of mourning and her reasons for refusing.

  But, blast it all, she’d been a prisoner, whether self-imposed or not, for too long. She needed to dance.

  Lady Walmsley was looking at him hopefully. Lady Elizabeth looked panicked.

  Think, man!

  And then an idea popped into his head. He jumped to his feet. “I’ll be right back,” he said and dashed off. “Mr. Timmons,” he said when he spied the man near the entrance to the kitchen. “I wonder if I might have a word with you and your missus.”

  Mr. Timmons looked concerned. “Certainly, my lord. Is everything all right?” Mrs. Timmons poked her head around the corner when she heard the two men talking. Mr. Timmons motioned to her. “This includes you too, wife.”

  Kit pulled out several banknotes and handed them to Mr. Timmons. “Lady Elizabeth would prefer that no one knows she is staying here,” he said. “She isn’t feeling herself, and yet Lady Walmsley and I think it would be beneficial for her to receive the exercise that attending the dance would provide. To that end, I’m wondering about a disguise of some sort? For her and for me?”

  Mr. Timmons handed the banknotes back to Kit. “We’re respectable here, my lord, and value the privacy of our guests. If the young lady wishes for us to say nothing, then nothing will be said. We wouldn’t wish to add to her distress.”


  “We may seem chatty,” Mrs. Timmons added, “but it’s because we innkeepers must be sociable, you know, if our place is to be seen as congenial and continue to bring in customers. But we know how to hold our tongues too.” Her voice dropped in volume. “Not that we allow the sorts of things that good men and women would find shameful; we’re good, churchgoing people, Mr. Timmons and me.”

  “’Tis true enough. You keep your money, my lord; you have our word.”

  “And about that disguise,” Mrs. Timmons added. “I expect I can find a waistcoat and jacket and such that Mr. Timmons used to wear, especially when he was a young buck like you, my lord. But I’ve not ever had the slim figure that Lady Elizabeth has. My own clothes would draw attention as being too ill-fitting. Perhaps her maid has something suitable?”

  “That might just work, Mrs. Timmons. I will check with Sally.”

  “You leave talking to Sally with me, milord. I’m that happy to help.” She beamed. “Now, I’ll go get the custard served up, and then I’ll set myself to finding clothes for the both of you.” She paused. “But what of the older lady? Will she be wanting a disguise too?”

  Kit knew from past experience that Lady Walmsley wasn’t one to let an adventure go by unattended, but it would draw less attention to them all if only a young couple were to show up at the dance. She might be willing to forego, despite an invitation to dance from Mr. Timmons. “I will discuss the plans with her and let you know.”

  “Very good, my lord. I’ll see what I can find for her while I’m searching for the other things, just in case.”

  “Thank you. Thank you both.” He shook Timmons’s hand, pressing the banknotes back into the man’s hand as he did so. “You’re a good man, Timmons, and I want you to have this as a way of showing our appreciation.”

  “Well, I confess, it was difficult to hand them back to you, my lord. But I’m grateful for it. You will always have a place to stay when you and the others visit Marham Cross.”

  “Good man, Timmons.”

  Now it was time to persuade Lady Elizabeth to attend the dance and Lady Walmsley not to attend.

  “What have you been up to?” Lady Walmsley asked when he seated himself back at the table. He noticed that Lady Elizabeth hadn’t eaten much more than she had before he’d left them.

  “Lady Elizabeth and I are going to attend the dance, with the Timmons’s help,” he said, watching their reactions carefully. “In the simple attire of the villagers here. And if you don’t mind, Lady Walmsley, I think we would draw less attention to ourselves if we were to go alone and you remained here at the inn.”

  Lady Elizabeth began shaking her head, but Kit had expected that. Lady Walmsley, on the other hand, was looking thoughtful. “I think you’re right about that, Cantwell,” she finally said. “After a full day of travel and the strain of the afternoon, I think I could do with a quiet evening on my own.”

  “But I simply can’t—” Lady Elizabeth began.

  “On my own, my dear,” Lady Walmsley said firmly, without it coming across as too overbearing. She was a true talent, Lady Walmsley was, Kit thought with admiration.

  Mrs. Timmons arrived at that moment bearing a tray with three bowls of custard. “Here you go, my ladies, my lord,” she said. “And don’t you worry,” she added, dropping her voice and giving a knowing look to Lady Elizabeth. “I believe I have just the thing for you after all, if your maid doesn’t have anything with her. A nice, sturdy dress from when I was younger and a little less thick in the middle.”

  “Remember, Lady Elizabeth,” Kit said, hoping to make his case after Mrs. Timmons left. “Neither of the Timmonses recognized you when we arrived, and they are innkeepers, whose job it is to remember everyone they meet. The inn is the hub of the community. A community, I would venture, where your father apparently did little to garner affection. And yet, once the Timmonses knew who you were, they were entirely generous in their welcome. You see how Mrs. Timmons reacted to you just now?”

  Lady Elizabeth sighed. “They are good people; that much is obvious. I vaguely remember meeting them once or twice when I was a child. It was a long time ago.”

  “And yet they didn’t recognize you today. If they didn’t recognize you, the others attending the dance will not either, I assure you. People see what they expect to see, Lady Elizabeth. If we are dressed as simple village folk, it will be assumed that we are precisely that.”

  “And the exercise will do you a world of good, dear, as will being in the midst of agreeable people,” Lady Walmsley added, reaching across the table to squeeze Lady Elizabeth’s hand. “Whether you speak to anyone or not, the liveliness of the experience will cheer your soul.”

  “You do not understand,” Lady Elizabeth said. “I will be discovered; I know it.”

  “Not if we are careful in our dress and manners,” Kit said. “And to that end, and to carry our concealment further, I shall be Mr. Kit Osbourne from Oxfordshire, and you shall be Lizzie Osbourne, my wife.”

  “Wife!” Lady Elizabeth exclaimed, her hand flying to her mouth as soon as the word escaped.

  To be honest, Kit’s impulsive words had surprised him too, but they couldn’t be unsaid now, so he went with it. “It’s the perfect disguise. You are too old—pardon me for saying so—to safely be considered a young, unmarried miss—”

  “But I am unmarried!” she whispered, her cheeks flushing, her eyes darting about the room.

  “With features too lovely for anyone who sees you to believe it,” he replied.

  “I can’t do this,” Lady Elizabeth said, shaking her head back and forth. “I simply cannot do what you are suggesting I do.”

  “Perhaps I should go after all,” Lady Walmsley said, “if Lady Elizabeth is feeling so uncomfortable. I can act as chaperone, and we can pretend she is your betrothed, Miss Lizzie, er, Kynaston. Yes, Kynaston. That was my maiden name before I married Walmsley, you know, and I’d be glad to lend it to you for the evening, my dear, to maintain your anonymity.” She yawned. “Although, I could really use a few hours of peace and quiet. I find I am overcome by fatigue now that I have eaten and the day is drawing to a close. I’m not as young as I used to be, and I shall have to disappoint Mr. Timmons by not dancing with him. But never mind that.”

  “I’ll remain completely quiet in our room, I promise,” Lady Elizabeth said.

  “Enough,” Kit said, his patience nearly at an end once again. “We are talking about a village dance, not a march to the guillotine. You need this, Lady Elizabeth, whether you realize it or not. Lady Walmsley needs to rest, you need to dance, and I need you to trust me.”

  Lady Elizabeth sighed. “Very well,” she said, her tone full of defeat. “You win, both of you. I shall attend the dance—for a short amount of time, and against my better judgment.”

  Kit couldn’t help himself; he began to grin.

  “But I am not happy,” Lady Elizabeth continued after glancing at his expression. “I am not happy about the manner in which you whisked me away from home, regardless of the good intentions you claim to have. The idea of being a paid companion was too low a blow for Mama, and I had intended to refuse. I had simply not written the letter yet.”

  “You misunderstood my offer then, dear,” Lady Walmsley said. “I wished for your company, that is all. I would never consider offending you or your parents with the offer of a paid companionship. I have simply come to appreciate the exuberance of youth and have longed to be around those who have it. And because I have an affection for you after spending time with you last summer, you were, naturally, the person I thought of first.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Kit said, jumping in before the two ladies could converse the subject into the ground—or have anyone question Lady Elizabeth’s exuberance or lack thereof. “I would wager that Mrs. Timmons has already found appropriate attire for our disguises. Let’s go and see.” He rose quickly to hi
s feet and assisted each lady to hers in a manner that suggested he would accept no argument.

  Chapter 9

  The last thing Elizabeth ever expected to happen in her entire life was to show up at a country village dance dressed in her maid’s clothing—but she was about to do precisely that.

  She was certain she could sense her father rolling over in his grave at the prospect.

  Sally had done a decent job arranging Elizabeth’s hair in a simple knot at the back of her head. The dress she’d donated to the cause was loose and a few inches too short, but it fit better than the one Mrs. Timmons had offered, and with the pair of old half boots and the knit shawl Mrs. Timmons had located, Elizabeth’s attire managed to look fairly ordinary—she hoped.

  There was a knock at the door, and Sally crossed to open it.

  “Good evening, my lord,” Sally said, moving out of the way in order to allow Lord Cantwell to step inside before shutting the door again. “She’s nearly ready.”

  Elizabeth glanced up from tugging the shawl around her shoulders—and froze, arrested by his appearance. What was it about seeing someone in different circumstances that shed new light on them?

  New, exhilarating, terrifying light.

  He stood there, wearing an ill-fitting coat of brown that somehow managed to accentuate the gold highlights of his hair and made his dark eyes appear even darker. Seeing him in clothes worn by a working man—a man who labored with his body—illuminated the physical strength Lord Cantwell had. Elizabeth had felt that strength during their three-legged race last summer.

  But last summer, Elizabeth’s parents had intended for her to marry Lord Halford, so she had buried any reaction she had felt toward Lord Cantwell at the time.

  His shirt was closed at the neck with a well-worn neckcloth tied in a simple knot. His waistcoat was made of muslin, with a light- and dark-brown pattern, and matched his coat and trousers. Elizabeth had always thought Lord Cantwell a handsome gentleman, and like all the gentlemen within her social orbit, he had always been impeccably dressed—all combed and buttoned and polished to a sheen whenever she’d seen him—completely proper—the race last summer being the rare exception.