A Duke By Any Other Name

Chapter Three

E dmund spotted Kitty as soon as she entered the assembly hall. For the past three-quarters of an hour, he’d been standing against a wall, suffering accusatory stares from the mothers of the wallflowers. Despite the glares, Edmund hadn’t asked any ladies to dance. Kenneth had reliable intelligence that Viscount Featherswallow had promised the hostesses that he and Miss Katherine Featherswallow would attend tonight. Accordingly, several impoverished sons of peers were also in attendance. As this hall in Cheapside was not Almack’s or hosted by a duke or duchess, there was no reason for any peers to attend unless they hoped to catch an heiress. The hostesses, wives of wealthy merchants in Town, would now have the pleasure of boasting their ball had attracted one son of a marquess, two sons of earls, the son of a viscount, and a baronet.

None of those men were dancing either, and Edmund had been keeping an eye on them until the air in the hall shifted. His head jerked to the entrance of the room just as Viscount Featherswallow took the gloved hand of his eldest daughter and escorted her inside.

Kitty was an absolute vision tonight. Her usually severe coiffure had been softened by curls over her shoulder and a wave of honey-blonde hair across her forehead and pinned behind her left ear. Her hair seemed to shimmer in the candlelight. She wore pale blue moonstones that matched her icy eyes and made her alabaster skin look almost iridescent. Her gown was a blush-rose color, which he would have thought might look too young on her. Instead, it gave her a pretty glow and softened her sometimes sharp expressions.

Other parts of her needed no softening. Her lips were full and luscious—when not pressed tightly in disapproval—and the gown revealed her rounded shoulders. The tight bodice also showcased her full breasts. Edmund supposed he was not the only man whose mouth went dry at the sight of her ample assets.

As he watched, one of the penniless peers stepped in front of her and bowed low. The music of the hired orchestra made it impossible to hear his words. Her father spoke, probably making introductions. Kitty did not offer her hand and did not speak. In fact, she swept right past the gentleman trying to make her acquaintance. Edmund winced, almost feeling sorry for the man. He watched the same scenario play out again before Kitty found a spot to stand against the wall near where he stood with the wallflowers. She patted her father’s shoulder, and he moved toward the refreshment table. Edmund didn’t think he would reach it, as a line of widows waited to intercept him. A handsome, wealthy man with all his teeth was a sought-after commodity.

Edmund moved along the wall until he stood beside Kitty, who was busying herself with folding and unfolding her fan.

“Did you enjoy the apples?” he asked.

She dropped her fan and jerked her head to face him. Edmund bowed, swept her fan off the floor, and presented it with a flourish. She took the item, snapped it open, and began to fan herself. Was he mistaken or did her cheeks look flushed?

“Mr. Peters, I did not expect to see you here.”

“I hope my presence is not unwelcome.”

She gave a delicate shrug. “It’s nothing to me either way.”

“I’m sure,” he said as she continued to work her fan frantically. “How have you been, Kitty?”

She narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t have to ask that question if you’d called on me these past days.”

Edmund couldn’t argue. What he didn’t say was that he’d very much wanted to call on her. However, he’d discussed the question with Kenneth ad nauseum and agreed with his brother that “distance made the heart grow fonder.” Edmund hadn’t wanted to be too distant, which was why he’d sent a basket of her favorite fruit one day and a bottle of claret the next. He was fortunate to have his brother, the writer, help him with the sentiments for the cards. Edmund was a man of action, not words. Fortunately, now was the time for action.

The orchestra finished the last few measures of the piece they played.

“I’ve missed you, Kitty. I do hope my gifts made up in some small way for my absence.”

She looked like she was about to argue that she hadn’t minded his absence at all, but Edmund took her hand in his. “Come and dance with me,” he said as a new set of couples began to assemble on the floor.

“No, thank you.”

“You’d rather stand here and entertain that line of puppies waiting to speak to you?” He lifted his head toward the men gathering nearby. “If that is the case, I will leave you to your suitors—”

“No!” She tucked her hand in his arm. “Suddenly, a dance seems just the thing.”

Edmund escorted her onto the dance floor, where the couples had lined up with the men on one side and the women on the other. The music began, a country dance, and Edmund bowed to Kitty as the first couple made their way down the line of dancers. He’d been to dozens of dances like this over the years, but now he realized he’d never once danced with Kitty at any of them. He’d danced with daughters of the local gentry, his own sisters, and Kitty’s sister Bianca. Edmund remembered seeing Kitty dance many times, but he had never partnered her. Perhaps because he feared that once he took her by the hand, he wouldn’t be able to let go. He hadn’t been ready for marriage—not then. But he was now, and he realized it had always been Kitty he’d imagined as his wife.

He needed to convince her to see him as a husband.

The music changed, and he stepped forward and took Kitty’s hands in his, twirling her about, then changing partners to dance with another young lady, and then taking Kitty’s hands again. The dance was quick and lively, and soon Kitty’s cheeks were pink from exertion. Edmund found that even when another couple danced down the line or he partnered another lady briefly, he couldn’t take his eyes from Kitty.

“Enjoying yourself?” he asked as they executed a step close together.

“I am, actually,” she said. “I haven’t danced since—”

He knew immediately what she was thinking. She hadn’t danced since her mother’s death. She stumbled, and he caught the shimmer of tears in her eyes. Without hesitating, Edmund took her hand and ferried her off the dance floor. The last thing she would want was for anyone to see her weeping. Clearly, even five years after her mother’s passing, that wound was still raw.

Edmund looked about for a private space and, seeing none, slipped through a door a servant passed through. The sounds of the orchestra and the conversation were immediately muffled and replaced by the clink of silver and crystal as the servants on the floor below prepared dinner and trays of wine and champagne for the guests.

“We shouldn’t be here,” Kitty said, dabbing at her eyes with a silk handkerchief.

“The servants will tolerate us for a moment,” he said. “I could see you needed to catch your breath. It was too warm in there.”

She gave him a withering look. “You know as well as I that the heat had nothing to do with this.” She indicated her face, which was slightly blotchy now.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he said.

She looked up at him then, her blue eyes darker than usual. “Why are you so kind to me?” she asked. “I don’t deserve it.”

“Of course you do.”

She shook her head. “I treated you horribly, and you sent me apples and claret. How did you even remember I liked those?”

“I remember everything about you, Kitty. I deserved poor treatment. I shouldn’t have allowed your father to assume our betrothal.”

“No, you shouldn’t have. I felt like a fool.”

Her words shocked him. He thought she’d simply been angry that he hadn’t asked if she wanted him before going to her father to ask for her hand. But perhaps he didn’t know her as well as he’d thought. “Why should you feel like a fool?”

“Because people might believe you wanted to marry me. We both know that’s not the case.”

“But it is the case,” he said.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean to protect my feelings.”

“I would never do that. Kitty, look at me.” Her gaze met his. “You know I would never lie to you. I do want to marry you. I should have made that clearer at your townhouse. I came from Hampshire as soon as I realized you were in London for the Season. I didn’t want to risk your marrying any man but me.”

She stared at him. “But you never…” She paused. “After that first kiss we shared, you never tried to kiss me again. You never spoke of it or paid me any particular attention.”

“I was seventeen and an idiot. But when I went back to school, I never forgot about you. And I would have made my intentions clear when I returned, but…”

She nodded. “My mother was ill, and then I was in mourning.”

“It never seemed the right time.”

“Is now the right time?”

“I hope so.” He lifted a hand and cupped her cheek. “You tell me, sweet.”

“I’m not sweet,” she whispered as he drew closer to her.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

He bent his head and kissed her gently. He heard her breath hitch in her throat as he slid his hand to the back of her neck, tangling his fingers in her loose curls as he did so. Heat smoldered between them as their mouths met and her body melted into his. She was the perfect height, her lips the perfect softness, her body warm and supple as he put an arm about her waist and pulled her against him. His heart thudded in his ears, but he noted her pleased sighs as he slid his tongue inside her mouth and the way her hands clutched at his coat, indicating she wanted him closer, wanted him to continue.

“Oy!” came a voice. “Ye can’t be in ’ere.”

Kitty broke the kiss and ducked her head. Edmund gave the footman a sharp glare. “Thank you for that information,” he said quietly. “Go on your way now.”

The footman opened his mouth to protest, then seemed to think better of it and marched away, muttering under his breath.

Edmund looked back at Kitty, whose head was still lowered. She was shaking, and a pang of fear struck him. Was she weeping again? Then she raised her face, and he saw she was laughing. “Thank you for that information,” she said in a low voice that sounded remarkably like his.

He grinned. “You have a better response?”

“No. My usual response when cornered is to throw something.”

Edmund chuckled. “I hardly think flinging your fan at him would have helped the situation.”

“I should go find my father,” she said. “He’ll be looking for me.”

Edmund thought it more likely he’d be surrounded by widows and enjoying the feminine attention. “Before you go, I need to do this properly.” He sank to one knee and took her hand.

“Edmund!”

“I want there to be no question between us. I have your father’s blessing, but do I have yours, Kitty? Do you love me? Will you be my wife?” He thought she might begin weeping again, and he wasn’t certain if that was good or bad. Instead, she nodded vigorously.

“Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Edmund jolted. He hadn’t really thought she would agree. He’d thought he’d have to send more apples—an entire cart—or grovel or beg or carry her over his shoulder to the church. But she wanted to marry him. She wanted to be his wife.

“You do,” he said, voice full of wonder. “You do want to marry me.”

“Kiss me again, and I’ll show you how much.”

Edmund was back on his feet in a blur. He pulled her into his arms, dipped her back, and kissed her.

“Oy! Not again!” came the voice of the footman.

Kitty giggled, and Edmund righted her. “We’re leaving,” he told the footman. To Kitty, he said, “I’ll call on you tomorrow to make it official.”

“I’ll see you then,” she said. “Now let me go before everyone wonders what we’ve been up to.”

“I don’t ’ave to wonder,” the footman grumbled.

Kitty slipped through the servants’ door, and Edmund leaned against the wall, smiling to himself.

It was only later that he’d realize she hadn’t said she loved him.

*

Edmund barely slept that night. He’d paced his hotel chamber until morning, then bathed, shaved, and dressed hours before he could call on Kitty or her father. He hoped she wanted a quick wedding. They could call the banns this Sunday and be married in just a few weeks. Next month, he could have her in his arms, in his bed, any time of the day or night.

He took a hackney to her townhouse and sat outside for a quarter hour until the time when he could finally knock on her door. He felt like he had when he’d been a child and heard his father’s coach on the drive after a trip to London. His father always brought gifts, and though Edmund had pretended to be uninterested, he’d always been the first to welcome his father home. Now he had that same sense of giddy anticipation. He’d been waiting to tell Kitty his feelings for so long, and to know she reciprocated them and wanted to wed him was exhilarating.

He finally climbed out of the hackney and strolled to the door, tucked his hat under his arm, and reached for the knocker. Edmund frowned. The knocker was not there. He stepped back and looked at the townhouse. Yes, he was in the correct place. Why should the knocker be absent? That was a sign the family was away, and he’d just seen Kitty the night before. He’d held her in his arms.

Edmund lifted a fist and pounded on the door, his heart hammering with the rhythm of his knocking. He didn’t cease until Jensen, the Featherswallows’ butler, yanked the door open. The servant’s scowl immediately disappeared when he spotted Edmund.

“Jensen, I’m here to see Miss Featherswallow and her father.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Peters, the viscount and Miss Featherswallow are not at home.”

Edmund pushed past the butler and into the wide, bright foyer. “Jensen, Miss Featherswallow will want to see me. You can dispense with the formalities. Where is she?”

“Sir—”

“Kitty!” His voice echoed against the marble tile in the entryway.

“Sir, the viscount and Miss Featherswallow are not physically at home.”

Edmund rounded on him. “Then I shall wait until they return. Where have they gone?”

“Godwin Priory, sir. A messenger came last night with news that Miss Bianca was injured and”—the servant’s voice hitched—“may not recover.”

Edmund stared at the butler as though he spoke gibberish. Bianca injured? At risk of death? His head spun even as he put a hand on Jensen’s shoulder. Of course the man was upset. The entire staff loved Bianca. She was so amiable and sweet, unlike her prickly sister, who was an acquired taste.

“When did they depart?” Edmund asked. Perhaps he might borrow a horse and catch them on the road.

“Just before dawn, sir.”

Edmund sighed. They’d been away for hours. He could not catch them.

But he could go after them. He could be there for Kitty in this difficult time. She would need him.

*

Kitty took the dinner tray the servant placed before her and hurled it at the wall. “I said I don’t need anything!” she yelled.

The man, one of the sons of the innkeeper near her home of Godwin Priory, shrank back. Kitty immediately regretted her actions. It was not his fault she was in a foul mood.

“I’m sorry, miss. Your father said we were to bring you—”

Kitty waved her hand. “All I want is news, understand?”

She stood at the window of the inn and stared out at the muddy streets of the little village. Linton was little more than a posting house, a few shops, and this inn, but she and Bianca had loved coming here when they were young. They’d spend hours in the millinery shop, examining ribbons and trying to decide which color suited them best. Then they’d stop by the apothecary and buy candied violets or a stick of peppermint. If Mama or Papa were with them, they might even dine at the Black Hare, which was the inn. She’d enjoyed many meals in this very public room.

Her stomach growled. She probably shouldn’t have thrown that tray of food. She was hungry. But she couldn’t think of eating until her father returned with news of Bianca.

“Miss, would you like some tea?” asked a feminine voice.

Kitty swung around, a harsh retort on her lips. But her words died when she spotted Edmund just behind the serving girl. Suddenly, the weight she’d been carrying fell away. Edmund was what she needed.

She almost ran into his arms…before she remembered she’d agreed to marry him. What had she been thinking? She must have been overheated or dizzy from champagne to agree to such a thing. She could see her wedding day now—she’d be at the church waiting alone, and he would send a note saying he’d reconsidered. Or worse, he’d stand at the altar and tell everyone in the pews that he’d made a mistake. He didn’t love her. No one loved her once they came to know her.

“Why are you here?” she demanded.

His brows went up, but he didn’t take a step back at her harsh tone. Instead, he murmured something to the serving girl, who bobbed a curtsey and retreated.

“Tired of London already?” Kitty said.

“I tire of any place if you are not there.”

She rolled her eyes, even though she wished his words were true. “Jensen told you we had to leave,” she said.

“How is Bianca?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” She looked out the window again. “The rains took out the bridge, and we couldn’t cross in the coach. My father brought me here and left to try to cross the bridge on horseback.”

“How long have you been waiting for news?”

To Kitty, the wait had seemed like years. “What does it matter?” she asked. “Listen, Edmund, I am not good company right now. You should return to London or go to your own home and—”

“No.”

Kitty blinked at him. “Pardon?”

“No. I’m staying with you.”

She blew out a breath. “If this is some misguided act of loyalty because you think we are betrothed, I release you from that obligation.”

“I don’t want to be released,” he said. “And I don’t feel obligated. I want to be here.”

“Well, I don’t want you here. Furthermore, I don’t want to marry you. I drank too much champagne last night. That must be why I agreed.”

For an instant, she saw a flash of pain in his eyes, and then it was replaced by something else. She wasn’t sure how to characterize what she saw in those gray eyes now, but they’d gone hard and steely.

Kitty swallowed. Perhaps she had gone too far.

“You didn’t drink too much champagne,” he said, taking her arm and leading her to a table. He pulled out a chair and pushed her down and into it. Kitty was actually relieved to be off her feet. She’d felt unsteady ever since hearing the news of Bianca’s injury. “I see what you are doing, Katherine Featherswallow.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “And what’s that?”

“You’ve put on your armor. It’s what you always do when you’re scared. And you are terrified right now.”

“I’m not—”

“You are. You are afraid for your sister, which is understandable, but you’re also afraid for yourself.”

“I have nothing to be afraid of.”

“Exactly. I know that. And you know it in here.” He touched his chest, then reached across the table and tapped her forehead. “But you don’t know it here.”

Kitty flicked his hand away. “You make no sense.”

“If I make no sense, blame yourself. I’ve made a study of you over the years, Kitty, and every time you feel vulnerable, you lash out. You’d rather hurt than be hurt yourself. You’d rather strike first than allow yourself to be open to a wound. Those qualities in you were only exacerbated by your mother’s death. You couldn’t protect yourself from the pain of losing her, and I think that pain made you more determined than ever to avoid more pain.”

Kitty felt her eyes sting, but she would not cry. “You are speaking nonsense,” she said, but her voice cracked. Edmund seemed to see right into her soul. He understood her better than she understood herself. That didn’t mean she could trust him. That only made him more dangerous.

“Am I?” he said. “Then tell me you have not been worrying that I proposed only to reject you at the altar or not show up to the wedding at all.”

Kitty stared at him. He raised his brows, daring her to tell him it wasn’t true. She opened her mouth to argue, but the serving girl returned then with a tray of tea and a tureen with two bowls. “I said I didn’t—” she began.

“Ah! The dinner I ordered. Thank you, Molly,” he said. The serving girl curtseyed, set the tray down, and poured tea into two cups. The fragrant smell immediately comforted Kitty. Why had she said she didn’t want tea? She was cold and thirsty, and tea seemed the perfect antidote. She supposed she should thank Edmund for ordering it.

“What is this?” he said, staring into his teacup.

“Sir?”

“You call this tea?” he asked. Kitty wasn’t used to that tone from him. She bent to peer into her cup. The tea looked perfectly fine to her. She lifted the cup to drink, but Edmund swiped it away, so the cup clattered on the floor, spilling the tea everywhere.

“My love, do not drink this swill. It is not fit for consumption. Only the best for you. If this establishment cannot provide palatable tea, we shall have none.”

Kitty noted the other patrons in the public house were watching them now. What was Edmund about? He did not usually make a scene like this. “The tea was fine, Edmund. There’s no need—”

But he’d lifted the cover of the tureen now and was examining the stew. The heady scents of meat, potatoes, leeks, carrots, and spices wafted toward Kitty, making her lightheaded from hunger. She had forgotten how skilled the cook at the Black Hare was in the kitchen. Kitty must have been hungrier than she’d thought, because she suddenly wanted nothing more than to fill her bowl with the fragrant stew.

Edmund lifted the ladle and dipped it into the stew. Kitty watched as he lifted her bowl, her mouth watering. But then Edmund dropped it and turned an accusing look on Molly. “You call this stew?”

“Yes, sir,” she said quietly.

“What are these lumps?”

“Edmund,” Kitty said, “those are potatoes. The soup smells delicious.” She lifted her bowl and held it out to him. “If you please.”

“This smells rancid,” he said. He took her bowl and hurled it across the room. “I would not feed this to my pigs. I would not feed this to my worst enemy.” He indicated the tray. “Take it back, Molly! I’d rather starve than eat this slop. Only the best for my love, my Kitty.”

Molly lifted the tray, and Kitty wanted to grab it back. She was ravenous now. She turned an angry gaze on Edmund. “What are you…” Her words died when she saw the smile on his lips. “You did this on purpose,” she said.

“Does any of it seem familiar?”

Kitty had to admit that, unfortunately, just now he’d given a very good impression of her own behavior on several occasions. She’d been angry, striking out, and finding fault with anything and everything. In the process, she’d made herself and everyone around her miserable. And Edmund was right. She used her anger and fear to protect herself. If those around her were afraid of her, no one could get close to her.

“I take your point,” she said.

Edmund’s brows shot up. “What is this? Kitty, are you being agreeable?”

“Not for long if this is your reaction,” she muttered.

“Darling!” he said, standing up so everyone who hadn’t been staring at them was certainly doing so now. “As you are so amenable, so amiable a woman, I wish to announce to everyone that we are betrothed.”

“Edmund!”

“It’s true, is it not?”

She opened her mouth to argue, but then caught his gaze. He had hope in his eyes, and behind that fragile hope, Kitty saw love. Did she dare to trust him with her heart? Did she dare to open herself to being hurt once again?

In that moment, she couldn’t look at him and deny him. The truth was, she loved him with her whole heart, small and cold as it might be. “It’s true,” she whispered.

He bent on one knee and made a show of taking her hand and kissing it. The entire room erupted in cheers, and Edmund looked up at her and winked.

“You had better not make me regret this,” she said under her breath.

“My love, you would only have regretted it if you hadn’t agreed. I would have sent back every offering from the cook for the next week if that was what it took to convince you.”

“Does this mean we can eat now?”

He rose. “It means we have the rest of our lives together.” And he kissed her, making her forget all about dinner, the cheering townspeople, and even her sister.