Chapter One
NEXT UP IN THE DUCHESS’S DARLING DEBUTANTES …
The Earl of Stratton was hallucinating.
Perhaps it was the noise of the coaching inn, or the lack of sleep catching up to him, but as Kit stared down at the sums he'd been adding in his notebook, he could have sworn the numbers had started to move.
With a sigh, he slammed the notebook shut. It wasn't as though the exercise was doing him any good, anyway. The numbers hadn't changed since he'd last done this tally.
His quarterly allowance, minus the payment due at the end of the month, minus the cost of this journey, minus the amount he'd scraped together from the sale of a rather fine pair of cufflinks he'd been fond of — it left him with approximately six weeks.
After six weeks, he would need a miracle. Well. A miracle or… his aunt.
Yes, he definitely required his aunt's help. It was not easy for any grown man to admit, least of all an earl. But Kit Stratton was a courtesy earl with no estate, no income, and no funds beyond what his father, the Duke of Ashworth, deigned to dole out each quarter.
So, really, he was just a man with an expensive name and an impressive seat at dinner.
Still. He scrubbed a hand over his eyes. A man with an expensive name ought to be able to solve his own problems without running to the Dowager Duchess of Ashworth for help.
But Aunt Philippa was the only person in England who might come to his aid. And that was only if she was in a generous mood, which she frequently was not.
And only if he could think of a reason to ask that didn't involve telling her the truth, which he could not.
But he'd think of something. He always did.
A footman jostled past him, brushing his shoulder and bringing Kit back to his very current predicament. He was still waiting for his carriage's horses to be changed.
What was taking so long? It was a busy afternoon, to be certain. But even so, he'd been waiting an age. He'd already seen four sets of guests arrive and depart as he waited for news of his carriage.
The current crowd all had that air of chaotic dishevelment that could only be found at an inn.
Even now, a merchant was arguing with the innkeeper about the bill.
Nearby, a child was nibbling on a bread roll while her distracted nanny flirted with a footman.
And at a table near the fire, a young woman was talking to her maid with such animated enthusiasm that the maid appeared to have given up any hope of participation and was simply holding her teacup like a shield.
Kit could hear the woman's sweet, melodic voice, even through the din of the crowded room.
"—and I shall simply tell him that I spoke with the marquess myself.
" Her eyes were wide and bright in a way that suggested she might have a fever.
"And that there is no obstacle, truly none," she continued without pausing for breath.
"Because the marquess was perfectly reasonable about the whole thing.
Well, perhaps not reasonable exactly, he was rather terrifying if I'm being honest…
But the point is he agreed and so there is nothing standing in our way, nothing at all, and I—"
She broke off, pressed her palms flat on the table, and started again. "No. No, I should begin with the bit about the letter. Or should I begin with how I felt? Is that too much? It might be too much. Mary, is it too much to lead with feelings?"
"I couldn't say, miss." This came from the maid across from her.
"You're right, I'll lead with the facts. Facts first, then feelings." She nodded firmly as if a critical decision had been made. However, a second later, her eyes lit up again. "But what if…"
Here he lost her next statement because the child with the bread caused a ruckus.
But he heard the maid's reply. "That does sound simpler, miss."
And he found himself more curious than he ought to be about what, in fact, sounded simpler.
"It does, doesn't it?" The woman sat back, flushed and bright-eyed and slightly breathless from her own happiness.
"So I tell him the facts. And then I wait.
And then he—" Her face softened. An expression crossed her pretty, innocent features, and it was so unguarded that Kit had to look away for a moment, as if he'd accidentally read someone's private correspondence.
"Well," she said softly. "Then he'll know. "
Kit forgot all about his arithmetic. In fact, for a second there, he might have forgotten his own name. That was how taken he was by this woman with the bright eyes and the cheerful smile.
To be clear, Kit had seen beautiful women before. As the heir to a dukedom, beautiful women were paraded before him on a regular basis. He'd met charming women, and elegant women, and women who calculated every glance and measured every laugh.
This girl wasn't performing for anyone. She didn't even know she had an audience. She was simply happy, and it was spilling out of her like sunshine.
He stared at her with rapt attention. Yes, her brown hair was lovely, in that shiny, healthy way. And her dark eyes were no doubt clear and bright. And her features were perhaps not striking or beautiful, but they were pretty. And yet, it wasn't any of that which had him enthralled.
It was her demeanor. It was the way she spoke, and that brilliant smile, and—
And it occurred to him that he had never in his life been that unguarded about anything.
The young lady was, quite simply, an anomaly.
"Sir?" The innkeeper looked harried as he approached. "Apologies, sir, but do you happen to know the young lady by the fire?"
With a start, Kit realized he'd been caught staring. Blast. Was this innkeeper going to give him a lecture about ogling young ladies, or—
"If ye' do, I'd be grateful if you could get her attention, my lord."
Kit blinked. "Pardon?"
The innkeeper gestured to the door. "Her carriage is ready and the coachman says the horses won't stand much longer, but I can't seem to—" He threw his hands up. "She's been talking for the better part of twenty minutes and I haven't found an opening."
Kit glanced back at the girl, who had launched into what appeared to be a second rehearsal of her speech, this time with hand gestures.
"I'll see what I can do," he said.
He crossed the room and positioned himself at the edge of her table with his most pleasant expression and waited for a pause in which to speak.
No pause came.
"—but then I'd have arrived with no warning, I want him to have had time to think— But no, I believe I was right in the first place because he's not good at speaking on the spot, he's much better when he's had time to—"
Kit opened his mouth.
"—consider his words, which is one of the things I love about him, actually, because it means when he does speak it's always exactly what he means, unlike most people who just say whatever comes to mind."
Kit's mouth remained open as she continued.
She was magnificent. That was the only word for it.
She was talking at a speed that would leave most auctioneers breathless, her hands were conducting an invisible orchestra, and she had no idea he was standing there.
None. He was two feet from her table and she hadn't so much as glanced in his direction.
And he didn't interrupt. Perhaps he should have. But he found that he didn't want to break whatever this was.
"—so I'll simply tell him the truth and trust that it's enough, because it should be enough, shouldn't it? If you love someone and you fight for them and you win, that should be enough. Mary, shouldn't that be enough?"
"I should think so, miss."
"Yes." She pressed her palms together, and her whole face seemed to glow with pleasure. "Yes. It will be."
And then, with no warning — she turned.
Kit was standing there with what he suspected was a thoroughly smitten grin. And his mouth was… Yes, his mouth was still open. He'd been caught gaping like a fool.
He recovered quickly, softening his grin into something more appropriate. The smile he flashed at every ballroom in London. It was a charmingly self-deprecating smile.
It was also, admittedly, one of his more flirtatious smiles.
"I beg your pardon for the interruption." He lifted his lips on one side to flash the dimple for which he was quite well known. "I never like to interrupt a beautiful lady when she's speaking, but your carriage is ready, and the innkeeper—"
"Oh!" She blinked at him as if he were a piece of furniture that had rearranged itself unexpectedly. "Oh, thank you. Mary, the carriage. Come, we mustn't keep the horses waiting, James will be—"
She didn't finish. She was already on her feet, in motion, pulling her maid in her wake.
Kit stood with the remainder of his charming sentence still sitting on his tongue, undelivered, while the girl in the blue traveling dress swept past him.
She didn't give him a flirtatious smile of her own.
Actually, she didn't even look back.
Kit's mouth finally snapped shut as he realized he'd been gaping after her.
The door of the inn banged shut behind her. The merchant's wife, who had witnessed the entire scene, was watching Kit with undisguised delight.
He straightened his cuffs and returned to his table. He opened his notebook, resolving to put the odd girl out of his mind entirely.
But really.
She hadn't even asked his name.
End of Sample
Be sure to check out The Unlucky Lady’s Scandalous Earl to see how charming Kit wins over sweet Lady Clarissa!