Chapter Five #2
“Let us just say that what they lack in musical ability, they make up for in sheer volume and enthusiasm. A near-lethal combination for the ears of any unfortunate listener.” He lifted his eyes to hers over the top of the next invitation.
“Should she happen to invite you in person, it is my recommendation that you contrive to have some ailment which will regrettably prevent you from attending.”
Kate’s eyes widened. “They’re that bad?”
Elliot said soberly, “My ears were ringing for a solid week. Shrill concertos followed me into nightmares in which I was pursued by a villainous viola. I woke convinced I was on the verge of being strangled with its strings.”
That dimple flashed once more in her cheek. “All right,” she said, pursing her lips against the smile that tugged at her mouth. “I shall contrive to be otherwise engaged should Lady Beresford happen to request my presence.”
“Lovely,” he said approvingly, and passed her another invitation. “This one—”
“Ah,” she said, squinting to read it. “Lady Havisham’s garden party. Will there be cake, do you think?”
“There always is, and I haven’t had any in such a long time.” He was aware that his voice had drifted toward a plea, pitiful and mewling. “And she has got two daughters of marriageable age, you know, Kate, and I don’t dare attend without you at my side to render your opinion of them.”
“Have I got clothes suitable for a garden party?” Kate asked.
“You ought to have, but you have got an appointment with the modiste today, besides.” Between her ready-made things and whatever the modiste could manage to supply on short notice, she ought to be outfitted well enough for it.
“Then we’ll accept it. But you owe me a trip to the theatre in return.” Kate gave a little sigh as she turned her attention once more to her plate and picked at her food. “And it had better be the best cake I have ever had in the whole of my life.”
Elliot snickered. “It will be, I promise you. And Devon has got a theatre box which he will not be making use of this Season. We can go to the theatre whenever you like.” He filtered out a few more invitations, reducing the stack further.
“Some of these will be dreadfully dull,” he said as he handed the remaining invitations to her.
“But these I think you will enjoy. No balls just yet”—not until she had a few suitable gowns—“but a few dinner parties ought to suffice.”
At the very least, they would give her a smooth introduction to society. Kate had loved hearing his stories of London, but he had never fooled himself into imagining that she would find herself instantly at ease amongst the Ton.
The worst of it was, he couldn’t say that her apprehension was misplaced.
Ton society could be cruel and capricious, judgmental and unkind, most especially to those perceived as pretenders to their exalted ranks.
Scores and scores of the nouveau riche had, despite their wealth, found not acceptance within the upper echelon of society, but a succession of doors shut, politely but firmly, in their faces.
And Kate was wise enough to be cognizant of the fact that, even if she was, in point of fact, a gentleman’s daughter, it did not mean that the Ton would cede a place for her there amongst the titled lords and ladies who had long been Elliot’s contemporaries.
That uncertainty was scrawled upon her face even now, and likely had been ever since she had retired evening last, no doubt to pore over the invitations he had left in her hands.
People she didn’t know, who might or might not prove welcoming to the stranger in their midst.
She had never been more than five miles from her home, and he—he wanted to give her the whole of the world. But he couldn’t make her want it. He could only help her to find a place within it for herself, and hope that if she could find it, she might want the place at his side into the bargain.
Kate shifted in her seat, staring down into the tea cup held in her hands as if it might contain some unfathomable bit of wisdom there at the bottom.
“Dinner parties,” she said, rolling her shoulders like a weight too burdensome had settled upon them.
“I suppose they’re…somewhat different to dinners at home? ” she ventured.
“They are, er—a bit more fashionable, I suppose,” Elliot said.
“People in town keep later hours than is usual in the countryside, and there are more guests, more courses served. But it is mostly the same otherwise. Dinner and conversation.” From the weak smile she gave, he knew this had not reassured her.
“We’ll start small,” he said, and reached across the table to pluck a letter from the stack he’d returned to her. “This one is tonight.”
“Tonight!” Her shoulders went taut again, stiff with strain beneath the worn fabric of her dressing gown. “But so soon? And without warning to your intended hosts?”
“They’ll forgive me,” he said. “Richard and Rebecca—that is, Lord and Lady Crewe—are my closest friends here in London. And, incidentally, I saw Richard in passing evening last at my club. Of course, he reprimanded me for haring off to the countryside without so much as a by-your-leave, when I had not yet given my answer—”
“Of course he did,” Kate said primly, tipping up her nose.
“—But when I informed him that I had brought you back with me, naturally he assured me that the invitation was now extended to you and your mother as well. I gave him my acceptance then and there.”
“Oh, Lord,” she sighed. “Mrs. Norris was right. You are an incurable gossip.”
“A gossip! I merely apprised Richard of my situation. And so he will inform his wife.” Elliot drew in a short breath. “Likely Rebecca will have words for me,” he acknowledged. “For burdening you with my personal affairs.”
“She sounds lovely,” Kate drawled dryly, a touch of wry amusement clinging to the corner of her lips.
“Does she? I had hoped she would, particularly because she’ll be taking you and your mother to the modiste today.”
“What!” Kate’s jaw dropped open, appalled by the suggestion. “You cannot mean for me to prevail upon the kindness of a woman who does not even know me.”
“Well, I can’t take you,” Elliot said, in what he had hoped was a reasonable tone. “But Richard assures me she had no particular plans until the evening—the dinner party, you know—and she will be thrilled to meet you—”
“Thrilled to meet me?” With a quizzical cant of her head, Kate frowned at him in confusion. “Why?”
Ah, hell. Elliot crammed a massive bite of toast into his mouth and chewed to buy himself time to avoid the truest answer: Because he had spoken of her so often, and Rebecca had taken supreme delight in the tales he’d carried back to her.
She had liked Kate on principle from the very first, had hoped to meet her someday—and now she would at last. They would be fast friends.
He was certain of it. At least, he hoped. Desperately, he hoped.
He swallowed, and the dry toast scraped his throat on its way down.
“She’s personable like that,” he said. “And very fashionable. There’s no one I’d trust better to see to your wardrobe.
” Although now that he spared himself the time to consider it, he wasn’t entirely certain he trusted her to hold her tongue where it mattered most. As lovely a woman—a person—as Rebecca was, she had the occasional tendency to say more than she was meant to.
He was reasonably certain she wouldn’t betray the exact nature of his feelings. But he was also reasonably certain that she and Kate would get on like a house on fire. If she should switch her allegiances to Kate…
No. There was no sense in borrowing troubles. Besides, if Rebecca liked Kate half so well as he thought she might, then she could prove his closest ally.
Kate fiddled with the edge of her dressing gown, drawing the fabric tighter about her as if she might recede into it altogether. “What if she doesn’t like me?” she ventured.
Elliot suppressed a snort. “Rebecca likes everyone. There’s more danger in her liking you too well,” he said.
“For if she does, then I suspect I will be hard pressed to pry her from your side even long enough to attend an evening event.” The dubious expression that flitted across her face suggested she had not been entirely convinced.
“Katie,” he said. “You need have no worries. Rebecca is a lovely woman. She’ll like you. ”
A wisp of a sigh slid across Kate’s lips. “I suppose,” she said begrudgingly, “I must trust your judgment.”
Elliot’s lips twitched. “You could sound just the tiniest bit more confident of that, you know.”
But it wasn’t truly him she doubted. It was herself.
Until now, her place in the world had been a small one.
A grassy hill; a small flock of sheep; a cottage shared with her mother.
Only at his pleading had she stepped out of it, into a larger world.
A crueler one at times, but one he knew she could have at her feet if she wished.
Just as he had always been. Even if she did not yet know it.