Chapter 2
Kit's meeting with the Dowager Duchess of Ashworth went about as well as expected.
"Absolutely not." She didn't even look up from the tea she was pouring.
Kit leaned forward. "Aunt Philippa—"
"Come now, Kit," she interrupted. "This is the first you've visited in ages. Must we spend it arguing over money?"
"I wouldn't call it arguing," Kit said. "Arguing implies two sides. I'm presenting a case and you're refusing to hear it."
"Precisely." She looked up with a smile. "Tea?"
He took the cup. He wasn't in the mood for tea, but he was already toeing the line with her patience, and he'd only asked her for the money once.
So he forced himself to sit back in his seat and relax. The drawing room hadn't changed since his last visit. The same blue silk wallpaper, the same portrait of Uncle James above the mantel.
His gaze lingered on the portrait and a sharp ache caught him off guard. It had been years since his uncle had passed, but he still missed him. And today more than ever.
Uncle James had been raised to rule the dukedom, and he'd found an equal partner in Aunt Philippa. But he'd died far too young, and without the heir everyone had expected. And now…
Well. Here they were. With his father wielding power without restraint, and his mother gallivanting around the continent with no worries at all. And Kit here. With his hat in his hands and nowhere else to turn.
"Tell me how you've been," the duchess said. Or rather, demanded.
"I've been fine, Aunt Philippa." Kit's smile came easily. "You know I wouldn't ask if it weren't important—"
"You always say that." Her nostrils flared with impatience.
"This time I mean it."
"You always say that too." The duchess settled into her chair and regarded him over her teacup. She was a handsome woman with sharp dark eyes. Her demeanor often made him wonder if she'd been a general in a past life. Or perhaps a Roman emperor.
"Aunt Philippa—"
"The answer is no, Kit. I am not in the habit of handing over large sums of money without knowing what they're for, and you have been conspicuously vague on that point."
Because he couldn't tell her what they were for. He wanted to growl in frustration. But he smiled brightly instead. "Can't a gentleman maintain a little mystery?"
"A gentleman, perhaps. But you are my nephew. And a bit of a rogue, I hate to say." Before he could retort, she added, "Where are you staying?"
"I have friends in town. Gage said he'd—"
"The boy who runs that gaming establishment?"
Kit stifled a genuine laugh at that. Not the gaming bit. That was true. No, it was the “boy” part that made him laugh.
He had a difficult time imagining anyone calling his devilishly handsome friend Gage a “boy.”
"No," his aunt continued. "You'll stay here."
"But—"
"Too late. I've already made up your room."
"You made up my room?" He choked on a laugh at the very idea. "You did no such thing."
"I supervised, which is close enough." She set down her cup. "Kit, if you are in some sort of trouble—"
"I'm not in trouble." This was true. Mostly.
"—then I would hope you'd trust me enough to say so," she continued.
"I trust you implicitly, Aunt Philippa. I simply don't need guidance or advice at the moment. What I need is a modest loan, which I will repay—"
"With what?"
A fair question.
"With my eternal gratitude and devotion?" He said this with his most charming smile. The one that worked on shopkeepers and the female population of London in general.
It did not work on the Dowager Duchess of Ashworth. Which was not a surprise as it had never worked on the Dowager Duchess of Ashworth.
"Have you asked your father?" The way her voice softened just slightly didn't help to soften the blow.
Kit's hand stilled on his teacup. Of course he'd asked his father. His father not only held all the purse strings, but he was solely responsible for the fact that Kit was in such dire straits to begin with.
He lifted the cup and took a sip. "The duke and I are not currently of one mind on the matter."
His tone was dry, but amused. It was the tone he always adopted when speaking of his father. Or his mother, for that matter. As if they were both just another a droll amusement in his admittedly carefree life.
Or rather, formerly carefree.
Aunt Philippa was quiet for a moment. Her gaze lingered on him in a way he didn't care for. He braced himself for more questions about his father. But his aunt mercifully let it go.
"Well," she said. "At any rate, I'm glad you've come. It's been too quiet here."
He doubted that. Aunt Philippa's idea of "quiet" would exhaust most people.
But he understood the sentiment beneath it.
She'd lost Uncle James far too young—a fever that had taken him in a matter of days.
And then, barely a year later, that blasted fire had claimed her beloved sister Lydia at a house party in the country.
With a pang of guilt he realized it had been far too long since he'd come to stay. His aunt was likely lonely in this large estate all alone.
"What happened to that girl?" he asked. "The one who was staying with you?"
"Estella? She moved back in with her family." The duchess's smile was small but alarmingly genuine. "She has a wedding to prepare for, you know."
"Poor thing," he murmured. More out of habit than anything. He had a reputation to maintain, and a severe disdain for matrimony or any other sort of commitment that might tie a man down—well, it was expected.
His aunt gave a little huff of laughter in response. "One day you'll learn that not all marriages are made the same." She arched a brow as she lifted her teacup. "Some are even quite pleasant."
Now he was the one laughing. "Yes, yes. You and Uncle James were proof enough of that. But I still maintain that what you two shared was an anomaly."
She stayed quiet, but amusement still tugged at the corners of her lips.
He looked around him pointedly. "Still, it is rather quiet for you," he said. "I'd have thought you'd have the house full again by now with friends or family."
"I have my projects." There was a smug mischief about her when she said it, and it made Kit laugh.
"Your projects," he repeated. "Why do I fear that your 'projects' would terrify any proper young lady in London?"
His aunt sniffed with disdain. "I do not terrify anyone."
But her eyes sparked with laughter at his teasing.
"You terrified me," he shot back. "When we first met."
"You needed terrifying. You were a young lord and still acting like a wild schoolboy."
"And now?" he teased.
The duchess almost smiled. "I do wish you'd come more often."
It was as close to an open display of emotion as he'd ever seen from her. Basically an admission that she loved him.
"I'm sorry," he said, and meant it. "I ought to have visited sooner."
"Yes, you ought." She poured herself more tea. "Now. Let's discuss the terms of your stay."
"The—" He cut himself off, too startled to finish. "You're the one who insisted I stay. If you're going to put conditions on the matter, I'll go to Gage's right this instant."
He wouldn't and they both knew it. She was lonely. And if he was being honest, he'd missed her company as well. So he'd stay, even if staying came with strings attached.
The duchess continued as if he hadn't even spoken. "The Season is well underway. You'll attend some events. You'll be seen and you'll be pleasant. In short…" Her eyes met his in a challenge. "You shall behave like the Duke of Ashworth's heir."
Kit managed not to flinch at that particular title. "I'm always pleasant."
"You're always charming, which is not the same thing." She gave him a look. "Be pleasant, Kit. Dance with young ladies. Make conversation. Let society see that you are a gentleman worthy of your uncle's legacy."
There it was.
She'd never say a word against his father directly. Not to Kit, not to anyone. But your uncle's legacy was its own kind of declaration, and they both knew it.
"I shall be a paragon," he said. "A model of decorum. Society will weep with admiration."
Her lips twitched. "Society will settle for you not being a belligerent drunk at the theater."
He feigned affront. "That was once."
She arched a brow and he shifted in his seat. "The second time was Gage's fault."
"Which is precisely why you are not staying with Mr. Gage." She stood, signaling that the conversation was over. "Dinner is at eight. Do try to be punctual."
Kit rose and kissed her cheek. "Thank you, Aunt Philippa."
He gave a short bow and left the drawing room with his most easy smile in place.
No, he hadn't secured the funds he'd needed… Yet.
But his visit had only just begun.