Chapter 9
The picnic was Estella's idea, but it had the duchess's fingerprints all over it.
"It's just a small gathering," Estella had said that morning when she'd called on Clarissa at John's townhouse. "Lady Pemberton hosts one every year in Richmond. Everyone goes. It'll be lovely."
Clarissa soon discovered that while the picnic was indeed lovely, it was neither small nor particularly picnic-like.
It was an elaborate outdoor affair spread across a sweeping lawn, complete with pavilions, servants carrying trays of cold meats and iced lemonade, and nearly a hundred members of polite society pretending to enjoy the grass.
"There are ants," Mrs. Lennox observed soon upon arrival.
Clarissa bit her lip to keep from smiling.
They'd found a spot near a large oak, which Mrs. Lennox approved of on the grounds that it provided shade and a clear view of all approaching persons. Estella spread a blanket. Clarissa arranged herself on it with her ankles tucked neatly to one side and her hands folded in her lap.
New Clarissa had arrived, and she was silent.
It lasted approximately four minutes.
"Oh, look at the ducks!" She was pointing before she could stop herself.
A line of them was waddling across the lawn with tremendous purpose, heading for the lake.
"There must be eight—no, nine. The little one at the back is having trouble keeping up.
Do you think he's all right? He seems smaller than the others.
Maybe he was the runt. I had a runt kitten once who—"
She stopped. "Er…sorry."
Mrs. Lennox seemed to be assessing the ducks as a potential threat. But Estella was watching her with warm amusement. "One should never apologize for noticing ducks." The laughter in her eyes had Clarissa smiling back at her.
Before she could respond, a familiar voice called across the lawn. "Lady Clarissa! And Miss Hale. What a delightful surprise!"
Kit was striding toward them with his arms spread wide and wearing an expression of such astonished pleasure, Clarissa had to bite her lip to stifle a laugh.
"Lord Stratton." Estella played her part with admirable composure. "How unexpected."
"Completely unexpected," Kit agreed loudly, settling himself on the grass beside their blanket as if he'd been invited. "I had no idea anyone I knew would be here."
"No?" Clarissa said. "So what did bring you here?"
Kit kept an innocent expression, but his eyes glimmered with amusement. "The fresh air, of course."
"Ah, of course," she returned.
"Mrs. Lennox." Kit turned to her with a smile of such warmth that a less stoic woman would have melted. "A pleasure, as always. You're looking very well."
Her expression said she was not impressed. "I am looking the same as I looked yesterday, my lord."
"And very well you looked then too."
Mrs. Lennox's lips thinned. She was not charmed. Clarissa found this deeply reassuring. Not every lady in London had fallen victim to Kit's charm.
Just the majority of them.
Even now their little ensemble was the center of focus in a way it had not been before Kit's arrival. Everywhere she turned, Clarissa saw young ladies peering at them—nay, peering at Kit—over their fans, or from beneath lowered lashes.
The attention was enough to have Clarissa shifting with discomfort.
Kit turned to her next. "Lady Clarissa. What a pleasant surprise."
"You knew I'd be here," she said. No one was close enough to hear them, so she was safe in calling out his lie.
"Did I?" He pressed a hand to his chest. "I don't recall."
Her traitorous lips twitched. "You sent a note to Estella this morning asking what time we'd arrive."
"That does sound like something I'd do." He lowered his voice. "But I assure you, my delight is genuine."
Clarissa pressed her lips together. He was ridiculous. The whole charade was beyond silly. But there was something so cheerfully, unapologetically absurd about the way he committed to the performance that she fought another wave of laughter.
"Shall we walk?" Kit rose and offered his hand. "The grounds are lovely, and I've heard the lake is worth seeing."
Clarissa gestured to the food Mrs. Lennox had begun to unpack from a basket. "But we've only just arrived.”
He leaned in, his tone conspiratorial. "Perhaps you've forgotten, but we are supposed to be seen walking together. It is, if you'll recall, the entire point of this exercise."
Clarissa forced a smile. She hadn't forgotten. But she also couldn't say she was thrilled at the thought of parading around in front of an audience just looking to find more excuses to laugh at Cast-Off Clarissa.
As if he could read her mind, Kit lowered his voice until it was little more than a whisper. "Have no fear, my lady. I will ensure those watching have nothing but envy and admiration in their hearts by the time we're through."
He added a wink that was definitely inappropriate, but so unexpected it made her laugh. He held out a hand again, and this time she accepted.
Mrs. Lennox was already standing and fell into step several feet behind them. Close enough for propriety but far enough for quiet conversation, provided one kept one's voice low.
But Kit did not keep his voice low. "What a beautiful afternoon," he announced, loudly enough for a passing couple to hear. "Don't you think it's a beautiful afternoon, Lady Clarissa?"
She nodded and smiled. But he wasn't finished with his performance.
"And the company—" He beamed at her then. "The company is beyond compare."
A pair of matrons turned to stare. Kit smiled at them with radiant benevolence. They whispered to each other and hurried on.
"You're enjoying this," Clarissa muttered.
"Immensely," he whispered back. "Aren't you?"
She peeked up at him. "Don't you think you're being a bit too…obvious?"
He looked at her as if she'd slapped him. "Am I?"
They'd both stopped and she tilted her face up to his. Goodness, but it was difficult not to laugh at his antics. "Be honest. Is this how you typically speak to young ladies you may fancy?"
He tilted his head to the side, his expression thoughtful. "I might."
She arched her brows. "You might? What does that mean?"
"If I ever took a particular interest in a particularly beautiful young lady such as yourself, then…" He nodded decisively. "Then yes. I do believe I would be behaving exactly like this."
"Like a fool," she said.
"Like a smitten fool," he amended.
They stared at each other for a long moment before a little giggle escaped her. His low, warm chuckle followed.
"Very well," she said, turning to continue their stroll. "Then I suppose I shall just have to bear it."
"How good of you," he teased. "Now." He gestured grandly toward a bed of flowers. "Shall I compare you to those roses? They pale in comparison, obviously. Your beauty makes them weep with inadequacy."
Her stifled laugh came out as a snort. "The roses are wilting because it's been dry."
He didn't even hesitate. "Because they've seen you and have lost the will to compete."
She pressed her lips together. Hard. Her shoulders were beginning to shake. "Stop it," she whispered.
"Stop what?" His face was the picture of innocence. "I'm merely expressing my sincere and heartfelt admiration for—"
"You are performing for the shrubbery."
"The shrubbery deserves to know how I feel about you."
His earnestness was what did it. Another laugh slipped out, but this one was too loud and utterly unladylike. She pressed her gloved hand over her mouth—but it was too late.
Kit's grin widened. "There she is," he said softly.
Her cheeks grew warm at the look in his eyes. It was very sweet. One might even say…tender.
Of course, it was all just for show. She looked away. This man was being paid to be charming, for heaven's sake. They were supposed to be fooling others. There was no way she would allow herself to be fooled.
And so, with a little shake of her head, she resumed walking. Kit fell into step beside her. A pair of young women passed, one of whom glanced at Kit with clear interest and then at Clarissa with barely disguised surprise.
Her? With him? The girl might as well have shouted it.
"People are looking," Clarissa whispered.
He smiled down at her. "Then it's working."
"They're wondering why you're with me," she added. She just barely stopped herself from babbling on. Doesn't that bother you? Aren't you worried about your reputation?
But no. She supposed an heir to a dukedom—and a handsome one at that—need not worry about his reputation. He could afford to be seen fawning over Cast-Off Clarissa.
"By tomorrow the story will be—" He affected a gossipy whisper. "'My dear, you'll never believe it. Stratton spent the entire picnic walking with Lady Clarissa Whitfield. He could barely take his eyes off her. I heard he compared her to roses.'"
"To wilting roses," she pointed out.
"Details." He made a scoffing sound. "The ton doesn't care about that. It's a good story they want, and that's what we'll give them."
She considered this. He wasn't wrong. The ton had created Cast-Off Clarissa from a few scraps of gossip. And if gossip could destroy, perhaps gossip could rebuild.
"A story," she repeated. That smile tugged at her lips again. "I like that."
"I thought you might." He moved closer until his arm brushed hers. "You're terribly good at telling stories. Creating a new story for Lady Clarissa should be an easy feat for you."
"Mmm." She nodded slowly. "A new story for Lady Clarissa. I like that. But…" She turned to him. "Must I speak of myself as though I were a stranger?"
His face grew absurdly serious. "Of course you must."
They both just barely stifled a laugh this time.
"So tell me," he said. "What would your hero do now?"
"Well," she mused. "I suppose he'd find this Lady Clarissa highly entertaining."
"Oh?"
She nodded. "She's not beautiful enough to have caught his attention with looks alone."
He stopped short. "Who said so?"
She choked on a giggle at his affronted tone. "I say so."
He opened his mouth to argue, but she held up a hand and continued. "I am the author of this story, if you'll recall."
He looked comically wounded, but clamped his mouth shut.
"So yes," she continued. "Lady Clarissa must be extraordinarily amusing."
"Done." Kit threw his head back in a laugh that was so loud it startled not just her but the birds in the tree branches overhead.
As they flew off, she turned to find that every guest on every neighboring picnic blanket was watching them with blatant curiosity.
"See?" he said, clearly pleased with himself. "Now you're entertaining."
"So," she said slowly. "I suppose this means I could say absolutely anything right now, and as long as you react as though it were charming, the people watching will assume I'm fascinating?"
He nodded. "That is the general idea, yes."
"Rutabaga," she said.
Kit stopped walking. He stared at her.
"Rutabaga," she repeated with great dignity.
He laughed. Not the practiced, too-loud laugh he'd used earlier. This one was real, and it had Clarissa grinning along with him. Mrs. Lennox cleared her throat pointedly behind them.
"Rutabaga?" Kit managed, once he'd composed himself.
"I was testing the theory," Clarissa said. "It appears to hold."
"Shall I expect to be tested often?" he asked.
"I reserve that right, yes," she shot back.
They grinned at each other. And for one moment, they were not a duke's heir and a disgraced earl's daughter performing a courtship for the benefit of the ton. They were just two people who found each other funny.
"You're enjoying yourself." His smile lingered as he studied her features. "For real, I mean."
Clarissa nodded. "I'm starting to, yes."
"Good." He paused, but then added. "I am too."
The moment grew a little too serious a little too quickly, and it left her feeling oddly dizzy. So she said, "Turnip."
Kit snickered. "Stop."
She took a step closer. "Artichoke."
"You're a menace." But his eyes were dancing with genuine laughter.
She smiled. "Parsnip."