Chapter 19
As Kit looked down the length of his aunt's dining room table, he found himself excessively grateful he'd accepted this invitation to supper.
He'd said no to another invitation to be here—mostly because he'd been aware that Clarissa would be at the other party, and he had no interest in watching her smile at Lord Hartley.
But now, as he eyed this marvelously odd ensemble around him, he was particularly grateful he'd opted to join his aunt's small gathering instead.
Uncle James used to say that Philippa had a gift for collecting wounded birds. He'd said it with great fondness, because he'd been one of them—a shy, bookish duke who'd needed a wife bold enough to prod him into being the leader he was meant to be.
Looking around this table, Kit thought his uncle had understated the matter. His aunt didn't just collect wounded birds. She also built them a nest and helped them fly.
Charlotte, Estella's young sister, was holding court at the far end of the table, regaling Lord Blackwood with a story about a cat she'd befriended near the mews. It involved, as far as Kit could follow, a stolen fish and a coachman who was still furious about his ruined boots.
"And then he hissed at me," Charlotte said, eyes wide.
"The coachman?" Blackwood's tone was so serious, Estella bit her lip to stop a laugh.
"The cat," Charlotte said. "But then guess what he did."
Estella tried to interject. "Charlotte, perhaps Lord Blackwood doesn't wish to hear about a stray cat."
"On the contrary," Blackwood said. "This is the most engaging story I've heard all week."
Charlotte beamed. Estella sighed. But the exasperated sound was in direct contrast to her indulgent smile.
Meanwhile, Blackwood gave Charlotte a conspiratorial wink.
Blackwood, who'd spent years scaring London society, had been transformed into a willing accomplice to an eight-year-old. If that wasn't proof of his aunt's gift for transformation, nothing was.
And then there was Thea. She'd arrived with a book, which she'd set beside her plate and was reading between courses.
The duchess had given the book a pointed look when Thea sat down.
Thea had given the duchess a pleasant smile in return.
Neither had commented further, and Kit suspected this was a battle his aunt had long since lost.
The duchess presided over them all with an expression of long-suffering affection. She corrected Charlotte's elbows, redirected Estella's fretting, ignored Thea's book, and smothered smiles at Blackwood's dry observations.
It was, Kit realized, the warmest room he'd been in since his uncle was alive.
But even so. He was still miserable.
"You're brooding," his aunt observed.
He feigned affront. "I am not."
"Then why do you look as though you're attending a funeral?" his aunt asked.
Charlotte looked over. "Whose funeral?"
"No one's," Estella said quickly.
Kit forced a smile for Charlotte's sake more than anything. "I'm merely thinking. It's been known to happen."
"About Lady Clarissa?" Charlotte asked brightly. She turned to Estella. "Is he thinking about Lady Clarissa? Everyone says he's in love with her."
"Charlotte." Estella's voice held a warning.
Charlotte pouted. "Well, they do."
Despite her warning to her sister, Estella turned to him with a look of concern. "Are you worried about her?"
Kit took a sip of his drink. "Lady Clarissa is doing perfectly well.
She is currently at a musicale. And she's almost certainly in attendance with Lord Hartley, who is a perfectly decent gentleman.
" There was a silence, and he felt compelled to add, "I'm glad she's found someone who appreciates her attention. "
The dinner guests stared at him with varying degrees of disbelief.
"Truly," he added. "I'm glad she's well away from the shame of my tawdry affairs."
"I don't see why you should be ashamed of that," Thea said, not looking up from her book. "It's not your child."
Kit froze with his drink in midair. The table went silent. The duchess set down her glass with a clink and turned to Thea. "I beg your pardon?"
"Hmm?" She looked up, blinking as though surprised to find everyone watching her. "Oh." She looked at Kit with an expression of concern. "Was that not common knowledge?"
"Miss Evermore," the duchess said. "What exactly do you mean?"
Thea glanced at Charlotte. "Perhaps this isn't suitable for—"
"Oh, do let me stay!" Charlotte pleaded.
Estella was already standing and gesturing to a maid. "Charlotte, darling, why don't you go to the kitchen and see if Cook will let you have a taste of dessert early?"
"But—"
"I'll tell you everything later," Blackwood murmured.
Charlotte brightened and let the maid escort her out without further protest. When the door closed, every eye turned to Thea.
She looked to Kit. But when he continued to sit there, frozen in surprise, she set down her book.
"Well, it doesn't make sense, now does it?
Lord Stratton arrived in London already in debt.
Hardly a man who can afford a mistress in the first place.
" She paused. "Additionally, if the gossip is right, Lord Stratton wasn't even in the country during any time in which a woman could have…
" She looked around, her cheeks turning pink.
"Well, all I'm saying is that biologically speaking I do not see how the child could be his. "
The room went very quiet.
Kit looked around the table. Four faces, four expectant expressions.
His aunt's eyes were darting back and forth as if she were reading an invisible book. Thea's brows drew together in genuine concern. "Was this supposed to be a secret, Lord Stratton? Oh, I am sorry for speaking out of turn."
Estella and Blackwood tried to reassure her, but Thea was looking at him.
Was it a secret? Yes. But he felt a tightness in his chest ease at the thought of telling the truth.
His aunt turned to him with a frown. "Kit. Is this true?"
He nodded. "The child is my father's."
Estella exhaled. Blackwood muttered something. The duchess closed her eyes.
He told them the essentials. The affair, and the abandonment. Clementine alone and pregnant. It was hardly appropriate talk for such a gathering, but no one seemed to notice.
"Why didn't you tell Clarissa?" Estella asked.
Kit opened his mouth, but then closed it.
"Your father." The duchess's voice was flat and cold. "He threatened you."
Kit weighed his words. The duchess's voice might be cold but her eyes held a fire that was, quite frankly, terrifying. The last thing he needed or wanted was his aunt flying off in a fit of rage and confronting the duke.
"Not me," he finally said.
The duchess's look turned calculating. "He threatened the girl."
He supposed his silence was answer enough. "Aunt Philippa, it doesn't matter—"
"It matters a great deal. That man is not fit to—" She stopped short, visibly calming herself. "But that is a conversation for another time."
Thea spoke up again. "The rumor itself is curious though, don't you think?"
"How do you mean?" Aunt Philippa said it casually enough, but Kit did not miss the look that was exchanged between her and Blackwood.
Thea, however, seemed oblivious. "It spread too quickly, and with too much detail.
The ton knew all about the woman. Where she was lodging, and that she was with child.
" She frowned. "Gossip is quick, but usually vague.
" She turned to Kit with concern again. "Is there someone who might want to harm your reputation?
" Her eyes widened in alarm. "Or perhaps sabotage our dear Clarissa? "
Another look passed between the duchess and Blackwood, and Estella dipped her head to avoid Thea's quizzical stare.
Something was going on here, and he didn't particularly enjoy being kept in the dark.
"What is it?" he asked. "Is there something I should know?" The silence that followed was damning. Kit looked to his aunt. "Aunt Philippa."
She looked at Blackwood, who gave her a small nod.
"What I tell you now must never leave this room," the duchess said. "I need your word. All of you."
She looked to Kit and Thea, and they both nodded quickly.
Kit sat very still as he listened to the tragic tale. Aunt Philippa explained how her sister Lydia hadn't actually died in the fire two years prior. She was alive, hiding with her son—Barrington's son.
Barrington, who they suspected set the blaze to kill her.
When she finished, the table fell silent for a long moment. Finally, Kit looked up. "What does this have to do with these rumors?"
The duchess sighed. "Barrington has a vendetta against me. He doesn't know Lydia survived, but he does know that I ruined his chance at marrying an heiress he'd sought out. I told enough influential members of the ton about his true character that he was forced to leave England."
"But he's back," Blackwood growled. His hand was clenched in a fist, and he saw Estella place a calming hand on his arm.
"You think he's trying to discredit your family?" Kit hedged.
To be honest, it seemed like a stretch. But then again, Kit was still trying to reconcile the fact that his aunt's dead sister wasn't actually dead at all.
"We know he's been investigating your aunt," Blackwood said. "He's been watching her movements and digging into her affairs. We don't know his purpose, but I would not put it past him to use rumors about you to hurt your aunt."
Aunt Philippa stared down at the table, her expression shuttered.
Thea had been silent, but she spoke up now. "If Barrington is investigating your finances…" She frowned, looking at each of them in turn. "Your Grace, if he's traced the payments you've made to Kit and has been spying on your personal affairs…"
Kit's mind leapt ahead to the conclusion she was drawing and his whole body went cold with horror. "Then he knows about my arrangement with Clarissa."
The duchess inhaled sharply, her eyes flashing with fire.
"He may have been behind the mistress rumor," Blackwood said. "And if his spies have been digging into your protege and followed the financial trail—"
"He could have figured out that Kit was paid to court Clarissa." Thea finished when Blackwood stopped. "And he'll make certain everyone else knows too."
Kit was on his feet before he'd fully processed the thought. The chair scraped against the floor.
"The musicale," he said. "When did it start?"
"An hour ago." Estella looked alarmed. "But do you really think—"
He was already heading for the door.
"Kit!" his aunt called after him.
He didn't stop.
They could be wrong. He hoped they were wrong.
And hopefully he was just being paranoid.
But his gut churned and his pulse raced, because some part of him knew it to be true. His aunt's enemy had ammunition to ruin him and his aunt's new protege with one nasty whisper.
And Clarissa could be walking straight into an ambush.