Chapter Seventeen
Kitty ran her finger around the silver edge of a teacup and wondered what Cordon was doing.
Her work had gone by in a flash, especially with the memories of her time with Cordon to dwell upon as she cut out sections of muslin and inspected Alyssa’s latest project, but then Kitty’s mother had made a surprise visit and wrangled Kitty into agreeing to join her and Betty for afternoon tea.
Kitty shouldn’t have agreed, but she’d been in an unusually good mood, which had soured ten minutes after she’d arrived at Mrs. Violet’s home, when Mrs. Carter had started with her criticisms and complaints.
The seats were too hard, the nearby rosebushes were too fragrant, and Kitty’s pink, linen dress was too plain.
Kitty was surprised she didn’t have a jaw ache from grinding her teeth.
“Why, hello there.”
Kitty dropped her teaspoon, sending it splashing into her cup.
Cordon stood next to the empty seats her mother and sister had vacated seconds before to visit the retiring room.
He wore an outfit Kitty hadn’t seen before, a double-breasted brown-and-yellow coat with a high collar and a cutaway front paired with slim breeches and stockings that rose nearly to his knees.
Atop his head was a floppy felt hat with a brim so large, it was almost feminine, and perched on his nose was a pair of tinted spectacles.
“What are you wearing?” she asked with a grin.
He touched his neck. “Do you not like it?”
She wanted to peel the fabric from his body and kiss every inch of skin that she revealed. “That style was outmoded before I was born.”
He flicked the long tails of his coat and sat in her mother’s seat. “Well, it belonged to my grandfather.”
She put her elbow on the table and rested her chin on her palm. “I am happy to see you, but why are you here?”
“To talk to you, of course.” He copied her pose. “I assure you, no one else could have wrested me from my slumber.”
She covered her mouth with her hand to hide her giggle. ‘Slumber,’ as if he would still have been sleeping at five in the afternoon.
Then she spotted her mother and sister making their way toward the table. “You should go, before my mother sees you.”
He straightened. “Miss a chance to meet the lovely woman who raised you? I do not think so.” He rose in a smooth motion and dipped into a bow just as Mrs. Carter arrived at the table.
“Why, such manners,” Mrs. Carter said, flicking open her fan and waving it so that the loose, yellow curls around her face bounced. “Introduce us, Katherine.”
“Yes, sister,” Betty said. The sullen set of her features suggested she would rather have been anywhere else. “Who is this handsome gentleman?”
Kitty felt as if her skin were being stretched from her scalp. “Lord Grayson, may I introduce my mother and sister? Mrs. James Carter and Miss Beatrice Carter. Mother, Betty, it is my pleasure to introduce Cordon Shaw, the Viscount Grayson.”
The way Kitty’s mother’s jaw dropped open was comical, but Kitty felt too raw inside to laugh.
Of course, Cordon’s arrival would send her mother into a frenzy.
This was what her mother had always wanted, to feel as if she belonged in his social set.
It would likely never happen, but that didn’t mean Mrs. Carter would ever stop trying.
With each attempt, the family fell deeper into debt. But that apparently didn’t matter.
“M-My lord,” Mrs. Carter stammered, before dropping into a deep curtsey. “We would be honored if you would join us.”
“Please, Mrs. Carter,” Cordon said. “Your graciousness is matched only by the beauty and skill of your daughter.”
Mrs. Carter sprang upright and stared at Kitty as if she’d sprouted a second head. “Katherine’s skill?”
“Why, yes,” Cordon said. “Did you not know of Miss Carter’s prowess?”
“You are certain you are referring to my daughter?” Mrs. Carter asked.
Then, as if realizing the awkwardness of speaking while standing around the table, she gestured for Betty to sit and did the same, all while staring at Cordon like a glowing beacon in the night sky.
Rather than let Mrs. Carter see Kitty’s irritation at her mother’s admiration, Kitty stared into her teacup as Mrs. Carter peppered Cordon with questions, forcing him to speak at length about matters that were as dry as stale biscuits to Kitty but seemed only to endear the viscount to her mother more.
“What of young Miss Morgan?” Mrs. Carter said when Cordon took a sip of tea. “Has she done anything else to bring shame to her family?”
Miss Morgan had been caught in a compromising position with Baron Northwood, but Cordon had no intention of making that particular situation more difficult for the couple.
“I’m afraid I have never been one for gossip,” Cordon replied. He removed a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed his forehead, although it was quite cool outside.
Mrs. Carter fluttered her hands. “Yes, of course, my lord. Why, I often say the same myself. What about you, Betty?”
A gust of wind buffeted the table, nearly plucking Cordon’s hat.
Were it not for him slapping his hand atop his head, he would have been rendered hatless.
Betty was not so lucky. Her bonnet whipped away.
She lunged after it, but Mrs. Carter caught her wrist. It happened quickly, but Kitty did not miss the stern glance her mother gave Betty.
A servant ran after the bonnet and returned it to Betty, who put it back on.
“Your coat is absolutely stunning, Lord Grayson,” Mrs. Carter said. “Who is your tailor?”
Kitty tensed and nudged his leg beneath the table. Her mother could not learn that her daughter had taken male clients.
Cordon looked down at his suit. “Monsieur Opal.”
Mrs. Carter patted Betty’s hand. “What do you think of Lord Grayson’s coat? Is it not fine?”
The young woman crossed her arms. “You look very fashionable, my lord.”
Kitty held back a snort. That was the furthest thing from the truth, which Betty knew, judging from the way she spoke, as if every word were being pulled out of her by force.
Kitty remembered how difficult it had been living with her mother.
She sympathized with her sister, who no longer had Kitty to deflect Mrs. Carter’s attention.
“Betty has been preparing for her debut,” Mrs. Carter said.
Kitty sipped her bitter tea to keep from speaking. This was a topic she dared not discuss or she would risk causing a scene.
The table was silent for a long moment, until Betty jolted upright, as if Mrs. Carter had kicked her beneath the table.
“I am very excited,” Betty said, in a tone that suggested the exact opposite.
“There you are,” an unfamiliar voice said. “I thought I heard your voice, Miss Beatrice.”
Kitty had been so focused on her mother and sister that she hadn’t noticed anyone approaching their table. When she looked up, she felt as if a bucket of cold water had been poured over her.
Mr. Blaylock stood with a hand on Betty’s chair. He wore a black frock coat, loose-fitting beige wool trousers, and a tall top hat. Struck through his cravat was a pin with a silver spider. He smirked, and the hairs on Kitty’s neck stood up.
“Ah, Mr. Blaylock,” Mrs. Carter said. She smiled tightly. “How lovely to see you again.”
Her not inviting him to join them spoke more to her disapproval than her words. Unfortunately, Mr. Blaylock was not so easily dissuaded, and soon, a servant appeared with another chair.
“Do you know Viscount Grayson?” Betty asked. “Lord Grayson, this is Mr. Reginald Blaylock. Mr. Blaylock, Cordon Shaw, the Viscount Grayson.”
Mr. Blaylock shook Cordon’s hand. The exchange lasted longer than necessary and made Kitty wonder if the two men had met before. Then Mr. Blaylock unbuttoned his coat and sat beside Betty, who—to Kitty’s horror—fluttered her eyelashes.
Cordon’s hand found hers beneath the table and squeezed.
“No,” Kitty whispered.
“What was that, Katherine?” Mrs. Carter asked.
Kitty looked at her mother and couldn’t tell if she were being serious. Mrs. Carter could not possibly be aware that she’d invited a criminal to sit with them.
“Miss Carter and I have met.” Mr. Blaylock adjusted the brim of his hat. “I had the opportunity to visit her wonderful shop.”
Betty’s brows knitted together. “Reginald, you didn’t tell me you know my sister.”
Mrs. Carter’s brow furrowed. “Beatrice, you do not have leave to refer to Mr. Blaylock in such a casual manner.”
Reginald. Reg.
Kitty bit the inside of her cheek as she remembered how Betty had talked about a suitor she liked of whom Mrs. Carter did not approve. Had Kitty realized ‘Reg’ was Mr. Blaylock, she would never have allowed her sister to depart her shop without first shaking some sense into her.
She couldn’t let the criminal wheedle his way into her sister’s life.
If his presence was meant to intimidate her into paying him faster, then he had succeeded.
She would empty her bank accounts to rid Betty of the unpleasant man.
If that wasn’t enough, she’d beg Cordon for help.
For Betty, she would put her pride aside.
Betty, who was blushing as a servant poured tea for Mr. Blaylock.
That was not a good sign. Kitty had never seen her sister act so flirtatiously with any man.
Nor did her mother seem to notice, although she might have been too distracted attempting to extract a promise out of Cordon to call on Betty.
Typical of Mrs. Carter, more concerned about advancing her social status than protecting her own daughter from an entirely inappropriate suitor.
“If you could visit my shop again tomorrow morning, Mr. Blaylock,” Kitty said loudly. “I would be pleased to settle your account.”
She hadn’t earned enough, but she would visit the pawnbroker and sell everything she owned if she had to.
Or, much easier, ask Cordon. It would be awkward, as she despised owing anyone and her relationship with Cordon would make it that much more uncomfortable, but being indebted to Cordon was better than having a criminal edge his way into Betty’s life.
The man paused in the motion of lifting a cream cheese sandwich to his mouth. “That will not be necessary, Miss Carter.” He set the sandwich on his plate. “Now that I am officially courting Miss Beatrice, your services are no longer required.”
“Mr. Blaylock,” Mrs. Carter said in a tight voice. “Please refrain from discussing such matters before you are officially betrothed.”
Kitty stared, uncomprehending, as he moved several more tarts and biscuits to his plate.
She had never been adept at understanding what people were actually trying to express when they spoke in such a carefully polite manner, but she had the distinct impression he meant she no longer needed to pay him.
Had her father come to his senses at last?
That would not explain why Mr. Blaylock was sitting at their table, despite being far too old for Betty. Mrs. Carter might not mind, but Kitty would have much preferred her sister to cultivate suitors closer to her age. Ideally ones who were not criminals.
Mr. Blaylock had to be using Betty to intimidate Kitty. It must have been a threat, a way of saying if she did not pay him, he would take Betty away. That made much more sense than a man like Mr. Blaylock suddenly being generous enough to forgive a loan.
His presence made it more difficult than normal to ignore things around her that otherwise would have been minor annoyances: the uncomfortably hard chair in which she had been sitting for hours, the rhythmic clicking of Betty’s nails on her teacup, the biscuit crumbs caught between Kitty’s teeth.
Then Mr. Blaylock put his hand atop Betty’s on the table, and Kitty could no longer take it. If she remained sitting, she would lose her temper, which would only aggravate Mr. Blaylock.
“I apologize, but I must return to my store,” she said as she stood.
“I would be pleased to escort you,” Cordon said.
Mrs. Carter narrowed her eyes. “Katherine, you cannot simply leave. Especially not with him.”
Cordon snapped his fingers, and a veiled woman dressed in mourning black appeared from behind a topiary like magic. She was so tall that Kitty had to crane her neck to make out her sharp cheekbones and vibrant blue eyes, barely visible behind her heavy veil.
“Seraphina, may I present Mrs. James Carter, and her daughters, Miss Katherine Carter and Miss Beatrice Carter? And Mr. Reginald Blaylock. Everyone, my cousin, Seraphina Lysander, the Dowager Countess of Kilkenny,” he said.
Mr. Blaylock inclined his head. Betty was so busy staring at Mr. Blaylock that she hardly seemed to notice the new arrival. Then there was Mrs. Carter, who practically squeaked with excitement.
“Countess Kilkenny! A lovely surprise. You are, of course, welcome to—”
“I shall act as chaperone,” the dowager countess said in a soft voice. Then she turned and strode away, forcing Kitty and Cordon to hurry and follow behind her.