Chapter 6
She truly didn't remember him.
Kit turned this fact over in his mind as his aunt poured tea for her. Lady Clarissa Whitfield. So. The mystery woman who'd so thoroughly caught his attention had a name.
And she'd entirely forgotten him. Or…she was lying.
He narrowed his eyes on the pretty, wide-eyed young lady sitting with her hands clasped so neatly.
If she felt his eyes on her, she didn't show it.
"Lady Clarissa." Aunt Philippa's voice was warm but measured. "I do apologize for the commotion. My nephew has a habit of speaking before thinking. It is his least attractive quality, though competition for that distinction is fierce."
"How kind," Kit murmured.
Lady Clarissa did not look over. In fact, she had not looked at Kit since entering the room. She hadn't so much as acknowledged his existence since those three words. Have we met?
"Of course, Your Grace," Lady Clarissa said quietly.
And then she went back to silence. Kit's brow furrowed as he considered this woman before him. Have we met?
Perhaps they hadn't met. Because this young lady—while just as pretty and graceful—bore little resemblance to the lively, excitable, breath of fresh air he'd encountered at the coaching inn.
No, this young lady before him was nothing like that. True, she was seated across from a particularly formidable dowager duchess. And yes, she was taking tea with the heir to a dukedom. So it was only right, he supposed, that she be more reserved.
But this was not that.
He frowned as he took her in. So composed. With her teacup held just so, she answered the duchess's questions quietly and with the bare minimum of words. Yes, she was staying with her brother, Lord Alderton. Yes, she was enjoying the Season. Yes, she was grateful for the duchess's kind invitation.
All lies. Kit could tell. While she was doing a decent impression of a calm, polished young lady, she was not nearly as good at pretending as he was.
He leaned forward to catch her next response.
What was happening here? Why was she trying so hard to be…well, boring? She might be confused for any young lady he'd met in society over the years. All timid voice, agreeable phrases, and no personality.
As he studied the young lady, the duchess outlined her proposal in careful, diplomatic terms. She spoke of patronage, introductions, and the power of being seen with the right people.
She did not mention fees, he noted. Nor did she mention her charming nephew and his part in this plan. He bristled at that. He was offering to play a rather large part in this farce.
Clarissa listened politely, and her expression gave nothing away.
"I appreciate the offer, Your Grace," she said when the duchess had finished. "May I have some time to consider?"
The duchess dipped her head. "Of course."
A few more formalities passed between them, as Kit continued to be well and truly ignored. Not a state he was used to, really. Particularly not with young ladies present. He had to bite his tongue to keep from interrupting.
Finally, Lady Clarissa rose. "Thank you for the tea."
She curtsied to the dowager duchess. And then she left. Without so much as a glance for Kit.
The door closed behind her, and the drawing room settled into silence.
"Well," Aunt Philippa said. "I suppose that went as well as one could hope."
He didn't answer. Mostly because he didn't agree. He wasn't sure what to make of that interaction, but it hadn't left a positive impression on him, that much he knew. All in all, he was unsettled.
His aunt turned to face him. "You don't suppose she heard us talking before she entered, do you?"
He did not know. But if she had heard, then she was a far better actress than he'd given her credit for. He shook his head to reassure his aunt, who looked truly concerned. "I doubt it, no. But do you think she'll agree to it?"
The duchess considered, and Kit felt his whole body tense as he waited.
He wanted her to agree. Nay, he needed her to. First and foremost, he needed the money. He wouldn't be able to get a good night's sleep until he knew he had the funds required. Secrets were not cheap, he'd learned of late. And subduing potential scandals was an expensive business.
"I suppose we shall find out soon enough," his aunt finally said.
He frowned down at his boots. That was not the answer he'd been hoping for. His aunt continued talking, but he found himself back to tallying sums. If Lady Clarissa agreed, and he got his first payment within a fortnight—
"Kit." His aunt's voice cut through. "Are you listening?"
He was not. So he took his best guess at what she'd been saying. "Hmm? Yes. It went well. Absolutely."
Aunt Philippa studied him. "You recognized her, did you not?"
He didn't bother to deny it. His first words upon her entrance had rather given it away. It's you!
"I thought I knew her," he said.
Have we met?
He moved the toe of his boot over the rug, feigning interest in the pattern. "Perhaps I was mistaken."
"Mmm. It seems you must have been." Something in her tone had him looking up, and the glint of amusement in her eyes irritated him. "It was clear she did not recognize you."
He sighed. His aunt was far too delighted by that fact. And he could admit—his pride stung. He wasn't typically overlooked by young ladies. And he wasn't certain he'd ever been forgotten.
Straightening, he pushed away from the mantel. "I saw her once," he said. "Before I arrived in London. It was nothing."
"Was it?" the duchess mused. She clearly didn't believe him.
"Truly," he said. "It was a mere passing of strangers. It wasn't as though we were properly introduced."
Or introduced at all, for that matter. She'd never even asked his name. And he hadn't asked for hers either. If he had, he'd have known that she was Lady Clarissa.
Cast-Off Clarissa.
The nickname came back to him and for the first time he fully pieced it together. Cast-Off Clarissa was Lady Clarissa. And Lady Clarissa was the vibrant, effusive, passionate young lady he'd seen at the coaching inn.
And the young lady he'd seen at the inn—
Well, he wasn't certain where she'd gone, but she hadn't been present here today.
Maybe he'd imagined her. Or maybe he'd thought of her so many times, his memory had made her out to be more spectacular than she truly had been. Or…
He winced.
"What is it?" his aunt asked.
"I was just thinking." He forced a smile as he met his aunt's searching gaze. "It's regrettable, that's all. If I'd asked her name back then, if I'd made the connection sooner…"
He thought of how he'd seen her in passing at the ball the other night. She'd looked away quickly, and at the time he'd thought it was because she was shy. Perhaps even a little embarrassed at how she'd run out of the coaching inn.
But really, she just hadn't recognized him.
"If you'd made the connection sooner?" the duchess prompted.
He smiled. "Perhaps I could have spared her from this current situation."
The duchess studied him for a moment before nodding. "Yes. I imagine she might have been better protected from such nasty gossip if you'd been by her side."
His smile disappeared. He hadn't really expected her to agree so quickly. His guilt only worsened.
"But that's all the more reason you ought to help her now," the duchess continued. "If she is agreeable, of course."
His lips curved up on one side. "And if the fee is agreeable to me…of course."
His aunt sighed, but when she met his gaze, he could see she'd decided. "Very well," she said. "If Lady Clarissa is amenable—you have a deal."