Cynthia Bailey Pratt (18 page)

“Mr. Kitson,” Mrs. Clively said, extending a limp hand. “How good of you to come all this way.”

“I assure you, ma’am, it was no trouble. I have recently established an office here and must visit occasionally anyway. And who are these ladies? Never say this is Miss Clively? I remember when she was no more than ...” Mr. Kitson coughed away the end of the sentence and touched his hair as though to reassure himself that no silver showed against the dark smoothness.

“And Miss Danita Wingrove,” Mrs. Clively added softly.

“Ah, Miss Wingrove!” The solicitor bowed profoundly over her hand. When he raised his head, his brown eyes studied her face with an interest she was not used to finding in members of the opposite sex. It was not the same look Sir Carleton gave her, full of a laughter that reminded her that he was a man and she a woman. After Mr. Kitson’s glance, she felt as if she’d just been appraised to the last shilling. Danita seated herself as her color rose.

The maid entered, laboring under a vast silver tea-tray, and put it down on the table in front of Mrs. Clively’s raven-black figure. “I am sure you are ready for refreshment after so long a journey,” Mrs. Clively said, lifting the teapot.

“Indeed, yes, ma’am. My throat is a desert cavern. Please let me help you to sandwiches. Miss Wingrove.” He took up a plate and paused irresolutely over the pyramid of foods. “Oh, the choice is almost beyond me. Let me see, elegant ladies usually enjoy potted meat and the cucumber.”

The silver pot shook in Mrs. Clively’s hand. “You should taste the watercress and shrimp, Mr. Kitson. It is my own recipe. My...my late husband doted on it. Danita can fend for herself.”

“Oh, it is no trouble to me.”

Taking a filled plate from his hand, Danita said, “You must meet a great many ladies in the course of your work, Mr. Kitson.”

“Not so much in my work. Ladies do not often penetrate into the fastness of Gray’s Inn. But I make some little play in society and certain persons appreciate my attentions very much. Some tea, Miss Wingrove?”

Berenice suddenly giggled. When Mrs. Clively finally succeeded in garnering Mr. Kitson’s full attention, Berenice leaned over and whispered to Danita, “I think you have struck him to the heart. It must be love at first sight.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” But it certainly seemed as if Mr. Kitson approved of her. As soon as he could in all politeness turn from Mrs. Clively, he once more began to attend Danita. He pressed cakes upon her, and enough tea to float a frigate.

Once, however, that the repast was done, his personality became more serious. Danita glimpsed the professional man beneath the dandyish exterior. He leaned back in his chair, a mistake for he had a slight but definite paunch, and steepled his fingers.

“As you know, Mrs. Clively, the law requires that all beneficiaries under a will be present to hear the terms of the will so that the designs of the legator are clearly understood. Now, I believe that your son, Roger Clively, is still in the Bermudas. Has he been notified of this regrettable decease?”

“I sent my son a letter almost at once. But with the seas so uncertain, I do not know how long it will be before he learns...that he has been deprived of his father.”

“Please, Grandmamma,” Berenice said, taking the woman’s small hand in her own. “You still have me.”

“Ah, but for how long? Soon you will want to marry and then...” Mrs. Clively’s eyes lifted and fixed on Danita. “Mr. Kitson,” she said. “The girls don’t need to remain and hear all this legal talk. It will only frighten and confuse them. I know the provisions of my husband’s will as well as I know my own. You mayn’t be aware of it,” her smile was quick and nervous, “but he insisted I remain in the room, though concealed behind a curtain, when you and he drew it up five years ago.”

The attorney sat forward, his fingers grasping at his knees. “I was aware of it, ma’am. Your husband slipped a note to me as I entered. I have kept it.” He lifted his case from beside his chair. Opening it, he brought out a small square of paper. Danita was reminded of Sir Carleton’s surreptitious communication to her in this same room.

Mr. Kitson cleared his throat and read with deliberation, “Kitson, my wife is behind the curtain listening to every word. Draw up this will, but also another, the instructions for which are sewn into the lining of your valise. When you bring them along for me to sign, be certain I sign my own will last.”

“Sir,” cried Mrs. Clively, half-starting from her chair. “You are discharged! I shall take my affairs from your hands immediately. Leave this house!”

“I expected nothing less, ma’am. However, I am still acting for your late husband and therefore will carry out my instructions by reading this will, which supersedes all previous wills made by Lemuel Clively.”

With a glance at Danita, Mr. Kitson began to read from the paper he’d removed from his case. It was not a long document, though difficult to follow. Only one paragraph stood out to claim all of Danita’s attention.

“I leave my great-niece, Danita Margaret Wingrove, an annuity of eight hundred pounds, to be paid before any and all other annuities herein listed. In addition, a dowry of twelve thousand pounds will be reserved for her use absolutely upon her marriage. I make this disposition in memory of the respect and admiration I held for her parents, and for my brother, Giles, who was her grandfather.”

Danita recalled Lemuel Clively’s cheerful description of his brother when she’d first met him. “A merry ramstam,” he’d said, and had seemed almost envious of the other’s merriment.

Mr. Kitson coughed again, cast a glance at the furious widow, and went on. “I further direct that Danita Margaret Wingrove in conjunction with my son, Roger Lemuel Clively, should administer to the wants of my widow, Judith, in so far as they are able, remembering that she has some fifteen thousand pounds in her own right from her maternal grandmother.”

“I protest! I protest!” Mrs. Clively shrieked, starting up again from her chair. “This will is a parcel of falsehoods. My husband never said anything of this to me! I accuse you, sir, of being in collusion with this girl, this viper I have nursed in my bosom ...” Suddenly, the older lady shut her mouth tightly. Her eyes went to Berenice, standing fascinated by the fireplace.

“Pray forgive me, Mr. Kitson,” Mrs. Clively said in a much more reasonable tone. “I am not myself. The shock of my husband’s death has left me feeling entirely lost. Of course, you shall continue to administer my ... my son’s estate business. I leave everything in your capable hands. Come, Danita, I need your arm to mount the stairs. Mr. Kitson will wait for you. You shall have much to discuss.

“Well, my dear,” Mrs. Clively said as they went up. “Now you will not require the charity of your relations. I trust you will not forget me quite, now that the world is open to you. You are a considerable heiress, you know.”

“If it would make you more comfortable, ma’am, I might find myself another set of lodgings.”

“My, my, there is no need to grow haughty. Of course, you will remain with Berenice and me. The girl has grown fond of you, as have I. And there are advantages to you in remaining in a respectable household. You may now enter society, if you wish it. No one will remember your lowly origins, I promise you.”

Reaching the door to her chamber, Mrs. Clively turned the handle. “Simmins, come and help me with my stays.”

The maid came out, somewhat blurry-eyed from being called from her couch in her mistress’s dressing room. Her sharp eyes searched Mrs. Clively’s face. Danita did not know what she found there, but soon was herself undergoing the same scrutiny. It was more unpleasant than being inspected by Mr. Kitson, who, she recalled, was waiting.

“I’d better go down, Mrs. Clively.”

“Yes, of course.”

Though years of training told her it was wrong, Danita stopped to listen at the door. The story of her great-aunt sitting behind a curtain to see that Lemuel Clively made a will according to her instructions had quite unnerved her. It occurred to her to wonder anew the reason for Mrs. Clively’s haste to return to Roselands before the news of her husband’s death could have reached her.

Unfortunately, she only heard, “Help me to bed, Simmins. I’m tired.”

Reproving herself for spying, Danita returned to the morning room and found Berenice doing her best to entertain Mr. Kitson. “And you’ve seen just hundreds of murder trials, I expect.”

“Hardly any, in fact. Miss Clively. My specialty is not criminal law.” The lovely face upturned to his was so disappointed that Mr. Kitson said, “Of course, I was in court the day Boscawen the Poisoner tried to attack His Lordship.”

“Lord who?”

“I meant the judge. Miss Clively.”

“Oh! Who did the Poisoner poison?”

“That’s enough, Berenice. Don’t plague Mr. Kitson. If you’ll take one of the maids, you may go for a walk. But please don’t go far. You know how your grandmother worries.”

When the girl had gone, Danita said, “I’m sorry she was bothering you. Girls of that age are so often interested in horrors, although I feel sure if she met with any she’d find them much less exciting than she’d thought.”

“Undoubtedly.” Mr. Kitson leaned closer and put his hands on hers, folded in her lap. “Now, Miss Wingrove, you mustn’t trouble yourself over this inheritance. Put yourself in my hands unreservedly and I’ll take care of everything for you.”

“You are very kind, Mr. Kitson,” she said, scooting farther down the settee. “All the same, I am quite used to handling my own affairs, and rather like knowing all about them.”

“Your great-uncle told me all about your accomplishments, Miss Wingrove. He was exceptionally fond of you, if I may say so.” His eyes flickered up toward the ceiling. “Indeed, I might add that it was not through his own wish that kept him from coming to your aid when you began your school. In that other will, no mention was made of you at all.”

“My great-aunt did not know what help I might require.”

“You are a good woman, Miss Wingrove, if I am not too bold. Your great-uncle had the liveliest respect for you. He told me all about your beginning a new business. He was sorry to hear of its failure.”

“You had spoken recently to my uncle?”

“I received a letter from him, asking me to come down. I wrote back immediately that I would come, but another of my clients got into a dreadful tangle and I had to remain in London an extra day. Let me apologize for that.”

“Why?”

Mr. Kitson said, somewhat embarrassed, “I believe it was in Mr. Clively’s mind to increase your share of his fortune. My delay may have cost you dearly.”

Danita laughed for the first time since her uncle’s death. “Mr. Kitson, this morning I had nothing. I was entirely dependent on the goodwill of my great-aunt and cousin. Today, you come to tell me that I have, as never before in my life, a reasonable expectation of ... of independence. And then you apologize because I am not rich.” His seriousness only added to her amusement.

Mr. Kitson, having the unalterable opinion that all women were at least slightly unbalanced, tried again to pat her hand. “Now, then. Miss Wingrove. I realize this has been quite a shock, but you must be brave and try to bear up under the strain. I am staying at the White Hart, in Bath Street, if you should require my help or advice at any time.”

“You are very gracious, Mr. Kitson. I will certainly think of you.” Yet, even while she politely promised, she thought of the strong yet elegant figure of Sir Carleton, who would be so much more useful in any emergency than a solicitor.

Chapter Ten

The only time Berenice wore black was the Sunday her grandfather’s name was mentioned during the service. So many ladies came up to Mrs. Clively and, while regretting the circumstances, had stated what a pity it was so beautiful a girl must be eclipsed by her clothing. After that, who but the highest stickler for propriety could blame the doting grandmother for slighting Berenice’s mourning three months too soon?

A few eyebrows lifted when the Clively’s party appeared at an Assembly two weeks later. However, the gentlemen, especially the young gentlemen, did not seem to notice or mind in the least. They would dance with the entrancing Miss Clively, whether she wore deepest crepe or an enchanting gown of violet silk with crystal spangles. They were too busy gazing into eyes the color of the tropic seas to notice anything else.

“Berenice,” her grandmother said when lanky Mr. Newland returned the girl from the floor. “You should pass your partners to those who have none. Danita has stood this entire time with her back to the wall.”

Though this was perfectly true, Danita had not thought to complain. This visit to the Bath Assembly was different from the last. She had noticed that Mrs. Clively did not devise a hundred little tasks for her, from fetching a cushion or a glass of bitter liqueur to speaking to the Master of Ceremonies and requesting a certain song. Rather, she had taken special pains to procure Danita a seat beside her own.

Mr. Newland was well-bred and, in consequence, could understand even a broad hint. “I’m sure nothing could honor me more. Miss Wingrove?” He held out a faultlessly clothed arm, terminating in a white glove.

Mrs. Clively nudged Danita in the rib cage. “Go on, child. You do know how to dance, don’t you?”

“I taught dancing in my school,” Danita said hesitatingly, wondering what her great-aunt meant by all this maneuvering on her behalf. Finding no answer, she stood up and took the gentleman’s arm.

Berenice hurled herself into the chair left vacant by her cousin, her underlip thrust out like a child’s. “Oh, go ahead, if you want to,” she said. “Don’t forget you promised me another set later, Mr. Newland.”

Close to, the stunningly attractive Mr. Newland resembled the image of Grecian perfection even to the hauteur in his eyes. However, this expression thawed noticeably when he turned those thickly-lashed yet masculine eyes on Berenice. “To be sure. Miss Clively, I shall never forget.”

Danita had had fantasies, in girlhood, of dancing amid an elegant company with the handsomest and most devoted of heroes. Mr. Newland was certainly formed in the heroic mode. Dancing with Danita, however, he showed all the animation of chiseled ice. He never smiled when she returned to him at the end of a figure, only bowing a scant inch each time.