Elizabeth Mansfield (25 page)

She tried to hold him up by gripping him under his arms, but his weight was too much for her. The best she could do was slow down his fall, lowering him to a sitting position by going down with him. “Oh, Kit, really! How could you do such a childish thing!” she scolded, releasing her grip on him. “Letting yourself get knee-walking drunk!”

“Special occasion,” he muttered, his head falling against her shoulder. “Nappy’s trounced. Sir Arthur ... trounced ‘im.”

“Well, that
is
good news! Nevertheless, it’s no excuse for such excess. I never thought it of you.” She pushed him off and tried to prop him against the wall, but his head lolled, and before she could prevent it, he’d slid down heavily upon her, his face half-buried in her lap. From the sudden relaxation of his body and the heavy sound of his breathing, she could tell that he’d slipped into blissful oblivion.

For a moment she glared down at him, wondering what to do next. He was too heavy to lift without help, especially in this comatose state. She could wriggle out from beneath him, she supposed, but that would leave him lying facedown on the cold stone floor. Finally she decided to stay where she was. Someone would surely come along shortly who could be sent for help. Meanwhile, she would make herself comfortable. She leaned back against the wall and straightened out a leg that was bent under her. Then she looked down at him, studying what she could see of his half-obscured face. He looked strangely boyish, his lashes making a dark shadow on his flushed cheek, and a slight smile turning up the comer of his mouth. She wanted, suddenly, to smooth the lines from his forehead, touch his cheek, brush back his fallen locks of hair. She felt unexpectedly content, and giving way to the compulsion, she let her fingers make their way, slowly, tenderly, through his damp, tousled hair. It was suddenly quite pleasant to be sitting there with Kit snuggled in her lap in this dank hallway amid the scattered pieces of silverware. To her utter astonishment, she realized she was wishing that time might stand still for a while... or, since that was not possible, that she might have a good long wait before anyone found them.

THIRTY-FOUR

Kit’s head, the next morning, felt huge and hollow and filled with little men with hammers. He got up and dressed with great effort, but he had no stomach for breakfast. Although his memory of the events after he and Mickley had started drinking was not at all clear, he was quite sure he’d somehow made a fool of himself with Caro. It was a blessing, he decided, that he had no memory of the particulars. Not wishing to face anyone this morning, he hid himself away in his study, where he drew the drapes, sat down at his desk, dropped his head on his arms, and prayed for death.

A knock at the door sent a shudder through him. “Come in if you must,” he muttered.

His two aunts entered the room. “Goodness, Kit,” Martha declared in her stentorian voice, “why is it so dark in here?” She immediately crossed to the windows and threw open the draperies.

Letty studied him closely. “Aren’t you well, my love?” she asked gently. “Perhaps we should come back another time.”

“No, no,” he said, forcing a smile, although the light from the windows seemed to have set fire to his retinas. “I’m perfectly fine.” He struggled to his feet. “Is there something I can do for you ladies?”

“Yes, there is,” Martha said, pulling a chair up to his desk. “We have a plan we wish to propose.”

He crossed the room, carefully holding his heavy head erect (for he fully expected it to roll off his neck if he turned too abruptly), and drew another chair to the desk for Letty. After assisting her into it, he returned to his seat and dropped down on it with an inner sigh of relief. “A plan?” he asked.

“Yes, my dear. A very exciting plan,” Letty said eagerly.

“We wish you to hold a ball,” Martha explained.

“A
ball?
” If he had a list of a thousand things he had no wish to do today, planning a ball would probably go to the top. “Good God, why?”

“To celebrate,” Letty said with an excited gleam.

“To celebrate what?”

“Several things,” Martha said. “Wellington’s victory for one. And Arthur’s coming home from school for summer vacation tomorrow for another. And your arrival in the neighborhood, for a third. After all, Kit, you’ve been here a few months, yet you’ve never entertained the neighboring gentry.”

“I didn’t know it was necessary.”

“Of course it’s necessary.”

“You should give them a chance to meet you, Kit,” Letty said. “You don’t want them to think you toplofty.”

“Right,” Martha said with a vigorous nod. “And then there’s Caro.”

He lifted a brow. “Caro?”

“You’ve heard, of course, of her betrothal?”

Something in his chest clenched. “I’ve heard.”

“Then don’t you think that it should be announced to the public? And that there should be some sort of celebration?” Martha asked.

“I don’t see why it requires a ball,” he said grumpily.

“Because Caro deserves it, that’s why.” Martha crossed her arms over her large bosom, the epitome of matronly purposefulness. “A betrothal is a very significant event in a girl’s life, you know.”

“Perhaps the most significant,” Letty said in support.

“I see.” Kit glanced at his aunts in growing dismay. They wanted a ball, and they would have it no matter what he thought. He was, he realized, mere putty in their hands. “If we
did
give a ball, how many people do you think we would have to invite?”

“I’ve made a tentative list,” Letty said. “It came to thirty two. Quite a satisfactory number, don’t you think? More than a sprinkle but less than a crush.”

He groaned inwardly. “When would you wish it to take place?” he asked, feeling defeated.

“Within a week,” Martha said promptly.

The answer surprised him. He thought that balls took a great deal of planning. “Why so soon?”

“Because I would very much like to attend,” Martha said, “but I’ll be leaving after that.”

Letty turned to her in surprise. “You’re only staying another week?”

“A fortnight is time enough for a guest to stay,” Martha replied, looking suddenly uneasy.

“I don’t hold with any such rule,” Kit assured her. “You are welcome to stay as long as you like. But of course, since you love Town so much, I won’t dissuade you.”

“Good,” she said shortly, as if impatient to drop the subject. “Then you agree to a ball?” Both ladies looked at him expectantly, eager for his answer.

He hesitated. “I don’t know. I’ve never ... I have no idea of what I must do to prepare—”

“You won’t have to do a thing,” Letty chirped. “We’ll do everything.”

“Shall we say next Thursday?” Martha pressed.

Kit wanted nothing but to be left alone. “Yes, yes,” he said with a dismissive wave, “do whatever you think best.”

He stared at the door after they were gone. “A ball for Caro’s nuptials!” he muttered. “Just
what I needed!” And he let his hammering head fall down on the desk with a thud.

THIRTY-FIVE

Arthur’s welcome, when he arrived from school, was not unlike that of a soldier returning from battle. The women of the household surrounded and embraced him as soon as he stepped from the carriage. “You’re a head taller!” Caro gasped at her first sight of him. The boy
was
taller, and he seemed to Kit to be a great deal more mature than when he left. He’d quite enjoyed school, he told the family over tea, but he was delighted to be home at the Grange, free of schedules, free of books, and free of scholarly discipline. In answer to Caro’s questions, he said he’d done passably well in all his subjects but Latin. Later, when he went out walking with Kit (with Gil swinging alongside easily on his crutches), he revealed that his greatest triumph at school had been his winning of the hundred-yard dash. He had a medal to prove it.

Meanwhile, preparations for the ball were proceeding apace. Kit was only dimly aware of them. He knew that extra help had been hired from the village, that the large, hitherto unused ballroom in the east wing had been opened, that there was a great bustle of cleaning and polishing, and that several crates and boxes had been arriving daily, some even from London. But none of the increased activity centered on him. Letty and Martha, true to their word, were seeing to everything themselves. Later, he supposed, when it was all over, he would be handed the bills.

On the afternoon of the day of the ball, when the preparations were at fever pitch and what seemed to Kit a veritable army of footmen, housemaids, and kitchen help was running madly about, he spirited himself into his study to be out of the way. He’d spent the morning riding with Arthur, with Gil tucked safely in front of him on his saddle. But now the boys were occupied, Gil with lessons and Arthur pressed into service to help hang festoons on the ballroom windows. He himself did not want to hang festoons. His study, he thought, was the perfect hideaway, providing an island of peace in the midst of chaos. He was surprised, therefore, when Melton appeared at his door announcing that Mr. Halford had arrived from London and was wishing to see him. “Send him up,” Kit said, puzzled.

The solicitor entered the room with a nervous step, his portfolio tucked under his arm, his pince-nez perched precariously on his nose, and his entire appearance showing the strain of a hurried, uncomfortable ride. What was worse, Kit noticed a frown, so troubled that its cause was probably more serious than merely the discomfort of the trip from London, creasing his forehead. It was plain that the solicitor was bringing him an enormous problem. “I don’t know what you’ve come to tell me, Halford,” he greeted, rising and gripping the solicitor’s hand, “but if I’ve lost my fortune on the ‘Change, you’ve picked the worst day in the world to inform me of it. This ball my aunts have insisted on giving will undoubtedly cost me a thousand quid.”

Mr. Halford barely smiled. “Your fortune is quite safe, my lord. The ball will not even make a dent.”

“That’s a relief. But you haven’t the look of a man who carries good news.”

“My news is not good. But it doesn’t relate to your own fortune. It has to do with your aunt, Lady Whitlow.”

Kit threw him a surprised glance before motioning him to a chair beside the desk. Mr. Halford flipped up his coattails and took the seat. “My aunt?” Kit prodded impatiently.

“Yes. Her man of business, a Mr. Quentin Fleer, sold her out of the funds more than two years ago, and then disappeared with the capital. I’ve been trying to find him, but I fear it is hopeless. Meanwhile, your aunt, not knowing her capital was gone, kept piling up debts. In April, it all came to pieces. Your aunt lost every penny. I had to sell her house to keep her from bankruptcy.”

“Good God!” Kit could hardly believe his ears. “Her house?”

“I’m afraid so. The sale will be final at the end of the month.”

“Dash it, man, this will be a dreadful blow to her. At her age, it might even affect her health.” He thought for a moment and then looked up. “How great a debt is it? Do you think we can cover it and keep her going? That way, she needn’t ever know.”

Mr. Halford removed his glasses and stared at him. “I don’t think you understand, my lord. She
already
knows.”

Kit gaped. “She
knows?
That’s not possible! She hasn’t said a word!”

“I was afraid that would be the case. That’s why I came. She absolutely forbade me to tell anyone, but I thought that you, as titular head of the family, ought to know.”

“Of course I ought to know! What can she be thinking of ? If her house is gone, why did she say she plans to leave here after the ball? Where will she go?”

“I have no idea, my lord.”

Kit ran an impatient hand through his hair. “Why on earth didn’t she come to me?”

The solicitor shrugged. “I suggested that she turn to you for help, but she refused. She has a great deal of pride, I’m afraid.”

Kit made a face. “It seems to be a family trait.”

Mr. Halford nodded understandingly. “You are thinking of Miss Caroline.”

“Yes. My nemesis. I hope I’m more successful with my aunt.”

“You intend to offer to help her, then?”

“Of course. I’ll simply have to convince her to accept a gift. Can you keep from concluding the sale of the house until you hear from me?”

“I can certainly try.” He rose and put out his hand. “You’ve much relieved my mind, Lord Crittenden. I had no idea, when we first met, what a very good family man you are.”

Kit was surprised at the compliment. “Am I?”

“Indeed you are. With a very difficult family. You have my most sincere admiration.”

The solicitor refused to remain for the ball for fear of facing an irate Martha Whitlow. “She would know, the moment she laid eyes on me, the purpose of my visit,” he explained as he took his leave. After he left, Kit remained at his desk, reviewing the situation in his mind. Would he have as much difficulty with Martha, he asked himself, as he’d had with Caro? And if so, what could he do? The woman had no assets. Where did she think she would go? Did she intend, at her age, to follow Caro’s example and go into service? It was madness!