Chapter 2

M iss Kitty Johnson's position in society could never be described as "spectacular." Her father was a merchant, and no matter his successes, this association would forever taint their family. Society was willing to overlook most in the face of piles of money, but it was generally acknowledged that the Johnson family should not attempt to reach too high.

Despite her innate position, Kitty had always enjoyed the association of those with rank and title in the ton. This was due partly to her good nature, having a reputation for both wit and kindness in equal turns; those lucky enough to be numbered among her friends found her to be a most loyal companion. It was also true that she received more than her fair share of invitations because she was, in a word, adorable. Her face was a picture of angelic mirth, with a little nose and round green eyes.

Kitty had always known that she possessed these good qualities, and had assumed that she was also in possession of a generous dowry—she had no reason to suspect otherwise. There was not a shred of arrogance within her; it was merely the way of her world. When she had first laid eyes on Seth Cluett, son and heir to Viscount Cluett, she had known that he was the one for her in much the same way.

Like herself, he was inclined to good humour, though he spoke little. He was tall and broad of shoulder, a veritable mountain of a man that Kitty was quite pleased to shelter in the shadow of. She was generally the sort of young woman that appreciated the aesthetic of a strapping male specimen, and Mr. Cluett was certainly that. The fact that he was as kind and quietly amusing as he was handsome was enough to send butterflies from the top of Kitty's head to the tips of her toes.

Much as Kitty had always understood her own position and better qualities, she had simply understood that she and Mr. Cluett were For One Another. Nevermind that he had originally been in a rather questionable entanglement with her very dearest friend, Lady Eva Galpin, recently married and on her own wedding tour. There was no reason for Kitty to suspect that her own engagement would be announced in short order, particularly as Mr. Cluett had been inclined to find excuses to accompany her about London.

A few weeks passed after the ordeal with Eva with no proposal forthcoming, which did not bother Kitty. It was only right and proper, after all, to allow the dust to settle from that whole affair (which London was still buzzing about like a colony of bees). These weeks were spent in the throes and thrills of a spring romance, new and budding. Walks in the park, walks to the lending library, laughter and shy looks were their lot.

Weeks turned into months, spring melting agreeably into summer's arms. Now, Seth and Kitty enjoyed a friendly familiarity: They knew that they would dance at least twice with each other, possibly more if their mothers were suitably distracted. Flushed cheeks, shared ices in Vauxhall Gardens, impulsive gifts of flowers that Kitty dutifully pressed between the pages of thick books, a warm summer dream that she never wanted to end. Their attachment was patent to all who saw them, and the ton generally agreed that a match was well underway.

In fact, by the time the leaves were beginning to show the first kisses of autumn colour, hostesses had taken to inviting the pair of them as a matter of course. The more sentimental of the ton hostesses enjoyed the romantic air that they added to any ball or dinner, sighing and reminiscing about their own youth. The more pragmatic of the ton invited them because they were an ornamental addition to any party, inclined to keep conversation light and moving along nicely.

Kitty's own mother had begun to discreetly make preparations for the presumed nuptials, adding household linens and lengths of lace to a cedar chest. Mr. Johnson had taken to locking himself into his study for long hours; whenever the idea of an impending wedding was broached, he said nothing, but would frown with ever-deepening creases on his forehead. Kitty, in her bliss, paid his worried expression no mind.

With all of this in mind, it was inconceivable on a November morning that there was no letter in the afternoon post for Kitty, and she made her opinion known on the subject to an unflappable footman.

"There can't be nothing ," Kitty insisted, her little nose wrinkling a little in consternation. "I saw you pull several letters out from the pouch not ten minutes ago!"

"Yes, Miss, but those were intended for Mr. Johnson," the footman explained, his tone intractable.

Kitty lifted her hand, then lowered it, resisting the urge to bite anxiously on her nails, something her mother detested. "Are you quite sure there was nothing for me?" she asked again, hope causing her voice to lift. "Perhaps a letter was caught on the pouch, stuck on the flap or?—"

"No, Miss," the footman said. Though he generally had the mannerisms of a wooden post, there was a note of contrition in his words and expression.

Kitty sighed, her shoulders slumped a little. Feeling a little dejected, she mooched her way sullenly into the sitting room where her mother was busy at work with her embroidery hoop. Mrs. Johnson was clearly the mould from which Kitty sprung, sharing the same green-brown eyes and pert nose; however, whereas Kitty's hair was a voluminous mass of black curls, Mrs. Johnson's was a rich auburn.

Mrs. Johnson did not even look up as Kitty, with a touch of melodrama, threw herself dramatically onto a chaise lounge. Feeling as if her troubles were not being given enough due attention, Kitty added in a wistful sigh.

"Kitty, dear-heart," Mrs. Johnson said blithely, never looking up from her needlework, "your dramatics are noted, but somewhat underscored by the fact that you are still in your morning dress."

Kitty glanced down at herself, then lolled her head backward a little. "I didn't see much point in getting dressed," she said, gesturing to the wrapper of indigo paisley and diaphanous dress beneath. "I've nowhere to go today."

"Is Eva still not returned from her tour?" Mrs. Johnson asked as her needle continued to make perfectly choreographed passes.

"No," Kitty grumped, her characteristic good humour failing her. She was pleased that her very dearest friend in the entire world had managed to wed on her own terms, really she was, but she was missing Eva terribly. There was no one else that she could confide in, and the postal service on the Continent wasn't exactly reliable at this moment. "She and Mr. Galping decided to extend their stay in Italy for another month, leaving me quite alone in London."

"Lah," Mrs. Johnson chided Kitty. "That is not so, not for a girl with as many charms as you. What about Lady Chester? I thought you were becoming fast friends as well."

"Departed for Bath two weeks ago," Kitty sighed. "All of London has emptied, leaving just us." She turned to give a pitiful look at her mother. "Why haven't we gone? Usually the house is quite shut up by now."

Mrs. Johnson's rhythmic stitching hesitated for a moment, her hands pausing. "We've decided it is more prudent to remain in London this year," she said, her voice a little tight. She resumed her stitching with renewed vigour, stabbing at the taut fabric in the hoop. "Beside which, if we were to leave, you might not see Mr. Cluett again for some time."

Kitty's face darkened. "So not much change, then," she grumped. "At least if we were in Bath, I might be ignored in the vicinity of other amusements."

"Kitty, I do not think he is ignoring you," Mrs. Johnson sighed.

"What do you call it when you have not had a letter, not a sign, for upwards of two weeks now?" Kitty demanded, leaning forward a little. "I call that being ignored."

"Perhaps he is simply preoccupied," Mrs. Johnson suggested. "He is a young man of good expectations; it stands to reason he would have responsibilities."

"I suppose," Kitty allowed. "It is very unlike him though."

"Well, I doubt that you shall get any answers as to why sulking around the house," Mrs. Johnson said, glancing at Kitty. "It is quite unlike you, and not altogether appealing."

"What would you do, then?" Kitty asked, not expecting an answer. "I've not even been properly introduced to his mother, so it's not as if I can pay a call on her."

"I think you should take a trip to Newton's," Mrs. Johnson replied easily. "You could do with a walk."

"Newton's?" Kitty repeated, sitting up, her nose wrinkling a little again. "Why on Earth would I go there? If I wished to visit a lending library, I'd rather go to Brown's, or anywhere else. Newton's only has the most ghastly travel diaries and pamphlets on farming."

"Yes, but Newton's is a much better walk," Mrs. Johnson insisted.

"How do you figure that? It's all the way on the other side of the park, near—oh. Oh , I see," Kitty said, clasping her hands together. "I believe Newton's is in very close proximity to the Cluetts' townhouse, no?" Mrs. Johnson said nothing, but gave Kitty a significant look. "Why Mother, are you suggesting that I loiter about on the sidewalk in the hopes that I might meet Mr. Cluett?"

"I'm suggesting you take a leisurely stroll with your maid, as is good and proper. Whomever you might meet on the way is entirely your own affair," Mrs. Johnson replied coolly.

Despite her determination to make her misery known, Kitty's better nature quickly won out, and her face broke into a gleeful smile. With bouncing energy, she leapt to her feet, already mentally ransacking her wardrobe for the perfect ensemble. She was nearly out into the hall when she abruptly stopped, whirled around, and scurried back into the sitting room to press a quick kiss to her mother's cheek.

In the next moment, she was out in the hall, yelling for her maid in a manner that caused her mother to sigh loudly. Any worries that Kitty had been harbouring were banished in the face of a plan; Kitty was naturally a creature of action, and always felt better when she was in motion.

I will see Mr. Cluett, and I will remind him precisely why he is smitten with me , Kitty thought confidently as she mounted the stairs to her room. There was no doubt in her mind that he was, in fact, smitten; why should she think otherwise? Already, the prospect of seeing him had put a rosy glow into her cheeks and a demure little smile on her face.