Chapter 3

G iven that it was considered highly improper for young ladies to simply loiter about, wandering the streets without a clear destination, it was a tricky enterprise for Kitty to do exactly that without looking as if that was what she was doing. She had brought her maid along with her, but there were really only so many times that the pair could pass before the Cluett house before it became obvious.

The multiple trips down the sidewalk proved useful in an unexpected way, however. Kitty had become quite adept at Noticing Things, which served her well in the ton; young ladies had little power and assets at their disposal, and information (or gossip, if one were being less charitable) was about their only real bargaining chip. These powers of observation were setting off alarms in Kitty's head, but she could not figure out precisely why.

The Cluett house was never exactly famed for its hospitality, but there was a new air of coldness about the grey stone edifice that was almost palpable. The shades were drawn tightly, though it was the middle of the day. The outer door was closed up securely, indicating that the family was not at home to unexpected visitors. The whole house almost had the look of abandonment, as if the family had quit London and retired to their estate.

Kitty frowned. She had not considered that possibility, that perhaps Lady Cluett had simply pulled up stakes and followed the ton to Bath and other points south. Seth would have been dragged along behind his mother, likely with little to no warning. It was entirely possible that Kitty was risking her reputation for no good reason.

Bertha, her maid, seemed inclined to agree. "It's getting on toward four o'clock soon, Miss," she said, her eyes darting about. "You wouldn't want to be caught out of doors as evening falls."

"Don't fret, Bertha," Kitty said, reassuring her without much conviction. "We'll be on our way shortly."

"Best we were on our way, Miss," Bertha insisted, worry limning her face. "I've heard-tell that the Bow Street Runners have become enthusiastic in their efforts to arrest women of a—a certain profession," Bertha said, her voice dropping to a scandalised whisper.

"Bertha, are you suggesting that I could be mistaken for—" Kitty began.

"Oh, no, Miss, no," Bertha said, her face blanching a little. "Not by any person with sense in their head, but the Runners…" She gave a little shrug. "I've heard that they're arresting any unaccompanied women found out on the streets when the lamplighters come out."

"That's absurd, Bertha, all of London would be locked up at the Brown Bear," Kitty said, dismissing her and craning her neck to survey the sidewalk as she made a great show of shuffling onward all the same.

Bertha obediently bowed her head, her white cap hiding her forehead. "All the same, Miss, I've heard that they're picking ladies up far outside Covent Garden now. Some are being pinched just for leaving home without their bonnet or shawl!"

Kitty gave Bertha a level look. "As I clearly have both, I imagine we'll be safe from the Runners for a little longer," she said, gesturing up to her bonnet. It was a rather fabulous confection, creamy silk with a dark brown ribbon about the crown, tied beneath her chin to one side. Silk flowers in complementing earth tones and dusty pinks nestled on one side, with a spray of curled feathers completing the look. It was a particular favourite of Kitty's, and she fancied it quite becoming.

But Bertha was right; she'd wasted quite enough time making herself look ridiculous. In spite of her bravado, she drew her soft cashmere shawl tighter about her shoulders, determined to set off for home. She couldn't help but sigh; it was an inglorious end to a promising attachment, if the end it was.

Kitty had just turned back to hurry Bertha along, heedless of where her feet were taking her, when she ran smack into something so solid that she stumbled back awkwardly half a step.

"Miss Johnson?" Mr. Cluett asked, peering down at Kitty, who was a little dazed, and not just from the impact. "Please, forgive me, thought it might be you, and—and I wished to see you."

"Think nothing of it," Kitty said breezily, attempting to appear unconcerned. "I'm always happy to run into you," she added with a winning smile. She fancied that any man would be smitten with her in this moment, for she had not only been blessed with a smile that turned her cheeks into adorable little apples, but she had taken great care with her toilette.

She had worn her favourite walking dress in a dark pink silesia that bordered on orange. The bodice was cut in a deep v, filled with a wine-coloured satin that was pleated. Matching buttons on the sleeves and back were complemented by sparse embroidery in the same shade. Her hair, though hidden by her bonnet, was curled and elegantly drawn back, with a braid crossing from ear-to-ear. Soft curls hung down by her face, highlighting her eyes that always sparkled with good humour. Her shawl was a paisley printed cashmere of surpassing softness, which was draped elegantly through her elbows.

Mr. Cluett smiled at her pun, looking a little dazed himself. As much as Kitty would like to have taken credit for his befuddlement, something seemed amiss with him. Her eyes narrowed a little, roving over his face. There were lines near his mouth, and his eyes were hooded and tired.

"What is it? Are you unwell?" Kitty asked, her teasing nature giving way to genuine concern.

"I am fine," Seth said, clearly.

Kitty was unconvinced, and stepped back, observing Mr. Cluett closely. This was always a welcome pastime for Kitty, who could by all accounts be considered something of an expert on the fashionable male form. Her eyes danced over him, noting the fine cut of his jacket, black in colour with a velvet collar, that matched the black velvet band around his black hat?—

"Oh—oh, Mr. Cluett, you are in mourning !" Kitty realised, placing one gloved hand to her mouth. "Oh gracious me, please do forgive my glibness. If I had known, I never would have?—"

"No," Mr. Cluett said firmly, shaking his head. "Don't apologise; you are a welcome respite from…" He trailed off, but indicated the house, dark and dreary as if it, too, were mourning.

"Might I be so bold as to ask whom you are in mourning for?" Kitty inquired, stepping slightly closer again.

"My father," Mr. Cluett answered simply, his shoulders falling just a little.

"Your—the Viscount? Dead? But how? He was the picture of health when we saw him last spring!" Kitty exclaimed. She struggled with the urge to place a comforting hand on his arm.

"Not sure," Mr. Cluett said. "Happened far away, Egypt. Hard to get information out of there just now. Having to get his affairs in order, and trying to—to bring him home." He paused, swallowing hard.

"And all of this has fallen to you?" Kitty asked. She did not bother to check her impulse to place one hand on his arm. "You poor thing, what a dreadful time this is for you." Kitty had met some men who could not stand to be pitied, even when it was born from genuine empathy; Mr. Cluett was not that sort of man.

In fact, he looked relieved—rueful, perhaps—but relieved. Tentatively, he raised one of his large hands and placed it over Kitty's, his touch surprisingly tender for a man of his size. Kitty knew all too well what sort of burden had just been abruptly dropped onto him. He had no doubt assumed that he still had years of freedom before him, but now…

Kitty's eyes flicked to the house. "Is it just you and Lady Cluett in there?"

Mr. Cluett—now Lord Cluett, Viscount of Shropshire—nodded glumly. "Butting heads just now."

"That isn't difficult to imagine," Kitty muttered.

"Perhaps you can help," Mr. Cluett said, brightening a little. "Something of a moral quandary, and an outside perspective may help."

Kitty shifted a little, not wishing to intrude on such a familial conflict. "I will if I can, of course."

"Mother insists that I go to Egypt and return Father home to the family crypt in Shropshire," he explained, his brown eyes sad. "But they've already buried him there—in Egypt—and it seems a terrible thing to disturb him."

Kitty was taken aback. This was not what she had expected, but she could see that the new viscount was indeed greatly troubled. "I suppose they'd have had to bury him quickly, with the climate," she offered weakly. She could feel his eyes on her still, even as she looked down and away, out over the street. "Your father, he was a great traveller, wasn't he?"

Mr. Cluett nodded. "Never sat still for long."

Kitty bit her lip, afraid that she was about to put her polished walking boot into her mouth if she wasn't careful. "He was not particularly at peace at home, then?" When Mr. Cluett shook his head, she soldiered on. "Then I would let him rest where he was happiest. If he wished to be in Shropshire, he would already be there, no?"

Immediately, Mr. Cluett's face brightened a little. It seemed as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "That is precisely what I thought as well. Not sure I'd want to be taken from the place I love, either."

In spite of the bleak conversation, Kitty found that she could not keep herself from smiling at Mr. Cluett. "I know that this is not something you likely wish to hear just yet, but I think you will be a very good viscount."

Mr. Cluett—Lord Cluett—smiled in answer, his cheeks colouring slightly. "I was going to write to you," he confessed, "but wasn't sure what to say. Terrible at letter writing, you know."

"Yes, I know," Kitty replied gently.

"But then I thought I saw you passing by, and thought I'd take a chance," Mr. Cluett said, his face smoothing into a kind expression that made Kitty's heart glad.

"We've been to Newton's," Kitty said by way of explanation, and Bertha, recognising her cue, obediently lifted her basket with a few books prominently stacked within.

"Glad you were here," Lord Cluett said quietly, but emphatically.

It was only then that Kitty realised that her hand was still on his arm, with his own bear paw of a hand covering it still. Her eyes shifted to their joined hands, and after a moment, Lord Cluett's gaze followed hers. Gingerly, and with surprising gravity, he lifted her hand in his, clasping her fingers gently as if he meant to bend and press a kiss to them. Kitty's breath hitched for a beat, for she truly thought that he meant to do so right there, in the midst of a London sidewalk.

He did not, merely pressed her fingers that so perfectly curled around his hand. His other hand came up to gently cover her hand so that her fingers were caught between his. Despite his superior size and strength, his touch was remarkably soft; at no point did Kitty feel like she would have to exert more than a butterfly's strength to withdraw.

"Wish I could invite you in, but…" he trailed off, his eyes flicking to the house again.

"It's not the best time for you to introduce me to your lady-mother," Kitty finished for him. "Yes, I understand."

"Things will be chaotic for a while, and I don't know when I shall be able to see you again," Lord Cluett said unhappily. "But I shall write to you, I promise," he added hurriedly, a steely look passing over his face.

"I can't tell you how much I look forward to it," Kitty murmured, giving him another smile, her eyes shining, her cheeks lightly blushing.

"Can't tell you how much seeing you has cheered me—like seeing the sun from the bottom of a well," Lord Cluett said a little breathlessly, staring at her with all of his affection writ large on his face.

Kitty laughed softly, airily, placing her free hand overtop their joined hands. "I shall await your letter with all eagerness."

If Kitty had been anxious that the new Lord Cluett meant to kiss her hand on the street, she was equal parts thrilled and terrified when it looked as if he might actually kiss her lips. They stared into each other's eyes, pulled toward each other as if caught by gravity. Kitty knew it was improper, she was a respectable young lady, and respectable young ladies did not allow young men to kiss them on the street. Still, her breath came quicker and faster, her lips parted softly, waiting?—

" Ahem ," Bertha said, abruptly and noisily clearing her throat.

The interruption brought Kitty back to reality, and she blinked up at Lord Cluett, who pulled back to a respectable distance. Kitty looked about, remembering where she was. She gave Lord Cluett's hands a last reassuring squeeze.

"I will wait for your letter," she said, her words weighted significantly. Lord Cluett nodded slowly in reply, and Kitty knew that he understood exactly what she was actually saying.

With great reluctance, Kitty withdrew her hands. The separation was stark and sharp. It took all of her willpower not to look back at him as she began her slow journey back home. She flexed her hands, fingers feeling oddly cold and light now.

"I hope he doesn't realise we're going back the direction he saw us coming from," Bertha muttered under her breath.