Chapter 27

The ballroom was positively packed with people, though Kitty suspected that more than a few of them had arrived simply to ogle, checking if they might see any lingering traces of Cluett's temporary reduction in circumstances. There was clearly more than one guest turning vases over, checking for maker's marks, or trying to ascertain if the furniture was hired.

"You would never have guessed how nearly cucumbered they were just a few weeks ago," Sir Wright mused. Kitty shot him a look, which he caught. "Do not mistake me, I am not as snobbish as many of the ton; no, I rather admire someone willing to scrabble their way up the slippery slope."

Kitty bit her tongue and put as neutral an expression as she could on her face, for they were approaching Lady Veronica. Seth was nowhere in sight instead of standing next to his mother and receiving guests as he ought to be. This clearly was trying to her, but Kitty doubted any of the other guests would notice her clipped manner of speaking and the tension around her mouth.

When it was their turn before her, her face seemed to relax fractionally. "Sir Wright, Miss Johnson, how delightful it is to see you," she practically purred. "And all the more delightful to see you in each other's company."

"It was kind of you to include us, Lady Cluett," Sir Wright responded. Kitty could feel a crease forming between her eyebrows from the familiar phrasing that he used, as if they were already attached.

When their brief audience was concluded, Kitty made her way to the table laid with embossed dance cards, the cords to hold them on decorated with silk tassels. She picked one up, and as she was sliding it onto her wrist, she said, "I do hope you are not intending on following me about like a dowdy old chaperone all night."

Sir Wright turned a sly expression onto her. "Why should I not?"

"Because I have every intention of dancing with who I please tonight," Kitty said, adjusting her glove beneath the cord of the dance card. "And it would be unseemly for us to be constantly in each other's company. You may claim your two dances now, but that is all that may be permitted."

"Is that an iron-clad rule?" Sir Wright asked, looming in her direction slightly.

"It is, as no formal attachment exists between us. Neither of us will be helped by unkind gossip," Kitty declared firmly. Before he could say anything else, Kitty made as if she had spotted friends across the ballroom, and left him standing there quite alone.

It was a risky thing to be unchaperoned in public, but she figured that as a member of the household now, Lady Veronica was technically her guardian. Kitty was content to take a turn about the ballroom, seeing and being seen. She could hear the trail of whispers that followed in her wake, but she frankly did not even care anymore. What misery could the ton possibly inflict on her at this point? It was freeing, in a way.

The musicians began to play in earnest, signalling that the dancing was about to commence. Kitty had made a full circuit by then, and was standing just next to Lady Veronica. It was a relatively sheltered place, as no one would dare to gossip about her within earshot of the hostess.

There was another young lady to Lady Veronica's left, one that Kitty did not recognise. She had strawberry blonde hair neatly styled, and the sort of face that one was happy to see anywhere. She was pretty, not in the arresting, undeniable way that Kitty's best friend Eva was, but more in the sort of way that would guarantee she was the prettiest girl at any country fair. There was a freshness about her, as if she were not burdened by any of the secrets or hidden desires of the rest of them yet.

And yet it was her eyes, somewhere between green and brown, that Kitty was truly struck by. There was a lively, snapping intelligence in them; they moved restlessly, taking in everything about her. It was these eyes that pinned Kitty in place, peering around the viscountess. The strange girl clearly wondered who Kitty was, and how she came to be at the viscountess' side, for Kitty wore an identical expression of curiosity on her face.

Their mutual curiosity was interrupted, however, by an unexpected arrival. Seth simply was there, standing before them. Lady Veronica looked visibly relieved.

"Oh Seth, darling, I'm so glad you're here—I thought we might nearly have to open the ball without you," she said through a strained smile.

"Have every intention of opening the ball," he replied, but his attention remained fixed on Kitty. She wished desperately that he would look anywhere else but at her, but wasn't sure if she could stand it if he did.

"May I present Miss Magdalena Alcott?" Lady Veronica said a little louder, clearly trying to interrupt whatever was happening right before her. "I'm sure that she would be thrilled to open the ball with you; she's kept her dance card quite empty just for that purpose."

"I should like to dance with Miss J—Miss Catherine," Seth replied.

"Well, perhaps she is already spoken for," Lady Veronica replied through clenched teeth, as if Kitty were not standing right there and could overhear every word.

"She is not," Seth replied readily, "her card, too, is empty." Without breaking eye contact, he reached into his inner jacket pocket and withdrew a pencil. It was not a fancy one like most gentlemen used, filigreed and gilded, but was plain lead. Wordlessly, he lifted the pencil, and Kitty found her wrist automatically rising so that he might pencil his name in with deliberate, clear letters.

At last, Seth broke Kitty's gaze, turning instead to stare at his mother with squared shoulders. "It is the least that we owe her," he said firmly. "We have asked much of her, and it is a trifle compared to what she deserves."

Lady Veronica looked mutinous, as if she might argue the point. Seth's eyes moved from side to side, and Lady Veronica followed the movement; this was when she realised that there were any number of people standing about, listening eagerly. There was clearly some sort of story at work here, one which would satisfy their curiosity and lust for gossip. It was owing to this that Lady Veronica's mouth snapped shut with a click of her teeth.

With no further obstacles, Seth offered Kitty his hand. After only a moment's hesitation, Kitty found herself giving in, laying her hand over his and following him willingly, eagerly even, out to the dancefloor. A kind of hush fell over the crowd for a moment as they, along with a few other select couples, took their places. This was to be expected, as music was to begin shortly.

What was not expected, however, was the quiet rushing sound of whispers that swelled through the crowd immediately after, swelling like a tide. There was little doubt in Kitty's mind that they were discussing her: Who was this one-time heiress, now a penniless lady's companion, and why did she attract the attentions of not one, but two , rich and titled men?

"Kitty," Seth murmured, low and soft so that only she could hear. "Do not pay them any mind."

For the first time in quite a while, Kitty felt a real smile bloom across her face. Seth still held her hands in preparation for the opening strains of the dance, and he squeezed gently, reassuringly. For the moment, Kitty put away her anxieties and dedication to playing her role, and allowed herself to be Kitty—not Catherine, not Miss Johnson. Just Kitty. The music began, and all of Kitty's doubts melted within the first few notes.

It had always been a bit of a difficulty to dance with Seth, not because she did not want to (she ardently did), but because while he was a good man and a good many other things, one could never have described Seth as a great dancer. There was a kind of galumphing awkwardness in his movements, which he was keenly aware of. Combined with his own natural bashfulness, it made him excessively discomfited with so many eyes on him, which was only exacerbated by his lack of grace. Kitty had first suspected that she loved him because he was willing to put himself through the ordeal of dancing in public simply because she loved it so.

This was not so anymore. He moved through the steps with a kind of careless ease, as if they were wholly unimportant. Gone was the tension, the hesitating steps and nervous clutching of hands. He was quite at peace with his body, his own solid frame and manner of moving. When he took Kitty's hands, it was with great care. He was no Josiah Galpin, and he never would be, but Kitty was no less awed by his transformation.

"You look a bit astonished," Seth commented.

Kitty grinned openly at him as they held hands, skipping sideways together. "I am a bit astonished," she said as she passed under his arm, stepping nimbly around him. "Of all the things I thought you might learn in the Canadian wilderness, the finer points of dance was certainly not one of them."

Seth rumbled a laugh, which only made Kitty's smile widen. "You're right, though—I did learn a lot of things out there."

"Such as?"

"How to fell a tree," he listed, "how to learn how to tell if an axe is well-balanced, how to keep food safe from bears." He paused, his eyes going distant. "I learned about silence, how to be completely still and just listen to the world. How to read the stars, the smell that trees make just before a storm comes in."

Kitty listened, enraptured. She had never heard him string together so many words in a row. "My Lord, have you been hiding a poet's heart all this time?" she breathed, gently teasing him.

Seth chuckled and blushed again. "No," he said, shaking his head a little.

They danced in silence for a moment. "I never got the chance to ask you what it was like out there," Kitty said at length.

"It was…" Seth paused, both to apparently gather his thoughts, and because they were separated, pairs of dancers passing beneath their joined and raised arms. "It was just so much more than I had ever thought existed. It was lonely, but familiar—no, comforting. I was content there. Well," he amended, "almost content. I did not expect to find so much joy and satisfaction in working the land."

"I know what you mean," Kitty thought, thinking back to her own time with the viscountess and the strange tasks that it had been necessary for her to undertake. "I'm not sure that I could ever go back to just being a lady of leisure now."

Seth's eyes glanced to the far end of the ballroom, where Sir Wright stood next to his mother. Kitty followed his gaze, and felt her cheeks grow warm again, this time from shame. "Are you certain that is not the future you want?" he asked quietly.

A wave of sadness swept over Kitty, causing unexpected tears to sting her eyes. "Very few of us get what we truly want in this life," she said, fixing her eyes wide so that the tears would not fall.

There was nothing for Seth to say to that. His hands took on a heaviness then, as if her words had weighed him down. There was no more joy in his dancing, no light spark between them. It was simply one more tragedy that Kitty had to endure.

The song ended, and Kitty and Seth both remained still, hands still linked for a moment, both loathe to let go. Kitty stared up at Seth, her eyes swimming with unshed tears, and Seth searched her face for understanding.

"I believe your mother has selected a bride for you," Kitty said quietly, her voice breaking a little on "bride." Gamely, she swallowed back the rest of her emotions and soldiered on. "You should try to love her. She…she may be a good helpmeet, and her face is comely. What more can any of us expect?"

And with that, she released Seth's hands, turning away and dabbing at the rims of her eyes delicately with a single gloved finger. She did not even care that the tears would ruin the fine silk, which she figured was a true measure of the depths of her misery.