Ruth pinned the green. “I can’t remember exactly. That you’re a widow aged twenty-seven. That you’d run your household in London for many years.”
“Mere rooms,” Kitty protested.
“But your own establishment. I tried to give the impression that you were sound in body and mind.”
“An effort, was it?”
Ruth chuckled. “I sometimes wonder about the mind bit. I don’t forget you persuading me to slip out of school to visit a fair.”
“Nor do I,” Kitty said as she pegged out a shift. “We fled back to the school in terror.”
“You did it again the next year.”
“And you refused. Very wisely, I’m sure.”
“But that’s when you met Marcus.”
“Yes,” Kitty said.
She’d repeated the adventure simply to prove to herself that she wasn’t afraid, but she hadn’t intended to stay long. When she’d seen the scarred and wounded man leaning against a low wall, however, crutch propped beside him, she’d felt his despondence. She’d asked if she could help him in some way. He’d smiled and she’d seen the vibrant man beneath, so she’d kept him company for a little while.
Older and wiser now, she could see all the ways that adventure could have been disastrous, but Marcus had never been that sort of wretch. They’d talked of trivialities, but the bond had been forged. He’d responded to her interest, and she’d fallen in love with the vision of herself as ministering angel to the wounded hero.
He’d been in Leamington to take the spa waters and consult with a doctor there. The school servants were easy to bribe, so they’d exchanged messages and even managed occasional meetings until he’d left. A month later, it had been time for Kitty to leave school. Marcus had turned up in Coventry to court her in traditional form. Not long afterward, they’d married in her parish church amid orange blossom, tossed wheat, and smiles.
“Sad memories?” Ruth asked.
“Just memories. What did you tell Lord Dauntry about my appearance?”
“I don’t think he asked.”
“That doesn’t mean it won’t matter.”
“There’s nothing wrong with your appearance.”
“I’ve never been a beauty.”
“If only beauties married, the world would be an odd place.”
“Those without beauty or fortune often stay single. Don’t look at me like that. You wanted me to be practical.”
“And honest,” Ruth said. “Whenever we schoolgirls encountered young gentlemen, they were attracted to your charm.”
Charm?Kitty pondered that as she pegged out a pair of drawers. She’d forgotten those times, but perhaps Ruth was right. Swains had been drawn to Ruth’s prettiness, but Kitty had never been neglected. Marcus had been attracted to her for more than her compassion for a wounded soldier, and his army friends had sometimes flirted with her.
Sometimes too much.
Marcus had liked her to be his hostess and been proud of her popularity, but sometimes and unpredictably, he’d take objection to one man’s attentions. He’d even tried to duel with one of them. After that, she’d tried to deflect attention. When she thought back, it seemed it had become less necessary as she’d aged. Ruth was remembering a past nearly a decade old, not the way Kitty was today.
She moved to a new line to hang out her russet gown. Perhaps she’d wear that for her interview. It was the most sober color of her premourning gowns and it had long sleeves and a high neck. Unfortunately, it was trimmed with braid in a military style. That had been the fashion four years ago, but it wasn’t popular in peacetime.
She told herself Lord Dauntry wasn’t seeking high style. He wanted a sensible woman to manage his household. The brown could be just the thing. If not, it would have to be gray or fawn. The violet silk was an evening dress, and both the green and the blue too frivolous.
She picked up a pair of stockings, but then looked around. “Sillikin? Sillikin?”
She slung the stockings back on the line and hunted around the open area and along the hedge. Both gates were still closed. “Sillikin! Come, girl!”
She heard a bark, but it was at a distance. Over the lavender hedge she saw her dog, hindquarters wriggling in joy at her escape. “How did you get there, you bad dog? Come back.”
