“Parlor!”
“—parlor. We shall be in the parlor for a moment.”
“Yes, fetch my father!” Kitty said, a tad too dramatically.
“Too much,” Caroline hissed.
“I need to beovercome,” Kitty replied.
They hurried toward the exit, Tristan close behind them. Once they reached the parlor, however, he stopped at the door.
“We will only be a minute,” Caroline promised him.
He watched her with suspicion and amusement, which she chose not to think on too deeply.
“I’ve hidden the sewing kit in the drawer of that bureau.” Kitty pointed to the one she meant, a dark piece of furniture set against the wall. “It should have the pink thread inside.”
“You did not need to cry quite so loudly.” Caroline found the sewing kit and brought it to the sofa where Kitty sat, lifting the torn hem and putting it on her lap. She set to repairing the tear quickly.
“I wanted everyone to believe it was an accident.”
“They surely do,” Caroline muttered, then reached for the candlesticks on the short table to drag them closer. No one could have known Kitty had cut some of her hem ahead of time to make it tear easier. Neither would they believe she had planned the event with Caroline’s help.
Kitty huffed. “James was supposed to catch me, but he wasn’t in the right position.”
“We will proceed as planned.” They had no other choice, in Caroline’s opinion. They were too far in already.
“Yes, but I couldn’t swoon.”
A knock at the door startled them, and Caroline poked her finger with the needle. She hissed, then continued to work.
“Only a moment more,” Kitty called.
Caroline made quick work of the repair, then let down thegown, glad it was not terribly obvious where she had sewn. Kitty remained on the sofa, burying her face in her silk glove-covered hands. She peeked one eye out. “Let them in now. I’m ready.”
Caroline drew in a heavy breath. It was more dramatic than she’d imagined—and she had thought it a fairly theatrical plan to begin with.
When she opened the door, she found Mr. Fielding standing there, James and Tristan behind him. A servant stood in the corridor with a tray, holding a small glass of sherry.
“She is in here,” Caroline said gravely.
Mr. Fielding smiled kindly at her, then bowled past. James and Tristan trailed behind him. Caroline moved toward the sofa to come to Kitty’s aid, should she need her.
“Kitty, what is it?” Mr. Fielding asked. “Have you torn your gown?”
The servant followed with the tray, and Mr. Fielding took the glass of sherry, thrusting it toward his daughter as though he believed it would calm her.
“It’s notthat,” Kitty cried, taking the sherry. She gulped it quickly and handed it back. “Caroline has fixed the gown. How can I return to the ballroom after such an ordeal?”
Mr. Fielding looked put out by this. “With dignity. Who has not found themselves in a similar scrape at one point or another? There are many gentlemen who would like to dance with you.”
Kitty looked up at him imploringly, her eyes round. “But I don’t want to dance with any of them. I only want to dance with one man.” At this, she looked at James, who blushed deep red behind his tanned cheeks.
Mr. Fielding looked between his daughter and James. His eyes narrowed slightly. “What’s this, now?”
“I love him, Papa. When you hear the heroic thing he has done—but, no! I swore never to speak of it.”
“Kitty,” Mr. Fielding said. “You must tell me now. What heroic thing?”
