Seven
The church was suffocating.
Kitty perched rigidly in the pew, her hands clasped so tightly in her lap that the knuckles ached. The oppressive weight of innumerable eyes upon her was unbearable, their intrusion, their judgment—so thick she could feel it weighing her down to her seat.
Beside her, Jane sat calm as ever, but Kitty knew not to mistake her calm for indifference. The moment the banns were read aloud, Jane’s grip on her own prayer book tightened by a fraction, the only indication that she, too, was bracing herself.
Kitty took a sharp intake of breath as the words were read aloud.
“If you know of any just cause or impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in holy matrimony, you are to declare it.”
Silence.
Her breath was still trapped in her chest.
This was her moment. If escape were possible, it was now. But she had no justification, no excuse that would set her free. Nothing which would not be scandalous, or disastrous. She could not claim herself to be betrothed to some other man. She could not forge some atrocious offense against the duke. She had no actual remedy short of sheer refusals, and even these were crumbling. Her fists clenched in her lap.
The Mass continued, but Kitty heard little of it. The words blended into a monotonous hum in her ears, obscured beneath the storm of her own thoughts. She had fought, argued, and raged against the inevitable, and yet here she sat, expecting something she was powerless to change.
Following Mass, the congregation overflowed into the churchyard, in small groups of people. Kitty moved as if through a mist, her limbs carrying her on their own accord towards the waiting carriages.
“Kitty!”
The voice caused her to freeze. Cynthia.
She turned, molding her face into a bland smile, though she believed her eyes still betrayed her with fear and disgust.
Cynthia smiled across with the rehearsed expression of forced warmth, the same saccharine venom she always carried in her tones.
“Sweetheart, congratulations,” Cynthia said, taking Kitty’s hands in hers. “What a lucky turn this is for you.”
Kitty’s lips barely opened before Cynthia continued, her voice dripping with honeyed venom. “Oh, how quickly things change. Just moments ago, you were one of us—an equal—but now? Now you shall be aduchess. I trust you won’t forget the rest of us poor souls left behind.
The implication struck like a lash. Kitty recognized what she uttered. Cynthia believed that she had schemed, had manipulated events to ensnare the duke. To Cynthia, Kitty had risen the social ladder by deceit and scandal. The very thought sent flames racing to Kitty’s cheeks—outrage, humiliation, helplessness all commingling in a foul mix.
Before she could answer, another voice sliced through the air.
“I don’t recall my betrothed having to deceive me in order to win my approval.”
Norman.
His tone was even, but the edge in it was unmistakable. Cynthia whirled around, taken aback, though she was quickly incommand again, looking up at him with a winning smile. “Your Grace, I only meant that we are all so delighted for dear Kitty.”
“Is that the case?” Norman asked, his blue eyes almost black and unreadable. “And yet, as I recall, it was you who ensured we had a crowd that night in the garden.”
Cynthia’s smile faltered, but only briefly. “I was…merely looking out for her. I wished to keep her safe—away from Grewin of all people.”
“And yet you didn’t appear so concerned with keeping the rest of the party away.”
The following silence was oppressive and terribly uncomfortable.
Cynthia could not deny it—she had been too obvious.
So she breathed a laugh, as if the whole thing were some absurd mistake. “Well, what’s done is done. The match is made, and we can only rejoice at it.”
Norman smiled, slow and deliberate. “Indeed. You will have ample opportunity to do so at the engagement party.”
Kitty blinked. “The what?”
