“I can explain,” Kitty said, though her voice was softer than usual. Not pleading. Simply present.
“This is highly improper,” Jane said, her cheeks flushed. “Alone, in a church, without a chaperone—do you not realize how this might look?”
Norman bowed his head. “It was my fault. Entirely. I asked Kitty to remain and speak with me. It will not happen again.”
He did not see the way Kitty’s face shifted, but he felt it—something closing between them like a door shut gently but firmly.
Jane stared at them both, flustered. “Speak with you? About what?”
Norman straightened. His voice, when it came, was measured. “I have been contemplating organizing a play for the second week of the engagement party. I thought it might provide some entertainment—some collaborative amusement. I wanted Kitty’s opinion on which work would be most fitting.”
But Kitty shook her head. “I should go.” She did not wait for anyone to protest. “Forgive me.”
Without another glance in his direction, she turned and swept down the aisle, her footfalls quick and quiet against the stone. Norman watched her go, his heart hammering as though she’d taken something essential with her.
Jane gave him a long, measured look. “She seemed… upset.”
“She is not,” he said. “Merely tired. It’s been a long afternoon.”
Richard raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
Norman cleared his throat. “We were discussing a play. For the engagement celebrations. I’ve narrowed it to three choices:The Merchant of Venice,She Stoops to Conquer, andThe Rivals.”
Jane frowned slightly, still half-turned toward the door Kitty had exited through. “That seems… harmless enough.”
“It is,” Norman assured her. “Entirely harmless. We were merely talking.”
Richard stepped forward, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. “And yet she fled as though she’d just confessed to high treason.”
Norman forced a small laugh. “She’s dramatic. You know Kitty.”
“Indeed,” Richard said quietly. “We do.”
Jane tilted her head. “You seem… flustered, Norman. You’re never flustered.”
“I’m not,” he said, too quickly again.
The silence that followed stretched taut between them, the kind that pressed down with expectation. Jane’s brows drew together. Richard studied him as if waiting for a better lie. Or a better truth.
Finally, Norman exhaled. “I overstepped. Spoke too plainly. Kitty took it to heart.”
“To heart?” Jane echoed.
“She misunderstood me.”
Jane looked as though she wanted to ask what, precisely, had been misunderstood, but she relented. Barely.
“Well,” she said, glancing at Richard, “I suppose a play is a harmless distraction.”
“I believe so,” Norman said, grateful for the lifeline.
Richard gave a slow, knowing smile. “Then perhaps I’ll volunteer for Shylock. Since you seem so intent on misdirection.”
Norman blinked.
“I only mean,” Richard continued with faux innocence, “that you might make a better Bassanio. Or rather… Antonio.” He glanced toward the door where Kitty had gone. “The melancholic man who gives everything away for love.”
Norman gave him a withering look, but it lacked teeth.
