“Ohhh. Because you want him to marry you for love.”
“Exactly.” She colored when she realized what she’d said. “Not that he’s interested in marrying me. I mean, he barely knows me. I suppose you could say he knows me from the letters, but—”
“Cass!” her cousin said. “I get the point.”
“Right. Sorry.” Even she acknowledged she had a tendency to go on and on sometimes.
“And you are far too prickly about your inheritance.” When Cass started to protest, Kitty held up her hand. “Not everyone is after you for your fortune, despite what that fellow you fancied in Bath told his friends.”
“It’s not about him. I’m just not ready to marry yet.”
“Hmm,” Kitty said, clearly not believing her protest.
Time to change the subject. “By the way, Colonel Lord Heywood mentioned how much your letters entertained him. Apparently Douglas always read them to his friend.”
“Of course he did. You write very amusing letters.”
“You told me what to say,” Cass said. “They’re stillyourletters.”
Kitty snorted. “You chose all the words and put them into sentences. My telling you to describe our visit to some assembly hardly makes what’s written in them mine. All the droll remarks and lovely turns of phrase are yours.” Kitty’s shoulders drooped. “I suppose we ought to tell the colonel the truth. That I’m stupid.”
“Don’t say that. You aren’t stupid.”
“If I weren’t, you wouldn’t be writing my letters. I get words mixed up all the time, Ihatereading, Captain Malet chides me for telling stories wrong, and—”
“Don’t youdarelisten to that scoundrel!” Cass looped an arm around her cousin’s waist. “He doesn’t know anything. You merely have different abilities.”
“That’s what Mr. Adams always says.”
Mr. Adams?Cass examined Kitty’s face. How odd that she would mention her mother’s solicitor. As a widower with two small children, he seemed like someone beneath Kitty’s notice. But he did have a kind heart, and his earnest features were quite handsome.
Still, Kitty had to know that her mother would never countenance such a marriage to a man of trade.
Cass smiled. “Mr. Adams is quite right. You draw well, you sing like an angel, and your needlework is exquisite. You have plenty of qualities men prize in a wife.”
Looking glum, Kitty pulled away from her. “Like my fortune.”
“And your beauty and kindness and sweet temper. Any man would want to marry you. So I doubt your future husband will be disappointed that you can’t pen entertaining missives or tell a good tale.”
“But I do so wish I was clever like you.” A heavy sigh escaped Kitty. “That’s why I’d prefer that Douglas not find out I can’t even write him a decent letter.” She lifted her gaze to Cass. “Do you think you might promise not to tell the colonel about that? Because he’ll surely tell Douglas.”
How could Cass resist that sweet, anxious face? “I promise. You keep my secret and I’ll keep yours.”
It wasn’t as if she was likely to see the colonel after tonight, anyway. His family lived all the way over in Lincolnshire, almost forty miles off, and she lived here. Besides, he was only on a leave of absence. He’d be gone back to Portugal by the time she and Kitty even had their season. Then it wouldn’t matter what he thought of her letters.
“Now, dearest,” Cass told Kitty, “let’s go find out what message was so important that Douglas sent his friend to deliver it personally.”
But when they went out to the terrace, it was to see the first snowflakes drifting down . . . and no sign of Colonel Lord Heywood.
“Oh, no!” Cass cried. “It’s snowing!” And apparently he was gone.
Then his voice came out of the gloom. “It’s about time you two showed up. You can both shelter under this.” He stripped off his greatcoat, which he handed to Cass, and she draped it over the two of them. “But we can’t stay out here,” he went on, “or you’ll be wet through. My coachman is bringing my carriage around now. We can traverse the drive while we talk.”
He led them down the steps and around to where a carriage with a ducal crest pulled up in front of them. The crest reassured Cass that they were safe with him. He would hardly be riding in a ducal carriage, probably his brother’s, if he were some fortune-hunting scoundrel.
After they got in, Kitty handed him his greatcoat. “Your equipage is lovely,” she said, as soon as they were headed off down the drive. “Ours isn’t nearly so roomy.” She pointed to the carriage lamps shining through the windows. “And we don’t have bright lanterns like these, to be sure.”
“I can’t take credit for it, I’m afraid. The rig belongs to my brother Sheridan.” He uttered a self-deprecating chuckle. “I mean, His Grace, the newly minted Duke of Armitage. I can’t get used to Sheridan’s being a duke. I don’t think he can either.”
