“I’ve conversed with plenty of women.”
Dagenham raised his brows.
“All right,” Kittredge said. “I haven’t. And you’re right. It is nice to have her in the house.”
Dagenham staggered back in mock-horror. “Kittredge concedes a point!”
“I’m learning to. From Miss Cranwell.”
Dagenham’s tone was one of disbelief. “You’re learning something. From Miss Cranwell.”
“Yes. It’s a barter. She gets to stay here while she’s in London. And in return, she’s going to help me get a wife. Apparently, I’m not meant to win every argument.”
Dagenham groaned. “Something I’ve told you a million times before, you daft clunch.”
Kittredge waved his hand in dismissal. Of course, Dagenham had said that before, but that was because Dagenham was tired of always losing. Cards. Dice. Arguments with Kittredge.
Dagenham drained his glass. “Well, good luck with your tempting armful of a teacher. I hope you can keep your attention where it should be. Will you call Bevel for me or should I go get him?”
“Bevel’s staying here. With me. Your duty is done.”
Dagenham smirked. “You’re going to stay here. With Bevel. And Miss Cranwell. I see.”
“You see what?”
“Nothing. I’m sure Bevel is an ideal chaperone.” Dagenham headed toward the front hall. “Happy Christmas, Kittredge. I hope you get everything you want.”
Kittredge would never get everything he wanted.
He wanted Franny.
And he could never have her.
Nine
One more large whisky gave Kittredge some solace. He found Franny in the kitchen with her coat on, wrapping her muffler around her neck. Bevel was whining.
“Here. Where are you going?”
Franny looked down as she put on her gloves. “I don’t know yet.”
He saw her satchel on the table. She was leaving.
“I’m sure you learned my history from Lord Dagenham. I was about to tell you. I’m sorry.”
He hiccoughed. “Don’t be sorry. You didn’t have anything to do with your parents not getting married properly.”
Franny sighed and looked up at him. Her eyes were beautiful. Deep and soulful. The warmest brown imaginable. A very dark amber. A midnight honey. The color of a priceless aged whisky.
He staggered. He was half-sprung.
“I didn’t set out to deceive you. I just . . .” She shrugged. “I’m tired of people whispering behind their hands and speaking to me with condescending pity. I just adored being with you and you treating me like I was a person.”
You are a person,he tried to say. ButI adored being with youreverberated like an enormous bell in his head. Instead what came out was, “You must hate your father. Not making sure of everything for you and your brother.”
Becausehehated her father, a man he had never met. For ruining his, Kittredge’s, marriage.
Her face went red. “Never. I could never hate him. Yes,Papàwas rather careless with everything. But not his love. He was a fourth son and resented his title when all he ever wanted to do was paint.”
