In Captain’s Pike light but luxurious carriage drawn by a crack team of horses, Kittredge cursed the London Christmas Eve traffic.
“Calm down.” Dagenham crossed his legs, almost kicking Bevel who was taking up the floor. “Tell me about her.”
So, he did. He told Dagenham everything. Well, not everything. Not about yesterday evening. But everything else, he did.
“And I never bought her new boots.”
“And it sounds like you never got a chance to discussPride and Prejudice.”
“I didn’t even get a chance to read the book.”
Dagenham raised his brows. “You. Didn’t get a chance. To read a book?”
“No.”
Dagenham fumbled in his pockets, probably looking for a flask. “Well, you should have. It would give you some hints about how to get her back. It’s a good love story. And cold, aloof, hard-to-understand heroes who offend everybody? Mr. Darcy hasn’t got a patch on you.”
“You’ve read it?”
“I have.”
Kittredge leaned forward. “Tell it to me.”
By the time the carriage arrived at Lady LeClere’s house, thanks to Dagenham’s prodigious memory, Kittredge and Bevel knew all about Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy. But Kittredge thought it strangely unromantic that the heroine had fallen in love with the hero after seeing his house.
“No,” Dagenham said. “It wasn’t the house. It’s a joke. The noble sacrifice Darcy makes is what clinches the deal. He gave money to Wickham, the man he hates, just to save her family and her sister’s reputation. And he kept it secret. A great ploy.”
“I am to do something noble and self-sacrificing but make sure she never knows about it?”
“Exactly.”
The carriage rolled to a stop and Kittredge tore up the steps of the house, pounding on the door.
A butler answered.
“Franny!”
He pushed past the butler with Bevel at his heels and heard Dagenham say, “Pardon us. Happy Christmas. That madman is the Duke of Kittredge, and I am Viscount Dagenham. We are calling.”
“The family is at the Marquess of Merrifield’s Christmas Eve ball, Your Grace, Lord Dagenham.”
Kittredge seized a footman by the shoulders. “Where’s Miss Cranwell’s room?”
“Topmost floor, at the end, on the right, Your Grace.” The footman tried to answer and bow at the same time.
Kittredge ran up flights of stairs and knocked on the door but was too impatient. “I’m coming in, Franny.”
He opened the door just in time to see a thin ankle and a large foot disappearing under the bed. It wasn’t Franny’s ankle or foot.
He took a deep breath. “Ren? I’m a friend of your sister’s. Don’t be frightened.”
Silence.
“I know you’re under the bed.”
He heard a sigh and a rolling sound and a dark-brown head poked up on the other side of the bed. The boy stood. He was small and thin and looked younger than thirteen.
His eyes. They were Franny’s eyes. But hostile.
