From very far away, Kittredge heard Dagenham say, “Just let His Grace stew, Cranwell. He’ll come round in a moment. He’s actually a very bright chap, just a bit unhinged by love.”
“You’re right,” Kittredge said slowly. “There’s no point whatsoever.”
For the first time since he was a child, Kittredge saw a straight, shining road leading directly to a glorious future filled with light and love. Filled with Franny.
“Ren, I’m going to marry her.”
“If she’ll have you,” Dagenham said warningly.
“Yes. If she’ll have me. And if she won’t have me, I’ll . . . I’ll slink away nobly and . . . work on the anonymous noble thing.”
Ren looked blankly at Dagenham who shook his head.
“Please tell me where she is,” Kittredge begged Ren.
Dagenham said, “I’m sure the butler will tell us.”
“I want my future brother to give me permission to marry his sister.”
After a few long seconds, Ren sunk his hands into his pockets. “It’s up to Franny. But you can’t be worse than the other arsehole.” He frowned. “That’s where she is. At his house. What used to be our house. Lady LeClere’s daughters said Franny must come to the Christmas Eve ball to sit with their mother and keep her happy and occupied.”
Kittredge clapped the boy on the shoulder and grabbed his hand and shook it. “Thank you, Ren. Thank you. I promise, I promise I’ll be a good husband to your sister and you will never have to worry about her again.” He headed for the door.
But Dagenham didn’t move and Bevel barked once, a warning.
Kittredge looked down at his clothes. Brown wool trousers. A plain waistcoat. No cravat.
“Shit,” he said aloud before he could stop himself.
Ren pointed one hand at Kittredge and one at Dagenham and then crossed his arms. “Switch.”
Sixteen
Dagenham’s clothes were a tight fit, and Kittredge prayed for no split seams as he elbowed his way through the hellishly hot front hall.
It was far too noisy. How was he going to find Franny if he couldn’t hear her laugh? Men’s voices said his name, women gasped, music came from the ballroom, but where was that remarkable laugh?
Because Franny would be laughing at a ball, he just knew it. She’d be delighted by the decorations, the gaiety, the company. She’d be wearing a red velvet dress and sipping wine. Or she’d be dancing with some smiling, flaxen-haired fool of a dandy who could tell amusing stories to make her laugh. Some piece-of-shit Bingley but with wit and more confidence. Some prickhead Wickham but with money.
He faltered. A Christmas Eve ball was where she belonged. Not sitting in a dark library with him. He was so damn selfish. What could she possibly want with him, the dismal Duke of Dourness? And he still hadn’t come up with a noble sacrifice he might perform for her. An anonymous act of benevolence that would make him worthy of her.
He should leave.
No. No. He’d ask her. He had to. So she’d know her lessons had worked. Not only had he fallen in love, he’d found the woman he wanted to be his wife. She deserved to know. He’d let her decide.
He took a deep breath and plunged into the ballroom. He stood for a moment to look at the couples. No, thank God, she wasn’t dancing with another man.
Then he saw her on the far side of the ballroom. She was seated, nodding her head. She wasn’t laughing. She wasn’t even smiling. And she was in the same red wool dress she’d been wearing last night.
Unacceptable. The not-laughing, the sitting on the side, the old dress were all entirely unacceptable.
She deserved to glow like the ruby she was. And if nothing else, he could be her setting, the thing that protected all of her beautiful, glittering facets.
And then she could shine, forever.
Franny noddedwhen Lady LeClere said the ballroom was overly warm. She nodded when Lady LeClere said ballgowns had become far too revealing. She nodded when Lady LeClere said Franny wasn’t dressed properly for a ball but at least she wasn’t displaying her bosom like every other girl here.
Of course, Lady LeClere’s daughters were tired of dancing attendance on their mother and were ready to dance themselves. And, see, Lady LeClere’s youngest daughter was now partnered with her own husband. How romantic. How good it was Franny had come to the ball so Lady LeClere’s daughters could enjoy themselves.
