"Hmph. Well, just remember," the duke said. "You are my heir."
As if he would forget. As if he could ever forget.
"The attention you receive reflects on this family," his father continued. "On me. I expect you to remember that."
Kit's smile held. "I always remember, Father."
The duke picked up his cards again, a dismissal as clear as any closed door. "I wonder."
Kit dipped his chin. "Always a pleasure. Do give my regards to Mrs. Farber."
Kit walked out of the main room, through the back corridor, and into the alley behind the building. The night air hit him like a slap. He leaned against the wall and breathed.
He thought about a woman in a boarding house who was frightened and alone because his father couldn't be bothered to care.
After a few minutes, he pushed off the wall with a new, carefree smile. He couldn't fix his father, but he could clean up his mess. And for that…
He straightened his coat.
For that, he had an earl's daughter to woo.
11
Clarissa had never been overly fond of shopping. But shopping with Thea Evermore, she soon found…
Well. It was an experience.
"That fabric is not what it claims to be." Thea frowned at a bolt of silk the modiste was displaying with evident pride.
Estella caught Clarissa's eye, and Clarissa had to stifle a laugh.
"It's Indian silk, miss," the modiste said carefully.
"It's meant to look like Indian silk," Thea corrected. "The weave is English. The dye is probably from?—"
"Thea," Estella interrupted gently. "We're here for ribbons."
"I'm aware. But I thought the proprietor should know she's being swindled by her supplier." Thea turned to the modiste with an expression of sincere helpfulness.
The modiste did not look particularly grateful for the help.
Clarissa bit her cheek hard. This was, she was discovering, the primary hazard of befriending Thea. One lived in constant danger of laughing at the worst possible moment.
They'd been out for an hour, the three of them, and Clarissa had already broken her silence vow at least fourteen times. Estella drew her out with kindness, asking about Lucy's stories, and remembering details Clarissa had mentioned in passing. And Thea drew her out with sheer bafflement. Her observations were so unexpected, so utterly without social filter, that Clarissa kept responding before she remembered she wasn't supposed to.
It had happened so often, Clarissa was beginning to suspect it was deliberate.
"What about this one, Clarissa?" Estella held up a ribbon in deep blue. "For the Wooster ball. It would suit your coloring beautifully."
"It's lovely," Clarissa said. Then, because she couldn't help herself, "Though I'm not sure the color matters much. Kit will compliment it regardless. He told me yesterday that my bonnet—which was beige, mind you. Just plain beige. He said it reminded him of moonlight on still water."
Estella laughed. "He certainly never misses an opportunity to fawn over you."
"He's very committed to the role," Clarissa said.
"Mmm." Estella's expression was carefully neutral. "And how are you finding the arrangement?"
"It's working." She picked up the blue ribbon, turning it over in her hands. "People are starting to look at me differently, I think. The whispers are changing."
