Page 11 of The Subtle Craft of Courting Kate

Elliot sipped his tea, allowing himself a small smile, which he carefully hid behind the rim. “What was that?”

Kate flicked a glance toward Mrs. Norris—who had busied herself with clearing away the serving plates which they had emptied—and must have decided that she could speak plainly before the woman, for she hissed, “I said that if you don’t cease needling me, you will be the one in the ball gown.”

The plates clattered in Mrs. Norris’ hands as her shoulders shook with mirth.

“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” Elliot said blithely as he crunched through another piece of toast. “Haven’t got the shoulders for a ball gown.”

That had done it. Mrs. Norris wheezed with laughter, and Kate’s shoulders drooped from their tight set with a reluctant chuckle of her own. And there, that hint of a dimple in her right cheek—the one he had spent the whole of his life playing the fool just to catch the briefest of glimpses of from time to time, whenever he could manage to coax it out of her.

Perhaps the whole world thought him a rogue, a rapscallion, a ne’er-do-well. And it was true that he’d few enough accomplishments to his name which might turn the tide of public opinion. But he had long considered his greatest achievement to be the ability to make Kate laugh. Even in the midst of a burgeoning pique, he had developed a particular talent for turning a sour mood toward humor.

“I’m sorry,” he said, genuinely contrite, as he collected the letters she’d cast down near his elbow. “I promised you your pick of events. I’m afraid I didn’t consider that you might not know where to begin.” And he hadn’t realized that there would be quite so many invitations to consider. Probably it had been a daunting task in the extreme, especially for a woman so unaccustomed to the busy social schedules that made up the London Season.

Kate gave a little shake of her head and puffed the fringe of her bangs away from her eyes. The rigid stiffness of her spine melted to a more relaxed posture, and Elliot felt a twinge of sympathy as he noted the faint dark circles beneath her eyes that bore witness to what had likely been a mostly-sleepless night. “You’re invited to so many places,” she said, her voice tinged with exhaustion, and what he thought must be a little worry, a little more apprehension.

“I’m good company,” he said, as he began to thumb through the long-neglected invitations. “Not this one, I think,” he said as he discarded one.

Kate craned her neck to peer at it. “Whyever not?”

“It’s a musicale.”

A pinch of her dark brows as confusion bloomed across her face. “I thought I was meant to attend musicales with you?

“Certainly. But not Lady Beresford’s. She thinks she has got a family full of musical talent.”

“Has she not?”

“Let us just say that what they lack in musical ability, they make up for in sheer volume and enthusiasm. A near-lethal combination for the ears of any unfortunate listener.” He lifted his eyes to hers over the top of the next invitation. “Should she happen to invite you in person, it is my recommendation that you contrive to have some ailment which will regrettably prevent you from attending.”

Kate’s eyes widened. “They’re that bad?”

Elliot said soberly, “My ears were ringing for a solid week. Shrill concertos followed me into nightmares in which I was pursued by a villainous viola. I woke convinced I was on the verge of being strangled with its strings.”

That dimple flashed once more in her cheek. “All right,” she said, pursing her lips against the smile that tugged at her mouth. “I shall contrive to be otherwise engaged should Lady Beresford happen to request my presence.”

“Lovely,” he said approvingly, and passed her another invitation. “This one—”

“Ah,” she said, squinting to read it. “Lady Havisham’s garden party. Will there be cake, do you think?”

“There always is, and I haven’t had any in such a long time.” He was aware that his voice had drifted toward a plea, pitiful and mewling. “And she has got two daughters of marriageable age, you know, Kate, and I don’t dare attend without you at my side to render your opinion of them.”

“Have I got clothes suitable for a garden party?” Kate asked.

“You ought to have, but you have got an appointment with the modiste today, besides.” Between her ready-made things and whatever the modiste could manage to supply on short notice, she ought to be outfitted well enough for it.

“Then we’ll accept it. But you owe me a trip to the theatre in return.” Kate gave a little sigh as she turned her attention once more to her plate and picked at her food. “And it had better be the best cake I have ever had in the whole of my life.”

Elliot snickered. “It will be, I promise you. And Devon has got a theatre box which he will not be making use of this Season. We can go to the theatre whenever you like.” He filtered out a few more invitations, reducing the stack further. “Some of these will be dreadfully dull,” he said as he handed the remaining invitations to her. “But these I think you will enjoy. No balls just yet”—not until she had a few suitable gowns—“but a few dinner parties ought to suffice.”

At the very least, they would give her a smooth introduction to society. Kate had loved hearing his stories of London, but he had never fooled himself into imagining that she would find herself instantly at ease amongst the Ton.

The worst of it was, he couldn’t say that her apprehension was misplaced. Ton society could be cruel and capricious, judgmental and unkind, most especially to those perceived as pretenders to their exalted ranks. Scores and scores of the nouveau riche had, despite their wealth, found not acceptance within the upper echelon of society, but a succession of doors shut, politely but firmly, in their faces.

And Kate was wise enough to be cognizant of the fact that, even if she was, in point of fact, a gentleman’s daughter, it did not mean that the Ton would cede a place for her there amongst the titled lords and ladies who had long been Elliot’s contemporaries. That uncertainty was scrawled upon her face even now, and likely had been ever since she had retired evening last, no doubt to pore over the invitations he had left in her hands. People she didn’t know, who might or might not prove welcoming to the stranger in their midst.

She had never been more than five miles from her home, and he—he wanted to give her the whole of the world. But he couldn’t make her want it. He could only help her to find a place within it for herself, and hope that if she could find it, she might want the place at his side into the bargain.

Kate shifted in her seat, staring down into the tea cup held in her hands as if it might contain some unfathomable bit of wisdom there at the bottom. “Dinner parties,” she said, rolling her shoulders like a weight too burdensome had settled upon them. “I suppose they’re…somewhat different to dinners at home?” she ventured.