Page 52 of The Subtle Craft of Courting Kate

“Very pretty,” Miss Applegate read, with some measure of satisfaction. “I’m quite flattered. One doesn’t wish to be considered vain, of course, but for the lengths to which we must go to be considered presentable, one would like to be considered to be pretty, no?” She drew her finger down the page to the next bit which caught her interest. “Likes dogs and children. Is that terribly important, do you think?”

“Elliot likes dogs and children,” Kate muttered, clasping her hands before her. “So it is important to him, I suppose.”

“Perhaps I shall make that a requirement for my own husband-hunting,” Miss Applegate mused. “Certainly I should like better a man who has dogs for companionship rather than hunting. My dog, Captain, has grown accustomed to sharing the bed with me and I fear I could not tolerate a husband who would see him banished from it.”

“I don’t believe Elliot would ever,” Kate said.

“Well, that is something to recommend him, then,” Miss Applegate said, and true to her word, she closed the notebook without turning the page, leaving the rest of its contents unread. “You think we would suit one another, then,” she said as she handed the notebook back to Kate. “Lord Elliot and myself, that is to say.”

Kate hurriedly shoved the notebook back into her reticule. “You would suit,” she managed to force herself to say. “From everything I have observed, you would suit one another enormously.”

“I wonder,” Miss Applegate said, her brows drawn into a pensive expression. “He is a fine dancer,” she admitted. “And a jovial sort, which I quite like. There is an appalling lack of wittiness in the Ton, which makes many gatherings dreadfully dull. And one must admit that he is…really quite handsome.”

Yes. He was. It was that single dimple which saved his face from being entirely too boyish, spared him from an excess of symmetry which might have made him appear more statue than man. It was that grin which so often graced his face that told observers of his good humor and pleasant disposition. Even the curl of his overlong locks about his collar gave him an air of one who took neither himself—nor the world as a whole—too seriously.

He was fashionable without being ostentatious; affable in a way that won him friends easily. He was charming, personable, and most of all, kind. Exactly the sort of man any woman would want for a husband.

What woman would not fall in love with him, given half a chance?

“Well,” Miss Applegate said, “As you have mentioned it, I must admit that I am in no particular hurry to marry. It is only my second Season, and as eager as my mother and brother are for me to catch a husband, I would prefer to take my time with it. After all, one oughtn’t to rush such a decision. Marriage does have the tendency to last the rest of one’s life.” Miss Applegate slid Kate a furtive glance. “Since you are such good friends,” she said, “perhaps you might tell me…is it your opinion that Lord Elliot would make a good husband?”

“Yes,” Kate blurted out. “That is—if not for his brother the duke forcing his hand, probably he would not have chosen a wife this Season. But he is determined to make the best of it, and—and since it has come to it, he wants to find a woman he can love.”

“A romantic, then,” Miss Applegate said approvingly. “One has got to respect it. Love matches are rare.”

“That’s why he’s brought me to London,” Kate confessed. “He says that the rules which govern society here are such that it would make it impossible for him to know a woman well enough to determine which would be a match for him.”

“A man of rare intelligence, then, as well,” Miss Applegate said. “To place his trust in a woman’s judgment, when his own would be impaired by the circumstances and strictures of society. And how lucky for him that he has got such a friend in you.”

Yes. A friend. Because they had always been that—friends. And oh, how it hurt her heart just now.

At last the hushed conversation between Elliot and Lord Shaw concluded, and Lord Shaw came hurrying over to his sister. Even in the low light Kate could see that his cheeks had gone ruddy.

“Amelia,” he said to his sister. “We must be getting back to our seats; the interlude is nearly done.”

From over his shoulder, Elliot cleared his throat.

Lord Shaw swallowed hard, his cheeks going ruddier still. “Miss Littlefield,” he said, offering a short bow to Kate. “If I have given you any offense, I do apologize most sincerely. Should we meet again at another ball, I do hope you will save a dance for me—and I assure you, I will be a better conversationalist, in future.”

“I—thank you?” What? Kate blinked in surprise, uncertain of what she had been meant to say to that. But it was too late for any further response; Lord Shaw was already ushering his sister out of the box. “Elliot, whatever was that about?” Kate asked in utter confusion.

“Nothing much,” he said. But though his tone was light and blithe, tension still lingered in the taut line of his jaw. “I merely explained to Lord Shaw that I did not appreciate that he had asked you to dance only to extoll his sister’s virtues to you.”

“Oh.” And that had required so many minutes of conversation? Had he taken Lord Shaw aside only to castigate the man? “But that was ages ago,” she said. “And I was not offended.”

“It was recent enough that I’ve not forgotten,” he said, a muscle in his jaw flexing. “And you should have been offended. I was offended on your behalf.”

“Well, you ought not to have been,” Kate said as she swept past him to reclaim her seat. “He is Miss Applegate’s brother, after all. He could very well be your future brother-in-law.” Because despite Miss Applegate’s propensity toward nosiness and dogged determination, she was still…just perfect for Elliot. They were of such similar dispositions, with similar interests. Perhaps that was why Kate could not bring herself to dislike the woman. She shared too many commonalities with Elliot to ever have earned Kate’s enmity.

Elliot settled back into his own chair, but his posture was stiff, and that muscle flexed in his jaw again—and again. As if he were biting back words that he desperately wished to say. “I am not,” he said, “simply going to stand by and allow someone to disrespect you.”

“But he is Miss Applegate’s—”

“I don’t care who he is. You deserve better than that. And if Miss Applegate was less than kind to you—”

“She wasn’t,” Kate said, and she bit her lower lip to hold back the sigh that pressed against her teeth. “She was lovely. Truly. You—you ought to give her serious consideration.” The words felt as if they had clawed at her throat on their way up; like she had sacrificed something precious to speak them. Some part of herself that she had scarcely known existed until quite recently.

A moment passed in silence, until finally he broke the tense quiet. “Hm,” he said, and nothing more.