Page 8 of The Subtle Craft of Courting Kate

“Kate doesn’t travel well,” Elliot said blithely, as he slipped past Hodges and into the foyer. “She’s trying not to cast up her accounts. Again. We’d have made London earlier but for that.”

“Good God.” Hodges’ mouth fell open, his droopy jowls quivering in surprise. “You’ve done it, then? You told her at last?”

Be serious, Elliot. A weak echo of a laugh tripped across his tongue. “No,” he said, “and she wouldn’t believe me if I did.” She never had, and that was the hell of it. A dozen times or more through the years he’d tried to tell her in various ways. And if she had rejected him, he could have accepted it with good grace and satisfied himself with only her friendship.

But it had never even occurred to her that he had been in earnest. If he could only make her see that he was serious, even just once—even if her answer was a firm and definitive no—then he could finally know. Whether the possibility existed for them. Whether it did not.

He darted a glance over his shoulder to be certain Kate was still otherwise occupied, and lowered his voice as he confided, “I convinced her to come to London beneath the pretext of finding me a wife.”

“Lord Elliot!” Hodges gasped, his cheeks flushing in outrage. “If Mrs. Norris had heard you say such a daft thing, she’d have pinched your ear something awful.”

“And that is why you’re going to tell her, Hodges.” Already his ear stung, as if Mrs. Norris’ bony fingers had seized upon it in spirit. “Preferably after I’ve left for the evening.”

Hodges drew in an offended breath. “I will do no such thing! Lord Elliot—”

“Please, Hodges. I’m desperate; I truly am.” And that desperation scratched at his soul and tore long gouges into a heart gone a bit too fragile at the moment. “I have never had a chance such as this. I have a few weeks—two months on the outside, if I am very lucky—to make Katie see me at last.” Not as her childhood friend; not the feckless rogue he’d made of himself to make her laugh, not the practical joker. Just as himself. At last. “But I need your help. And Mrs. Norris’.”

“But to deceive her in such a fashion!” Hodges said reproachfully, his hand over his heart.

“A very small deception at worst,” Elliot said, raking one hand through his disheveled hair. “Minuscule, truly. I really have got too many women casting themselves at my head since Devon put it about that he was hoping to see me married off this Season.” That much had been true, and he did welcome Kate’s assistance. He just hadn’t mentioned that the wife he wanted happened to be her. Really, if he’d lied at all, it had been by omission—the omission of the hope that in due time, she might have the film of childhood friendship cleared from her eyes enough to see him beyond it. As a man. As a suitor. A serious one.

Perhaps it was entirely too soon to nurture such hopes, but he had nothing to sustain him but hope at this juncture. “And it has got her to London at last,” he said. “Isn’t that worth something?”

Hodges gave a disdainful sniffle and a disapproving twitch of his mustache. “What would the duke say?”

“He’s always liked Kate. Possibly he is fonder of her than he has ever been of me.” Most likely because Kate had long had a habit of pulling Elliot out of scrapes before he could become embroiled in them, which had relieved the pressure upon Devon to keep his youngest brother out of trouble. Devon had expressed only relief that Kate’s influence upon him—which heretofore had been limited exclusively to the Northampton countryside—might at last serve some purpose in London, thereby relieving Devon of that particular responsibility altogether. “I have got a plan,” he said. Or part of one, at least. A nebulous, formless sort of thing yet, given that he had concocted it haphazardly somewhere between his third and sixth pints of ale, but it was bound to reveal itself in more clarity with time. “But I need help. I’m bound to make a muck of it otherwise.”

“If you ask me, you have already made a muck of it,” Hodges sniffed.

Elliot gritted his teeth into what barely passed for a smile. “I thought you more loyal than that, Hodges.” Hell. Kate had recovered herself enough to find support upon her mother’s arm as they began to make their way toward the house. “Please,” he said again, desperation seeping into his voice. “Devon has long said that if I somehow manage to convince Kate to wed me, it might well be the most intelligent thing I’ll ever do in my damned life.” Not exactly a ringing endorsement in his favor, but certainly it was in Kate’s.

“And if you fail?” The purse of Hodges’ lips suggested a complete lack of confidence in Elliot to attain what he’d been dreaming of—and despairing over—for years.

“Then at least she’ll have had a jolly good time in London, and I will have given it my best effort.” Whether or not his efforts availed him anything, Kate would always be his dearest friend in all the world. “And Mrs. Norris adores her,” Elliot wheedled. “You’d not deny her the chance to renew their acquaintance only to spite me, would you, Hodges?”

Too damned late for a reply. Kate and her mother had made it up the steps at last, lingering there at the threshold, no doubt waiting to be admitted.

For a long moment, Hodges stared at Elliot in a manner which suggested that he could expect a brutally vicious pinch on the ear from Mrs. Norris in short order. But at last he set his shoulders, turned once more toward the door and said with a bow, all unruffled gentility and perfect pleasantness, “Mrs. Littlefield. Miss Littlefield. Please do come in. Welcome to London.”

∞∞∞

“Tea, my dear? And some dry toast, I should think. Ought to settle your stomach a bit before I fix some dinner up for you,” Mrs. Norris said sympathetically, with a squeeze to Kate’s shoulder as she settled Kate in comfortable chair within the drawing room.

“Just the tea, if you don’t mind,” Kate squeaked, her stomach churning anew at the very thought of food. “I’m not certain my stomach will ever settle enough to eat.”

“A peppermint stick, then.” Mrs. Norris withdrew a sweet from the pocket of her apron and placed it into Kate’s palm. “Does wonders for a tricky stomach, I promise you.” She clucked her tongue as she poured a cup of tea. “I had no idea you were such a poor traveler,” she said as she passed the cup to Mama.

“Neither had I,” Kate said as she sucked upon the peppermint stick, relieved to find her stomach did not protest it. “I’ve never been in a carriage for more than a few minutes at a time. It’s mostly pony carts for me at home.” Apparently the open conveyance did not disagree with her so violently as did the closed confines of a carriage.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to learn to bear it,” Mrs. Norris said apologetically as she prepared a cup of tea for Kate, flavored with a liberal squeeze of a lemon wedge. “Unless you intend to walk everywhere you go—which I would not recommend—it’s carriages for you.”

Kate produced a grimace as she received the cup from Mrs. Norris. “The cobblestones were nearly worse than the country roads,” she said. “I think I’d prefer to be thrown about than to have my teeth rattled straight out of my skull.”

Mrs. Norris laughed. “One does grow accustomed to it,” she said as she turned to address Mama. “Perhaps I can offer you dinner instead?”

“Oh, no, thank you,” Mama said between sips of tea. “I had a substantial portion of kidney pie at the coaching inn where we last changed horses. But Kate—”

“Had nothing,” Kate interjected wretchedly. “And a good thing it was that I did not, or we’d likely be wearing it. Won’t you sit, Mrs. Norris?”