Alexander.
Then the shortest one, which had robbed her of breath for the longest time.
Dearest Katherine,
I am so sorry.
Alexander.
She tried to occupy her days by attending a few routs, the museums, and art galleries with her mother and Lady Darling, but Kitty grew more wretched and despondent. Her family noted her liveliness was dimmed and wondered too often to her if she were ill. Kitty tried to rally her spirits and had even attended a ball on the previous night.
She missed him so much that it was like a physical ache. Ridiculous, of course, for surely he did not endure a similar yearning. She had been a fleeting interest, one that bored him in too quick a time. Kitty had simply been silly enough to fall so deeply in love with his cynical charm and wickedness.
Except…why had he sent her flowers and letters if he thought of her no more? Crossly she prayed she haunted his dreams and every waking moment, for he surely vexed her spirit in all her sweet, heated memories.
The yearning to be with him sometimes felt as if it would tear her apart from the inside out until there was nothing left to give. Kitty could not understand it. Was this really love? This aching need to see, touch, and kiss him? To her shame and frustration, she sobbed into her pillows at night, hating that he had given up on the possibility of their being together so easily.
Why do you send me flowers and those maddening notes? She would not demand an explanation. And Kitty knew it was her pride that prevented her inquiry, but he had wounded her heart and dignity in a manner she had not forgiven, even if she loved him still.
She could not explain the savage pain tearing through her heart, though she did her best to be cheerful for her mother and sisters. Kitty skillfully deflected each query a
bout the duke and when he would appear again within society.
A few days later, Kitty stood in a sea of people at Lady Hadleigh’s midnight ball, feeling quite determined to have some fun. She had dressed in one of her best gowns, a dark yellow satin one draped with an overskirt of ivory lace with matching kid elbow gloves. Her hair had been caught in a simple but quite elegant chignon with tendrils artfully arranged to brush against her cheeks. Kitty had received several admiring glances from some of the most sought-after bachelors of the season, but no excitement had filled her at the attention.
To her alarm, the Marquess of Sands requested her hand in a dance. To be asked to dance by a man of his rank and fortune added to any female’s consequence, and his attentions would convince society further that her family was not to be overlooked. Yet Kitty could not imagine herself in his arms, even fleetingly, when it was Alexander she dreamed of every day.
“I thank you for the honor, my lord, but it is not my desire to dance this evening.”
His expression was inscrutable, and for a moment he said nothing. The marquess was a terribly handsome man with his raven-black hair and eyes as dark as the night itself. That uncomfortable penetrating gaze cut to Charlotte, who stood on the sidelines tapping her feet with a wistful look on her face as she observed the current dancers. For a moment his mask slipped, and the wild, haunting hunger that settled over his face like a second skin rendered Kitty’s mouth dry.
It took a few moments before she was able to regain some measure of composure. Lord Sands held a similar regard for Charlotte as she had for him.
“Perhaps you might show your favor to Miss Nelson instead,” she urged softly, not sure if her friend would be grateful or angry for Kitty’s meddling.
Those obsidian eyes clashed with hers once more, and a peculiar smile curved his lips. “A pity you will not dance, Miss Danvers. I bid you good night.” Then, after offering a clipped bow, the man melted into the crowd.
Charlotte watched his departure, her affection evident for the world to mock and speculate on.
Devil take it all.
Kitty wanted to curse love and the burden it had on the heart. Charlotte’s father had passed with a cloud of debt hanging over both her and her dear mamma’s head. She needed to make a well-connected match, but no gentleman of rank or fortune would consider a poor wallflower when so many heiresses peppered the ton. Charlotte’s mamma had spent the last of her juncture this season, in hopes her daughter would make a match that would save them.
Kitty snagged a glass of champagne from a passing footman and made her way over to Charlotte. A smile lit her entire features, her blue eyes sparkled with welcome, and her unique prettiness struck Kitty. Charlotte’s alabaster skin mottled easily under the rays of the sun, and she had the blackest hair Kitty had ever seen on another. Many times they had laughingly called her Snow White, drawing an undeserved comparison to the Grimm brothers’ fairy tale.
“Oh, Kitty, I am frightfully bored,” Charlotte said by way of greeting.
“Perhaps we are getting old,” Kitty teased.
Her friend rolled her eyes in an unladylike fashion. “Why yes, we are decrepit at three and twenty.”
They shared a laugh.
“I have decided on a path for my future,” Charlotte murmured unexpectedly.
Kitty looped their hands together and directed them toward the upper bower’s balcony for privacy. Though with the crush and loud laughter and facile chattering, there was little chance of being overheard as it was.
“I… The marquess is seeking a mistress, and I mean to apply for the position.”