Chapter 3
Kit spent the following two days paying visits to various tenants’ wives, hearing about their families, their troubles, renewing the women’s direct contact with Cranmer Hall, which had lapsed since her grandmother’s death. Yet between the chatter-filled visits, she brooded, surprised at herself yet unable to shake free.
Discussing love with Amy had been a mistake. Ever since, she’d been restless. Until then, Cranmer had seemed the perfect haven. Now, something was missing. She didn’t appreciate the feeling.
Luckily, the next day was too busy for brooding, filled instead with preparations for the dinner Spencer had organized to reintroduce her formally to their neighbors. Kit managed to squeeze in a ride in the afternoon but returned in good time to change.
The guests arrived punctually at eight. Waiting to greet them at the drawing room door, Kit stood beside Spencer, impressive in a silk coat and white knee breeches, his white mane wreathing his proud head. His expression was one of paternal pride, for which Kit knew she was directly responsible.
She’d chosen her gown carefully, rejecting fine muslins and low-cut satins in favor of a delicate creation in aquamarine silk. The free-flowing material did justice to her slender length; the neckline was scooped and scalloped as befitted her age but remained high enough for propriety. The color heightened the glow of her burnished curls and drew attention to the creaminess of her skin.
Her eyes sparkled as she curtsied to the Lord Lieutenant, Lord Marchmont, and his wife, drawing an appreciative look from his lordship.
“Kathryn, my dear, it’s a pleasure to see you back in the fold.”
Kit smiled easily. “Indeed, my lord, it’s a pleasure to be back and meeting old friends.”
Lord Marchmont laughed and tapped her cheek. “Very prettily said, my dear.”
He and his wife moved into the room to make way for the next guests. Kit knew them all. She couldn’t help comparing the real joy she felt in such a simple affair with the boredom she’d found in the elaborate entertainments of the ton.
The Greshams were the last to arrive. After exchanging compliments with Sir Harvey and Lady Gresham, Kit linked her arm in Amy’s. “Where’s your George?” At her suggestion, the Greshams’ invitation had included Amy’s betrothed. “I’m dying to meet this paragon whose kisses get you hot and wet.”
“Sssh! For heaven’s sake, Kit, keep your voice down.” Amy’s eyes were fixed on her mother’s back. Perceiving no sign that her ladyship had heard, she switched her gaze to Kit’s teasing face. And sighed. “George had to cry off. It seems he’s still on duty—assigned to some special mission.” Amy grimaced. “He does steal time to drop by now and then, but it’s hardly what I’d hoped—I haven’t seen much of him in the last few weeks.”
“Oh,” was all Kit could find to say.
“But,” added Amy, drawing herself up, “it will only be for another few months. And at least he’s safe in England, not facing the French guns.” Smiling, she squeezed Kit’s arm. “Incidentally, he said he was most desirous of making your acquaintance.”
Kit looked her disbelief. “Did he really say that or are you just being loyal?”
Amy laughed. “You’re right. What with his apologies for not being able to accompany us, I’m afraid we never got around to discussing you.”
Kit nodded sagely. “I see. Too feverish for sense.”
Amy grinned but refused confirmation. Together, they strolled among the guests, chatting easily. The conversation in the drawing room revolved around farming and the local markets, but once they were all seated about the long dining table, the talk shifted to other spheres.
“Hendon’s not here, I see.” Lord Marchmont sent a glance around the table, as if the recently returned Lord Hendon might have slipped in unnoticed. “Thought he would be.”
“We sent a card, but his lordship had a prior engagement.” Spencer nodded to Jenkins; the first course was promptly served, footmen ferrying dishes from the kitchen.
Pondering a dish of crab in oyster sauce, Kit realized it was rather odd of Lord Hendon to have a prior engagement. With whom, when all the surrounding families were here?
“Pity,” Spencer continued. “Haven’t met the fellow yet.”
“I have,” replied Lord Marchmont, helping himself to the turbot.
“Oh?” said Spencer. All paused to hear his lordship’s response.
Lord Marchmont nodded. “Seems a solid sort. Jake’s boy, after all.”
Jake Hendon had been the previous lord of Castle Hendon. Kit’s memory supplied a hazy figure, broad, powerful, and extremely tall with a pair of twinkling grey eyes. He’d taken her for a ride on his stallion when she’d been eight years old. She couldn’t recall having met his son.
“What’s this I hear about Hendon’s appointment as High Commissioner?” Sir Harvey glanced at his lordship. “Another attempt to stamp out the traffic?”
“So it appears.” Lord Marchmont looked up. “But he’s Jake’s boy—he’ll know how to pace his success.”
All the men nodded, comfortable with that assessment. Smuggling was in the Norfolk blood; control was one thing, suppression unthinkable. Where else would they get their brandy?