They walked along a winding path, and Kitty was grateful the park was not overly crowded. Dear Ophelia appeared resplendent in a fetching dark green pelisse and a walking dress a shade lighter, but there was a bit of forlornness about her eyes.
“Are you well, Ophelia?” Kitty asked softly. “It has been several days since we last spoke.” And it made her wonder if Ophelia was perhaps hatching her own daring plan.
“I believe we should call a meeting of our group soon. Perhaps a saloon of sorts? There is much I would like to discuss with everyone, and I can sense that you are troubled.”
“Oh, we shall,” Kitty declared, truly wondering how everyone fared. “There is much to discuss.”
Ophelia slid her a considering glance. “And can your troubles wait until then?”
Kitty sighed. “I never imagined such success with my ruse. It is frightening.”
A wide smile lit her friend’s face and her eyes glinted with mysterious allure. “But it is wonderful to be so daring, yes?”
“I daresay it is. There are times I thrill in being so positively wicked and bold. Only a couple days ago, I rode your horse astride in Hyde Park. I declare I am not the first lady to do so, but the scandal sheets were agog with my daring, and Mamma almost had the vapors.” She laughed, delighted with the reminder of how indecent and free it had felt. “Kitty Danvers must be very devilish to keep the interest of the papers and society. I want them hungry to know me, to be shocked by and attracted to my audacity. Invitations to even the most exclusive balls and events will come in more.”
“Then I declare that is where you should direct your attention wholeheartedly, Kitty. I assure you, if you let only the doubts and fear in, you will falter and possibly miss something wonderful, and quite different than the humdrum that can be the expected life of a lady,” Ophelia said with aching sincerity.
Kitty had always thought that of all her friends, Ophelia could have been married if she wished for a union. She was terribly pretty with a small, determined month, a button of a nose, and sweetly curved lips, and she had the most beautifully haunting singing voice Kitty had ever had the privilege to hear. Despite being the daughter of a marquess who was lauded in parliament for his reforming efforts, for the last few seasons only one man had made an offer for her—Peter Warwick, the Earl of Langdon. And Olivia had rejected him, for she had an artistic temperance and sensibility…and a secret identity no one could ever discover.
She was Lady Starlight, revered and worshipped as a masked and bewigged songbird.
“How glad I am we ran into each other,” Kitty said with a light laugh, brushing aside all feelings of misgiving. “I shall not falter in my thoughts anymore.”
A faint shout had them pausing and turning around. A man in a dark tweed coat hurried toward them, a notebook clutched in his hand, a briefcase dangling in the other. They shifted to the side of the path to allow him to pass, but quite alarmingly, he stopped in front of them. Kitty narrowed her eyes and gripped her parasol, not in the least afraid to slap him with it should he accost them.
Not that they had too much to worry about with Ophelia’s footmen within shouting distance.
Intelligent brown eyes landed on them. “The Honourable Katherine Danvers, I presume?” he gasped out.
“And who is asking?”
“I’m Robert Dawson, a reporter from The Morning Chronicles. I have some inquiries about your engagement to His Grace, the Duke of Thornton. May I be permitted a few questions, Miss Danvers?”
Mr. Dawson’s eyes were watchful, curious with a hint of slyness.
Kitty glanced at Ophelia and saw the message in her golden gaze. Be daring. Be bold. And be more wicked.
So she did.
Chapter Three
Perthshire, Scotland, McMullen Castle
“I hope I am not overstepping, Your Grace, when I offer my sincerest felicitations on your upcoming nuptials.”
Those murmured words from Thomas Biddleton, Alexander Masters’s most trusted steward, arrested him as nothing had ever done. Well, except for the sight of his sister chasing a pig through the woods only a week ago, screaming for it to run and be free.
The pig had been recaptured later that day, but he knew better than to tell her so.
The memory pulled a ghost of a smile to his lips, and the other men gathered in his study shared a speaking glance. Except he did not understand its language. Did they ponder the nature of his smile or the beastly mien that must have been highlighted in stark silhouette with that small movement of his lips?
As it were, the taut skin marring his left cheek down to his neck ached at the movement. There had been little reason to exercise those scarred muscles of late. Even his sister’s wild antics rarely managed to bring levity to his heart, when before a simple hug from her had made him feel whole. The echoing emptiness had become somewhat of an enigma to Alexander, for he did not perceive its purpose. He’d long accepted his fate and no longer roared his anguish at his misfortunes, yet he was also inexplicably aware of the heart of darkness that lingered within him.
He was lonely.
The stark reality of it had been a crack in the belief that all he needed was his sister, Penny. But he’d decided to send her to England for the necessary social polish and a season. She would not like it, but he would not allow her to bury herself in the wild moors of Scotland forever when the possibility of happiness might await her.
“Please forgive my impertinence, Your Grace,” the man hurriedly said at his lack of response.