The Kiss of a Stranger (7 page)

Chapter Seven

“And how do you think the new Lady Cavratt will fare this evening?” Edward asked Crispin as they waited in the sitting room.

“Honestly, Edward, if Catherine doesn’t cast up her accounts on the Hardfords’ dining room table, I will consider the evening more successful than I am anticipating it being.”

“No need to go borrowing so much trouble,” Edward assured him. “I have a feeling Catherine will surprise all of us tonight. Lizzie has complete confidence in her.”

Edward’s innate optimism and cheerful nature were the very reason Crispin had so readily approved of his pursuit of Lizzie the year they were courting. She spent most of their childhood attempting to force smiles out of her “gloomy” older brother. He’d felt a tremendous responsibility for her since their father’s death. Crispin would never have allowed
her
to be forced into an unwanted marriage, and he couldn’t have parted with her to anyone less perfect for her than Edward.

Lizzie also claimed that love had brought them together. Crispin called it divine intervention. Another Season of escorting his sister and worrying over the unworthies who clamored for her attention, and he would have put himself out of his misery.

“Don’t be nervous.” Lizzie’s amused voice rang out from the other side of the door, obviously speaking to Catherine.

If she needed reassurance among the three of them, she was doomed. Where was divine intervention when he truly needed it?

Lizzie slipped inside the sitting room alone. “Catherine will be but a moment. Mary insisted on one more pin in her hair.”

He paced to the window. Crispin had half a mind to give Lady Hardford their excuses—Catherine had been through enough already. He could certainly invent some drastic enough reason to cry off at the last minute: illness, an unexpected trip to the country, leprosy. “Is she going to survive?”

“Mary is seldom dangerous with hairpins.”

“Very funny. Of course I meant will she survive the dinner party.”

Lizzie merely laughed at him. “I’m not sure
you
will survive. You are in a tizzy already.”

“I am not in a tizzy.” Crispin turned from the window to face his sister.

Lizzie smiled triumphantly. “I declared Catherine would be absolutely stunning, and so she is. You will have to humbly beg my pardon all the way to the millinery where
my
new bonnet is waiting.”

“I never doubted she would look nice,” Crispin said. “She has always been pretty. I just . . .” He pushed out a breath. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so nervous over a simple dinner party. “Catherine is anxious enough as it is. She shouldn’t also have to worry over her appearance.”

“Crispin.” Lizzie’s smile turned a touch syrupy. “You want her to feel pretty.”

“I only want her to not be entirely miserable.” And yes, he wanted her to feel
confident.

The doorknob turned and Lizzie, smiling quite unapologetically, moved toward her husband. “You are about to see the most beautiful woman you’ve ever beheld, Crispin,” she said.

And with that introduction, Hancock stepped across the threshold. Edward burst into laughter, as did Lizzie.

Crispin’s face split into an all-consuming grin as he chuckled quite uncharacteristically. “Truly a vision, Lizzie. Although not necessarily an improvement.”

“I think you need to have a talk with that mantua maker,” Edward chortled. “That dress didn’t turn out right at all.”

Hancock eyed them all quizzically. Looking thoroughly unamused, he stepped back across the threshold and motioned to someone just out of sight behind the doors. Crispin got his laughter under control but couldn’t stop his smile. It felt wonderful to truly laugh. He seldom did.

Catherine stepped inside in the next second and Crispin gave her a second look. While anything would have been an improvement over the frock her uncle had provided, Crispin could never have envisioned the transformation that had taken place.

The woman—for she obviously was one—had a figure! Who would have guessed? The color of her dress made her eyes even more astonishing, adding a hint of green to their deep blue. Gone was the severe hairdo. Instead, her hair curled softly around her face. Crispin couldn’t seem to keep himself from staring.

“Lord Cavratt, I do believe you owe my wife a bonnet,” Edward said, his voice low.

Lizzie could have any bonnet she wanted. The change he saw in Catherine was well worth the cost of a hat or two.

“Your carriage is waiting, my lord.” Hancock appeared to fight a smile.

“Thank you.” Crispin offered Catherine his arm, still astounded by the change in her. “You look beautiful.”

“I feel beautiful.” She spoke as quietly as ever, but something in her voice had changed. She seemed a little less uncertain.

He threaded her arm through his and began walking toward the front door. Catherine paused as they passed Hancock.

“Thank you,” she said to him.

“My pleasure, my lady.” Hancock bowed. “And might I say, your plan worked splendidly.”

Catherine nearly smiled. That seemed her way—hints of smiles, but never more. Even the tiny effort added a sparkle to her eyes that he rather enjoyed. But, almost before he’d registered it, the smile faded.

“Will it be a very large gathering, do you think?” Catherine asked after the foursome had settled inside the carriage and had begun their journey.

“Relatively.” Crispin’s answer seemed to make her more anxious. She pressed her lips together and tightly clutched her hands. “No need to worry. You’ll do fine. And we’ll all be there with you.”

She did not seem appeased. Crispin eyed her nervously as he stepped out of the carriage at the Hardfords’ home. Catherine stared like a frightened kitten at the front of the enormous townhouse.

“First”—Crispin slipped her hand under his arm—“we will be greeted by Lord and Lady Hardford.”

“The vulture,” Catherine whispered back.

Crispin smiled. Why was he suddenly so blasted cheerful? They were about to face the scrutiny of society and he’d spent an unusually large portion of the evening laughing and grinning? “I’d rather that conversation not be aired in public,” he replied.

“Of course not.” She sounded almost flirtatious. An intriguing change.

“After speaking with our host and hostess, we will proceed to their ballroom.”

“Dancing?” Catherine barely whispered, her face suddenly panic-stricken.

“No,” he quickly assured her. “We will take a turn around the room making polite conversation until dinner is announced.”

He could feel Catherine tremble, no doubt unnerved at the thought of speaking to so many people. Crispin quickly glanced at her, expecting to find her a moment from fainting, but she looked perfectly at ease.

Catherine’s hand tightened on his arm, and he distinctly heard her breath shake. She
was
nervous, but no one would be able to tell simply by looking.

“Lord Cavratt.”

Crispin offered a polite bow to their host. Lord Hardford always wore bold colors. He’d selected a vivid purple for his well-tailored waistcoat. Crispin had always preferred the more subdued black though occasionally opted for white. Lizzie had scoffed at his “dullness” many times during the past three years.

Lady Hardford sported a high-necked dress of deepest blue silk with feathers fanning out at her neck. She looked precisely like a vulture, just as he’d described her to Catherine. Crispin barely kept an even countenance.

“This must be Lady Cavratt.” The viscountess had a reputation for taking over every conversation in which she took part. “So pleased you could join us this evening.”

Catherine curtsied prettily and offered a subdued smile, just as any lifelong member of the ton. “Thank you for extending the invitation.” She spoke no more forcefully than ever but managed to cover the uncertainty Crispin knew she felt.

Good show, Catherine.

“Where have you been hiding this diamond?” Lady Hardford smiled, tapping Crispin on the arm playfully with her fan. “I am quite certain I have not seen her in Town before. Were you hiding her in some hamlet? Keeping us all in the dark until the opportune moment?”

“Do you wish me to give away all my secrets in one night, Lady Hardford?”

She smiled as he expected her to.

A bit of flattery and they could move on. “Yours is, as I’m sure you must realize, the first assembly we have attended since coming to Town.”

The viscountess pulled herself up rather like a rooster, her feathered neckline ruffling appropriately as the realization of the status this distinction would lend her appeared to sink in. Crispin offered another bow and lead Catherine toward the ballroom.

“Well done, Catherine,” Crispin whispered, leaning toward her so his words would not be overheard.

“She looked precisely like—”

“I know.” Crispin barely held back a laugh.

“How have I done so far?” Catherine asked in an urgent whisper. “Have I embarrassed you?”

“Not in the least,” he replied and laid his hand on hers.

“Then I will have to try harder,” she said.

“To embarrass me?”

“You practically asked me to.”

Crispin quietly chuckled. “I am beginning to suspect that you are a handful.”

Catherine pinked quite attractively and her lips twitched but didn’t turn upward. What would it take to coax an actual smile out of her?

“Lord and Lady Cavratt,” the Hardfords’ servant announced to the ballroom.

The room fell instantly silent. Catherine’s fingers tightened around his arm. She looked entirely composed, though he could still see a hint of fear in her eyes in the split second she looked at him before they stepped inside the suffocatingly attentive ballroom.

Crispin could feel dozens of eyes upon them. Word of their sudden marriage had certainly circulated as, he was sure, had speculation about its future. He scanned the crowd for someone friendly whom he could count on being amiable. If Catherine’s first introduction could be pleasant, she might relax. Her fingers must have been white from strain beneath her gloves. If she gripped him that hard any longer, he would have to summon the sawbones for an emergency amputation.

Almost miraculously, his eyes fell on Charles Ritfield, whose property adjoined his own in Suffolk. Though he was ten years Crispin’s senior, they got on well. Charles was one of the most agreeable men of Crispin’s acquaintance and not at all likely to devour an unsuspecting newcomer.

“I see someone I’d like to introduce to you,” he told Catherine in low tones and began moving in Mr. Ritfield’s direction. Around them the murmur picked up again in the room and the latest arrivals were announced.

“Lord Cavratt!” Mr. Ritfield smiled as they reached him. “A pleasure!”

Crispin undertook the introductions, miraculously managing to quite smoothly utter the phrase “my wife.”

Mr. Ritfield paused only long enough for a breath before launching into a one-sided conversation with Catherine. “Only the other day I said to my wife, ‘Lord Cavratt really ought to find himself a wife.’ And now I find out he has. Capital! Capital!”

Crispin had forgotten Ritfield’s tendency to grin unceasingly. That would either prove relieving to Catherine or unnerving. Crispin watched her, ready to move on if the encounter didn’t look promising.

“Lord Cavratt is quite a favorite in the neighborhood. We’ve all been hoping he would find a lovely lady to bring home to Kinnley.”

“Kinnley?” Catherine whispered to Crispin.

“My estate in Suffolk,” he answered quietly.

“Lord Cavratt is quite the catch, I understand.” Ritfield’s grin only grew. “Quite sought after by the ladies—er, that is he
was
quite the catch. But then, you surely knew that.”

Catherine nodded, not appearing at all overwhelmed by Ritfield’s ceaseless flow of words.

“He is genial and polite. A gentleman to the core, of course. Bang up to the mark, I’ve always said. His estate is the envy of all of Suffolk. And we must certainly add to his talents that of discovering hidden treasures.”

“I think that is sufficient flattery for one evening, Ritfield,” Crispin said. The man really was a very good neighbor but had a tendency to be too effusive in his praise. “I will be sure to enlist your services if ever my good name is in question.”

“Capital!” Ritfield laughed and slapped him on the shoulder. “Capital!”

The next three-quarters of an hour passed rather tediously and for Catherine, no doubt, in a blur. Each of the dinner guests had seemed quite anxious for an introduction to the mysterious Lady Cavratt. She managed to keep her composure if not all of her coloring. Crispin appreciated her continued ability to remain conscious—he’d expected a swoon within the first half hour. Catherine, it seemed, was made of sterner stuff.

Mr. Finley, a jack-a-dandy of deservedly poor reputation, held her hand longer than necessary only moments before dinner was expected to be announced. Catherine summarily extracted her fingers from his grasp. Crispin had the sudden desire to extract the man’s head from his neck.

“And might I be so bold as to request the honor of escorting her ladyship in to dinner?” Mr. Finley asked.

Catherine’s face blanched—the first sign of distress he’d seen her allow since stepping into the ballroom.

“That would be entirely too bold,” Crispin said. “She quite outranks you.”

“Of course, Cavratt.” Finley did not appear at all put in his place.

“And,” Crispin added, snaring Finley with his most determined glare, “should the question arise, you will not find yourself escorting her to supper at any future functions, either, as I have every intention of reserving that honor for myself.” The declaration surprised him. He hadn’t, until that precise moment, planned to live in his accidental wife’s pockets. Strange that he didn’t regret the impulse.

With a smile too much like a smirk, Finley bowed. Crispin didn’t like the way the man’s eyes lingered on Catherine in the moments before he walked away. Why he should feel such a possessive inclination he didn’t know, but couldn’t deny that in that moment he did. Perhaps it was simply his dislike for Mr. Finley. The man was, after all, a rake.