Lady Elizabeth Peverell.
'Well, Mrs. Mallory,' said Lady Elizabeth in a high falsetto tone that carried well over the hum of conversation, 'I would never have thought to see you here.'
Kit's stomach clenched. 'I might say the same for you, Lady Elizabeth.' Gracious, what was this spiteful little cat doing in Bath? She thought the girl had been packed off back home.
'Why, I am in town visiting my aunt, Lady Peterborough. I find Bath society to be very improving,' Lady Elizabeth explained with a false smile. She surveyed Kit's appearance with open contempt. 'With certain exceptions, of course.'
Kit's eyes narrowed. 'And have you just arrived?'
'Why, yes. Only yesterday.'
Yesterday… Everything came together. The vicious rumor. Lady Elizabeth's smug smile and the glitter of triumph in her eyes. Lady Peterborough's insidious gossip. Yes, it all became clear as crystal.
'My, you have been busy, haven't you?' Kit murmured.
The girl smirked. 'Surely you should realize by now, Mrs. Mallory, that there are no secrets in Bath.'
'Even those that begin as outright lies,' Kit shot back.
'Lies?' Lady Elizabeth arched a slim dark brow. 'You forget, Mrs. Mallory, that I was also a guest at Broadwell Manor. I happen to be very, very observant.'
'Observant or vengeful?' Kit snapped. The people directly around them had fallen silent, listening with unseemly anticipation, but that could not be helped.
'I saw you under the tree the day of the picnic,' she hissed. 'I saw the way you led him on.'
She… led Nicholas on? Visions of strawberries danced to the forefront of her memory, and Kit felt a familiar wave of heat wash over her cheeks. 'You are mistaken.'
Lady Elizabeth must have mistaken her flush for guilt; her eyes brightened with fury. 'I think not. I did not return directly to the house but stayed near the garden. And I assure you, I could see everything.'
Kit glared back at her. 'If you had seen everything, as you claim, then you would know that nothing happened between us. Nothing except what you fabricated in your jealous imagination.'
Lady Elizabeth scowled, then turned to her aunt and said in a very loud voice, 'You were absolutely right, Aunt Peterborough. They will admit absolutely anyone to these affairs, even those ladies who are no better than they should be.'
Kit stood still for a moment, her shaking hands rolled into fists at her sides. A sharp snap and a brief flash of pain in her palm told her that she'd gripped her sandalwood fan too tightly and broken one of the sticks. Although she longed to announce Lady Elizabeth's role in the dowager's fall to all and sundry, to do so would make her no less a viper than Lady Elizabeth herself. When the dowager duchess returned, she would take the girl down a peg or two. Until then, she must try to hold up her head. What else could she do?
Though she endeavored to maintain her composure, she could only keep her tears in check for so long. The evening was ruined. She struggled toward the vestibule, lost in a sea of censorious, hypocritical faces. A burst of Lady Elizabeth's shrill laughter knifed across her tattered nerves.
A hand touched her elbow, and she jumped.
'Forgive me if I startled you,' said Lord Langley. Worry creased his tanned face. 'I heard what just happened.'
'There are no secrets in Bath, are there?' Kit asked, her voice tinged with a trace of hysteria.
'How may I help?' inquired the viscount.
'Take me home, my lord,' Kit replied.
He nodded. 'Allow me to get your wrap.' He vanished from her side once more, leaving her alone to withstand the assault of prying eyes.
As grateful as she was for Viscount Langley's encouragement, he could not compare to Lord Bainbridge. She scanned the crowd, her arms wrapped around her body, but nowhere did she spy Nicholas's tall, broad-shouldered form. Where was he? Her own shoulders slumped. What was the use? Even if he were here, the whispered scandal would taint him, as well, no matter how vociferously he denied it.
Out of the midst of her upset and unhappiness, a phrase from Congreve hit her like a thunderbolt: Heaven hath no rage like love turned to hatred, nor Hell a fury like a woman scorned. Small wonder Lady Elizabeth felt driven by such passion; she had fallen desperately in love with Lord Bainbridge, who had not returned her affection, or even noticed it. For revenge, she had felt obliged to strike out at those she perceived had done her injury. Kit grimaced. 'Hell hath no fury,' indeed. Now both of them would suffer for her humiliation. It was not fair.
'Here.' Lord Langley's gloved fingertips brushed across her neck as he settled her wrap over her shoulders.
Kit started. 'Thank you, my lord.' Her hands shook. She fought to still them.
'I have sent for the carriage, but it may take some time to reach the front door. Perhaps you would care to wait out in the fresh air,' he suggested.
The atmosphere in the octagonal vestibule verged on claustrophobic; the air, redolent with an overabundance of perfume, threatened to choke her. Chills racked her body, alternating with uncomfortable waves of embarrassed heat. She nodded and allowed him to escort her outside. When they reached the street, Kit gasped with relief.
'I fear this evening's events too closely resembled a Forlorn Hope, my lord,' she said, clutching her shawl closer about her shoulders. 'The occupants of the Assembly Rooms repulsed me from the breach. As drubbings go, that was rather thorough.'
The viscount pulled a face. 'I regret you had to endure such an unpleasant experience. I only recently escaped similar censure in London.'
'Yes, but a lady's reputation is a fragile thing.' Tears pooled on her lashes. 'Once broken, it cannot be repaired.'
Lord Langley took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. 'Mrs. Mallory, I must confess something to you… I hold myself partially responsible for what happened here tonight.'
Numbness gathered beneath Kit's breastbone. 'Responsible? How so?'
'I warned you about Lord Bainbridge, but I should have been more diligent in your defense. I should have protected you.'
Kit shook her head and tried to smile. 'No, my lord. You should feel no such obligation.'
'I disagree.'
'Lord Langley-'
'Please hear me out.' He enveloped her hand in both of his. 'I should have thought of this earlier. I cannot flatter myself by imagining that you hold any affection for me, Mrs. Mallory, but I would be honored to offer you the protection of my name, if you wish it.'
Kit's mind reeled. 'W-what are you saying?'
'Eh… I am making a muddle of this. Mrs. Mallory, I am asking you to be my wife.'
She lowered her eyes. 'My lord-'
'Sebastian,' he interjected with a lopsided smile. 'Sebastian Carr, Viscount Langley, who may not be a marquess, but hopes you will accept him as a poor substitute.'
Kit opened her mouth, but another voice-deep, male, and angry-replied for her.
'Good evening. I do hope I am not interrupting anything important.'
Kit jerked her hand from the viscount's grasp and whirled. 'Nicholas!'
Lord Bainbridge balled his hands into fists as he surveyed the scene laid out before him. Langley, the insolent fop, was gazing lovingly at Kit, and if the marquess had overheard correctly, had just made Kit an offer of marriage. And Kit stood, blushing, eyes downcast, looking for all the world like a demure maid about to accept him. His heart gave a savage twist.
'Kit, I believe the gentleman is waiting for your answer, so please do not hesitate on my account.' He bit off each word.
Kit pulled her hand again from her admirer's grasp; her cheeks glowed a brighter red. 'Nicholas, this is not what you think.'
