The Earl with the Secret Past Page 3
Kitty clamped down on her mind’s attempt to drag those old memories from the depths where they had lain safely buried for fifteen years. She had long made it a personal rule not to look back. Not to tolerate regrets of any sort. She lived in the present and she looked forward to the future. It was enough. But she did not forget that hard-learned lesson in how easily the heart could be fooled into thinking itself in love.
‘Well, Annabel was certain of her feelings from the first moment they met and now her father has given his consent, and it is all arranged. I cannot wait to hear all about his proposal.’ Charis clasped her hands together in front of her chest, her hazel eyes shining. ‘It is so romantic. I wonder when it will be my turn.’
Kitty fought the compulsion to warn Charis to be careful, loath to quash her natural enthusiasm. She could not help but worry for her stepdaughter, lest she lose her heart to the wrong man—Kitty’s own painful experience had left her determined to guard her own heart well, but she tried not to allow her fears to curb her stepdaughter’s youthful dreams.
She contented herself with saying, ‘Do not be in too much hurry, Charis. This is only your debut Season and you are still very young to be thinking of marriage.’
Charis pouted. ‘Annabel is not the first of my friends to be betrothed.’
‘Have you a particular young man in mind?’
‘No. No one.’
Kitty almost laughed, Charis sounded so despondent, but she managed to swallow her laugh and, instead, she hugged her stepdaughter and dropped a kiss on her fair head.
‘Don’t despair, sweeting. The right young man will appear to sweep you off your feet one day. In the meantime, shall we call upon Annabel and her mother later and share their excitement?’
Charis threw her arms around Kitty and hugged her. ‘Thank you, for I know you do not much care for Mrs Blanchard. You are the best stepmother anyone could ever wish for.’
‘I am in wholehearted agreement, Charis,’ drawled a voice from the doorway, ‘but is this excess of enthusiasm due to anything in particular, or is it merely a general statement?’
Kitty looked up, laughing, at her stepson—tall and broad with his father’s golden-brown hair and dark brown eyes—who filled the doorway. He was clean-shaven and dressed in his riding clothes and looked nothing like a man who had spent the night carousing, so she had clearly done him a disservice in suspecting he had not returned home last night.
Not for the first time, she counted her blessings. Edgar, her late husband, had been over twenty years Kitty’s senior, but their marriage had been quietly content despite Edgar’s tendency to treat her as a surrogate daughter in need of instruction. His motives, she knew, had been good and he was a kindly spouse, but his gentle comparisons between Kitty and Veronica, his first wife—in which Kitty inevitably came off worst—had left her with the feeling of never being quite good enough.
Ironically, being a mother—or, strictly, a stepmother, as she had never been blessed with a child of her own—had been the one role at which she had surpassed Veronica, who had not been the maternal type. And even there, Edgar had not failed to puncture Kitty’s self-esteem with his monthly ‘joke’ that it was fortunate he had already produced his heir and spare when Kitty, yet again, proved not to be with child. Kitty had found that joke unfunny to begin with but, as the years passed, it became increasingly hurtful, especially as she became aware that her barrenness, in Edgar’s eyes, was all about him. He never once seemed to consider that Kitty might be upset by her failure to become a mother in her own right—and she had hidden her distress from him, and from the children, for she could not love any of Edgar’s four children more had they been of her body.
Robert was the eldest, followed by Edward, currently serving in the army, and Jennifer, who had been married for two years now. Charis was the youngest and Kitty deeply regretted Edgar had not lived to see her grow into such a fine young woman. Since Edgar’s death, Robert had become more like a brother to Kitty than a stepson—a steadfast support and ally. She was happy and secure, both in her stepfamily and in her place in society. She had her marriage portion and the Dower House if she chose to live there, but, for the time being, she still happily remained at the family home, Fenton Hall, running it on Robert’s behalf until he was ready to settle down.
‘Good morning, Robert,’ she now said. ‘Your sister’s enthusiasm is her customary over-exaggeration at my offer to visit Miss Blanchard to share in her celebration. But I must allow Charis to tell you the details, as it is her news to tell, not mine.’
‘Where were you, Rob? I looked for you first because I was bursting to tell—’
‘Bursting? That is hardly a ladylike expression, Charis.’
Charis pouted as Robert continued, ‘And I was not here because I went out to pay a visit to an old...acquaintance, I guess would be the correct description. But tell me your news first, Charis, and then I shall tell you mine. Although I doubt it will mean much to either of you, as you never knew the gentleman in question.’
Charis quickly relayed her news to Robert, who—to the disappointment of his sister—failed to match her excitement.
‘I dare say they will suit well enough,’ he said dismissively, ‘but you need not envy your friend, Charis, for Talaton is an awful windbag. You should hear him prosing on in the Lords. But, never mind that...now for my news. You will both be thrilled... I know how hostesses vie with one another to be the first to present a prestigious newcomer to their guests. There is nothing quite like stealing a march on one’s rivals, is there? Well. Be prepared to crow over the rest of ’em, for we are to be the first to welcome the new Earl of Kelridge to our dining table. Tonight! I’ve listed a few names we might include on the guest list.’
He reached into his pocket and thrust a sheet of paper covered in his heavy black script at Kitty. She glanced down at the list of ten names—three couples plus a few unattached ladies and gentlemen, all Hertfordshire residents. She frowned up at Robert.
‘They finally located Kelridge’s heir, did they? They believe this one to be genuine?’
Over the past few years, as the late Lord Kelridge’s health failed, the search for his missing wife and son had intensified, but to no avail. Several charlatans, however, had tried their luck, claiming to be the missing Ambrose Trewin. Their claims had been easy to disprove, but of Lady Kelridge and her son there had been no trace.
‘There is no doubt. Lady Kelridge wrote to the executors of Kelridge’s estate herself...she is still alive and living in Scotland. I’d have paid good money to see Grenville Trewin’s face when he found out—I’ll wager he was spitting feathers! To get so close to the prize, only to have it snatched away again...one could almost feel sorry for him, although it would have been at least seven years before the Committee for Privileges would even consider declaring Kelridge’s son and heir dead.’
‘I cannot help but sympathise with Mr Trewin’s son,’ said Kitty. ‘It would have meant a very different life indeed for Bartholomew Trewin, who has always struck me as a pleasant gentleman.’
Robert smiled. ‘He is a good man and a good friend. Let us hope the new Lord Kelridge will have a temperament more like that of his cousin than his late father.’
‘Indeed.’ Kitty had heard tales of the late Lord Kelridge’s violent temper. ‘Well, I admit it will be quite the coup to be the first to entertain Lord Kelridge, although—’
‘Although you do not consider yourself in competition with the rest of the hostesses?’ Robert grinned. ‘I know you always protest against any hint of competitiveness, but can you not admit you will enjoy a certain smug satisfaction at being first in this instance?’
Kitty laughed. ‘Well, just between us, I shall admit to it, if only because I shall not then have to listen to the other ladies boasting of their success. But, how did it come about? Why is Lord Kelridge to dine with us? Did you meet him last night?’
An architect? Unease stirred, deep inside Kitty.
‘Ooh! Then do I know him, too?’ Charis’s face lit up.
‘Not you, Sis. You were too little. And it was before Father married Stepmama, so I doubt they would have met.’ Robert’s brown gaze settled on Kitty’s face. ‘Do you recall when the library wing was rebuilt after the fire?’
Those stirrings lurched into boiling, roiling agitation. She nodded, her mouth dry, those locked-away memories clamouring to be set free.
‘Well, the new Lord Kelridge—it turns out he was the architect’s apprentice. They stayed at the Hall during the final stages of the restoration and although Adam, as he was then called, was much older than me—I was eleven at the time—he was always patient and made time for me, although I am sure he must have cursed my impudence at times, following him around like a lost puppy as I did.’
A vivid memory struck Kitty, stealing her breath—Adam Monroe, tall and dark, laughing as he described giving young Robert the slip in order to meet up with Kitty. But there had been no malice in his laughter and he’d also spent some of his free time fishing with Robert, knowing the lad was grieving the loss of his mother. She’d thought him a good man. She’d fallen in love with him, wholeheartedly believing that he loved her in return. But he had let her down, with his lies, and she had grieved for his loss—her foolish, tender heart in pieces—when he’d left. She’d dreamt about him at night and fantasised about him during the long, lonely days while she waited for her father’s return. Dreaded her father’s return.
Her father...the one man who should have had her safety and happiness at heart, but another man who had let her down.
Her throat thickened.
‘I presume your path never crossed with his, Stepmama,’ Robert continued, ‘even though we were neighbours.’
Kitty’s heart thudded in her chest as though it would beat its way free and disgust at her naivety scoured her stomach. Adam had made so much of the fact they were unequal in status and yet the entire time he had been the son of an earl.
‘We were never introduced,’ she said. And that was no lie. ‘And...this Adam...did he never tell you the truth of who he was?’
‘No. And that is the strange thing...it appears that he did not know his true identity. He knew nothing about Kelridge until a few weeks ago.’
Kitty felt marginally better. But only marginally. Was that true? He had lied before, about loving her. He might easily be lying again.
‘And Lord Kelridge is to dine with us tonight, you say?’
‘Yes. I hope you have no objection? I was aware you had no plans to dine out tonight and, as I said, it is the perfect opportunity to steal a march on the other hostesses.’ Robert slung his arm around Kitty’s shoulders to give her a quick hug. ‘Not that you care for such petty rivalries, of course. But many of the others do care...a very great deal.’
He winked, and Kitty couldn’t help but smile at the wicked twinkle in his eyes even though her insides were in turmoil. She scrabbled for an excuse. Any excuse.
But—if this is the truth, and not some dreadful nightmare—I shall have to meet him some time. He will be our neighbour in Hertfordshire. I cannot avoid him for ever. And would it not be better to meet for the first time when I am prepared for it? Adam. Oh, dear God. Adam.
She swallowed down the swell of emotion. Ignored the heat that washed beneath her skin. Pressed a hand to her belly to help quell her agitation as the memories she’d held at bay for so long shot to the surface, one after the other.
The taste of his lips.
His scent.
The feeling of rightness, of safety and security in the haven of his arms. The feeling that was a lie.
Kitty... Kitty...what are you doing to me?
Those words that were lies.
Kitty quelled a shudder, quashing those memories, forcing her attention back to the matter under discussion.
‘Have you spoken to Lord Kelridge? Has he accepted your invitation?’
‘That,’ said Robert, ‘is where I have been this morning. To call upon His Lordship and remind him of our connection. He was happy to accept.’
‘And is there a Lady Kelridge?’ Her breath stilled in her lungs as she awaited Robert’s reply.
‘No. He is a single gentleman. And, now I think about it...’ Robert tweaked the list from Kitty’s slack grip and scanned the names, ‘...this may be a touch overwhelming for him—all these strangers. Should we restrict the guest list to a chosen few? Two or three couples, perhaps?’
A shudder ran through Kitty at the thought of being so exposed. Better by far to be one of many rather than risk bringing his attention to her too often.
Will he remember me? Will he even recognise me?
She would be introduced as Lady Fenton. Their...friendship...had taken place over a matter of weeks, fifteen years ago. Why should he remember her? She shouldn’t flatter herself it had meant as much to him as it had to her. He’d made it quite clear—brutally clear—that he’d merely been dallying with her affections. Oh, and how easy she had made it for him...so desperate to escape her father and his plans for her that she had practically begged Adam to wed her. She had even, God help her, lowered herself enough to offer to live with him unwed. It was a miracle she had retained her innocence for, looking back, she had been so besotted she had little doubt she would have succumbed to any attempt at seduction. Willingly.
Another wave of heat—this time the burn of shame—swept over her skin, resulting in another shudder.
‘Stepmama?’ Charis frowned as she eyed Kitty. ‘Are you quite well?’
Again, Kitty tore her thoughts out of the past, the years of controlling her emotions—hiding them from both her father and from Edgar—coming to her rescue. She gathered her customary poise and stretched her lips in a smile.
‘I am quite well, my love. No need for concern. I was simply pondering the issue of the guest list. Robert... I think we should invite as many as we can sit. With us three, and Lord Kelridge, that makes ten other couples—twenty-four in total. Charis, you may assist me in compiling the guest list and writing the invitations and, Robert...will you ask Vincent to request Mrs Ainsley to attend me at her earliest convenience to discuss the menu?’
‘Will we still have time to call upon Annabel?’
Charis’s hesitance suggested she knew the answer, but Kitty refused to put Adam before her beloved stepdaughter. ‘Yes, my love. We will make time.’
Her nerves continued in turmoil as the rest of the day unfolded, but she did as she always did—rose above her personal concerns and concentrated on the practicalities of what lay before her. Life with her father had instilled in her the belief that, for a female in their world, duty outweighed all other considerations.
The passage of time, however, had never been less predictable: on the one hand, it dawdled past with the speed of a snail and yet, in complete contradiction, the dinner hour swept towards her with the speed of a runaway horse. She approved the menus Mrs Ainsley presented to her; she arranged flowers; she and Charis called upon Mrs Blanchard, staying for no longer than the usual thirty minutes; and, between all that, Kitty visited her bedchamber on at least three different occasions to examine her gowns, each time making her choice, only to return later, having changed her mind.
She prayed Adam, or Kelridge, as she must now think of him, wouldn’t recognise her. Yet, as soon as that prayer formed in her head, she realised she couldn’t bear it if he had forgotten her—her heart would rip to shreds if he had no memory of those romantic trysts that had meant the world to her. And while she was woman enough to hope he would still find her attractive, she d
etermined to treat him as no more than an ordinary guest, with the reserve and courtesy expected of any society hostess.
And as the clock ticked by, so her thoughts and her insides jumbled and tumbled.
‘Which gown do you wish to wear tonight, milady? I shall need to press it for you.’ Effie, her maid, looked at her enquiringly when Kitty wandered, yet again, into her bedchamber.
‘Oh. I...’ She could not continue to prevaricate, but...which gown should she select? She thrust away her disgust at her fickleness. It should not matter what she wore or what she looked like. But it did. ‘Why do you not choose, Effie?’ Kitty smiled winningly. ‘I want to look my best—something simple and elegant without frills or fuss. Which gown do you suggest?’
A delighted smile lit the maid’s face. ‘Ooh, milady. I’ve always loved this one, but you so rarely wear it.’ She reached into the press and withdrew a gown of butter-yellow silk, simply adorned with a few silk rosebuds and with a trim of blonde lace at the neck and the hem. ‘It shows off your hair something lovely, it does.’
It was a gown Kitty had not even considered. And yet...yes. It was perfect. It skimmed over her slender figure, the skirt falling in graceful folds that swayed as she moved. The scooped neckline was low enough to be flattering, but not brazenly so.
‘Thank you. Yes, I shall wear the yellow silk. With my wedding pearls, I think.’
There, Mr Adam Monroe—or Lord Kelridge, or whatever your name might now be. You might not have wanted me, but someone did.
Edgar’s gift for his young bride had been an exquisite pearl necklace, matching drop earrings and a pair of pearl bracelets.
Thank goodness for Edgar. Without him...
Once again, she dragged her thoughts out of the past. Edgar might have been insensitive at times, but he was at least gentle, clean and respectable and they had each rescued the other and fulfilled a need. His, for a mother for his young children and a life companion for himself. Hers, to escape her debt-ridden drunk of a father and his petrifying plan to clear his gambling debts by selling his young daughter’s hand in marriage to Algernon White, the lecherous owner of several gaming clubs. White, her father had informed her, had ambitions to expand his business empire and was therefore eager to gain respectability through marriage into the aristocracy. And, as for her—well, what use was a daughter unless to make an advantageous marriage? Her father had never forgiven her for being born a girl and she had never forgiven him his cruel plan.