The carriage was almost at the stables. Portfrey had sent them in his own coach, then, and surrounded them with all his ducal pomp. It was all so very damnably proper and ceremonial. Had he really imagined during that mad hour at Vauxhall that he could simply load her into a hired carriage the very next day and bring her here to surprise his parents with their announcement?

He moved away from his mother’s side and ran down the steps to the terrace. Deuce take it but this felt strange. He was about to see her again. Their grand masquerade was about to begin. Was she nervous?

And then the carriage rolled to a halt, one of the postilions jumped down to open the door and set down the steps, and Kit stepped forward, smiling and stretching up a hand. He was half aware of the other two ladies, but it was Lauren Edgeworth who leaned forward and set her gloved hand in his.

He had half forgotten how very beautiful and elegant she was. Her dove-gray traveling dress and bonnet, both with violet trim, appeared quite uncreased by the long journey. She looked fresh and lovely and perfectly composed.

“Lauren.” He handed her down and bent his head to kiss her cheek, though somehow he caught one corner of her mouth as well.

“Kit.”

They had agreed at Vauxhall—or rather he had persuaded her—that they should use each other’s given name, but they had not done so until now. He squeezed her hand, still clasped in his own, and grinned at her. Suddenly a two-week-long depression lifted like a physical weight from his shoulders and he felt a surge of confidence and exhilaration at the prospect of the days ahead. Lauren really had been the right choice for him, even if only for the summer. And there was to be all the challenge of getting her to change her mind about the summer’s ending. He loved challenges.

“Aunt Clara,” Lauren said as he turned back to the carriage and gave his hand to the older of the two ladies within, “this is Kit, Viscount Ravensberg. My aunt, the Dowager Countess of Kilbourne.”

She was a smart, handsome lady with shrewd eyes and proud demeanor.

“Ma’am,” he said, making his bow to her after handing her down.

“And Gwendoline, Lady Muir, my cousin.”

He handed down the younger lady, who was very small, very blond, and very pretty. She looked at him with sparkling, frankly assessing eyes as he bowed to her.

Then it was time to turn and make the introductions to his family, who were waiting on the steps. All was accomplished in a manner that was perfectly smooth, perfectly civil. If Lauren was feeling any misgivings, any nervousness, she certainly was not showing it. Neither were his parents showing in any way at all that their son’s betrothal was anything but perfectly acceptable to them. His grandmother, when they were introduced, even took Lauren’s hand in her good one and drew her down for a kiss.

“Pretty,” she said, nodding in that way she had of indicating that she would say far more if she could. “Might have . . . known . . . Kit would choose a . . . pretty one.”

Lauren showed no discomfort at having to wait an inordinately long time for the short sentence to be completed. She was smiling—yes, actually—and giving his grandmother her full attention.

“Thank you, ma’am,” she said.

But Kit had suddenly noticed Sydnam standing on the top step, inconspicuous in the shadow of one of the pillars, half turned so that his left side faced out. Kit took Lauren by the elbow.

“There is someone else I want you to meet,” he said and led her up the steps. He half expected Syd to flee through the open door, but he stood his ground. “My brother Sydnam. Lauren Edgeworth, my betrothed, Syd.”

If she felt shock as she saw him fully, she gave no sign, not even a stiffening of her elbow against his hand. When viewed from his left profile, Syd was as extraordinarily good-looking as he had been all his life. But as soon as he turned, the beholder could see his empty right sleeve pinned neatly against his coat, the purple marks of the old burns discoloring and immobilizing the right side of his face and neck, and the black patch over his right eye socket. Beauty and the beast occupying the two halves of the same body.

Syd held out his left hand, and she did not hesitate to take it in her left so that they could exchange a handshake that was not awkward.

“Mr. Butler.”

“Miss Edgeworth, welcome to Alvesley,” Syd said. “Has your journey been very tedious?”

“Not at all,” she replied. “I had the company of my aunt and cousin, you see, and the knowledge that Kit would be here waiting for me at the end of it.”

Kit looked at her appreciatively. She sounded so warmly convincing that he felt a foolish lurching of pleasure in the region of his heart.

But his mother was, as always, the perfect hostess. She would accompany the ladies to their rooms, she told them, coming to join them on the top step, so that they might have an opportunity to freshen up before tea was served in the drawing room. She took Lauren’s arm, drawing her away from both her sons, and led the way inside while Lady Kilbourne and Lady Muir followed behind. Lady Muir limped, Kit noticed.

Chapter 8

Gwendoline was playing the pianoforte while the Earl of Redfield stood behind the bench, turning the pages of the music for her. The countess and Aunt Clara were seated side by side on a love seat nearby, alternately listening to Bach and conversing with each other. Sydnam Butler was sitting on the window seat at the opposite end of the drawing room, where he had been ever since they had moved here from the dining room following dinner, slightly turned so that his right side was in the shadow of the heavy velvet curtains. What had happened to him? Viscount Ravensberg—Kit—moved about the room, smiling, genial, occasionally interjecting a remark into a conversation, but not becoming a part of any group, and never approaching his brother.

He looked restless, rather like a caged animal of the wild.

Lauren had spent almost the whole evening seated beside the dowager countess, Kit’s grandmother, close to the fire, though she had obliged the company by taking her turn briefly at the pianoforte. She had told the old lady about Newbury Abbey, about the weeks she had recently spent in London, about the few entertainments in which she had participated there. She had also listened. It was not easy to do when the dowager’s speech was halting, punctuated by long, painful pauses as she tried to form words. It was tempting to interrupt, to supply the words she knew were about to be spoken, to complete sentences whose endings she could guess long before the words were out. It was what the earl and countess tended to do, Lauren had noticed both at tea and at dinner. Perhaps they were embarrassed for her in the company of guests. Perhaps they thought they did her a kindness. But it seemed unfortunate to Lauren.

She listened, giving the old lady her full attention, keeping her expression bright and interested. Nevertheless there was a great deal of time in which to think and observe. She had been welcomed to Alvesley with meticulous courtesy but perhaps without warmth. But she had not expected warmth. Courtesy was enough. Kit had played his part well. He had looked so delighted to see her, in fact, that Gwen had been totally beguiled. She had come into Lauren’s room before they went down to tea together, hugged her, and beamed at her.

“Lauren,” she had said, “he is quite gorgeous. That smile! And when he kissed you for all to see as soon as your feet touched the ground, I could have quite swooned with the romance of it.” She had laughed merrily. “You said he could be quite outrageous.”

That last remark had not been a criticism, though the kiss, brief peck though it had been, had almost robbed Lauren of her poise.

There had been almost no communication between him and his parents since her arrival, she had noticed. All three of them had spoken with her, with Aunt Clara, with Gwen. But not with one another. They were very upset with him, then, over this betrothal when they had hoped for another for him? And perhaps none of them could forget that he had fought with his elder brother three years ago, presumably over the woman they had both wanted to marry, and that afterward the earl had sent him away and told him never to return. How bitter an experience it must have been for the earl to see his eldest son die and suddenly to have his exiled second son as the new heir. And how doubly bitter to Kit to know that his banishment had been revoked only because of his elder brother’s death.

Kit and his younger brother both behaved as if the other did not exist. And yet Kit had made a point of introducing them on her arrival, and it had seemed to her at the time that he was fairly bursting with affection for his horribly wounded brother. What had happened?

The Earl of Redfield’s family was certainly not a close or a happy one, she concluded. Suddenly the task ahead of her, the task she had taken on so glibly that night at Vauxhall, seemed daunting indeed. How could she help reconcile Kit with his family when the wounds were apparently both deep and long-standing? And when she was responsible for widening the gap, deepening the wounds? And when she was going to break off the engagement . . .

But her thoughts were distracted by the dowager countess, who had grasped her cane with the obvious intention of getting to her feet. Lauren restrained her first impulse to jump to her feet to help. She had not been asked for help, and any intrusion on her part might be resented. She smiled instead.

“Going to bed, Mother?” The earl was striding toward them. “Allow me to summon your dresser.”