He glanced around, his gaze landing on the worn-out sofas and the threadbare peach carpet. “It took some time to find you, and I did not expect to see the fiancée of the duke residing in Cheapside.” The man was now watchful, his light blue eyes calm and calculating.
Her composure was rattled, and she took a delicate sip of her tea, her thoughts churning furiously. “My father’s solicitor’s office is currently seeking a more suitable establishment at the duke’s behest. Mr. Walker of the Dunn and Robinson firm…you are familiar with them?”
“I am,” he said tightly.
“Yes, Mr. Walker found the most delightful town house in Mayfair, but I am afraid Alexander was not at all pleased with the selection. I believe his words were that only the very best was suitable for his betrothed.” There, that would explain why she still resided in Cheapside, and yet the terrible sense of unease lingered. There were days she hated the depth of deception she weaved, and today was such a day. Why did this man have to show up here?
Still, better him than the duke…
Adolphus Pryce blanched, and he sat straighter on the lumpy sofa. “His Grace…His Grace went to another firm to handle this matter?”
The man’s shock had alarm flipping in her belly and a realization dawning. They had been concerned because the duke hadn’t used their offices to draft up any sort of agreement, or even an offer of the marriage contract. They were worried the duke may not be satisfied. Of course they had thought it prudent to investigate these new rumors. It occurred to her then they must have investigated the other past rumors as well.
Drat. She frowned, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “It was my suggestion to go with that firm, for they dealt with my papa’s estates. Alexander does indulge me, shamelessly.” She paused in the act of selecting a cake. “Do you believe your firm is capable of finding a house that would please His Grace?”
Relief lit the man’s eyes, and he nodded eagerly. “Of course, of course, Smith and Fielding is always honored to cater to His Grace’s needs. We will get on the matter right away. By the end of the week, I’ll find a town house in Piccadilly or Grosvenor Square and open a line of credit for you, Miss Danvers, at various shops. You may assure His Grace you will want for nothing, and the offices of Smith and Fielding will gladly serve all your needs.”
A line of credit? Dear God. This was going too far.
But who would genuinely believe she was the fiancée of a duke as powerful as Thornton if she lived in Cheapside and wore last season’s modes? Or only the three new ball gowns recently procured?
If she refused this offer, would they then write to the duke? Vast holdings such as the Duke of Thornton’s had several stewards and solicitors dancing attendant to his orders. Minuscule affairs were not brought to his notice. If she rejected this offer and insisted her father’s solicitor would deal with the matter of a town house, the office of Smith and Fielding would feel compelled to bring the matter to the duke, for fear of losing even a bit of his patronage.
Doubts once again rose in her. But would they not also alert the duke that they had found her suitable apartments? “I cannot credit that Alexander did not respond to your office’s queries. I will speak with him.”
Another grateful sigh issued from the man. So their client was an ogre, was he?
“That would be very satisfactory, Miss Danvers.”
Mr. Pryce then opened a slim black leather case and retrieved a sheaf of paper, a small inkwell, and a pen, then got down to business. He was quite thorough, even demanding to know the type of drapes she desired to frame the windows, the furniture required for each room, and if a seven-roomed town house would be sufficient for her needs. They discussed how many servants she would need to staff the house and the shops she would need for the lines of credit. An hour later, Mr. Pryce departed with a confident spring to his steps.
She dropped the faded damask silk curtains as the hackney rolled away down the street with Mr. Pryce. The web she had woven had just gotten so frightfully tangled, Kitty doubted she would ever be free.
She hugged an arm around her waist. There was a ball to prepare for, and she must not dawdle.
When the news had appeared in The Scruntineer, she had found the gumption to visit one of London’s reigning modistes and ordered three new ball gowns and most delightful riding habits for herself and Anna. Then she’d suddenly been offered a considerable discount on the bill and found that they were able to add some new day outfits as well.
Being the duke’s fiancée had more than one advantage.
That night she had cried in her pillows, for her heart had been heavy with uncertainty at using the last of the monies Papa had left. Come winter, they wouldn’t have two shillings to rub together.
Now a line of credit was being opened at the most famous shops in London. She would have to be very careful not to make any purchases, even if the situation became dire. While she would borrow the man’s reputation and connections, taking money felt sordid and far too nefarious. But what was she to do about the town house? Kitty fretted as she made her way from the parlor, down the small hallway, and up the stairs to her bedroom.
I will pay him back every penny, she vowed.
…
Several days later, Kitty strolled through Hyde Park with Ophelia. The day was quite dreary for a spring afternoon. The morning had dawned cold; intermittent rain had fallen in a listless, icy drizzle. That had not prevented numerous callers from descending on her newly occupied town house. Her mother had been beside herself at the duke’s generosity, even though such a gesture stretched…more like shattered the bounds of propriety.
Her mother had sniffed and declared that it was not as if the duke intended to reside under the same roof. And he was the soul of kindness and gentlemanly honor to be so concerned with their welfare. “Of course, no man of his stature would have his fiancée’s family living in Cheapside!” her mother had declared, marshaling them to pack their few belongings like a general.
Still, Kitty had not expected the bevy of nosy bodies who had descended a few hours ago. Her mother had basked in the attention and had taken to her role as hostess quite effortlessly, managing cakes and refreshments adroitly and keeping the conversation surrounding the mundane and light gossips, skillfully deflecting all questions pertaining to the duke.
A suffocating dread had risen inside her. The success had felt too surreal, too alarming, with unalterable consequences stalking her, promising ruin and scandal. Kitty had mumbled some nonsense and had escaped as if the devil had been nipping at her heels.
Grabbing her bonnet and parasol after donning sensible walking shoes, she had made her way from the house. A carriage had paused by her several minutes later; she had been q
uite glad to spy Ophelia, and her dear friend, sensing her turmoil, had suggested a stroll through the park despite the inclement weather.