“Do you know Viscount Grayson?” Betty asked. “Lord Grayson, this is Mr. Reginald Blaylock. Mr. Blaylock, Cordon Shaw, the Viscount Grayson.”
Mr. Blaylock shook Cordon’s hand. The exchange lasted longer than necessary and made Kitty wonder if the two men had met before. Then Mr. Blaylock unbuttoned his coat and sat beside Betty, who—to Kitty’s horror—fluttered her eyelashes.
Cordon’s hand found hers beneath the table and squeezed.
“No,” Kitty whispered.
“What was that, Katherine?” Mrs. Carter asked.
Kitty looked at her mother and couldn’t tell if she were being serious. Mrs. Carter could not possibly be aware that she’d invited a criminal to sit with them.
“Miss Carter and I have met.” Mr. Blaylock adjusted the brim of his hat. “I had the opportunity to visit her wonderful shop.”
Betty’s brows knitted together. “Reginald, you didn’t tell me you know my sister.”
Mrs. Carter’s brow furrowed. “Beatrice, you do not have leave to refer to Mr. Blaylock in such a casual manner.”
Reginald.Reg.
Kitty bit the inside of her cheek as she remembered how Betty had talked about a suitor she liked of whom Mrs. Carter did not approve. Had Kitty realized ‘Reg’ was Mr. Blaylock, shewould never have allowed her sister to depart her shop without first shaking some sense into her.
She couldn’t let the criminal wheedle his way into her sister’s life. If his presence was meant to intimidate her into paying him faster, then he had succeeded. She would empty her bank accounts to rid Betty of the unpleasant man. If that wasn’t enough, she’d beg Cordon for help. For Betty, she would put her pride aside.
Betty, who was blushing as a servant poured tea for Mr. Blaylock. That was not a good sign. Kitty had never seen her sister act so flirtatiously with any man. Nor did her mother seem to notice, although she might have been too distracted attempting to extract a promise out of Cordon to call on Betty. Typical of Mrs. Carter, more concerned about advancing her social status than protecting her own daughter from an entirely inappropriate suitor.
“If you could visit my shop again tomorrow morning, Mr. Blaylock,” Kitty said loudly. “I would be pleased to settle your account.”
She hadn’t earned enough, but she would visit the pawnbroker and sell everything she owned if she had to. Or, much easier, ask Cordon. It would be awkward, as she despised owing anyone and her relationship with Cordon would make it that much more uncomfortable, but being indebted to Cordon was better than having a criminal edge his way into Betty’s life.
The man paused in the motion of lifting a cream cheese sandwich to his mouth. “That will not be necessary, Miss Carter.” He set the sandwich on his plate. “Now that I am officially courting Miss Beatrice, your services are no longer required.”
“Mr. Blaylock,” Mrs. Carter said in a tight voice. “Please refrain from discussing such matters before you are officially betrothed.”
Kitty stared, uncomprehending, as he moved several more tarts and biscuits to his plate. She had never been adept at understanding what people were actually trying to express when they spoke in such a carefully polite manner, but she had the distinct impression he meant she no longer needed to pay him. Had her father come to his senses at last?
That would not explain why Mr. Blaylock was sitting at their table, despite being far too old for Betty. Mrs. Carter might not mind, but Kitty would have much preferred her sister to cultivate suitors closer to her age. Ideally ones who were not criminals.
Mr. Blaylock had to be using Betty to intimidate Kitty. It must have been a threat, a way of saying if she did not pay him, he would take Betty away. That made much more sense than a man like Mr. Blaylock suddenly being generous enough to forgive a loan.
His presence made it more difficult than normal to ignore things around her that otherwise would have been minor annoyances: the uncomfortably hard chair in which she had been sitting for hours, the rhythmic clicking of Betty’s nails on her teacup, the biscuit crumbs caught between Kitty’s teeth.
Then Mr. Blaylock put his hand atop Betty’s on the table, and Kitty could no longer take it. If she remained sitting, she would lose her temper, which would only aggravate Mr. Blaylock.
“I apologize, but I must return to my store,” she said as she stood.
“I would be pleased to escort you,” Cordon said.
Mrs. Carter narrowed her eyes. “Katherine, you cannot simplyleave. Especially not with him.”
Cordon snapped his fingers, and a veiled woman dressed in mourning black appeared from behind a topiary like magic. She was so tall that Kitty had to crane her neck to make out hersharp cheekbones and vibrant blue eyes, barely visible behind her heavy veil.
“Seraphina, may I present Mrs. James Carter, and her daughters, Miss Katherine Carter and Miss Beatrice Carter? And Mr. Reginald Blaylock. Everyone, my cousin, Seraphina Lysander, the Dowager Countess of Kilkenny,” he said.
Mr. Blaylock inclined his head. Betty was so busy staring at Mr. Blaylock that she hardly seemed to notice the new arrival. Then there was Mrs. Carter, who practically squeaked with excitement.
“Countess Kilkenny! A lovely surprise. You are, of course, welcome to—”
“I shall act as chaperone,” the dowager countess said in a soft voice. Then she turned and strode away, forcing Kitty and Cordon to hurry and follow behind her.
