Finally, Lady Clarissa rose. "Thank you for the tea."
She curtsied to the dowager duchess. And then she left. Without so much as a glance for Kit.
The door closed behind her, and the drawing room settled into silence.
"Well," Aunt Philippa said. "I suppose that went as well as one could hope."
He didn't answer. Mostly because he didn't agree. He wasn't sure what to make of that interaction, but it hadn't left a positive impression on him, that much he knew. All in all, he was unsettled.
His aunt turned to face him. "You don't suppose she heard us talking before she entered, do you?"
He did not know. But if she had heard, then she was a far better actress than he'd given her credit for. He shook his head to reassure his aunt, who looked truly concerned. "I doubt it, no. But do you think she'll agree to it?"
The duchess considered, and Kit felt his whole body tense as he waited.
He wanted her to agree. Nay, he needed her to. First and foremost, he needed the money. He wouldn't be able to get a good night's sleep until he knew he had the funds required. Secrets were not cheap, he'd learned of late. And subduing potential scandals was an expensive business.
"I suppose we shall find out soon enough," his aunt finally said.
He frowned down at his boots. That was not the answer he'd been hoping for. His aunt continued talking, but he found himself back to tallying sums. If Lady Clarissa agreed, and he got his first payment within a fortnight?—
"Kit." His aunt's voice cut through. "Are you listening?"
He was not. So he took his best guess at what she'd been saying. "Hmm? Yes. It went well. Absolutely."
Aunt Philippa studied him. "You recognized her, did you not?"
He didn't bother to deny it. His first words upon her entrance had rather given it away. It's you!
"I thought I knew her," he said.
Have we met?
He moved the toe of his boot over the rug, feigning interest in the pattern. "Perhaps I was mistaken."
"Mmm. It seems you must have been." Something in her tone had him looking up, and the glint of amusement in her eyes irritated him. "It was clear she did not recognize you."
He sighed. His aunt was far too delighted by that fact. And he could admit—his pride stung. He wasn't typically overlooked by young ladies. And he wasn't certain he'd ever been forgotten.
Straightening, he pushed away from the mantel. "I saw her once," he said. "Before I arrived in London. It was nothing."
"Was it?" the duchess mused. She clearly didn't believe him.
"Truly," he said. "It was a mere passing of strangers. It wasn't as though we were properly introduced."
Or introduced at all, for that matter. She'd never even asked his name. And he hadn't asked for hers either. If he had, he'd have known that she was Lady Clarissa.
Cast-Off Clarissa.
The nickname came back to him and for the first time he fully pieced it together. Cast-Off Clarissa was Lady Clarissa. And Lady Clarissa was the vibrant, effusive, passionate young lady he'd seen at the coaching inn.
And the young lady he'd seen at the inn?—
Well, he wasn't certain where she'd gone, but she hadn't been present here today.
Maybe he'd imagined her. Or maybe he'd thought of her so many times, his memory had made her out to be more spectacular than she truly had been. Or…
He winced.
