Looking around this table, Kit thought his uncle had understated the matter. His aunt didn't just collect wounded birds. She also built them a nest and helped them fly.
Charlotte, Estella's young sister, was holding court at the far end of the table, regaling Lord Blackwood with a story about a cat she'd befriended near the mews. It involved, as far as Kit could follow, a stolen fish and a coachman who was still furious about his ruined boots.
"And then he hissed at me," Charlotte said, eyes wide.
"The coachman?" Blackwood's tone was so serious, Estella bit her lip to stop a laugh.
"The cat," Charlotte said. "But then guess what he did."
Estella tried to interject. "Charlotte, perhaps Lord Blackwood doesn't wish to hear about a stray cat."
"On the contrary," Blackwood said. "This is the most engaging story I've heard all week."
Charlotte beamed. Estella sighed. But the exasperated sound was in direct contrast to her indulgent smile.
Meanwhile, Blackwood gave Charlotte a conspiratorial wink.
Blackwood, who'd spent years scaring London society, had been transformed into a willing accomplice to an eight-year-old. If that wasn't proof of his aunt's gift for transformation, nothing was.
And then there was Thea. She'd arrived with a book, which she'd set beside her plate and was reading between courses. The duchess had given the book a pointed look when Thea sat down. Thea had given the duchess a pleasant smile in return. Neither had commented further, and Kit suspected this was a battle his aunt had long since lost.
The duchess presided over them all with an expression of long-suffering affection. She corrected Charlotte's elbows, redirected Estella's fretting, ignored Thea's book, and smothered smiles at Blackwood's dry observations.
It was, Kit realized, the warmest room he'd been in since his uncle was alive.
But even so. He was still miserable.
"You're brooding," his aunt observed.
He feigned affront. "I am not."
"Then why do you look as though you're attending a funeral?" his aunt asked.
Charlotte looked over. "Whose funeral?"
"No one's," Estella said quickly.
Kit forced a smile for Charlotte's sake more than anything. "I'm merely thinking. It's been known to happen."
"About Lady Clarissa?" Charlotte asked brightly. She turned to Estella. "Is he thinking about Lady Clarissa? Everyone says he's in love with her."
"Charlotte." Estella's voice held a warning.
Charlotte pouted. "Well, they do."
Despite her warning to her sister, Estella turned to him with a look of concern. "Are you worried about her?"
Kit took a sip of his drink. "Lady Clarissa is doing perfectly well. She is currently at a musicale. And she's almost certainly in attendance with Lord Hartley, who is a perfectly decent gentleman." There was a silence, and he felt compelled to add, "I'm glad she's found someone who appreciates her attention."
The dinner guests stared at him with varying degrees of disbelief.
"Truly," he added. "I'm glad she's well away from the shame of my tawdry affairs."
"I don't see why you should be ashamed of that," Thea said, not looking up from her book. "It's not your child."
Kit froze with his drink in midair. The table went silent. The duchess set down her glass with a clink and turned to Thea. "I beg your pardon?"
"Hmm?" She looked up, blinking as though surprised to find everyone watching her. "Oh." She looked at Kit with an expression of concern. "Was that not common knowledge?"
