"With my eternal gratitude and devotion?" He said this with his most charming smile. The one that worked on shopkeepers and the female population of London in general.
It did not work on the Dowager Duchess of Ashworth. Which was not a surprise as it had never worked on the Dowager Duchess of Ashworth.
"Have you asked your father?" The way her voice softened just slightly didn't help to soften the blow.
Kit's hand stilled on his teacup. Of course he'd asked his father. His father not only held all the purse strings, but he was solely responsible for the fact that Kit was in such dire straits to begin with.
He lifted the cup and took a sip. "The duke and I are not currently of one mind on the matter."
His tone was dry, but amused. It was the tone he always adopted when speaking of his father. Or his mother, for that matter. As if they were both just another a droll amusement in his admittedly carefree life.
Or rather, formerly carefree.
Aunt Philippa was quiet for a moment. Her gaze lingered on him in a way he didn't care for. He braced himself for more questions about his father. But his aunt mercifully let it go.
"Well," she said. "At any rate, I'm glad you've come. It's been too quiet here."
He doubted that. Aunt Philippa's idea of "quiet" would exhaust most people. But he understood the sentiment beneath it. She'd lost Uncle James far too young—a fever that had taken him in a matter of days. And then, barely a year later, that blasted fire had claimed her beloved sister Lydia at a house party in the country.
With a pang of guilt he realized it had been far too long since he'd come to stay. His aunt was likely lonely in this large estate all alone.
"What happened to that girl?" he asked. "The one who was staying with you?"
"Estella? She moved back in with her family." The duchess's smile was small but alarmingly genuine. "She has a wedding to prepare for, you know."
"Poor thing," he murmured. More out of habit than anything. He had a reputation to maintain, and a severe disdain for matrimony or any other sort of commitment that might tie a man down—well, it was expected.
His aunt gave a little huff of laughter in response. "One day you'll learn that not all marriages are made the same." She arched a brow as she lifted her teacup. "Some are even quite pleasant."
Now he was the one laughing. "Yes, yes. You and Uncle James were proof enough of that. But I still maintain that what you two shared was an anomaly."
She stayed quiet, but amusement still tugged at the corners of her lips.
He looked around him pointedly. "Still, it is rather quiet for you," he said. "I'd have thought you'd have the house full again by now with friends or family."
"I have my projects." There was a smug mischief about her when she said it, and it made Kit laugh.
"Your projects," he repeated. "Why do I fear that your 'projects' would terrify any proper young lady in London?"
His aunt sniffed with disdain. "I do not terrify anyone."
But her eyes sparked with laughter at his teasing.
"You terrified me," he shot back. "When we first met."
"You needed terrifying. You were a young lord and still acting like a wild schoolboy."
"And now?" he teased.
The duchess almost smiled. "I do wish you'd come more often."
It was as close to an open display of emotion as he'd ever seen from her. Basically an admission that she loved him.
"I'm sorry," he said, and meant it. "I ought to have visited sooner."
"Yes, you ought." She poured herself more tea. "Now. Let's discuss the terms of your stay."
"The—" He cut himself off, too startled to finish. "You're the one who insisted I stay. If you're going to put conditions on the matter, I'll go to Gage's right this instant."
