Page 13 of Against the Wind

Kit was thrown by the woman’s compliment but not certain why. Perhaps because her hair had brought her to the attention of the Earl of Rutledge when she and her sister were first introduced to him at Petworth House in Sussex. Her father had visited the grand estate at the invitation of the Earl of Egremont, and Kit had never forgotten the great collection of art the old earl amassed. And she had never forgotten the Earl of Rutledge, whose watchful eyes never left her and her sister.

“Thank you, Mrs. Singleton.” Kit’s hand brushed the shimmering fabric. It had been a long time since she’d had such a gown. “You are most kind. Yes, the silver will do nicely.”

Mrs. Singleton continued to hunt through the fabrics on the table when Pris came up behind her. “Miss Endicott, you must have a blue gown, too. Your eyes—”

“A good suggestion, my dear,” said Mrs. Singleton, interrupting as she pulled out a bolt of blue-green silk. “Yes, with your eyes, Miss Endicott, a gown in this color would do nicely.”

“I will be happy to take all your recommendations,” said Kit, looking into the older woman’s determined eyes. At least she’d be relieved of the burden of choosing the precise nature of the charity bestowed upon her.

Mrs. Singleton suggested several other fabrics to Kit while Pris and Pen offered their opinions as well. Then the older woman returned her attention to the twins, joining their discussion on sashes to complement the ivory silk they had selected for their first ball. Not surprising to Kit, Pris chose bold accent colors, including plum and dark green, while Pen stayed with the pastels most debutantes wore. Kit had come to love these girls. They often brought to mind another part of her long-ago dream: a daughter of her own.

Kit turned to face the bay window and strolled a few steps to peer out between the displayed gowns onto the street. In truth she stared at nothing; her only goal was to be alone with her thoughts. As the twins’ chatter faded into the background, Kit remembered the day she and Anne visited Mrs. Singleton’s shop for their own coming-out gowns. Her eyes misted over with the memory. She was the one who had chosen a royal blue for her sash, while Anne chose a paler shade. Her eyes squeezed shut as she fought for control, glad the de Courtenay girls and the modiste could not see the tear slipping down her cheek. She quickly brushed it away. How she missed Anne. How she regretted not being able to say a proper goodbye, not even able to wear the proper mourning clothes. Of course, Anne would understand. She always had.

Wiping away another tear, Kit forced herself back to the present and looked out the window, this time in earnest. On the street, a man doffed his hat to a passing woman and paused to greet her. He was tall, with very dark hair.

For a moment her heart stopped. Could it be the man from Willow House? From the side he appeared so, but no, this man was shorter. He turned his face as he spoke with the woman, and Kit was suddenly certain this was not the man she remembered, the man who was always in her thoughts. This man’s face looked younger, not as wise in the ways of the world. Nor were his features as perfectly formed.

Kit wondered what had happened to that man from Willow House, where he was, what he was doing. Who he was. She did not even know his name. Somehow that made him seem less real, as if he had only been an Adonis from her dreams. But no, he had been very real. She still recalled the feel of his skin beneath her fingers, the feel of him as he’d made love to her, bringing her the most amazing pleasure she had ever experienced.

Her cheeks warmed, as if others could hear her thoughts. What would she say to him if she encountered him on the street? “Why, sir, you don’t know me but we shared a bed one night”? No, it was unthinkable, improper and shameful. But she could not deny that she wished to see him again, albeit from afar. And she was glad her courses had come and she need not face the prospect of telling a stranger she carried his child.

As she continued to watch the pair on the street, they said their goodbyes and departed.

“Miss Endicott!” She heard her name being called and turned to see Pen’s blue-gray eyes pleading, her manner anxious. “You simply must tell us which fabric will be best for the pelisse.”

“Of course.” Jerked back to the present, Kit crossed the shop to join the twins. Pen directed her attention to a selection of fabrics, and Mrs. Singleton handed her a picture of a design for a long coat.

“For you?” Kit asked Pen.

“Yes,” said the girl, nodding. “Pris has already chosen the dark blue one she will have.”

Kit pointed to a light brown cloth tending toward peach. “This one, I think,” she said as the girls’ voices collided. Pris still argued for a deep blue for her sister, but Pen quickly nodded approval, signaling her agreement to Mrs. Singleton. The light brown it would be.

They had exhausted the modiste, Kit realized. “I think we are about done, are we not, Mrs. Singleton?” Seeing the woman’s relief, she aimed her next question at the twins. “How about returning home for tea?”

“A good idea,” said Pris. “I am getting very thirsty…and hungry.”

“Oh yes, let’s!” said Pen, ever eager to please.

And they were off.