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Kitty sniffed at finding the young squire Clayton Bickwerth standing there. There was nothing unusual in that. The tall, lean, and handsome fellow had been very nearly a fixture at Wharton Place for some months, coming and going with great familiarity.
He shot Harry a wide grin and went forward to receive both of Kitty’s outstretched hands. He raised a brow. “Look at you—what a pretty gown.” He then said, “Had company, did we?”
“We did,” Harry answered and glared at him.
Ignoring him, Clay pulled up a chair beside Kitty and winked, which drew a reluctant smile from her. “There, that’s better,” he said.
* * *
Harry’s eyes narrowed as he watched Clay with Kitty.
He and Clay had been up at Cambridge together, and he considered Clay a friend … of sorts. Clay was a bit older, but there was nothing in that. They enjoyed hunting and fishing and the usual male sports and often laughed in one another’s company, and yet … Harry was more than a little disturbed by Clay’s obvious attentions towards Kitty. Clay had always been a bit of a libertine, and he was in debt.
He had for the last year watched Clay insinuate himself into Kitty’s good graces after her guardian had taken to bed but had not been worried, as Kitty didn’t seem to be interested in the squire.
Clay was in pecuniary straits because his late father had run up a score of gaming debts. In addition, Clay had come home to the country from London, and the gossip was that he had run up a few debts himself in the gaming houses. He would have to marry well to come about, and as far as Harry was concerned, Clay just was not the sort Kitty needed in her life.
The young squire, Harry knew, had recently had to take a mortgage on his estate, and there was no doubt whatsoever that he meant to make a marriage of convenience in order to set his estates to rights. Here was Harry’s dilemma. Did Clay genuinely care for Kitty, or was he after the inheritance? He rather thought the latter.
Kitty was a diamond, but one that was presently in the rough. One day, she would emerge a woman, and Clay simply was not the man, in Harry’s opinion, to allow this to happen the way it should in slow and easy degree.
“Uncle’s will was just read to us,” Kitty said sadly. “It seems I have to leave Wharton Place and allow some stranger to take me to London for the Season. I am not happy about it.”
Clay frowned darkly and looked to Harry. “What is this?”
“Ah, yes, Kitty’s inheritance will not be quite as large as we once thought. Apparently there is a nephew who will inherit Wharton Grange and a good portion of the liquid assets.” He purposely left off the fact that Kitty would be an heiress in her own right.
Clay choked on air.
Harry was sure Clay was utterly stunned.
“Indeed.” Kitty bit her bottom lip and put on a brave face. “I will have to leave for London …”
Clayton Bickwerth pulled a face. “I don’t understand. Why?”
It was obvious to Harry, so damned obvious, that Clay was about to make a retreat. It was a good thing too, as Kitty’s attentions were not yet engaged and she probably would think nothing of it if his attentions were to stop at this stage.
Kitty dove into a brief summary of her guardian’s will with regards to giving her a London Season, but Nanny clucked her tongue and put a stop to this, saying, “Now, now, Kitty, we don’t wish to bore the squire with such mundane details, now do we?”
Looking at Nanny’s expression, Harry realized that she did not at all approve of Bickwerth.
“Yes, quite right, Nanny,” Kitty replied. “Well, that is it really. I will be carted off to London. It appears that my uncle’s nephew is supposed to launch me into polite society.” She sighed and sat back in her chair.
“I see,” Clay said, and Harry could see the man’s mind calculating.
“I am not ready for marriage, and how can I go to routs and balls while I am still in mourning? It is … unthinkable.”
Nanny had apparently had enough of this sort of talk as well. “That is not to be discussed now. It was your guardian’s wish. That is all there is to it.”
Kitty eyed Nanny and then eyed the squire. “Oh, I do beg your pardon. How dreadful of me airing my problems to you, when I should have offered you refreshments and light conversation. You see, how shall I ever do the polite in London?”
A footman appeared with a fresh tea tray laden with an assortment of small cakes, bread, jam, and fresh butter.
“Oh,” said Kitty. “I am famished.”
Harry grinned to see her fill her plate and devour small cake after small cake. He adored his Kitty, and perhaps this London situation might be just what she needed. In fact, he rather thought the irrepressible Kitty Kingsley would do quite well amongst the haute ton.
~ Seven ~
