Page 8 of Enticed By an Earl
Breakfast proceeded in silence for a few minutes, though Kit could manage little more than a few bites and a sip of tea.
The mood of the room changed entirely when his father strode in, seemingly already in a temper. Then again, his father was in a temper much of the time, and for no reason that Kit could discern.
“You,” he growled when he spotted Kit poking away at his food. “Where the devil did you run off to yesterday at any rate?”
The way his father stared at him made Kit feel as though he already knew the answer to the question. Kit answered anyhow with, “The air in that hall was suffocating. I left so that I might call on a friend of mine.”
His father snorted as he took his seat and gestured for thefootman to attend him. “It wasn’t that barmy countess, your grandmother’s friend, was it?”
“Leave it to Christopher to have an old woman as his mistress,” George snorted.
Eliza and Diana sniggered in their tea, exchanging smarmy looks across the table. They’d always sided with George in arguments such as that.
Kit was on the verge of confessing all when a mad idea struck him.
“Actually, I called on Lord Deveraux Ogilvy,” he said. It was mostly a lie, but there was some truth to the claim.
His father paused in the middle of picking up his fork and stared at Kit. “Liar,” he said at last, cutting into his sausage.
“It is true,” Kit said, filled with a strange sense of courage at the very memory of Lord Deveraux. “If you do not believe me, ask Thorne. Lord Deveraux walked me home and Thorne saw him.”
Kit’s father returned to staring at him, eyes narrowed. “Fine,” he said after a long perusal. “Thorne!” he called out, as if they were in some dockside pub and he’d already had several pints.
The bellow was rude and ridiculous, but as it happened, Thorne came around the corner into the breakfast room only moments later, holding a silver salver with a letter on it.
“Thorne,” Kit’s father said, gesturing for the butler to approach him. “Did you see my wretched son with a Lord Deveraux Ogilvy last night?” He glanced to Kit with a wicked grin, as if he were about to be caught in a lie.
“I did, my lord,” Thorne said with a bow. Everyone at the table looked surprised, but before they could say anything, Thorne went on with, “This letter has just arrived for you, my lord.”
He presented the silver salver to Kit.
Stunned, Kit took the letter it contained. He did notrecognize the handwriting, but it was addressed to him. He would have saved it to open in privacy, but his entire family stared at him in expectation, so he opened it straight away.
“It is an invitation to attend the Marchioness of Russell’s ball,” he announced. Heat filled his face and his heart sped up as he read the handwritten note penned on the printed invitation inviting him in particular. “It is signed by Lord Deveraux,” he added.
“Nonsense,” his mother snapped, holding out her hand and gesturing for the invitation, even though she was too far away to reach it. “Invitations to balls are sent to me, not to you.”
Diana, who sat next to Kit, snatched the invitation out of his hand, read it herself, then handed it over to their mother.
Their mother took it with a sharp gesture and read it, her brow furrowing. “This should have been sent to me, not to you directly,” she complained.
“Well?” Kit’s father demanded.
His mother shrugged and handed the invitation to Eliza. “It is indeed an invitation to the marchioness’s ball, and it is addressed directly to Christopher and signed by Lord Deveraux.”
Kit’s father stared pointedly at him, his brow knit in thought. After a long moment, he said, “It seems as though you have finally made a worthy friend after all. Perhaps Lord Deveraux might be a good influence on you.”
“Yes, Father,” Kit said. He did not believe for a moment that his father actually approved of the friendship, if it could even be called that. His father did not approve of anything about him.
Conversation for the rest of the meal shifted to talk of not only the Marchioness of Russell’s ball, but several of the other events taking place that week to celebrate the coronation. Nothing that was said was half as interesting orkind as the conversation Kit had had with his friends the afternoon before, and as soon as he could excuse himself, he did.
He excused himself from more than just the breakfast room. He could still feel his father’s hostility in the air, and with as much haste as he could muster, he left the house, considering the act one of self-preservation.
He did not have anyplace in particular to go, however. He did not think it appropriate to call upon Lady Everly so soon after spending time with her the day before. It was too early to call on Georgiana or Alice, and he did not think his acquaintance with Lord Deveraux was strong enough to pay a morning call on him. So he did the only thing he could think of, especially with the invitation to the ball bright in his mind. He turned his steps to Jermyn Street so that he might visit his tailor, Mr. Wilkes.
“Lord Castleton,” Wilkes greeted him warmly as Kit entered the man’s shop. “It is so good to see you. I have not done so in quite some time.”
“Mr. Wilkes,” Kit smiled at the kind man, feeling instantly at ease in his shop. “I have not had occasion to commission anything new for quite some time. I have just received an invitation to the Marchioness of Russell’s ball in a few days’ time, however, and I thought perhaps you could assist me in looking my best?”
