An Honourable Thief. Anne Gracie

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СКАЧАТЬ cold as a tomb, and she never heats it properly. I blame that husband of hers,” she added darkly. “The Parsons have always been shocking pinch-pennies, but he is by far the worst of them. I have had to put on three petticoats—three!—and I am sure I shall still catch a chill.” She shivered and hugged a slightly tatty fur cloak around her.

      Kit could not help smiling down at the middle-aged woman as she descended the stairs. It was a little cool, but to hear her speak, one would think it about to snow.

      “Aunt Rose’ was slender, almost wraithlike, with a pale, faded sort of prettiness about her—rather different to the bold good looks her father had favoured in women. And, far from being fashionable, she was generally dressed rather dowdily and, being so susceptible to drafts, always with a great many scarves and shawls trailing about her person.

      And yet, despite the faded looks, despite the dowdy clothes and the vagueness, there was a definite sort of something about Rose Singleton, a certain unconscious air of ton that even the best looking and most fashionably dressed of her father’s other female friends had lacked.

      Kit supposed that this was why her father had chosen to send her to Rose Singleton instead of anyone else. The surprise was that Miss Singleton had agreed to take her. In fact, she must still have harboured some warm feeling towards Kit’s father, for she had embraced Kit on her arrival in England quite as if she really were her long-lost niece.

      “Ah, you are wearing pearls, my love. Very suitable,” said Rose. “I must remember to compliment your maid. So many girls in your position would be quite unable to resist the temptation to drape themselves with stones until they look exactly like a chandelier and I do so think diamonds are unsuited to a young girl. Pretty, of course, but so hard. Pearls, now, are much more suitable for an ingenue.’

      “Diamonds, Aunt? There is no danger of me wearing diamonds, I assure you!” Kit could not help the choke of laughter that escaped her. Diamonds! It had been as much as Kit could manage to purchase one set of good quality fake pearls before her arrival in England. Diamonds, even paste ones, were beyond her budget.

      Miss Singleton looked her over approvingly. “Yes, my dear. Very wise of you. One would not wish to appear vulgar.”

      “No, Aunt Rose,” said Kit demurely. What on earth did she mean, girls in your position? A vague allusion to her imposture? If so, it would be a first. Rose Singleton could be quite determinedly vague at times, particularly when it came to avoiding subjects she did not wish to discuss. But she had been so kind and generous, Kit would not for the world distress her by referring to anything the lady wished to avoid.

      She assisted the footmen to hand Rose into the coach, tuck a fur rug around her and adjust the heated bricks under her feet and then sat back, agreeably warm herself, while the coach rumbled over the cobblestones. She had learned to enjoy small pleasures while she had them.

      Outside, the night was clear and bright. The coach pulled up outside the Parsonses’ town house, a grand old building, a little on the fantastical side and much embellished with Corinthian columns and odd Gothic gargoyles. It was lit, not only by gas lamps, but by flaming brands held aloft by liveried men.

      Kit stepped from the coach and turned to assist Rose down. She felt a thrill of pleasure and anticipation. Tonight she would not think of anything except the ball. Tonight she would let herself be the carefree young girl everyone thought her and enjoy all the pleasures London society had to offer.

      No doubt she would pay for it later, but then, that was life.

      “Is this not delightful?” whispered a young girl sitting next to Kit. “I never thought there would be so many people. I have never been to a ball in London before,” she added confidingly.

      Kit smiled. “Yes, it is quite new to me also.”

      “Are not the ladies’ gowns beautiful?”

      “Yes, very,” Kit agreed. “So many beautiful colours.”

      “Kit, my dear, here is Lord Norwood, wishing to be allowed to dance with you. Give him your card, my dear,” said Rose, smiling meaningfully at Kit.

      Thomas, Lord Norwood, bowed punctiliously over her hand. His fair hair was elaborately pomaded and carefully coaxed into the “Nonpareil’ style. He wore knee breeches of a nice shade of biscuit, a heavily embroidered waistcoat and a coat which fitted tightly across narrow shoulders; his shirt points were so high and so heavily starched he could barely turn his head. His neckcloth was a complicated affair involving several knots and loops. Added to this was a collection of fobs, pins and a quizzing glass. All in all, Lord Norwood appeared the very epitome of a dandy.

      Kit handed her card over, hiding her reluctance. She had been hinting Lord Norwood away for several days now, but he seemed utterly impervious to her hints. She was not sure whether it was impregnable self-consequence which enabled him to overlook her indifference, or whether he had some other motive for making her the unwilling object of his attentions—a wager or some such. For unwilling she was: her plans did not allow for friendships of any sort, male or female. Her promise to her father was her paramount concern.

      Lord Norwood scribbled his name on her card, bowed gracefully and handed it back, saying in world-weary accents, “Miss Singleton, my night is complete. The joy of securing my name on your dance card is all I have hoped for, or even dreamed of.”

      Kit smiled sweetly. “Does this mean we do not actually need to dance, then, now that your name is safely on my card?”

      He blinked in surprise, then laughed indulgently. “Such pretty wit,” he murmured. “I look forward to our dance.” He bowed again and disappeared into the throng.

      “You are so lucky,” whispered the girl next to her. “He is very handsome.”

      “Mmm, yes,” agreed Kit. “He is handsome.”

      “And he dresses so beautifully.”

      “Yes.”

      “I think he likes you,” the girl whispered coyly.

      “No,” said Kit thoughtfully. “I don’t think he does. I must confess I am quite at a loss to know what he sees in me at all.” She frowned as she noticed Lord Norwood disappear into one of the anterooms. It was one of the rooms reserved for those who wished to play cards, rather than dance.

      “Oh, but—” began the girl.

      Kit smiled quickly. “No, no. Take no notice of my foolishness,” she said. “I have a touch of the headache, that is all. I am sure Lord Norwood is everything you say he is. And I am very lucky to have been asked to dance with him. Now, I have been meaning to say, ever since you sat down, what a very pretty dress you are wearing. And such an interesting reticule. Wherever did you get it?”

      Successfully distracted, the girl entered into a discussion of clothes and the various shops she and her mama had searched to obtain just the right fabric. As she extolled the delights of the Pantheon Bazaar, Kit’s attention wandered.

      Lord Norwood was not the only man who had shown Kit a degree of flattering attention and her unexpected popularity disturbed her. It was not as if she was anything out of the ordinary—at least, she was, but nobody in London knew about her unconventional background, so as far as appearances went, she looked very much the part of any young lady making her come-out.

      And it wasn’t as if she was beautiful or anything; there were many much СКАЧАТЬ