"I do hope you will save a dance for me," Lord Bainbridge said softly.
"Only one, my lord?" she teased, and the marquess rewarded her with another of the slow, seductive smiles that set her blood on fire.
The butler then arrived, and announced that dinner was served. The duke offered his arm to his grandmother and the marquess escorted the duchess, leaving Kit and Lady Elizabeth to walk behind.
"A pity about the Sherbournes' ball," commented Lady Elizabeth, her tone sugary sweet, her gaze poisonous. "You won't have time to acquire a new dress to match your new coiffure. I would loan you one, of course, but I fear it would be much too small."
Kit's smile grew frost at the edges. "Thank you for the offer, Lady Elizabeth, but I shall manage."
Lady Elizabeth stared suspiciously at her, as if wondering what sort of barb lay beneath the cordial words, but Kit paid little attention to her and went in to dinner. It would take more than a spiteful cat like Lady Elizabeth Peverell to overset her any more than today's events already had.
After supper, the family returned to the drawing room to play cards. Instead of seeking her out, as he had before, the marquess sat down with the duke, duchess, and Lady Elizabeth for a hand or two of whist. Kit stood in the doorway, torn between disappointment and relief. Gracious, whatever was the matter with her? One moment she was swooning over the marquess like a starry-eyed chit just out of the schoolroom, the next she felt like a fox cornered by a particularly determined hound. Before the end of the week she would have to decide which role she wanted; there would be no turning back.
"Come and play piquet with me, my dear," called the dowager.
The elderly lady regarded her with unabashed curiosity, and the tips of Kit's ears grew warm. She crossed to the dowager's table and lowered herself into the lyre-backed chair opposite Her Grace.
The elderly lady shuffled the cards. "You look lovely tonight, child."
Kit responded with a slight smile. "Thank you, Your Grace. I hope you do not think me too impertinent to make free with Epping's services, but you had not yet returned to the house, and I knew I had to send for her before I lost my nerve."
The dowager chuckled. "In this case, I do not mind at all. In fact, I am pleased to see you've come to your senses," she declared, and began to deal.
"Come to my senses?" Oh, Lud. Not again. Had they been in private, Kit would have smacked her forehead with the heel of her palm. If she parroted one more phrase this week, she would lose patience with herself completely.
"Yes. That is, I am assuming this change in style means you have decided not to become a nun, after all." The dowager slid a sly glance at Kit from behind her cards.
"No, indeed, Your Grace. I have concluded that the life of an ascetic would not agree with me." Kit's gaze strayed over to the marquess before she forced it back to her cards.
"Well, I could have told you that," chuckled the dowager. "Now look to your discard, child."
Kit surveyed her hand, but her mind was not on the game. She glanced again at the marquess. No, not on the game at all. She decided to change the subject; with any luck, she could distract the dowager as well as herself.
"Did you enjoy the picnic this afternoon, Your Grace?" she asked, sorting through her cards.
The dowager beamed. "Oh, indeed I did. Emma and Nathaniel are an absolute delight. A bit rambunctious, but that is to be expected at their age. Every time I see them, they have grown so much that I vow I hardly recognize them." A hint of sadness colored her words.
"Do you not see them very often?"
Her Grace shook her head, the lappets of her lace cap swaying. "Not as often as I would like."
"There is a remedy for that situation," Kit offered. "If Your Grace will consider it."
The dowager's dark eyes narrowed. "What are you getting at, child? I recognize that look on your face, like butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. You are up to something."
"You asked me to Broadwell Manor to help you, Your Grace, and that is exactly what I am attempting to do."
"Yes, but I did not ask you to side with my jailers." She set her discard down with a snap, her mouth compressed in a narrow line.
"Your Grace," Kit chided, "you know me better than that."
The dowager frowned at her cards. "Well, then, what would you call it?"
"I care very much for your happiness, ma'am, just as you care for mine. And the last thing I want is to see you shut up in some cold stone box of a house for the rest of your life," Kit insisted. "You would do no better there than I would in a nunnery."
One of the dowager's artificially darkened brows twitched a bit. "I cannot deny you that point, child. Go on."
"Lord Bainbridge and I believe we may have found a solution that will allow you to retain much of your independence, placate the duke, and let you see your great-grandchildren in the process." Kit gazed at the elderly woman over the edge of her cards. "Would you like to hear it?"
"I am listening."
Kit lowered her voice. "The compromise would work thus: from Lady Day to Michaelmas you reside at the dower house in Wiltshire. That way you will be able to see the children whenever you please, and especially when they are home from school for the summer."
"And the rest of the year?" queried the duchess archly.
"The rest of the year you would be free to travel. To take the waters at Bath, or seek a warmer climate entirely, and escape England's beastly winters."
"I see." The dowager tapped one finger on the table. "But I need not remind you that six months is not nearly long enough to travel to certain places and back again."
Kit raised an eyebrow. "Oh, come now, ma'am. On the Daphne I recall you saying very clearly how much India, and especially Indian cuisine, disagreed with you."
"Hmph." The elderly woman made a great show of sorting her cards. "And you and Lord Bainbridge hatched this scheme together, did you?"
"As you are well aware, Your Grace."
"What does my grandson have to say about this?"
Kit glanced over at the marquess from beneath her lashes. "I do not know, ma'am. Lord Bainbridge volunteered to propose the matter to him, but I cannot say whether or not he has had the opportunity to do so. Please, Your Grace, I ask you to at least consider our proposal."
"Oh, very well. I shall consider it," huffed the dowager.
Kit's eyes widened, and her heart gave an excited little leap.
"But," the elderly woman added, "I will not agree to anything unless my grandson apologizes for his reprehensible behavior of late. He has no respect for his elders. To think he would hound and badger me-his own grandmother!-in such an appalling manner. The very idea!"
Kit sighed. Never had she dealt with two such difficult and willful people. "Then at the same time, Your Grace, you should consider apologizing to him for calling him a popinjay, a ninny, and an arrogant pup."
The dowager regarded her first with outrage, then with a touch of embarrassment. "Hmm. Well, I suppose you have a point, child."
"Yes, I do, ma'am," Kit maintained. If the dowager duchess was going to be difficult about this, then by Jove, so was she! "Both of you are equally to blame for inflaming the situation, and it is past time for you to set the situation to rights. No, do not bother to argue with me, Your Grace. If this is the only solution that will provide you a measure of satisfaction, then I will not allow you to throw it away for the sake of your dratted pride." She sat up in her chair, back ramrod straight, lips pinched.
The dowager raised her lorgnette and stared through it. "My goodness, child. I had not thought you capable of such fervor."
"I am resolute, Your Grace. More than I have ever been in my life."
The elderly woman set down her glasses. "So I see. Very well, my dear. I may be a trifle bullheaded, but I am not a complete fool. If my grandson will go along with this arrangement, then I shall agree to it, as well."