Page 3 of A Countess Never Tells

“That is fortunate for you, Kitty. But you must have a care. You do not wish to have someone deceive you while your brother’s attention is focused elsewhere. There are quite a lot of unscrupulous gentlemen in the world, although we wish there were not. You do not want one to take advantage of you and have you come to ruin or end up in a marriage that can be considered a mesalliance.”

“You are correct in that.” Kitty nodded soberly. “Too many ladies of our circle have ended up like Jane Kellerman. Or I should say Mrs. Fossey. Poor Jane.” Kitty shook her head. Their friend had married a fine-looking gentleman, who’d been very attentive toward her and seemed such an excellent prospect they’d run off to Gretna Green. Once married, he proved a wastrel, and Jane had found her fortune spent and her husband no longer so attentive. Jane now lived in rented rooms with two children and a mostly absent husband. “I hope at the age of four and twenty, I am able to discern the true gentleman from the bad.”

Peals of laughter erupted from Phoebe. “One would hope you gathered more sense with age, but I fear that is not true either. Or at least, not necessarily true. I do wish you well in your hunt for a husband.”

“Right now, I’m hunting for my partner.” Kitty glanced around the room. The set should be making up any minute.

“Are you considering Lord Quatford as a husband?” Phoebe cocked her head, her gaze riveted on Kitty’s face.

Pausing, Kitty contemplated the question although there was only one answer to it. “I’m afraid I am. And I know John and Judith are. He’s so eminently respectable. I do enjoy dancing with him very much and he is pleasant to talk with…sometimes.” Not her first choice for a husband, but then she’d not had a great deal of gentlemen to choose from this Season.

“He’s been attentive to you, you say?”

“Yes…well, yes, I suppose he has. We’ve danced at least once at each ball we’ve attended.” Kitty thought back on all their meetings. “And twice at more than half of them. We’ve also spoken often at other entertainments. We played cards at Mrs. Phife’s last week.” At first, she hadn’t believed Lord Quatford was being anything other than polite, but after their conversation over cards, she’d become certain he’d be speaking to John sooner rather than later. A thought that left her glum instead of glowing. “I do believe he’s interested in a formal courtship.”

“Without a doubt, my dear. You are perfectly eligible, Kitty. A trifle older than the others out this year, but you have nothing to hold against either your breeding or character. I’m actually surprised no one has offered for you before now.”

It was all well and good for Phoebe to say it was no matter she was a “trifle older” when Phoebe herself was barely eighteen. Gentlemen seemed to desire their wives to be younger rather than older—at least the ones she’d met so far. In the beginning of the summer, she’d been having such a good time, at last having the Season she’d been denied first because of her mother’s illness then the deaths of her parents, she’d not stopped to wonder why she wasn’t getting proposals. When she finally had, her conclusion was that her age left her at a huge disadvantage over the other young ladies.

Of course, she was partially to blame for not encouraging any particular gentleman either. There’d been many pleasant men—most of them older, to be sure—to dance with, to talk with, and play cards with. But quite frankly, no one had stood head and shoulders above the crowd as far as her particular regard was concerned. However, if Lord Quatford made an offer for her, she was certain John would expect her to accept, whether she held him in special regard or not. The Season was dwindling to a close. If she wished to marry, this might be her only chance. So she must look more closely at the gentlemen left, like Lord Quatford.

Or Lord Ashbrook.

Kitty’s face warmed at the thought of his deep blue eyes and handsome features. Yes, he was certainly a gentleman she would consider as a potential husband. “I suppose I shall have to encourage the unattached gentlemen a bit more strenuously.”

Her friend laughed. “I should’ve thought you’d been doing that already, my dear. Well, you can begin with Lord Quatford, who’s heading this way now.” She inclined her head toward the tall gentleman approaching.

He looked up, caught Kitty’s gaze, and smiled eagerly at her. Tall and thin to the point his clothing always looked like it had been blown onto him by a high wind, he wore a wig, which was still somewhat the fashion, especially among older men. And he liked to talk about his estate outside Birmingham, far from the excitement of London. Not the husband she’d dreamed of during her girlhood, but time was fleeting, much as she hated to admit it. Of course, now there was another possibility.

“Or I could encourage Lord Ashbrook when I dance with him after supper. He is quite handsome and most entertaining.”

“Lord Ashbrook?” Phoebe’s attention was suddenly fully on Kitty. “I didn’t think he was able to attend this evening. Mama told me he’d been called away to his home. His father has been in failing health, and they didn’t think he’d be long for this world.”

Kitty frowned. “He didn’t say anything about his father’s ill health. Only about taking care of some family business in Italy.”

“Can you point him out? Perhaps his father has made a recovery.” Phoebe scanned the ballroom, as did Kitty.

“He said he was promised to Maria Fitzhugh for the supper dance.” Kitty’s gaze darted around the crowded room until at last she spied Lord Ashbrook standing in a corner with Maria, his back mostly turned toward her; still, his hair and stance made her certain it was him.

“Do you see him?” Phoebe was frantically searching the sea of guests.

“There.” She pointed with her fan toward the far corner. “The gentleman in the corner in the gray silk suit. His back is to us, but I’m certain that’s him. Talking to Maria.”

Phoebe peered at the couple then shook her head. “I don’t think so, my dear. Ashbrook has darker hair and is not so tall.”

“Truly?” Kitty stared at the gentleman, sure that was the man with whom she’d danced.

Then he laughed and turned and yes, that was him.

“There, Phoebe. He’s turned toward us.”

Her friend peered at the gentleman then jerked her face toward Kitty, astonishment in every line. “My dear, that is not Lord Ashbrook at all.”

Kitty scowled. “Then who on earth is it?”

“He is Lord Ashwood, the most notorious rake in the ton.”

Chapter 2