Anne Gracie - An Honourable Thief

“What lisp?” said Amelia, confused. “Are you certain you have the right girl, Hugo? Miss Singleton has no lisp. And I’ve never thought her shy.”

Hugo frowned down at his cousin. “No lisp? Are you deaf? All I got out of the wretched girl was a dozen ‘yeths’—addressed to my waistcoat.”

Amelia’s eyes narrowed. “Did she indeed? How very intriguing.” A faint worldly smile curved her discreetly painted lips. “Hugo, you’ve flustered the poor little creature. How very, very interesting. She has never once lisped in my hearing, and Thomas has certainly never mentioned it—and I do believe he would have.” She frowned suddenly. “So…Miss Singleton is not immune to the charms of an older man, then—”

“Older man!” snapped Hugo. “I am barely two and thirty, Amelia, as you very well know! And you, sister-in-law, have the advantage of me by more than ten years.”

“Nonsense, it is barely seven!” retorted Amelia instantly. “I am not yet turned fort—no, I cannot even say it. It was most ungallant of you to raise such an unpleasant subject.” She waved away his objections. “The point is, Hugo, that I know how overwhelming a man of your age and experience can seem to a chit just out of the schoolroom.”

Hugo opened his mouth to argue, but Amelia continued, “She must have a tendre for you, else why would she lisp and behave shyly? Take it from me, she is not shy with anyone else. Quiet, pretty-behaved, yes. But I’ve found her perfectly ready to converse and not a hint of shyness. No, if she is developing a tendre for you, it is yet another reason why you must certainly stay away from her.”

“Oh, do not be ridiculous! How the devil can I investigate her background if I cannot go near her? You and Thomas would soon find yourselves in the suds if her fortune was not as large as it is reputed to be.”

“We will find ourselves in the suds if the girl decides she prefers you to Thomas, too!” responded Amelia crossly. “Stop it Hugo! There is no need to roll your eyes at me in that disagreeable manner. I am merely stating a fact.”

“Rubbish! Believe me, there is no danger of me succumbing to her simple-minded charms.”

“The girl is no more simple-minded than you or I!” Amelia stamped her foot. “She is young, yes, and innocent, but she is not the least bit stupid or shy.”

“But—”

“And she does not stutter—”

“Lisp.”

“Lisp, then.” Amelia hurried on, her eyes narrowed with ambition. “But she’s clearly smitten by your masculine charms, Hugo, and thus all our problems are compounded. I knew you would ruin everything! You must leave this girl, and take yourself back to your rural wastes and your horrid ships. Thomas and I will see to securing this fortune ourselves. I’ll not stand by to see you dazzle the girl with your elegance, your worldly address and your—”

“Steal my nephew’s bride from under his nose?” interrupted Hugo with asperity. “Apart from being ridiculous, I have no intention—”

“She is not his bride yet; they are not even betrothed. And—”

“Oh, well, if she’s not even betrothed,” he said provocatively. “Oh, don’t look like that! I have no interest in the girl, or her purported riches. I merely wish to investigate her background—as Thomas’s trustee! And that is all! Put those ridiculous suspicions from your mind! I have no need of a fortune, let alone a diamond mine of unproven provenance. And there is not the slightest danger of my succumbing to the charms of the younger Miss Singleton. Far from it! I am more like to strangle the girl!”

Kit frowned as she adjusted a curl in the mirror of one of the withdrawing rooms set aside for ladies. It was a puzzle as to why Mr Devenish was so interested in her. All those questions about her father. And New South Wales.

Perhaps Lady Norwood and Mr Devenish thought Kit a fortune hunter, out to snabble a lord for a husband.

She would have to allay their suspicions. It would be disastrous to her plans if Mr Devenish investigated her background too deeply and discovered that Miss Catherine Singleton was in fact Miss Kit Smith, actually christened Kathleen, and not a member of an aristocratic family at all. And that her father had been thrown out of New South Wales and a number of other places for cheating at cards. And worse.

If that came out, there would be a frightful scandal, and poor Rose Singleton would be the one to suffer for it. Kit would not permit such a thing to happen, not if she could prevent it. Whatever she had done in the past, Rose was an innocent, a kind and generous-hearted innocent, and Kit would not allow such a sweet-natured woman to suffer on her behalf.

She would have to speak to Thomas as soon as possible and make it clear she had no interest in him. And if he did not listen this time she would be more firm; once Thomas was out of the picture, Mr Devenish would have no reason to enquire into her background.

Foiling Mr Devenish’s brusque, penetrating enquiries was much like fencing with rapiers—exhilarating but dangerous. To see much more of him would be dangerous not only to her plans, but to her peace of mind, she suspected.

So she would allow herself one more encounter with the big dark watchdog and then—

“Oh, I’m sorry!”

Kit’s thought were interrupted as a young girl came blundering into the withdrawing room and crashed into her.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

The girl, who was very young and very pretty, stared a moment at Kit, then burst into tears, clearly overwrought.

Kit seated the young girl on a padded velvet bench and set herself to calming her. She had noticed her at a number of social events; like Kit, the girl was only just out.

“Miss…Miss Lutens, is it not?”

The girl nodded tearfully. “And you are Miss Singleton. I met you last week at Mrs Russell’s recital. How do you do?” she sobbed, politely holding out her hand.

Kit smiled at such well-drilled manners. She patted the girl’s hand and took out a handkerchief. “Tell me what is distressing you?” she said after Miss Lutens had calmed a little.

“Oh, I cannot,” she wept. “It is too mortifying, too foolish of me. I am just…” She wiped her eyes with Kit’s handkerchief.

“Come now, splash some cold water on your face and you will feel better. Would you like me to fetch your mama?”

“Oh, no!” gasped Miss Lutens in distress. “Mama would be so cross.”

Kit stared. It had been her impression that girls always turned to their mothers in distress.

“It is nothing. I am being silly, that is all. It is just that Sir Bar—no! No, take no notice. It is nothing.”

Sir Bar— Kit frowned. She recalled seeing this girl in the company of a certain Sir Bartlemy Bowles. Quite frequently, of late.

“Has Sir Bartlemy Bowles been bothering you?” she asked bluntly.

Miss Lutens gasped. “How did you know?”

“I saw him with you earlier. My aunt warned me about him. He is reputed to have the hands of an octopus, is that not so?”

Miss Lutens blinked.

“Too many hands, too much touching,” explained Kit.

“Oh!” Miss Lutens gasped, blushing. “Yes, exactly! And clammy!” She wrung her hands together in distress. “I simply cannot bear it.”

“Tell your mother,” recommended Kit. “She’ll soon send the clammy-handed old roué about his business. From what my aunt says, he’s notorious for pestering young girls. And though he is rich, he’s also married, so there is no need to worry that your mama plans to wed you to the horrid old slug.”

Miss Lutens giggled at the description, but shook her head. “No, that is the trouble, for I did mention it once, and Mama did not believe that Sir Bartlemy could be so ungallant. She told me not to be so silly.”