Kit smiled, but she hadn’t heard a word. She was far too concerned with learning what sort of cargo interested the new High Commissioner.
“Human cargo,” Lord Marchmont pronounced with heavy relish.
“Mind you, I’m not sure but what it’s better the other way around.” Lady Marchmont brightened.
“Seems they’ve blocked the routes out of Sussex and Kent, but they didn’t catch all the spies.” Lord Marchmont leaned closer to Spencer. “They think those left will try this coast next.”
“But just fancy, my dear. He keeps city hours down here. Doesn’t rise until noon.” An unladylike humph escaped Lady Marchmont. “He’ll have to change, of course. Needs someone to help him adjust. Must be hard to pick up country ways after so many years.”
A frown nagged at Kit’s brows. As Lady Marchmont’s bemused stare penetrated her daze, she wiped her expression clean and nodded seriously. “I dare say you’re right, ma’am.”
Her ladyship blinked. Kit realized she’d slipped somewhere and tried to focus on her ladyship’s words, rather than her lord’s.
Lady Marchmont’s face cleared. “Oh-are you imagining he’s a fop? Not a bit of it!” She waved one plump hand, and Kit’s mind slid away.
“Hendon suggested I quietly let the message get about. Just to the right people, y’know.” Lord Marchmont set down his teacup.
“His dress is very precise-the military influence, I dare say. But you’d know more about that than I, being so newly returned from the capital.” Lady Marchmont chewed one fat finger. “Elegant,” she pronounced. “You’d have to call him elegant.”
Kit’s eyes glazed. Her head was spinning.
“Did he now?” Spencer eyed Lord Marchmont shrewdly.
Lady Marchmont leaned forward and whispered: “Lucy Cartwright’s got her eye on him for her eldest, Jane. But nothing’ll come of that.”
“Seemed to think he might need a bit of support if it came to a dustup,” Lord Marchmont said. “The Revenue are stretched thin these days.”
“He doesn’t strike me as being the sort of man who’d appreciate having a young girl to wife. He’s a serious man, thirty-five if he’s a day. A more mature woman would be much more useful to him. Being the Lady of Castle Hendon is a full-time occupation, not the place for a giddy girl.”
Spencer’s barking laugh echoed through the room. “That’s certainly true. Have you heard of the raids out Sheringham way?”
Her grandfather and his guest settled to review the latest exercises of the Revenue Office. Kit took the opportunity to catch up with her ladyship.
“Of course, there’s the limp, though it’s not seriously incapacitating. And he’s at least got the Hendon looks to compensate.”
Kit attempted to infuse some degree of mild interest into her features.
Lady Marchmont looked positively thrilled. “Well, Kathryn dear, we really must see what we can organize, don’t you think?”
The predatory gleam in her ladyship’s eyes set alarm bells ringing; Kit’s interest fled.Good God-she’s trying to marry me off to Lord Hendon!
To Kit’s immense relief, Jenkins chose that precise instant to enter with the tea tray. If not for the timely interruption, she’d never have stilled the heated denial that had risen, involuntarily, to her lips.
Conversation became general over the teacups. With the ease born of considerable practice in company far more demanding than the present, Kit contributed her share.
Suddenly, Spencer slapped his thigh. “Forgot!” He looked at Kit. “There’s a letter for you, m’dear. On the table there.” His nod indicated a small table by the window.
“For me?” Kit rose and went to fetch it.
Spencer nodded. “It’s from Julian. I got one, too.”
“Julian?” Kit returned to the chaise, examining the packet addressed in her youngest cousin’s unmistakable scrawl.
“Go on, read it. Lord and Lady Marchmont’ll excuse you, I’m sure.”
Lord Marchmont nodded benignly, his wife much more avidly. Kit broke the Cranmer seal and quickly scanned the lines, crossed and recrossed, with two blots for good measure. “He’s done it,” she breathed, as Julian’s meaning became clear. “He’s enlisted!”
Her face alight, Kit looked at Spencer and saw her happiness for Julian mirrored in his eyes. Spencer nodded. “Aye. About time he went his own road. It’ll be the making of him, I don’t doubt.”
Blinking, Kit nodded. Julian had wanted to join the army forever but, as the youngest of the Cranmer brood, he’d been protected and cosseted and steadfastly refused permission to break free. He’d reached his majority a fortnight ago and had signed up immediately. A passage toward the end of his letter sent a stab of sheer, painful pride through her.
You broke free, Kit. You made up your mind and went your own way. I decided to do the same. Wish me luck?
Her grandfather and Lord Marchmont were discussing the latest news from Europe; Lady Marchmont was eating a queen cake. With a happy sigh, Kit refolded the letter and laid it aside.
Jenkins returned, and the Marchmonts rose to take their leave, Lady Marchmont evolving plans for a ball to introduce the new Lord Hendon to his neighbors. “We haven’t given a ball in years. We’ll make it a large one-something special. A masquerade, perhaps? I’ll want your advice, my dear, so think about it.” With a wag of her chubby finger, Lady Marchmont sat back in her carriage.
On the steps, Kit smiled and waved. Beside her, Spencer clapped the Lord Lieuteneant on the shoulder. “About that other matter. Tell Hendon he can count on support from Cranmer if he needs it. The Cranmers have always stood shoulder to shoulder with the Hendons through the years-we’ll continue to do so. Particularly now we’ve one of our own at risk. Can’t let any spies endanger young Julian.” Spencer smiled. “Just as long as Hendon remembers he’s Norfolk born and bred, that is. I’ve no mind to give up my brandy.”
The twinkle in Spencer’s eye was pronounced. An answering gleam lit Lord Marchmont’s gaze. “No, b’God. Very true. But he keeps a fine cellar, just like Jake, so I doubt we’ll need to explain that to him.”
With a nod to Kit, Lord Marchmont climbed in beside his wife. The door shut, the coachman clicked the reins; the heavy coach lurched off.
Kit watched it disappear, then dropped a kiss on Spencer’s weathered cheek and hugged him hard before descending the steps. With a last wave to Spencer, she headed for the gardens for a last stroll before dinner.
The shrubbery welcomed her with cool green walls, leading to a secluded grove with a fountain in the middle. Kit sat on the stone surround of the pool, trailing her fingers in the water. Her pleasure at Julian’s news gradually faded, giving way to consideration of Lady Marchmont’s fixation.
It was inevitable that the local ladies would busy themselves over finding her a husband; they’d known her from birth and, naturally, not one approved of her present state. With the appearance of Lord Hendon, an apparently eligible bachelor, on the scene, they had the ingredients of exactly the sort of plot they collectively delighted in hatching.
Grimacing, Kit shook the water from her fingers. They could hatch and plot to their hearts’ content-she was past the age of innocent gullibility. Doubtless, despite his eligibility, Lord Hendon would prove to be another earl of Roberts. No-he couldn’t be that old, not if Jake had been his father. Fortyish, a dessicated old stick but not quite old enough to be her father.
With a sigh, Kit stood and shook out her skirts. Unfortunately for Lady Marchmont, she hadn’t escaped London-and her aunts’ coils-to fall victim to the schemes of the local grandes dames.
The sun dipped beneath the horizon. Kit turned back toward the house. As she passed through the hedged walks, she shivered. Were spies run through the Norfolk surf? On that subject, her opinions matched Spencer’s. The trade was tolerable, as long as it was just trade. But spying was treason. Did the Hunstanton Gang run “human cargo”?