Page 115 of A Misguided Devotion

William bristled. Kitty’s height was perfect for a six-foot man like himself. Eyes flashing with annoyance at his grandmother’s rudeness, he answered without raising his voice. “Because Miss Lacey did as I asked and trusted me to pull her through the water rather than flailing her arms, as many might have done when faced with such a perilous situation.”

“You were born to be a hero, William,” the Duchess said, giving his cheek a friendly squeeze. “How gallant of you to save a stranger at the risk of your own life.”

“I would have tried to rescue anyone, whether or not I knew them, if it was in my power, but Miss Lacey is much more to me than a stranger.”

He hesitated. Would his grandmother take the news of his betrothal better if he waited? His eyes flicked to Kitty, and love swelled in his heart. There was no way he could keep this to himself. “I asked her to marry me.”

“Marriage?”

William winced at the outrage in her voice.

“That is taking your gallantry too far. It was an accident, nothing more. There can be no need to offer for the girl. I forbid it. I have other plans for you.”

He gritted his teeth. “I’ve made my choice, Grandmama. I offered her my hand, and she accepted.”

The Duchess’s forehead wrinkled, her mouth pinched with displeasure. She was not used to having her wishes challenged—especially by him.

“A promise given by a minor is worth nothing in the eyes of the law. Even less so, as it was made under duress. No one will think the worse of you if you change your mind.”

Before William could assure his grandmother that he had no intention of retracting his pledge, Kitty spoke. “Your Grace, I will not hold Lord Droxford to our betrothal if he wishes to be released. He has only to say the word.”

Which he would never give. Why was she even saying that? Did she still think herself unworthy of marrying him?

“There. What a sensible gal. Knows she is no match for you. No doubt her father is some merchant or tradesman.”

He braced himself as Kitty pushed her shoulders back. He knew what was coming.

“My father was a soldier, as was his father—Lord Edward Hampton—before him.”

The Duchess collapsed into her chair with a squeal. “You’re his granddaughter, aren’t you? That Mr Bruce. The one who wrote to the Duke claiming he had brought up Lord Edward’s rightful heir. His letter convinced Denmead that the dukedom did not rest with him alone. As a result, my son ran away to join the army. Was it not enough that you ruined my life? Are you determined to ruin my grandson’s as well?”

William grimaced. Winning his grandmother over was going to be harder than he thought.

Kitty contracted her brows as the Duchess appeared to swoon. Was Her Grace unwell, or was she using every weapon at her disposal to dissuade William from marrying her? She suspected the latter, but genuine or not, her indisposition drew her grandchildren’s concern.

Charlotte hurried over, vinaigrette in hand, whilst Hetta grabbed a fan from the table and waved it in front of the Duchess’s face. A frown marred William’s forehead as he tried to talk to his grandmother, but she kept her eyes closed and did not respond.

While they fussed over the old lady, Kitty slipped out of the room. As her presence had sparked such a fierce reaction, it seemed wise to make herself scarce until the Duchess recovered. To her surprise, a footman approached her as she entered the hall, holding out a silver tray.

“A letter for you, madam.”

Who could be writing to her? Kitty’s heart leapt. Edward?

With a word of thanks, she snatched her correspondence, only to discover her excitement was premature. The direction was in Laura’s handwriting.

Stifling her disappointment, she broke open the seal and perused the missive. A hand drifted to her mouth. Oh no! She would have to leave. Go to Mrs Barrington’s house—a place to which she hoped she would never return. What would the old woman say to her if she turned up on her doorstep again?

Kitty’s eyes lingered for a moment on the drawing room door behind her, but she could not enter. Not now. She would have to depart without bidding William goodbye. Grabbing a pelisse and bonnet from Hetta’s wardrobe, Kitty hurried downstairs, determined to leave before her resolve faltered.

As she reached the foot of the staircase, she observed a tall gentleman in the entrance hall being relieved of his greatcoat and hat. His white-blond hair and piercing blue eyes reminded her so much of William that she had no doubt he was his father—Lord Harting.

The man’s expression was unreadable as he nodded his head toward her. “Miss Lacey, I assume.”

“Your lordship.” She sank into a curtsey. “How did you know my name?”

“I could claim divine knowledge—” he said with a twist of his lips.

Kitty’s mouth curled in response. “Because, until recently, you were a clergyman?”