“We rarely see anyone down here, miss,” replied the footman, Creed, bobbing his head to her as he stepped back.
“Can’t say I blame anyone for that particular choice,” Kit said. “Your Mr. Holt could not bring himself to come down here…” Kit had dutifully read the letter in full, confused by the vagueness of the missive from a supposed man of business. His uncle was dead—that much was clear—but why it would be this opinionated, tiny female who the lawyer had sent down here baffled Kit. Finally, to add to the mystery, Mr. Holt’s letter gave no mention of Miss Keating. So, what she was doing in his manor was another matter entirely.
“He is hardlymyMr. Holt,” Miss Keating said, primly as she sipped her soup. “I only know the man because he works for my godfather.”
Before Kit could think of a suitable reply, there was a crashing noise from the dining room, and the side door swung open.
Into the chamber stumbled Kit’s younger sister, her hair wild and flowing, her dress ill-fitting and stained. She looked far younger than her seventeen years. The impression his sister gave, presumably to their guest and footmen, was of a staged version of Ophelia driven mad. His sister certainly fit the role. From her trailing, tangled locks, the spring flowers might be seen braided through her ringlets. However, the handful of twigs and dried mud would not be seen in such a romantic light.
Kit looked down the table at Miss Keating to see that the chit had gotten to her feet and was watching his sister with wide eyes.
With a forced grimace, Kit said, “This is my sister, Lady Flora.”
“Lovely to meet you, my lady. I am Miss Elspeth Keating.” Miss Keating gave his disordered sister a warm smile. As his sister swayed back and forth, her wide, staring eyes darted nervously around the room. “We have just started dinner. Would you care tojoin us?” Miss Keating indicated the table, although it had only been set for the two of them.
The suggestion landed flatly, and Kit tried his best to think of what to say to Miss Keating. What explanation could he give for his sister that would make sense to a stranger? When he himself was not sure of the answer, and neither were the doctors he had hired, none of them knew what was precisely wrong with her.
Lady Flora’s mouth opened, and her large eyes bored into his, so that she resembled a distressed, gaping fish desperate for air. Kit knew that look all too well. Flora would start to shriek, then at best run, or at worst, sink to the floor and require medicine to regain her equilibrium.
Before she could do any of this, Miss Keating had moved forward. Stepping towards Flora, and reaching out a hand to take the dirty, wavering fingers of Kit’s little sister. “I understand the news of today must be overwhelming.” Her tone was soft-spoken, gentle, and so quiet that Kit could not hear it, all Miss Keating’s concern was directed towards Flora.
Again, his sister’s eyes swept around the dining room before they focused on Miss Keating. Despite being the younger by at least six years, Flora was tall for her age and towered over Miss Keating. A frown creased her brow as the younger girl tried to make sense of the woman before her.
Leading Flora towards her own chair, Miss Keating encouraged Flora to sit, and proceeded to hand her a piece of buttered bread from her own plate.
“Is it not quite delicious?” She asked as she passed the slice to Flora.
To Kit’s surprise, Flora took the bread and slowly raised a chunk to her lips, before taking a tentative bite, and then nodding in reply to Miss Keating’s question. A strange sensation occurred in Kit’s belly at the sight despite her wild exterior Flora was acting almost normally. It dawned on him that it was the first time in months since their parents’ deaths that Flora looked likeherself once more. There was even in the corner of her mouth the tiniest glimmer of a grin—a normal occurrence for her. She had always liked her food, but recently Flora had grown too thin. Perhaps Kit thought as he looked towards Miss Keating, someone vibrant and young like her, with tales of London would brighten up his poor sister, would offer the distressed younger girl a chance to see and look to the future.
The earlier intrusion seemed soothed, even when Creed brought a chair for Miss Keating to sit in, and she sank into the cushioned squab, and began cutting herself some cheese.
Kit copied her, his movements slow as the energy in the dining room seemed to quieten, to return to a sense of normality.
“You must send my compliments to your cook, Your Grace,” Miss Keating said as she finished her mouthful. Her smile was gracious and for a moment Kit returned it before his gaze turned to his sister.
Flora had swallowed down her bread, and was looking between the two of them, fear making her eyes widen as she jumped to her feet, setting the contents of the table close to her spilling this way and that.
“Duke?” even in the one-word query Flora managed to imbue an anxiety to her question as she stared at Kit. Words were rare for her, infrequent now, but even though it was an accusation she levelled at him, Kit was pleased to know she could form them still.
One of the doctors had suggested Flora might have been mute, after the accident. Her eyes tightened urgently, and it was clear to him that Flora wanted to know if he had inherited their uncle’s title, and reluctantly he nodded. It was not in his power to deny this inheritance. Hell, he was not even sure if he could. Flora moaned—an unpleasant sound that echoed through her shaking body, her eyes moving to Miss Keating accusingly.
Flora had never been moved to violence, but for one worrying moment Kit feared she might. He closed the distance, stridingdown the length of the dining room, and coming to stand between Miss Keating and Flora. Taking hold of Flora’s hands, he whispered in what he hoped was a soothing and reassuring manner, “It will be alright, I swear to you. I will protect you. There is nothing you need to fear.”
I will succeed where our father failed. You are safe.
Words failed her, and Flora mutely shook her head. Emotions darted this way and that across her face, uncontrollable and beyond Kit’s comprehension, and he felt her thin frame shake as she struggled to formulate the right response. She gave an almighty shake of her shoulders and body, and Kit feared she was about to have a fit.
“Leave us,” Kit snapped, pleased to hear the servants slip from the room. When he glanced to his side, he saw that Miss Keating was still lingering close by, watching Flora. She did not seem afraid, simply concerned.
Before Kit could find any other words to warn her, Flora had rushed away from the table, her feet carrying her towards the roaring fire, and grabbed at the side door that lay ajar. Without a backward glance, she ran from the dining room, too overwhelmed to stay a moment longer.
An uneasy silence took hold, one in which Kit tried his best to focus on his surroundings. To see it through the eyes of his guest, whether it was the faded handsomeness of the room, the pleasant dishes laid before her, the heat of the fire, or even the departed form of his sister. Anything rather than dwell on his sister’s wellbeing, and how he had no idea of what he could do to help her.
None of the inanimate objects present in the chamber worked as enough of a distraction, so he turned to his side, to look down at the diminutive Miss Keating. “I think,” he said dryly, “you can now see why I am reluctant to leave for Town.”
Briefly Miss Keating looked as if she might agree with him. There was a thoughtfulness at play over her features, but whenshe sucked in a breath and turned her elfin face to his, he saw he was mistaken.
“Your Grace, perhaps your sister might even benefit from a trip to London.”
