Page 17 of A Sporting Chance (The Chances #8)

“Y ou look awfully morose, Kathleen.”

It was not the sort of compliment one wished to hear as the evening settled in, but Kathleen could hardly argue with her sister. She had already caught a glimpse of herself in the windowpanes before she had drawn the curtains against the dark skies.

She was morose.

“Naught but a little tired, Angela,” she said aloud, trying to smile as she turned to her sister.

Her sister did not look particularly convinced. “You are bored.”

“I am nothing of the sort,” Kathleen said inflexibly. “I have my book.”

“A book you have not opened in the last half an hour,” Angela pointed out. “What is wrong with it?”

Kathleen glanced down at the book and tried not to say the words which instinctively came to mind. The answer was not one her sister would like to hear, even though it was the truth.

It was perfectly simple. It was an excellent book—an old fashioned one, she had to admit, but there was little Ann Radcliffe could have done wrong.

The trouble was…Kathleen had read it seven times these last three months.

“Nothing is wrong with it,” she said quietly.

“Yet you do not read it,” said her sister quietly. “Why?”

Kathleen swallowed. She was hardly going to be the one to point out that with their limited funds, there was almost nothing they could do in the evenings to entertain themselves.

Invitations were few and far between, and when they did arrive, they were usually addressed only to Kathleen, and so she felt obliged to decline, especially after she had accepted the one time and Mrs. Burton had been so rude about her sister.

They had eight books, and no funds to buy more, not even enough to join the circulating library; no pianoforte to play; no games save for a pack of cards, and there were only so many times one could play Patience.

And so they spent almost every evening here, in the drawing room.

What Angela called “the drawing room.” It was their only living quarters, the three rooms they had taken split between them as far as bedchambers were required, leaving them with this easterly-facing room as the only place where they could eat, sit, and converse.

And converse they did, for there was little else to do.

“It does not appeal to me this evening,” was the only response Kathleen felt she was capable of making.

What she should absolutely not do was think about all the entertainments that could be found at home.

Home . It felt so far away. The pianoforte was undoubtedly being played by mother, or the violin by their brother.

Perhaps there was a game of cards occurring, a game that required four people.

Perhaps someone had reached up to the bookcase in the drawing room that was packed with novels and interesting travelogues, so many that one simply could not grow tired of them.

Maybe a few of their neighbors had come for dinner, bringing bright conversation and a few duets on the pianoforte.

Maybe there were sufficient guests for charades or dancing.

Maybe right at this moment, her parents and remaining siblings were preparing to attend a dinner, or go to a ball, or—

“Kathleen?”

Kathleen jumped. “No.”

“No…what?” asked her sister, a suspicious frown on her face.

It was all Kathleen could do not to sigh.

This was not what she had expected. Truth be told, she had half-thought their father would relent and send for them, accepting the mistake Angela had made and forgiving them, bringing them back into the family.

Her sister would never marry, to be sure, but they would be together. They would be a family again.

That desire had faded the longer she had known Lord Leopold Chance.

“Because I cannot stay away from you!”

Shifting in her seat by the empty fireplace, Kathleen tried not to think about it.

Tried not to think about him. About the confusing words he had spoken, the muddle in which he had left her mind.

The way he had looked at her when he had said…

And yet he had not said enough, had he? No promises, no inkling of his feelings, save that he enjoyed her company greatly.

That he would die if they stopped meeting.

But what did that mean? What could it become?

“You are unsettled. You have been unsettled since you started archery,” remarked her sister quietly.

Kathleen dropped her book. “No, I haven’t.”

“You are unsettled merely by the mention of the topic.” Angela sighed, putting down her own book and fixing her younger sibling with a look painfully reminiscent of the type their mother preferred. “Kathleen, do you not think—”

A knock at the door interrupted whatever speech Angela was going to give, much to Kathleen’s relief. It was never pleasant, being lectured by an older sibling, but it was all the more exasperating when said speech came from a sibling who was technically living in disgrace.

“Who is it?” asked Angela, moving to the door.

Who, indeed? Kathleen was not aware of a single acquaintance in the whole of London who would have been willing to be seen attending on the Andilet sisters in their own lodgings. And at this time of night! And without an invitation!

The answer to that question was swiftly given. “Lord Leopold. Lord Leopold Chance.”

Kathleen rose hurriedly, almost tripped over her own skirts rushing to the door, and grabbed her sister by the shoulders. “Leopold Chance!”

“There is no need to repeat the name. I caught it quite well!” hissed Angela in response. “But what is he doing here ?”

“He cannot be here. There is absolutely no way.”

“You must have told him where we lived. How could you?”

“I never thought he would come here!”

“Erm…this door is remarkably thin,” came Leopold’s helpful voice. “Apologies, but I can hear everything you are saying.”

Heat burned Kathleen’s cheeks as she stepped hurriedly away from the door and looked piteously at her sister.

“No,” Angela said flatly.

“Oh, come on, he is a gentleman. He would not—”

“You think we, of all people, can risk our reputations by welcoming in strange men in the middle of the night?” hissed her sister.

Kathleen’s pulse was thundering painfully in her ribcage and she did not know whether she was irritated and startled at Leopold’s sudden appearance on the other side of their door, flattered that he had somehow discovered her precise whereabouts, for she had parted with him a block away before, or mortified that he was about to rescind all the pleasant things he had so recently told her.

Besides, she was still more than a spot aggrieved at the pivotal role he had played in denying her entrance to the London Archery Club. She was sure she would not care about the gossip he’d warned her about half as much as he did.

“What on earth is he thinking?” whispered Angela.

“Sorry, I can still hear you,” came Leopold’s apologetic voice through the door.

Trying not to laugh and still utterly torn about whether she wanted to see him at all, Kathleen marched forward, pushed aside her sister’s frantic fingers, and opened the door.

Leopold looked…

Well. Like Leopold. Perhaps she had imagined him to be wearing some sort of dashing highwayman’s outfit, or some sort of other dramatic wear to signal he was about to whisk her away from Town on horseback, but it was just Leopold.

He was smiling, though the smile was a tad awkward, and he came bearing…

Cake?

“I was passing my favorite patisserie and thought you might like to—I mean, I don’t know if you like…and having not had the pleasure of making Miss Andilet’s acquaintance, I…” Leopold’s throat bobbed. “Cake.”

He thrust out the box into Kathleen’s arms.

She turned and looked beseechingly at her sister, who rolled her eyes.

“Come on in, Lord Leopold, do.” Angela turned and strode back to her seat, dropping onto it in rather bad grace, but Kathleen was not fooled. Her sister would do almost anything for her younger sibling’s happiness, and when there was cake involved, it was even more of a challenge to deny it.

Kathleen managed a small smile as she placed the box on the only console table in the room. “Please, Lord Leopold. May I introduce Miss Angela Andilet, my sister? Angela, Lord Leopold Chance.”

Leopold, having removed his hat and gloves and placed them beside the box, stepped across the room and bowed low—far lower than Kathleen’s or her sister’s station required. “Miss Andilet. I am honored to meet you.”

Trying not to notice her sister’s flush at the surprising courtesy which Leopold had paid her—a courtesy no one had paid her in quite some time—Kathleen opened up the box.

And gasped.

“Oh my goodness,” she could not help but whisper.

“I hope you like them.”

It was fortunate, indeed, that Kathleen had not still been holding the box, for she surely would have dropped it. Leopold had somehow moved to her side, his breath blossoming on her shoulder, his presence intoxicating and befuddling.

“What is it?” Angela’s voice was not sharp, precisely, more concerned.

Kathleen hastily picked up the box of cakes, stepped around the hulk of a man, and moved to the sofa where her sister was sitting. “See what Lord Leopold has brought us.”

She was not surprised to see Angela’s eyes widen. “That… That is most generous of him.”

It was. Kathleen was hardly an expert in French desserts, but even she could see that the creations brought to them by Leopold were elegant, refined, and truly expensive.

They were also the first desserts that she and her sister had partaken in since coming to London.

A few minutes of busyness—her sister retrieving plates and napkins, Kathleen busily attempting not to meet Leopold’s eye—and the three of them were seated in an awkward silence as they ate cakes.

Kathleen looked up and met her sister’s eye, giving her a pleading look she knew Angela would understand.

And she did. She rolled her eyes first, but she understood.

Angela cleared her throat. “I hope you do not mind excusing me for one moment, Lord Leopold.”