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“What a charming amusement for young people this is, Mr. Darcy!”

—Pride and Prejudice

AUGUSTUS HEARD HIS mother calling him to come to the drawing room. Probably half of London heard his mother calling him.

He jogged down the stairs and found her sorting through a sheaf of envelopes.

“Help me decide.” She shoved half of the bundle into his hands.

He looked at the papers he held. “Decide what?”

“Which of these do you like best for the invitations to our summer soiree?” She fanned a few out in her hands as if they were a deck of playing cards.

“Is this a test? They’re all the same.”

She frowned at him. “Of course they’re not. Some are far thicker than others. And this is a much deeper shade of cream.”

“White, Mother. They’re all white envelopes. No one notices or cares about a difference.”

His mother pursed her lips and attempted to look cross, but her natural good humor prevented Augustus from feeling any alarm.

He chose one at random from the pile in his hand. “This one.”

She smiled, looking relieved. “An excellent choice.”

Augustus tapped the envelope against the table before handing it to her. “So happy to help, and so happy to be finished helping.”

“Oh no. Not so quickly.” She held on to his hand. “You must agree to wear the suit I choose for you, and you must tell me who you’re inviting to attend.”

“I’m sure you’ll choose my clothing with the elegance you’re known for. And as for invitations, I leave that entirely up to you. It is weeks away, and I can’t possibly guess what my mood might be by then.”

She tugged on his arm. “Haven’t you thought of any friends you’d like to see? Someone from school who might be visiting town? Any particular young ladies?”

He patted his mother’s hand before releasing himself from her grip. “I’ve got no other wish than to see your party a success, as it is every year. I will be charming to whomever you invite. I trust you completely.”

His mother made a sound somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. He’d never call it a snort. At least not in her hearing. “Charming isn’t exactly the word anyone’s using to describe you.”

He turned to walk out of the room. Over his shoulder, he said, “I have no idea what you mean.”

But he knew. His mother was no fool, and he couldn’t pull off his rakish act without her notice. She’d been giving hints that he was alienating some of the better families with eligible daughters. As if that wasn’t precisely his plan.

She called after him, her voice following him up the stairs. “I’ll be sure to invite Mrs. Gordon and her delightful companion.”

Of course she would. Augustus was surprised to feel himself smiling at the thought. But what did that say about Kitty? If his mother knew he was putting on this show, did she think his interest in Kitty was also a sham?

Wait , he told himself. It is a sham. I am not interested in pursuing anything other than a ruse with Miss Kitty Bennet .

This was true. So why did he need to tell himself again? And again?

No matter. Tonight was all about shocking the country girl with a visit backstage. And Augustus was certain it would be a shock.

WHEN HE ARRIVED to collect Kitty, Augustus was surprised to see her waiting at the door. Before he’d made it all the way inside, she was greeting him loudly and pushing her way toward his carriage.

She laughed so loudly—at what, he could not decide—that people turned in the street to look at them.

Kitty hurried into the carriage as if it might leave without her. As he jogged after her, she called back to Augustus. “Well, are you coming?”

He offered her his hand, but she clambered inside and settled herself with a flounce.

“It’s a very smart carriage, and we look fine in it.”

Was she waiting for a confirmation of one of those statements?

“It’s the same carriage you rode in two days ago.”

She laughed again, but it was rather manic. Not the natural, cheerful laugh he’d come to admire. “Well, I suppose we looked rather fine that day as well!”

Augustus nodded to the driver, and the carriage pulled into the bustling traffic of the street.

Leaning out the side of the carriage, Kitty called hello to several people passing by.

“Good evening!”

“Oh, I do so like your dress.”

“What a charming bonnet you’re wearing.”

She waved her arm in aggressive greetings. Her voice was forceful and loud, and she laughed at the end of every sentence. Nothing, as far as Augustus could tell, was particularly funny.

Each of her statements seemed to grow louder, and a look of fervor overtook Kitty’s features. If he’d only just met her, he might think she was entertained, but there was something unsettled about her.

Had he given her reason to think she was expected to be . . . amusing?

No. He was confident she understood this outing was a performance and then a backstage introduction. Maybe the thought of meeting the dancers had begun to worry her.

Maybe this was Kitty Bennet under strain.

Augustus knew it was not up to him to make her comfortable. She was clearly busy enacting some show of her own devising. He only needed to be seen by enough of the right people. But now, for the first time, he worried her act might overshadow his own.

Before she seemed to have finished her performance, they arrived at the theater.

She laughed at the doorman. She laughed at the drinks bar. She laughed at the usher. As she pressed her way past already-seated opera attendees, she laughed at the crowd.

When they arrived at their seats, she stood looking around the theater. “This room looks like one of those expensive confections in a sweets shop. Like the whole thing is layered in icing.”

She wasn’t wrong. Augustus looked up at the rows of seats, at every level of the theater with its pink and blue and yellow architectural flourishes. It did rather look like a fancy cake.

Kitty flounced herself into her chair with as much bluster as she’d been showing all evening.

“What a good joke we’re sitting here. We’re all so delightfully packed in.”

Augustus nodded, wondering if she had expected a seat in one of the dozens of private boxes.

Surely the view of the stage would be improved from the height of the boxes, but the Haverfords didn’t frequent the theater often enough to have a subscription.

She didn’t seem to be complaining about their seats on the floor level.

In fact, she was exerting a great deal of energy to prove she was amused.

The first production of the evening was classical and tragic, yet somehow, Kitty found things to laugh about.

Augustus smiled along with her but wondered at the effort she expended to keep up a constant, amused whisper through the entire performance.

He more than wondered—he felt bothered. Something was wrong.

She hadn’t seemed so intent on maintaining a continuous stream of conversation in any of their previous meetings.

In the break before the second show, they stood from their seats and spoke to a few of the people seated near them.

Kitty made sure they were seen and heard by as many people as possible.

Augustus knew this was exactly what he’d asked for—to be seen, to be watched in company with a young woman, to be considered unapproachable by marriage-minded women—but wondered at how hard Kitty was trying to draw the attention of the room. Her face flushed from the work.

At the opening of the second performance, he watched from the corner of his eye as Kitty resettled herself into her seat.

She closed her eyes for a moment and seemed to take several long breaths.

Her last exhale was a sharp one, as if she was preparing to do something difficult.

But then she tossed back her shoulders and turned to him, that same over-excited smile on her face.

He felt the urge to take her hand, to whisper that she could simply enjoy the show. That she didn’t need to work so hard to act the part he’d asked her to play. But he worried she might misinterpret his words as a censure or an insult.

Instead, he nodded as she began a running commentary on the set pieces, the costumes, and the effect of the footlights.

After a few minutes, she tipped her head toward him and spoke in that same affected voice. “La, but the singers do mumble their words. I don’t understand a thing they’re saying!”

“It’s German.”

Kitty’s mouth fell open, then she covered it with both hands as she began to laugh. A shine in her eyes suggested she was stifling enough emotion to bring tears. He was rather relieved she worked so hard to keep the laugh quiet, but she was practically bent double over her knees to hold it in.

When something amusing happened on stage—Augustus hardly knew what—the rest of the audience began to chuckle. At the sound of laughter surrounding her, Kitty slowly drew herself up in her seat.

She looked at him, then shook her head and kept her mouth covered. After another few stifled giggles, she looked at him again.

Without making a sound, she mouthed the words, “I’m sorry.”

Honestly, she didn’t look all that sorry. She was still trying to cram down her laughter. But now that her laugh was silent, it looked like real amusement instead of an act.

He lost track of anything happening on stage and just watched her. That sparkle in her eyes. That genuine enjoyment. The way her hands clamped over her mouth and her shoulders shook in mirth.

After another moment, she wiped at her eyes. She spoke in an actual whisper. “Do you understand German?”

If he was trying to impress her, maybe he’d explain the practice of reading the libretto in English before attending a foreign opera.

Maybe he’d lie and tell her he was fluent.

But he wasn’t trying to impress Kitty Bennet.

He didn’t even understand what Kitty Bennet was made of.

She was the most changeable, unexpected person he’d ever seen.

No, he wasn’t attempting to amaze or astonish her.

He was only, at this moment, enjoying her company.

He shook his head. “Not a word.”

She bent forward again, crumpling in silent laughter.