Free Captain Jack's Woman by Stephanie Laurens

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 Lieutenant 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