Palms up in surrender, Kit backed away and let Lockwood settle Alice on her bed. Her mother placed a pillow under Alice’s ankle and then shooed the men from the room. Though Kit had to clench his jaw to keep from protesting, he knew it was for the best.

Besides, nothing would keep him from coming back later tonight to check on her.

Chapter Eleven

Night had descended and Alice was reclined on her bed. With nothing else to do, she savored the delicious jambon à la gelée sent up by Mrs. Berman. The doctor had already come and gone, proclaiming the injury a sprain and telling her to keep off her feet for a few days. Many of the young ladies had visited, as well, sitting and keeping her entertained. Nellie apologized again for cutting across the lawn, which was unnecessary. The injury was no one’s fault but Alice’s, because she hadn’t been looking at where she was walking.

The only bright spot of the day had been when Kit carried her across the lawn. Though it was impossible, she could still feel the imprint of his hands on her body, the shift of his shoulders as he moved. He was quite strong and . . . fit.

He needs to crawl through fire to earn the love of a good woman. I suspect you might be that woman.

Nellie was wrong. Kit would never be interested in anything serious with her. He might find her attractive—which was, frankly, head spinning in itself—but marry her? Absolutely not. She had a better chance of finding and marrying a unicorn.

Moreover, now that he’d witnessed Alice’s humiliation—multiple times today, in fact—he would no doubt keep his distance. She was clumsy and pathetic, a social disaster. After this weekend, she’d be lucky to marry anyone, even an older fortune hunter who sweated through his collars before noon.

A lump formed in her throat. How foolish she’d been to think she could ever have more.

More was for women like Maddie and Nellie. Women who spoke their minds and were unafraid of consequences. Women without mothers like Alice’s, who never stopped criticizing and analyzing her daughter’s every move.

After a brisk knock, a maid came in and motioned to the dinner tray. “Were you finished, miss?”

“I’m not that hungry. You may take it downstairs, Ida. But please tell Mrs. Berman the gelée was divine. I loved the touch of Madeira in there.”

“I will, miss.”

Ida departed and Alice was alone with her thoughts again, her eyes staring at the ceiling. Were the rest of the guests enjoying dinner? Was Kit entertaining those seated around him, as he usually did?