Follow the Heart (27 page)

The picture of him that formed in her head, dressed in formal black and white . . . Kate shuddered as prickles climbed up the back of her neck. He would be so exquisite every woman at the table would vie for his attention rather than that of Lord Thynne or the not-so-Honorable Mr. Carmichael.

Thoughts of Andrew—though she knew she had no future with him—sustained Kate through dessert, allowing her to pay no attention to Mr. Carmichael’s continued attempts at flirtation. At the signal from Edith, she rose with the other women to retire to the sitting room so the men could have their brandy and cigars without them.

Kate perched on a delicate armchair beside the sofa where Dorcas sat—but just as quickly stood again when Stephen entered the room.

“Ladies.” He paused and inclined his head. “I do apologize for the interruption.” He stepped forward, looking at Kate. “Miss Dearing, I wonder if I might have a word with you out in the hallway. We will be in plain view of your cousins.” He nodded toward Dorcas and Edith.

The rich dinner became unsettled in her stomach, but she consented and preceded him from the room. She stopped near the foot of the main staircase, where Dorcas could see them but not hear them.

“I want to apologize to you for Miss Buchanan’s behavior toward you of late. I believe she is treating you thusly because of me.”

Knees weak, Kate reached for the banister to steady herself. “You?”

Stephen smoothed his hands down the lapel of his dinner coat. “Yes. You see, at the ball to honor your arrival, I informed Sir Anthony of my intention to court you. His one condition was that I tell Miss Buchanan of this personally.”

“That was no doubt so she could reveal to you my true status in this house. I’m a poor relation. I came here to marry money. I have nothing but my father’s debts to offer a potential suitor.”

The gentle smile that parted Stephen’s lips made Kate feel worse rather than better. “I know. And I do not care. What good is the title and fortune handed down to me if I cannot use it to the benefit of my wife’s family? And I . . . have reason to wish to marry for practicality rather than titles or estates or money.”

Kate lost all feeling in her legs and sank onto the steps. Even knowing of her financial straits, a viscount still wished to marry her. By becoming his wife, her family would not only be saved, they would most likely enjoy even greater social standing than they’d had before, once Philadelphia society learned of Stephen’s rank and wealth. Her younger sisters’ futures and prospects would be secure—and brighter than ever. It was more than she’d hoped or prayed for.

And it was the last thing she wanted.

C
HAPTER
N
INETEEN

A
ndrew marked the last item off his list and closed the journal. He had seen everyone and acquired or ordered all of the materials and plants necessary to complete the work at Wakesdown. In six to eight weeks, he would be ready to move on, to start something new.

And moving on to a new job would help him move on with his life, as well. At least he hoped it would. Admitting his feelings for Kate to her brother had germinated the seed he’d thought he’d buried so deep it would never grow again, and thoughts of her blossomed at the least provocation. Her insistence on preferring wildness in a garden. Her love of flowers. Her sketch for the space between the arbor and the elliptical garden. The softness of her hair when he’d tucked the aster behind her ear. The bluebell shade of the gown she’d worn at the ball and how it matched her eyes. The humor with which she met life, despite the shadow of her family’s misfortune looming over her shoulder.

A gust of air preceded the bang of a door slamming. Andrew pushed himself out of his chair and stepped into the hallway.

Christopher, coattails flapping, loped down the hall toward him. “Can we return to Wakesdown today?”

Andrew pulled the watch out of his waistcoat pocket. “We should have time to catch a morning train. We will need to wire ahead to let them know to send someone to meet us. Why today and not tomorrow as planned?”

“Because I need to be in Dorset to talk to Baron Wolverton tomorrow, and I need to see Sir Anthony—and my sister—before I go.” Christopher ran his fingers through his sandy hair. “If I can get to Fontmell Magna in Dorset by tomorrow afternoon, and if the baron likes me, I will have a job with the London and North Western Railway company. But I need a letter of introduction from Sir Anthony. And I need to tell my sister, because if Baron Wolverton does offer me a position, I will go straight to Manchester to begin.”

“Well, then, we must be away with all due haste.” Andrew returned to the dingy office beside the kitchen and retrieved his journal and papers. “I have already arranged to have all materials and plants delivered to Wakesdown next week, so there is nothing more for me to do here.” And he was ready to return to his cottage, which would seem spacious after staying in footman’s quarters here and choosing this small hole of a room from which to work. Christopher had tried to cajole him into using Sir Anthony’s library upstairs. But Andrew knew how servants talked, and he did not want word getting back to Sir Anthony that he had taken advantage of his employer’s absence by gallivanting around the townhouse as if he were a family member or honored guest. Taking his meals in the dining room with Christopher was all he’d been willing to risk.

Upon arriving at the train station, Andrew sent a wire to Wakesdown to let them know of their earlier-than-planned arrival, then he and Christopher opted to save money by purchasing third-class tickets. Andrew folded his overcoat to provide some cushioning to the hard wooden bench, and settled in and listened to Christopher talk about his meeting with the railway company.

Though cold and rainy when they left London, by the time they arrived in Oxford a few hours later, the sun shone through scattering clouds. Sir Anthony’s driver met them in the barouche with the top down. Andrew leaned his head back and enjoyed the warmth of the sun on his face. The first week of March was not usually so accommodating and pleasant. If the weather stayed like this, he might be able to finish in five or six weeks.

Christopher hopped down from the carriage at Wakesdown’s front door and hurried inside. Andrew climbed out and took his bags from the footman, then crunched along the gravel drive toward his cottage. The grass covering the gently rolling land in the park had a pale green tint to it, which meant the ground must be almost completely thawed. He would have the undergardeners begin digging the new planters for the elliptical and sunken gardens tomorrow.

He passed the gate to the old rose garden, stopped, and backtracked. It hadn’t been his imagination. Someone was in there.

No, not just someone. Kate.

Andrew dropped his bags to the ground and had the gate open before he realized someone else walked with her. Lord Thynne. And Kate had her hand tucked under his elbow. One of the maids—probably Athena, from the pale blonde hair peeking out from a white frilly cap—followed at a discreet distance.

A chaperone meant Kate had made plans to walk with Lord Thynne. And that meant they were courting.

Andrew clenched his hands into fists. For all that she had acted like she had feelings for him in the folly that afternoon, she certainly had reassigned those affections quickly. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath in through his nose, then released it slowly. He had no right to jealousy, no cause for hurt feelings. Not only had Kate made her affection for him clear that afternoon in the folly, they’d both made their intentions clear—to avoid each other and allow Kate the opportunity to make an advantageous match.

Lord Thynne had not wasted the days of Andrew’s absence in wooing Kate—for she appeared to be enjoying his company, laughing as the viscount spoke.

Andrew snatched his bags from the ground and went home. He would give Kate her wish and do his best to avoid her from now on. He only prayed that becoming Lady Thynne would make Kate happy.

“Kate!” Christopher stopped short when he recognized the person walking with his sister.

“Christopher.” Kate dropped her hand from Lord Thynne’s arm and stepped forward to hug her brother. “We didn’t expect you back until tomorrow.”

“I know. But wait until I tell you what’s transpired.” In a rush, he told her everything—from the visit to the Crystal Palace to meeting Joseph Paxton to the meeting with the London and North Western Railway group this morning. “So I have to be in Dorset tomorrow. And if that goes well, I will be going to Manchester on Wednesday to start the job.”

“But that’s—it’s so sudden.” Kate chewed her bottom lip. “And Manchester is so far away.”

“Less than a day by train.” Christopher tried not to be angry with her. But why could she not congratulate him? Why couldn’t she see this was beyond what he’d hoped for? “I know it is sudden. But that means they really want me to work for them.”

“I . . .” Her eyes searched his, and she finally smiled. “Congratulations, Christopher. This sounds like just the kind of position you have been studying and training for. I know you will do well. But I will miss you.”

Christopher hugged her again, all annoyance gone. “I know. But I will be traveling to London often. And you will be going to London with Uncle for Dorcas’s presentation at the end of March, so I will see you whenever I am in town after that.”

“Her presentation is almost a month away. There’s no telling what could happen between now and then.” Kate kept her eyes downcast, but only after a quick glance over her shoulder to where Lord Thynne stood a few paces away.

Frowning, Christopher looked from one to the other. Had Andrew been mistaken? Had he misread Kate’s friendliness toward him as something more? Did his sister’s affections lie elsewhere? And then his heart leapt. If Kate was in love with Lord Thynne, and he with her, that meant Christopher no longer needed to worry about finding a wealthy woman to marry. He wanted to hug his sister again, but she would have asked questions he did not want to answer at the moment.

And if Kate married someone with the title and position Lord Thynne enjoyed, Christopher could not only expect good things for her but for himself as well. He had not been in England long before he realized that patronage and social connections meant as much as or more than knowledge and experience when it came to success here—to a greater extent than they did in New York and Philadelphia. Being brother-in-law to a viscount could open doors for Christopher he’d never allowed himself to dream of before.

He kissed her cheek. “I’ll see you at dinner, Sister.” He bowed to Lord Thynne. “My lord.”

Would he have to call Kate
my lady
if she married a viscount?

Sir Anthony was in his study when Christopher stopped in to see him, and he readily agreed to write the letter of introduction to Baron Wolverton. He shooed Christopher away and told him he’d have it ready for him before dinner.

That left Christopher with about an hour to kill before the dressing bell rang. He’d already talked to Matthew about packing up his belongings and had seen to his few personal items, just in case he didn’t get to return to Wakesdown after tomorrow.

So when he found himself on the third floor in the oldest part of the house heading toward the schoolroom, he couldn’t stop his grin. He knocked on the door, but no one answered. He opened the door. The sunlight streaming in through the tall mullioned windows had a tired, end-of-day quality to it.

“Miss Woodriff?”

The door at the other end of the room opened and a wide-eyed Nora came through. “Mr. Dearing?” Her hair hung in thick waves to her waist, ending in fat curls. She held a hairbrush like a weapon. “You aren’t supposed to be back until tomorrow.”

“I know.” He quickly explained his early return, closing the distance between them. “And seeing you again is the main reason I wanted to come back.” He lifted the thick curl that rested on her shoulder and held it to his nose. It smelled like rosewater. One of the few memories he had of his mother was that her hair always smelled like the rosewater she rinsed it in after washing it.

The orange glow of sunlight made Nora’s big eyes burn with a golden intensity that bolted through Christopher like lightning. “I—” He had to clear the dryness from his throat. “I hope I might write to you if I go to Manchester.”

Nora shook her head. “It would not be proper for me to receive letters from you. I am not allowed followers.”

“Followers?” He lifted her hair again, this time rubbing it against his cheek.

“I may not court while employed as a governess.” She reached up and pulled her hair from his hand.

“Would you be allowed to read letters I send to my sister?” Christopher picked up another lock of her hair and let the curl at the end wrap around his fingers.

“I . . . suppose so.” Nora closed her eyes and swallowed hard.

Christopher released her hair and lifted her hand, lingering over kissing the back of it. “Then I will be certain to write to my sister every day.”

He backed out of the room, enjoying the speechless way she watched him.

Now, only dinner tonight to get through and it was on to his future. He already missed not having to dress up to take the evening meal, which he and Andrew had decided to do in London. The high, starched points of the collar irritated his jaw where they rubbed against it. When Matthew suggested he wear two waistcoats because he’d read about it in a publication for valets as the latest style for the well-dressed gentleman—and because several of the young men in the house party did so—Christopher balked and almost insisted on a tray in his room. But he couldn’t do that to Kate, who would want to see him at dinner.