Follow the Heart (3 page)

“Now, if you will excuse me, I must arrange my travel to London.”

Andrew gave the older woman a slight bow, then stepped forward to meet the Dearings.

Andrew stepped into the man’s path. “Are you Mr. Dearing?”

A smile replaced the look of consternation. He stuck out his gloved hand, which Andrew shook in greeting.

“Christopher Dearing.” He pulled the arm of the young woman in the brown cloak, who’d stopped a full pace behind him. “And this is my sister, Kate—I mean, Katharine.”

Katharine gave a slight curtsy, red tingeing her cheeks.

“Andrew Lawton.” He inclined his head, then dragged his gaze from the woman—whose face was, perhaps, a bit too square for her to be considered truly handsome—back to her brother. “Sir Anthony sends his apologies for not coming to meet you personally. But his youngest daughter fell ill two days ago, and he did not want to leave her.” He glanced back at Katharine Dearing, to keep her from feeling excluded from the apology.

Concern flooded her striking blue eyes. “I hope it isn’t a grave illness.”

Andrew reminded himself that Miss Dearing was Sir Anthony’s niece and, therefore, no one who should garner his interest in any capacity other than as one of the masters—fortune or no. “When last Sir Anthony wired, he did not believe it to be more than a fever due to the wet winter we are having and Miss Florence’s insistence on riding every day no matter what the weather.”

“I am sorry she’s ill, but it is good to know it isn’t dire.” Katharine looked as if she wanted to say more, but at the last moment lost her nerve.

“So . . . did I hear you correctly?” Christopher asked. “The name is pronounced An
to
ny and not An
tho
ny?”

“Yes, Mr. Dearing, you heard correctly.”

Miss Dearing transferred a tapestry bag from one hand to the other.

“May I take that for you, miss?” Andrew pushed his hat back down on his head and reached for her bag.

“Oh, you don’t—” But she let the protest die and handed him the bag with a sudden doe-eyed smile. “Why, thank you, Mr. Lawton. We arranged with the steward to have our trunks transferred directly to the Oxford train. The schedule they had aboard ship indicated there is one that leaves at two o’clock.”

“Yes, that is our train.”

Katharine looked up at her brother. “We should get our tickets now so that we are ready when it’s time to board.”

“No need.” Andrew shifted her bag to his left hand, along with his own, and patted the waistcoat pocket through his frock and overcoat. “I have already taken care of the tickets. The train arrived just moments ago, so we can go find a compartment.” He motioned with his free hand for Christopher and Katharine to join him, and he led them down the platform.

“My, but you have already thought of everything, haven’t you?” Katharine’s flirtatious expression seemed odd, like a daisy growing from a rosebush.

And the look of confusion on her brother’s face only added to Andrew’s. Surely she realized from his humble attire he wasn’t anyone who could offer her the wealth she apparently needed in a husband. So why would she overtly flirt with him?

“How long a trip is it from here to Oxford?” Christopher asked.

“Almost nine hours, so long as the tracks are clear.” Andrew looked past the roof of the station. Snow mixed with the icy precipitation from half an hour before, and it looked to start piling up quickly. Hopefully, traveling south and inland from here would mean away from the snow.

He found a compartment in the first-class car, set his and Katharine’s valises on the seat, and turned to assist her in. She thanked him profusely. Once she was settled, he and Christopher lifted the small valises onto the shelf over the seat opposite Katharine, and then sat, facing her.

Katharine wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders and arms. Christopher leaned over and opened the grate of the small heater and stoked the glowing red coal. “I’d hoped maybe to see one of those new heaters I’ve been reading about—where steam heat is pumped from the fire in the locomotive throughout the cars in the train.”

“Have you an interest in the railway, Mr. Dearing?” Though he had no desire to make the sister feel left out of the conversation, Andrew was in great danger of allowing himself to stare at her now that she was in such close proximity. Upon second thought, the squareness of her jaw did not detract from but added to the symmetry of her face. And above all else, Andrew appreciated symmetry.

“Yes—my apprenticeship was with a firm that specializes in railway law. It’s fascinating to see how, in a matter of just ten or twenty years, the railroad has changed our way of life.” Christopher stretched his lanky frame into a position of repose, obviously accustomed to the comforts of first-class accommodations.

“I was twenty years old when the railroad came to Derby—my home—in the year ’40. It has quite changed the way of life for everyone there.” Andrew removed his hat and gloves and set them on the seat beside him.

Christopher’s eyes—brown, rather than blue like his sister’s—flashed with curiosity. “Really? I hardly remember when the first railroad opened in Philadelphia in 1832.”

“That’s because you were not quite six years old when it came.” Katharine’s soft voice reminded them of her presence—as if Andrew needed reminding. “I remember it well. Father took us to the parade and to see the locomotive take off. It was the first time we were all happy since Mother and Emma died.” Katharine’s focus drifted far away along with her voice.

Andrew stared at her. In the space of mere minutes, she had changed entirely. No longer did she seem a vapid flirt, but a woman one might like to converse with.

Katharine’s eyes came back into focus. “I do apologize. I didn’t mean to cast a melancholy pall over the conversation.” The strangely foreign flirtatious smile reappeared. “What is it that you do for Sir Anthony, Mr. Lawton? You must hold quite the position of importance for him to have sent you to meet us and escort us to Wakesdown.” Her long eyelashes fluttered as she blinked rapidly a few times.

“I am a landscape architect. I am redesigning all of the gardens and parks on Sir Anthony’s estate.”

At the mention of gardens, something miraculous happened. A warmth, a genuine curiosity, overtook Katharine Dearing’s blue eyes. Ah, there was the rose pushing the daisy out of its way.

“You’ve done it now.” Christopher sighed dramatically. “One mention of gardening, and Kate will talk your ears off about plants and flowers and weeds and soil and sun and shade.”

Katharine gave a gasp of indignation, but quickly covered it with the flirtatious smile again. “I am certain I do not know what you mean, Christopher. I would never think to importune Mr. Lawton in such a manner.” She crossed her arms and turned to gaze out the window.

The train lurched and chugged and slowly made its way from the station.

Andrew couldn’t tell if Katharine was truly angry at her brother or not, but he determined a change of subject might be in order. “Will you continue to read the law, Mr. Dearing?”

Christopher nodded. “I brought some books with me to study, yes. And I expect I’ll pick up many more on the British legal system while I’m here.”

Andrew opened his mouth to ask if Christopher were joking with him—but then pressed his lips together. Perhaps they had a different term in America for the pursuit of education in the legal system other than
read
. “Will you seek out a lawyer to apprentice with?”

“If Uncle Anthony doesn’t mind, I might do that just to keep myself busy.”

Katharine made a sharp sound in the back of her throat.

“Oh, right, I’m supposed to call him
Sir
Anthony until he gives us permission to call him
uncle
.” Christopher grinned at Andrew. “Though really, in this modern era, why anyone would stand on such formality is beyond me.”

Under the wide brim of her bonnet, Katharine rubbed her forehead with her fingertips, now freed from the mittens she’d worn earlier. Upon first seeing the Dearings, he’d assumed Christopher the older and Katharine the younger—from the way Katharine hovered behind her brother when they first met. Now, however, from Katharine’s memory of something that happened almost nineteen years ago, she was obviously the older sibling. And if Christopher had been six years old in 1832, that meant he was now around five-and-twenty. Meaning Katharine must be in her late twenties, if not already Andrew’s age of thirty.

That was what the woman he’d met at the station meant by “at her age.” Andrew was not certain how things were done in America, but here in England, Miss Dearing would be considered well past the prime marriageable age. And if the rumors that woman heard in Philadelphia were true, without a substantial dowry, Katharine had no chance of marrying well.

For the first time in his life, Andrew felt true pity for another person. The last thing he’d promised his mother before she died of lung rot was that he would not end up like her—condemned to live out her days in the poorhouse. He’d worked hard to get where he was today, and he would do whatever it took to continue bettering himself and his condition.

He thanked God he had not been born a woman.

C
HAPTER
T
WO

Wakesdown Manor
Outside Oxford, England
February 9, 1851

W
hy had God made her be born a woman?

Honora Woodriff crumpled her brother’s letter. Off in California, making a fortune selling supplies and dry goods to gold seekers. If only she’d been born a brother instead of a sister, he’d told her when she saw him off in London a year ago, he would have been happy to take her with him as his business partner.

Instead, she would have a life of solitude, caring for and teaching others’ children.

She glanced at the clock on the mantel. Almost nine o’clock. Time for Florie’s medicine. Tucking a stray wisp of hair back into the braids pinned low at her nape, Nora picked up the bottle the physician had left behind earlier this afternoon. At the door she stopped, returned to her desk and picked up the book from the top of the pile there, and then started across the house to her charge’s bedroom.

Though Florie had been moved from the nursery to the family wing of the manor house a few years ago, she would still be Nora’s charge until her fifteenth birthday in August, when she would leave for school, relieving Nora of her responsibility—and her employment.

She paused, reaching out to steady herself against the wall. It was a miracle she had been hired as governess to Sir Anthony Buchanan’s two youngest children five years ago. Only twenty-one at the time and having taught for a scant eighteen months at Mrs. Timperleigh’s Seminary for Deserving Young Women in Oxford, she had applied for the position at Mrs. Timperleigh’s urging, who knew how overwhelmed Nora could get being surrounded day in and day out by the gaggle of girls at the school.

Despite Nora’s certainty her letter would not garner a full reading, Sir Anthony had interviewed and then hired her. Now, here she was, five years later, preparing to send her last charge off to be finished at one of the finest schools in London.

And still, after five years, the rumor that she intended to become the next Lady Buchanan followed her whenever she went into town on her day off each week. After all, the gossipmongers whispered, why would Sir Anthony have hired so young a woman with no experience as a governess, unless an ulterior motive were at the root of the decision?

She straightened, squared her shoulders, and continued toward Florie’s room. In a few months, the rumor would no longer matter.

Miss Florence Buchanan sat up in her bed, supported and surrounded by pillows. Her black hair hung in two limp braids, and bright red patches on her cheeks emphasized her pallor.

“I see the maids have got you set up and comfortable as a queen.” Nora forced cheerfulness into her voice. “I brought your medicine. And I thought I’d check to see if you finished the book I brought earlier and wanted something else to read.”

Florie waved a limp hand toward the book under the lamp on her bedside table. “I finished it before supper. Where have you been, Nora? I’ve been frightfully bored.”

“I was told your father planned to spend the evening with you.”

Florie sighed. “He did. We played chess and then backgammon. But he left
hours
ago, and I have been here by myself since.”

Nora set the medicine bottle and spoon on the table, hiding her smile over Florie’s penchant for hyperbole, then perched on the edge of the high bed, the book she’d brought on her lap. “I am sorry. You should have had one of the maids fetch me, and I could have brought you something earlier.”

Florie wrinkled her turned-up, freckled nose. “Please don’t make me read anything for lessons while I am ill. I’d like to read novels—like
Udolpho
. . . or maybe, do you think, perhaps, I might read
The Tenant of Wildfell Hall
? I heard Edith and Dorcas discussing it last week, and they said it was scandalous.”

Nora hid her smile behind an arch expression. “And you want to be scandalized?”

Florie nodded, eyes wide. “So may I read it?”

“That is a request I must clear with your father. Here is one you may read—and it might scandalize you, just a little bit.” Nora handed over the book.

Florie angled the cover so that the light from the lamp glowed off the embossed title. “
Jane Eyre
. Oh, I’ve been longing to read this one. Even more than the other. Thank you, Miss Woodriff.” She snuggled down into the pillows and opened the book.

“Before you get lost in that . . .” Nora picked up the medicine bottle and measured out a spoonful.

Florie pinched her nose but took the medicine without protest, though she did give a delicate shudder after swallowing it. Nora handed her the glass of water the chambermaid had left on the bedside table. As soon as Nora took it back from her, Florie once again wiggled down into the pillows and started reading.

“I shall return in one hour to put out the lights and see to it that you go to sleep instead of staying up all night reading.” Nora picked up the medicine bottle to take it back to her own room. The doctor had warned Nora of the medicine’s strength—and the possibility of coma or death if Florie accidentally took too much. Best not to leave it lying around.