Follow the Heart (31 page)

“Well, yes, perhaps they should be told. After all, they are family, so they have a right to be in on the secret.”

“That was my thinking as well.” Stephen reached over and squeezed her hand where it rested in the crook of his elbow. “I hope you will not think me overly presumptuous, but after I spoke with your brother about my intention to propose marriage to you, I wrote to your father. He should be receiving the letter soon.”

Kate inclined her head to the Dowager Something of Somewhere and swallowed her resentment. “Should we wait until he replies to make a formal announcement?”

“Do you fear he will not give his consent?” Stephen leaned his head closer to Kate’s. “You are of age to make your own decision, after all.”

“And have been for lo these many years. No, I . . . I just thought that if he asked something of you that you are not agreeable to . . .”

“You are concerned he will request too much money as a marriage settlement.”

Kate couldn’t raise her gaze from the parquet floor, not wanting him to see that she hoped her father would relent and tell her she did not have to marry for money. “Yes.”

Stephen squeezed her hand again. “Do not let that bother you. Your father and I will negotiate those details. You need not concern yourself with your family’s financial situation ever again.”

Kate stopped, frowning at Stephen. “What if I want to take an interest in my—in
our
family’s financial situation?”

“I meant no insult, Katharine. I meant only that you no longer need to worry.” Stephen gently tugged her arm until she started strolling beside him again. “Your father and I will discuss the settlement. Your only focus should be choosing new fabrics and furniture for all of the rooms at Greymere—it is in desperate need of refitting.”

She smiled at him as if she wished to do nothing more in the world. Her future was set. She would never need lift a finger to do anything. No more digging and planting her own patch of ground, tending her own flowers. Servants to attend to every whim. A life of boredom in which—except for bearing the next Viscount Thynne, and hopefully a spare or two—her education, thoughts, and ideas would become obsolete and worthless.

Sir Anthony beamed at Kate when she and Stephen drew to a stop beside him.

“As you may have surmised, sir, I have asked Miss Dearing to become my wife, and she has accepted.” He stopped her uncle from calling for the music to cease by stepping into his path. Kate dropped her hand from Stephen’s arm. “Miss Dearing has asked that no public announcement be made until the dinner you are having in London after your daughter’s presentation.”

Sir Anthony looked ready to weep from the disappointment of not being able to announce his niece’s engagement to a viscount immediately.

Kate stepped up beside Stephen. “I do not want to usurp Dorcas’s time of celebration, Uncle. She should be the focus of attention when we arrive in London. There will be plenty of time for your friends and acquaintances to wish us joy after that.”

Stephen took her hand and tucked it through his arm again. “I would not say plenty of time, my dear. I do not plan to make this an extended engagement.”

Kate’s heart pounded. “When did you want the wedding date to be?”

“I must return to Argentina soon to meet with my steward and settle some business affairs now that I will no longer be living there. I will be gone for two months at the least, and I do not want to wait until after I return to marry you. I thought, if you agree, you might go with me. It can be our honeymoon. After I settle affairs in Argentina, we can sail to Philadelphia for a brief visit to your family before returning to England.”

A flash of gratitude lit her heart . . . then her mind settled on the word
brief
. Only a brief visit with her family?

She hated herself for taking offense over everything Stephen said tonight. It was not a good way to start her life as his wife.

Yet the longer the evening wore on, the more annoyed she grew. His voice—had it always been so nasal? And why could the man not smile? His eyes were so pale that from across the room they appeared almost colorless—something that unnerved her. And no matter where she went or with whom she was dancing, she could feel his gaze upon her.

He chose his three dances carefully—ensuring he was her escort into supper at midnight. They sat with the dotty Dowager Countess . . . Wimpole? Wimbledon? Wimple? Kate berated herself for her problem with recalling names and promised to work on improving her skill. Although, given that the dowager called her Miss Darling when they parted, she did not feel quite so bad about her lack.

At the end of the ball, Stephen held Kate back until everyone departed and the few remaining houseguests retired to their rooms. He escorted her to the foot of the staircase.

“Now that we are betrothed, may I kiss you, Katharine?”

Kate nodded, unwilling to speak lest she deny him the privilege of a fiancé.

Stephen leaned forward, closed his eyes, and pressed his lips to Kate’s. She didn’t have time to close her eyes before it ended.

“Good night, sweet Katharine.” He ran his thumb along her jaw, bowed, and disappeared into the back corridor toward the stairs to the wing where the male guests were accommodated.

Kate trudged up the stairs, fingertips pressed to her lips, remembering a kiss. But it was not Stephen’s kiss she thought of.

Athena, who’d been asleep in the shepherdess chair beside the fireplace, helped Kate out of her gown. Afterward, she dismissed the maid, assuring her she could unpin her hair and put on her own nightgown without assistance. Yawning, Athena thanked her and left.

Too tired to reach up to remove the pins, but knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep, Kate tied the belt of her wrapper and curled up on the window seat to watch the sunrise.

From this window, on a clear day, she could see almost all the way to the folly.

Suddenly, she didn’t care what anyone would think if they discovered her impetuous action. Dressing herself in a heavy wool morning gown, boots, and her cloak, she sneaked out of the house and hurried through the silent gardens and park, around the fountain pond, and to the folly.

Her nose, ears, and cheeks tingled from the cold, but the brisk walk kept her warm. Legs tired and ready to give out on her when she topped the steps to the folly’s portico, she yanked the door handle. It did not give. She rattled it, pushed against it with her shoulder. But it wasn’t stuck. It was locked.

She sank onto the top step and buried her face in her hands, a sprig of ivy and a few jasmine blooms falling from her hair to the stonework beside her. Stephen had proposed. Andrew had locked up the place in which she had expressed her feelings for him.

She supposed she could not ask for a clearer answer than that from God.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
T
WO

March 30, 1851

My dearest Nora,

You will be in London tomorrow, so this note might not reach you before you leave Wakesdown, but I could not let the day pass without writing to you. I received a letter from my father today. He had not heard of Kate’s engagement to Lord T when he wrote it, or he might have written to her instead.

I met with the landlord this morning and signed a lease on the flat. I have written the address below. If you are able, please write to me once you arrive in London and when you are to leave for Manchester.

I long to see you.

All my love,

Christopher

Nora closed her eyes and recited the note in her head again. She could not keep her eyes closed long, though, or the swaying of the train would make her ill.

Florie still prattled on about everything she would
not
get to do in London. “It is
so
unfair. I will be fifteen in four months. I have read of ladies who are
married
by the time they were fifteen, sixteen at the latest.”

“Do you want to be married when you are fifteen?” Kate asked her cousin. They shared the forward-facing seat in the private compartment.

The little upturned nose wrinkled. “No! But I would like to go to balls and the theater and be presented at court.”

“I know I will sound like old Dowager Countess Wimbly—”

“Wigston,” Florie corrected automatically.

“Are you certain?”

“I was spying from the top of the stairs when she arrived.” Florie turned a glare on Nora. “Before
she
made me go to my room.”

“For the second time,” Nora reminded her.

“For the second time.”

“Oh. Well, I know I will sound like an old dowager when I say this, but enjoy the years you have before your debut. Learn all you can. Play your instruments. Make friends. True friends, not just those girls others around you deem proper company for you. Fly kites and run barefoot in the mud. Because in three very short years, you will be forced to be proper and put away those things in favor of hunting for a husband. If you are fortunate, you will fall in love with a suitable man who will love you back and who will allow you to continue your pursuits.”

“Like Lord Thynne.” Florie wrapped her arm through Kate’s and leaned against her, gazing up at her cousin in adoration.

Kate’s expression hardened—but she smiled again so quickly Nora wouldn’t have seen it if she hadn’t been watching for it.

Nora hadn’t seen Kate since their talk in the orangery. When Florie burst into the schoolroom the day after the ball with the news that Kate and Lord Thynne were engaged, Nora hoped Kate had made the right decision.

Apparently, she might not have.

But Nora had spoken her mind, had given Kate advice. Whether or not she followed it was between Kate and God.

The train slowed as they entered London. Florie kept Kate occupied by pointing out sights of interest. Nora had made this journey too many times to find the buildings and parks of interest anymore. And the train did not pass close enough to Hyde Park for them to see what did interest Nora—the Crystal Palace.

The idea of the Great Exhibition had fascinated Nora since its announcement. But now that she’d read Christopher’s first-hand account of touring the Crystal Palace and of his several trips to the site since then to view the arrival of goods and machinery from all over the world—though all he was able to see from the park were crates and boxes—Nora was almost as anxious as he for the opening of the Exhibition.

Two coaches met them at the train station.

Sir Anthony took Kate by the elbow and led her to the first one, in which Miss Buchanan and Miss Dorcas would be riding. “Come, Katharine, you must ride in the first coach. Take my seat. I will ride in the second.”

Kate pulled away gently but decisively. “No, Uncle. You ride with Cousin Edith and Cousin Dorcas. I am perfectly content to ride with Florie and Miss Woodriff again.”

“But you should be in the first carriage. It would not do for the fiancée of a viscount—”

Coloring, Kate held up her hand. “I do not mind, I promise.” She lowered her voice. “And as the engagement is not public knowledge, it would be better if I kept to the place of precedence befitting my public position.”

Nora glanced around, making certain no one was close enough to overhear Kate’s conversation with her uncle.

Sir Anthony rubbed his forehead. “If you are certain . . .”

“I am.” Before he could change his mind, Kate climbed into the second carriage.

Nora tried to talk her out of taking the backward seat, but Kate almost pushed her into the front-facing seat. “I would rather not have you get sick all over me, Nora. I may not want the honor of riding in the front coach, but I would like to arrive with some dignity.”

Face burning with embarrassment over her physical aversion to traveling, Nora gratefully took the better seat. Florie chose to sit next to her cousin—so she could point out all the sights of London, she said. Nora had a feeling Florie also did not want to be in close proximity to Nora should her stomach rebel again, as it had half an hour into the train ride.

Florie’s prattle continued on the drive through town, and Kate dutifully looked out the window at each of the young woman’s exclamations of “Look, there.”

For all of Kate’s patience with her cousins—with Florie’s incessant chatter and with the ill treatment from Edith’s hands—she would have made a good governess if she had not agreed to become the wife of an aristocrat. Though, now Nora thought about it, both positions took that kind of tolerance.

“What will you do on your holiday, Miss Woodriff?”

Florie’s question startled Nora back into the present. “I will spend it away from prying busybodies who want to know everyone else’s business.” She smiled to soften the rebuke. “I will go to Manchester to visit my parents.”

“And Christopher. He will still be there, will he not?” Florie looked from Nora to Kate and back.

“I am not certain. I know he plans to come to London in time for the dinner your father is giving after your sister’s presentation. We may pass each other in different trains coming and going.” Nora could not meet Kate’s steady gaze. If Kate knew, or even guessed, what she and Christopher planned . . .

“Perhaps you should wait to make your visit to Manchester until after the dinner. Then you and Christopher could take the same train back.”

Kate’s suggestion made Nora feel all the more guilty.

“Yes, Miss Woodriff. That is a wonderful idea. Then you can be here for Dorcas’s presentation
and
for the dinner when Father announces Kate’s engagement.” Florie’s eyes sparkled across the dim interior of the coach.

Nora almost laughed at Florie’s implication that Nora would be present at those events, when Florie herself would only be allowed marginal attendance. “Or I could go as soon as I get you settled in, Miss Florie, and then perhaps Mr. Dearing and I could ride down from Manchester together in time for him to attend Sir Anthony’s dinner.” The shocking part of this conversation was that neither Kate nor Florie had voiced the obvious—how highly improper it would be for Nora to travel anywhere with Christopher Dearing without a chaperone, even on a train in a public car on a one-day journey.