Sandra Madden (12 page)

Although the light had faded and the air held a chill, Kate sat on her heels and continued to dig. She would not be in London long enough to restore the garden, but she could at least rid the area of weeds and plant needed herbs, she thought.

Although
Two Gentlemen From Verona
had been delightful, she had not accomplished her purpose. One goldsmith's opinion was not enough. Beacham's ignorance of her ring's origin could not dishearten her. A skilled craftsman had created the intricate ring; she would find him or find someone who knew him. Early on the morrow, she would contrive to embark on an outing to Goldsmith Row by herself. She could not leave London until she had visited each shop.

Engrossed in her thoughts and work she did not hear Edmund until he stood above her.

She started at his voice.

"Mistress Kate, do you garden by moonlight?"

Her heart leaped at his smile.

Oh, fie! No less than a pound of dirt lodged beneath her nails, spattered her dress, and more than likely smudged her face. "I do."

Edmund held out his hand. "You must come in, now. 'Tis growing dark and cold."

She looked down at her hands, caked with dirt. She stared at his outstretched hand, large, smooth, clean, and warm. She knew the warm, sheltering feelings of his handclasp and always took pleasure in it, no matter how fleeting.

Rocking on her heels, Kate turned back to the garden. "I must finish planting the sassafras and comfrey. No home should be without these remedies, Edmund."

"Are you scolding me?"

"Would I be so bold as to scold the Earl of Stamford?"

"Aye."

"Why did you allow your garden to go to ruin? Roses, sweet william, tulips, and pansies would make beautiful beds."

"Beds? Oh, aye." Edmund folded his arms across his broad chest. As he cocked his head, the unruly midnight lock fell across his brow. "The garden is never used, and I know not one rose from another. Except for a professional gardener like your papa, men do not take an interest in discovering a new rosebud.

We are happier discovering the fox during a hunt."

"But others might enjoy your garden."

"No
others
come to Stamford House."

"Your sister has been here frequently— "

“Only since you and Aunt Cordelia arrived."

"You have invited Master Moore and Judith Witherspoon to dinner on the morrow."

"James Moore has never asked to see my garden, and I would never jeopardize Lady Judith's health by bringing her out in the cool night air. She might catch her death... of something."

"In just a short time, one of your gardeners from Rose Hall could transform this plot of land into a beautiful garden."

"Would that make you happy?"

"Aye, because in the end a lovely garden would bring you joy."

And she would do the largest or smallest thing to make Edmund happy. But behind his disarming grin, the smile that caused her knees to go as limp as runny porridge, Kate detected discontent.

"A fully stocked fish pond would give me greater joy," he chided, giving her the grin that melted all resolve. "Come, Kate."

"Edmund— "

“I shall send for a  gardener from Rose Hall on the morrow.” His other hand shot out so that he extended both to her. "Now, come."

Kate lowered her eyes. "My hands are dirty."

"It makes no matter. I have no fear of dirty hands."

She put her hands in his, and Edmund pulled her to her feet with ease. "What
do
you fear?"

The corners of his mouth turned up in a wry smile.

He shrugged. Kate's pulse bounded into a racing beat. She truly had no resistance to his charm.

"I fear nothing," he replied after a moment's thought. "What do you fear, Kate... besides poor Percy, who adores you?"

"I fear never knowing who I am." Tugging her hands from the encompassing warmth of his, she turned on her heel.

"Stay, Kate."

She stopped.

"I know who you are."

She turned. His green eyes gleamed fiercely as they met hers. "You are the first star."

"What?"

"Look up. Do you see it shining, lighting the night before all the others? 'Tis the loveliest."

Kate's heart pounded wildly, while her mind whispered her papa's warning. Edmund wanted something from her. Else why would he speak to her with a silver tongue?

"Now, go, Kate. My aunt awaits you."

With a slight nod, Kate did as he bid. Slowly, for her knees felt as jelly. She took time to wash and compose herself before she made her way to Lady Cordelia's chamber.

The earl's uncommon compliment was forgotten the moment Kate heard what Edmund's aunt desired of her.

"I am to what?" Kate repeated, hoping she had not heard the lady correctly.

"Edmund has given me the task of creating a dinner gown for you."

"Nay."

"Oh, I quite excel at dressmaking, my dear. And we have the finest seamstress to help."

"I meant, I do not need a gown."

"Edmund insists. And I desire you to attend me looking your best."

Edmund again. Did he think he owned her? Did he suppose Kate was just another of his possessions, that he could force her to do as he pleased simply by flashing a brilliant smile her way?

Aye. He did. Besides which he paid her well to be Lady Cordelia's gentlewoman. In that respect only, did he own her.

Lady Cordelia furnished one of her own gowns of scarlet velvet, merrily babbling about how it could be redesigned for Kate. Protesting further would do no good.

The following evening, Kate conceded that Edmund's aunt, with the aid of a talented seamstress and several handmaidens, had accomplished the impossible.

For the first time in her life, Kate was attired in the height of fashion, complete with six yards of an open, stiff, uncomfortable ruff, a dangerously low neckline, and an impossibly awkward Spanish farthingale.

This was her comeuppance for being critical of Judith Witherspoon.

How would she sit with the padded hoop protruding like an unwanted shelf from her hips? How would she stand? For that matter, how would she walk without falling over?

No matter that the crystal-beaded stomacher allowed only the most shallow of breaths. If Kate  swooned from lack of air, the evening would end sooner.

'Twas a thought. A contrivance she might feel impelled to call upon.

Chapter Eight

You will endure constraints with grace

Kate's lungs adjusted to the lack of oxygen soon after she entered the dining chamber for the dreaded petite banquet. But she feared her breasts would spill out of her gown. The beaded stomacher not only deprived her of a single, deep breath; the smothering garment pushed Kate's breasts to hitherto unknown heights.

She was not the only one who worried about an imminent bursting over. Throughout the meal Edmund and James Moore eyed her cleavage surreptitiously. Even Viscount Chumley worried. More than once, Kate caught Alexander's furtive glance.

But the vexing complications of fashionable attire did not end with a flattened stomach and pushed-up breasts.

Unused to wearing a farthingale, Kate very nearly crashed to the floor when it was time to be seated. Too late, she realized she could not recall Cordelia's hurried instructions on how to sit gracefully. Chairs constructed to accommodate farthingales were in short supply in Edmund's home.

Steadied by the barrister, who might have wondered if she'd been sipping sack all afternoon, Kate finally found the hard wooden seat without knocking anything from the table. Once seated, she feared moving. She sat as straight and stiff as a bowstring.

Earlier in the evening, before James Moore and Edmund had concluded their business and entered the dining chamber, Kate was all but ignored. Jane and Viscount Chumley had returned for another evening with the family which spoke ill of their social life in London. Aunt Cordelia made small talk and blinked at Lady Judith and her mother.

Judith Witherspoon possessed a plain countenance that might have been considered attractive had she smiled. Her blue-gray eyes, more foggy, London-sky gray than country blue, focused over the shoulder of whomever she might be speaking with. A rather disconcerting affectation. Her narrow lips were dyed a deep crimson shade that, unkindly, bled into the corners of her mouth.

Kate suspected Judith's fashionable, ghostlike white complexion had been accomplished with a mixture of ceruse and vinegar. Bedecked with jewels, her silk gown and rather flat chest could barely be seen. However, the lady appeared perfectly at ease in her ruff and farthingale, a feat that Kate now had reason to admire—and envy.

As usual, Jane was resplendent, wearing a dark violet gown, thick ruff, wide farthingale, and deep square neckline. Edmund's sister flicked her fan in a rapid, ceaseless motion.

Kate still had not found her fan, a gift from her papa, and she had forgotten to wear her girdle. It seemed she was always without a necessary item, left behind in haste.

Hopefully, the lovely, ivory-spined fan would be found before the next social engagement—should there be one. Not only did she wish to avoid another petite banquet during her London visit, Kate considered feigning one of Lady Cordelia's headaches shortly, or falling into a swoon to escape the torment of her gown.

"Are you not hungry, Mistress Kate?" James asked. Her dinner partner pointed to her full plate with a greasy fingertip.

"I am overwhelmed by abundance."

The gathering dined on plentiful courses of crab and sturgeon, quail and duck, venison and mutton, bread and cheese, pudding and berries.

Kate ate little, continuing to answer the questions of James Moore, who seemed inordinately fascinated with her life in the country. The handsome barrister brushed against her often; his hand gently touched her forearm with increasing frequency throughout dinner. Having been asked by Edmund to entertain the barrister, she felt bound to give James her complete attention. But she managed to keep an eye on Edmund and Lady Judith as well.

The Earl of Stamford inevitably reacted to whatever Judith said to him with a forced, polite smile. Kate knew Edmund's smile; she had basked in its warmth quite often as a child—and many more times since they'd met again.

Edmund's smile melted her bones, tickled her toes, made her moist in unspeakable places.

What had he called her? The first star of evening.

Kate's heart thumped a quick, merry beat. She cast a glance his way.

Oh, fie! He caught her. Edmund's eyes met hers, held hers.

Time stopped.

Kate ceased to breathe.

Inert, Kate felt her soul departing her body, spiraling toward the dusky green shelter of Edmund's gaze. All at once he seemed the only man in the room.

Pins and needles danced down her spine. 'Twas if she'd been awakened to new life after a long sleep. She held her breath. And then, too soon, the unsettling moment passed.

Edmund's mouth quirked up at the corner. Did he know she'd come undone?

"Do you embroider?" James Moore asked.

"Embroider? Nay, I like to fish, sir," Kate replied. She smiled brightly at her companion, feeling guilty for neglecting him.

"You fish?" Moore repeated.

"Yes."

"Oh."

Kate could not be certain whether his "oh" signaled approval or disapproval. She feared the latter.

"Pray, what do you enjoy, Master Moore?"

"I enjoy games of triumph."

Cards bored Kate. "Do you favor a game of chess, as well?"

"Nay. I never play chess."

Kate hid her disappointment. A part of her hoped to discover that she had a great deal in common with James Moore. Enough to take her mind off the Earl of Stamford.

"Mayhap I can show you the way of it."

"My thanks, Mistress Kate, but I do not care to learn chess."

Forcing a smile, Kate directed her comments to city weather. Perhaps in the course of the evening she would hit upon something the barrister enjoyed.

Following the petite banquet, a madrigal was offered, then a wait played the bagpipe. The haunting sound of the bagpipe pleased Kate, but the musician ended his performance much too soon to suit her.

As the party left the dining chamber for the great hall, James Moore clasped Kate's arm. His gaze fixed on her breasts. "Would you walk with me in the garden?"

Seeing no reason why she should not, Kate agreed. It seemed unlikely they would be missed. Lady Cordelia was in lively conversation with Jane and Viscount Chumley. Edmund appeared well occupied with Judith Witherspoon and her mother.

Kate led the handsome blond barrister to the garden. Several torches had been placed at turns on the path but more at random than with care. The servants of Stamford House did not expect anyone to venture out into the barren garden. No guests in recent memory had done so.

"I fear the garden has been sorely neglected," Kate said.

"Do you enjoy gardening?"

"Aye. A beautiful garden can be achieved within weeks."

" 'Tis true, I am certain." The barrister's gaze had once more drifted to the deep valley of Kate's cleavage.

She stepped out ahead of him. " 'Tis."

With one stride he was beside her again. "I beg you not to fret over the state of Stamford's garden. We are not here to view the flowers, Mistress Kate."

"No?" She splayed a hand over her décolletage.

"We are here to walk in the fresh night air. And to take the opportunity to know each other."

Kate felt suddenly wary of what knowledge Moore required. "The evening air is cool," she replied, laying down a cause for flight.

"Are you cold?"

"No, no." Not yet. " 'Tis a bracing air." Kate felt torn. If the barrister continued to behave as a gentleman she would rather have her teeth chatter from the cold than return to watch Edmund woo Lady Judith.

James slipped his arm around Kate's waist. "Are you enjoying London?"

His forward touch flustered her. "Aye, aye, but I prefer the fresh county air. I have not always to hold a pomander—”

Crushing her ruff, Master Moore moved closer to whisper in Kate's ear. His hot breath tickled. "Only look who joins us on the other side of the garden."