A Path Toward Love (22 page)

The day before returned in a haze of memories; she couldn't quite remember everything that happened. But she did recall he missed her when she needed his steadying hand.

“I'm sorry to tell you this,” he whispered, shuddering. “But you lost the baby.”

She barely comprehended his words. “Oh God, no.” Her mouth was so cut and bruised, she could only whimper.

“I tried to grab you, Katherine, but I only fell with you.” He thrust out his arms. She squinted to distinguish a few superficial scratches and a tiny bruise on his hand. Charles's fresh sobs reeked of remorse and self-pity.

Later, after she'd recovered, the wound on her leg worsened and Charles found the resulting scar repulsive. And in spite of her injuries and grief, Katherine found the strength to stand against him. She wouldn't allow him to ruin his business and their marriage without a fight.

He never came to her bed after that. Not that she missed him. He took to sleeping down the hall in his own room, and his distance came as somewhat of a relief. She heard him coming and going at all hours of the night, but she never questioned it, content to believe he was with friends or business associates.

Katherine blinked repeatedly, trying to disengage from the awful memories. But at least now she knew why she'd lost Charles during those dark days.

It was about the time of her accident that he'd gone back to Harriet.

Chapter Thirteen

A
t eight o'clock that evening Katherine donned the altered gown for the dance. Bridget swept her hair into a pompadour, without the need for concealed rats and rolls to provide extra fullness. She added diamond hair clips that sparkled even in the mellow kerosene light and a fragrant white gardenia in place of a feather. Katherine slipped her feet into borrowed satin shoes embroidered with silver thread and sighed with relief when they fit perfectly. An amethyst necklace from Mama graced her long neck.

Katherine and Aunt Letty strolled the short distance between their cabin and the lodge as boats docked at the pier. Katherine entered the converted ballroom and inhaled the fragrance of roses freshly picked from the garden. Yet even the delicate blooms and pretty tablecloths couldn't fully transform the country atmosphere of antlers, deer, and moose heads staring down at the guests. She walked across the shiny wooden floor, devoid of the Oriental rugs that footmen had rolled up and cleared away early in the afternoon. The sofas and chairs lined the walls. They'd added a few wicker chairs from the back veranda so all the ladies would have comfortable seating.

Katherine passed the band tuning their instruments in soft disharmony. At the other end of the spacious room, a fire roared within the stone fireplace, crackling and spitting sparks up the chimney. It diminished the slight evening chill so common in the mountains. The smoky aroma mingled with the scent of flowers and the ladies' French perfume.

Katherine greeted stodgy Mrs. Porter, who was decked out in a wine-colored gown hugging her plump form, and Randy's mother, who looked like an Amazon next to her stick of a husband. She spotted Andrew among the gathering crowd and immediately her spirits lifted for a moment before she realized that things were not as they once were between them. Steeling herself, she headed toward him, hoping she could find the words to bridge the gap.

Spellbound, Andrew watched Katherine gracefully weave through the crowd, drawing several men's lingering looks. A vision in violet, she held her head high, displaying a flash of jewels at her neck and wrist. Mrs. Wainwright intercepted her before she reached him and guided her over to a group of friends centered around Randy. Before long, his cousin led her to the dance floor, and they joined the couples swirling about to the music of a Viennese waltz. Then they danced a reel, another waltz, and a schottische. When they moved on to a polka, Andrew had had enough. He moved outside, perspiring as if he'd been dancing with them.

He leaned over a railing, staring at the lake glittering under the moonlight, trying to forget how well Katherine looked in Randy's arms. How they looked so right together. He shook his head.
I'm beginning to think like my aunt and Mrs. Wainwright
. Regardless of how right they appeared on the
outside
, there was something so incredibly wrong
within
, he couldn't imagine how Katherine could tolerate it. Randy either, for that matter.

Not that his cousin cared for anything but his own entertainment . . .

Katherine's laughter tickled the back of his neck. He dared to glance over his shoulder. She was chatting with an old friend, fanning herself, and drinking from a crystal goblet. “My, I'd forgotten how hot a dance floor could get!”

After a moment, her friend returned inside. Andrew thought she would follow, but she joined him instead. “It's beautiful, isn't it?” she asked softly.

He nodded. But he was thinking,
Not half as beautiful as you
.
. . Moonlight peeked through the dark tree branches that rustled in the breeze. Katherine folded her arms across her bodice shimmering with glass beads.

“Why so gloomy, Andrew? Why aren't you dancing?”

Andrew took a sip from his own goblet. “The girl I wanted to dance with was taken.”

She was silent for a moment. “We can dance, Andrew,” she said gently. “At least once.”

He turned to stare at her and then gave her a sad smile. “No. No we can't.” He straightened. “Listen, I should be going. You're having fun, and I'm only intruding now. Confusing you.” He glanced over her shoulder, and through the glass doors he saw Mrs. Wainwright systematically searching the crowd for her daughter. He slipped his hand around hers and looked into her eyes. “I want you to enjoy yourself, Katherine. You deserve to have nothing but fun, after all your heartache, and all your hard work . . .”

He turned to go, but she held on to his hand and gave him a pleading look. “Please stay, Andrew.” She fingered the necklace, drawing his eyes to the creamy skin between her long neck and her modestly cut gown. “Is it because I confided in you about Harriet's letter? I was so grateful for your understanding and your help. I can't imagine what I'd do without your friendship.”

“I want us to stay friends too, but we should keep our distance. Especially in public. I don't want people to gossip about you. About us.”

He saw a blush rise up her cheeks.

“When we were out at the gazebo, Mama saw us together and gave me a terrible scolding. Andrew, if I embarrassed you, or endangered your position with my father's company—or worse, threatened our friendship—I'm dreadfully sorry. I promise it won't happen again.”

“Actually, I hope it does,” he murmured.

Had she heard him correctly?

But with one look into his eyes, she knew she had. He stood there, his eyes holding hers, begging her to reconsider and disregard caution.

“Andrew, you shouldn't put yourself in an awkward position with my father because of me. Don't endanger your career.” Swallowing hard, Katherine tried to turn her head away, but his gaze still captured her. Her heart flipped over. It wasn't safe to think of Andrew in a romantic way, but she couldn't deny the heat she felt warming her insides . . .

Trying to turn the conversation to a safer topic, she heard her voice sounding unnatural and shaky. “I'm seeking the Lord's path, Andrew. I'm waiting for His answer. About everything in my life.”

He edged closer. “Just don't make any important decisions without being sure they're the right ones.” He didn't dare say, “About us?” But he wanted to know if he figured in her plans or if he was merely deluding himself.

Katherine nodded. “Please say a prayer that I'll recognize His voice.”

“I will.” Through the French doors, Andrew spotted Mrs. Wainwright striding across the lounge in their direction. Katherine followed his gaze. “I believe your mother is on her way out here to pay us a visit.” He reluctantly took a step away from Katherine and picked up his goblet again. “You'd better return inside now.”

Mama threw open the glass doors and joined them on the veranda. “Good evening, Andrew. Would you mind, terribly, if I borrowed my daughter? Randy is waiting to dance with her.”

Katherine frowned. “Mama, we were simply sharing a brief conversation.”

Mrs. Wainwright pursed her lips as she gripped her daughter's wrist. “What were you talking about that was so important?”

“The Lord.” Katherine lifted her head and stared directly at her mother.

Andrew could barely keep from chuckling as Mrs. Wainwright sputtered, “The Lord is for Sunday mornings.”

“He's for every day, Mama, and you ought to know that.”

“I must say religion is an odd topic of conversation for a dance.” Mrs. Wainwright tugged her daughter's arm almost out of its socket as she steered her farther from Andrew's side. But as Katherine followed, she glanced over her sloping shoulder and grinned.

But Katherine's smile sagged as Mrs. Wainwright led her through the doors. Once she'd been safely deposited inside, the formidable older woman glanced over her shoulder at Andrew. “I'm quite sure Katherine's monopolized enough of your time. So many of the other ladies are dying to dance with you, Andrew. You wouldn't wish to disappoint them, I'm sure.”

“Certainly not,” he said, his tongue planted firmly in his cheek. But he made no move to follow her inside.

Andrew lingered on the veranda until the night chill penetrated his starched shirt and tailcoat. He refused to watch Randy court Katherine, but it was too early to retreat to his bedroom without raising eyebrows. So he wandered back inside, accepted another glass of punch from the maid at the refreshment table, and tried to summon the interest to ask anyone but Katherine to dance. After a casual glance around the floor, he took his drink over to a deserted corner of the room where the dancers were less likely to ram his elbow and spill the liquid down the front of his silk waistcoat.