Arcana (8 page)

I have to force myself to take a breath before I speak, else I know I will stutter. The man knows how to set one on edge. “I’m afraid we must, my lord. My sister and I only just arrived in Town, and we crave rest after our trip.”

“Understandable. I’m only sorry our conversation was interrupted.” He glances back at Lady Hasting and the countess, who are thankfully having a discussion of their own.

I think of how nervous Hyacinth and Rose were. “Yes, I’m sure it’s exhausting to be forced to make the acquaintance of so many young ladies.”

The corners of his lips twitch as if he is suppressing a grin. “You cannot imagine.”

If he was Robert, I’d roll my eyes at him. As he is the earl, I can do nothing but smile tightly.

He bends low over my hand. As he barely brushes a kiss over the sensitive skin, his eyes lock onto mine. “However, I was very pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Sinclair. Perhaps escorting you will not be such a hardship after all.”

FIVE

I
awake at dawn, as I do every morning, and find I’m the only one up. The servants are quick to inform me the others don’t leave their rooms before eight o’clock in the morning, and breakfast would not be served until nine.

I would love to go riding, but I also know I cannot go unchaperoned. A book in hand, I curl up on the window seat, though it’s difficult to rein in my wandering mind. I usually only stay indoors and read at night or when the weather is adverse, and I long to be outside.

I read the same sentence five times before I give up and shut the book. The earl’s face keeps appearing in my mind, and I resent that he has taken over my thoughts without even being present.

I walk over to my trunk and retrieve my mother’s journal. Perhaps an entry will appear that will serve as a distraction from the earl’s overbearing presence in my mind.

The leather is smooth in my hands, and I let the book fall open to a page somewhere in the middle. It’s blank, and I almost close it again, but then the words appear. I lean back with a contented sigh and pray Mama will have some words of advice.

I read and reread my mother’s words. She very rarely spoke of my Sylvan grandparents when she was alive, and now I know why. How terribly painful to have a father who thought only of the advancement of his family’s bloodlines—and how blessed my siblings and I were to have such a loving father. Just the thought of being forced into a marriage with a man I have never met makes my stomach twist in disgust.

I think of the small glimpse of society I encountered last night. If I learned anything from my interaction with the earl—and the almost palpable desperation of the ambitious mamas in attendance—it was that social status trumps all else. Though even that rule seemed to depend upon the wealth of the noble in question, since Lady Hasting was able to practically insult my grandmother without consequence.

My mother was certainly right about Grandmama, though I suppose her treatment of me hasn’t been quite as cold as I expected. I still remember a time when I was only four or five years old, and my grandmother was visiting Bransfield for the last time. My grandfather had still been alive. Mama worked for weeks to prepare the house for their stay; she wanted it all just so, and she let me tag along with her while she spoke with the servants to choose everything from linens to which dishes would be served when.

My grandparents arrived a day later than planned. From the moment Grandmama entered our home, she radiated a sort of cold indifference. She greeted her room with a critical eye, she found the meals bland, and she reduced two of the maids to tears. When Robert and I were brought down from the nursery to see her, she sneered at us like we were lepers. “Their manner of dress leaves much to be desired,” she told Mama and walked away without another word.

It was the last time Mama ever made an effort to reach out to Grandmama. Though I’ve never been able to discuss it with her, now that I am older, I know it was the insult to her own children that hardened Mama’s heart.

One of the maids interrupts my anger-provoking memories to call me for breakfast, and I try rather unsuccessfully to bury the dislike I have for my own grandmother before entering the dining room.

“Good morning,” Lucy says and sits in the chair beside me. She glances around the room for a moment and lowers her voice, “Were you able to find any garish sun pins upon Lord Thornewood’s bow tie?”

I laugh. “No, he was quite free of any identifying marks.”

“Either that, or you gave up the search.”

I take a sip of tea to hide my smile, but Lucy is perceptive as ever.

“I knew it,” she says. “I saw the way the two of you were staring at one another—like you rather wished no one else was there.”

“He is intriguing, I’ll grant you that. Though I think he may be charming in the way many dangerous men are—the better to draw unsuspecting ladies in.”

She gives me a look much too wise for her years and takes a bite of her toast. “You are hardly unsuspecting. He was reserved, perhaps, maybe even aloof at times, but not dangerous.”

“How can you be sure? You cannot, of course,” I say when she flounders for a retort. “Rob was right to say I should be cautious.” Unbidden, thoughts of the earl’s gaze intent on mine rise to the forefront of my mind.

Annoyed with my thoughts, I press down too hard with my knife, and it skitters across my plate.

Lucy smiles. “You’re blushing again.”

Grandmama walks into the room, effectively ending any further talk on the subject. When she joins us at the table, I have to force myself to take a bite of food else I’ll pepper her with questions. Am I to spend each day in such mind-numbing boredom as this morning?

My booted foot taps beneath the table as she takes her time buttering her toast and fixing her tea. She takes a sip, nods, and then turns to me. “Mary tells me you were up before even she was this morning.”

“Yes, mum, I—”

“A lady in town for the season does not rise with the servants. It’s just not done.”

My mouth tightens. “Well, I cannot simply tell my body when to sleep. I’m used to rising early, and it will not be an easy habit to change.”

“That’s an easy way to wear yourself out. With the late suppers and balls, you won’t be fit to be seen the next morning.”

Lucy nudges me with her foot, so I press my lips together and stare at my plate. I cannot believe she is telling me when to wake now.

Grandmama pulls out a slip of paper and passes it to me. “While we’re on the subject of your schedule, here is your itinerary for the week.”

My eyes scan back and forth over my grandmother’s neat handwriting. For the next week, I’m scheduled to do everything from letter-writing to a carriage ride in the park each day. She has my entire day planned, so I will scarcely be able to draw breath before going on to the next thing.

She points to tomorrow’s schedule. “You see I have added a visit with the dressmaker.” She smiles at Lucy. “We shall show her your drawing and see how well she can replicate it.”

“How wonderful,” Lucy says, her eyes bright.

“So I am to go to the park today?” I ask. That is one good thing.

Grandmama glances at the paper. “Yes, and I dare say, you’d best get ready. We’ll leave in an hour.”

Just before I leave the room, she says, “Oh, and Katherine? Wear the violet carriage outfit. I know for a fact Lord Thornewood will be there.”

“Yes, Grandmama,” I say.

Let the parade begin.

Hyde Park. The place where society goes to gossip and husband hunt with exercise as a thin excuse. Even worse, it’s just Grandmama and me. Lucy remained behind with Miss Watts, studying art from the Renaissance period.

It’s unseasonably warm today, and I long to remove my coat, lovely as it is.

“Do not even think of removing your coat,” Grandmama says with a little glance my way. “It is meant to be worn over your blouse and skirt.” I close my eyes to keep from rolling them.

She guides the horses through the park’s entrance and slows them to a sedate trot. I fret with the edge of my coat as I take in the number of people already here. Ladies dressed in elaborate hats perch in high open carriages, elegant men ride by on their sleek horses and tip their hats to us, while others stroll down the paths for promenade.

Grandmama greets each person by name as we pass, and my face soon becomes tired of holding a smile. I stare longingly at the river that runs parallel to the driving path, and when the horses slow even more, I have to fight the urge to simply jump down.

“Grandmama, do you mind if I go for a walk?”

She doesn’t answer me right away, and I fidget the entire time. “Yes, I think that would be a good idea. You will be able to meet far more people that way. I’ll drive the horses around once and come back for you.”

She guides the phaeton off to the side, and I climb down as gracefully as possible in my long skirt with its sturdy fabric. I stride off before she can change her mind.

Many people smile and nod at me as I make my way to the shining lake, and I return the smile briefly but avoid making eye contact for long. I would rather not be caught in a dull conversation on the weather or how I’m enjoying my stay in London.

As soon as I reach the water’s edge, I let out a breath and relax my tense shoulders. Though it’s only been a day, I can already feel the gilded cage of the city closing in around me. I miss the fresh, open air of the country. Even in this park, with its open fields, trees, and idyllic lake, there are more people than I would see in a week at Bransfield.

The water rushing past me is cold, but I long to dip my feet in. I step closer to the bank and tilt my head up to the warm sun. A breeze teases a few tendrils of hair loose from my chignon, and I smile at its caress. My skin soaks up the sunlight, replenishing my lost energy. Yet another reason I feel so restricted in the city. Without regular time spent outdoors, my stores of power reduce drastically. And as they are irrevocably tied to the energy that keeps my heart beating, I’d rather not find out what happens when I am denied my time in the sun.