Follow the Heart (13 page)

Just as Athena’s story had, Nora’s story put Kate’s circumstances into perspective. She’d had such a privileged upbringing—maids to dress her and arrange her hair and clean up after her, cooks to prepare her meals, a seemingly bottomless purse from which to purchase anything she wanted or needed. Athena and Nora had both grown up working since they were old enough to carry and tote—Athena learning to become a maid, Nora in her parents’ home. Until recently, Kate would have looked on the two of them with pity and a measure of disdain. Now, however, she found herself envying their ability to earn wages, to support themselves.

“I would love to meet this Mrs. Timperleigh. She sounds like quite the philanthropist.” And if all else failed, perhaps Kate could find some subject on which she was well versed and convince this saint of a woman to hire her as a teacher.

Tired of the dark turn of her thoughts, Kate tried to shake herself out of the melancholy. “Do you spend time in the orangery often?”

“During bad weather, I come here often to read on the afternoons when Miss Florence’s French tutor is here. When it is pleasant outside, I walk in the gardens and the park. Nothing refreshes me quite so much as fresh air and God’s creation.”

Kate found her first genuine smile of the day. “I find being surrounded by nature soothing. But it is nothing compared to getting my hands in the soil, planting and weeding, pruning and trimming.”

Nora’s pale brows raised in surprise. “You worked in the gardens at your home?”

Kate grimaced a little. “Not so much as I make it sound. I had my own potted plants in the greenhouses and flowers outside in the garden that I cared for. But we had a gardener. He graciously allowed me to putter about, getting underfoot. I think he sympathized with my need to work out my problems and concerns by getting dirt between my fingers and grass stains on my apron.”

“Do you know a lot about flowers and plants—how to identify them as well as how to care for them?” Nora set the Daniel Boone book aside and turned so she angled toward Kate on the bench. “Would you be willing to meet me here and teach Miss Florence what you know of botany? We have studied the language of flowers, but only from books, so she knows what they mean, and what drawings of the blooms look like, but she would not be able to identify the shrub or tree from which they come. I have asked the gardener and Mr. Lawton, but they are too busy. Would you . . . could you make time to do it?”

A sense of purpose quickened Kate’s heart. “I would enjoy that. When?”

“Monday?” Nora caught her bottom lip between her teeth, her golden-brown eyes hesitant.

“What time shall I meet you here?”

“Oh, thank you.” Nora’s hand shot out and clasped Kate’s, taking both of them by surprise. After a shared moment of laughter, Nora withdrew back into her calm, dignified manner. “Would two o’clock fit with your plans?”

The guests for the house party would not begin arriving until after four Monday afternoon. “Two o’clock would be perfect.”

Kate spent another pleasant half hour in the orangery with Nora. Beyond her understated, elegant exterior, she had a gentle humor and calmness of spirit that made Kate feel as refreshed as if she’d spent hours walking in an enchanted forest.

After Nora returned to the schoolroom, Kate closed her eyes and breathed deeply, trying to separate and identify the aromas surrounding her. But instead of inhaling the fragrances of flowers and plants, a phantom of the woodsy, spicy scent of Andrew Lawton filled her mind. She shivered at the memory of his smile, his slightly crooked front teeth making it all the more charming. Not for the first time in her life did she wish she’d mastered the skill of drawing portraits, for she would love to be able to capture his square jaw and the way the light and shadows emphasized his planed cheeks. And his eyes . . . oh, his eyes. Dark hazel or mossy green, depending on his surroundings, with that mesmerizing chip of brown in the left iris making it so hard for her to look away.

Why couldn’t he be heir to a vast estate, earl of something or other?

Rubbing the tightness in her neck, Kate stood and left the orangery. On her way back to the main part of the house, she stopped, bent, and picked up two fallen jasmine blossoms. Rising, she tucked them into the swoop of hair over her left ear. She had not worn flowers in her hair since last summer, and it made her homesick.

Instead of allowing herself to wallow in melancholia, she spent the rest of the afternoon in her room, writing down ideas of how she would share her knowledge of plants and flowers with Florie and Nora. She lost herself in the task so much that Athena’s appearance to help her dress for dinner took her by surprise.

The gown Athena put her in was a new one Miss Bainbridge had sent over this morning, burgundy wool gauze fabric decorated with a pink floral-and-ribbon motif. Athena wove ribbons through Kate’s hair, and an ivory silk shawl with a paisley border finished the look.

Unusually for him, Christopher did not arrive until a moment before the butler stepped into the room to announce dinner. Kate fell in beside Florie, bringing up the rear of the small procession into the dining room, accustomed now to her place in the line of precedence behind all of the other Buchanans.

Over dinner, Christopher and Sir Anthony discussed what they’d read in the day’s newspapers—mostly concerning London and the preparations for the Great Exhibition. Kate kept her attention on Florie, who was as animated as Edith was petulant. Apparently the duties of preparing for so many guests did not sit well with the eldest Buchanan sister. Kate tried not to smirk. As a wealthy woman who would probably marry a wealthier, if not titled, man, Edith would be responsible for planning such events for the rest of her life. Kate pitied Edith’s future husband and hoped he was not someone who would want to entertain many guests often.

Kate did her best to answer Florie’s seemingly endless questions about America and personages both historical and mythical. Christopher usually answered Florie’s questions, but with his attention fully occupied by Sir Anthony, Kate found herself grateful for Florie’s inquiries, as it kept her from having to try to engage Edith in conversation.

Until Edith interrupted. “Katharine, after dinner, we will retire to your room to ensure you have something appropriate to wear to greet Lord Thynne when he arrives tomorrow.”

Kate set her wine glass down carefully. “He is coming two days early?”

Apparently the aristocrat’s name was important enough to draw Sir Anthony’s attention. “Stephen Brightwell, Viscount Thynne, is coming at my invitation. His father was a dear friend, before his passing. Though not as ancient as I”—Sir Anthony’s eyes twinkled—“Thynne is a bit older than all of you. There shall be plenty of young people in attendance to keep you all company. I thought I would invite someone to keep me company. Thynne is coming to us from London, as Greymere, his Oxfordshire home, is under renovation.”

“Lord Thynne inherited the title after his older brother’s passing, and he has recently returned to England from . . . somewhere foreign.” Edith waved her hand as if in dismissal of the thought of any place other than England.

“Argentina.” Florie turned to Christopher. “How far is that from Philadelphia?”

Christopher grinned at her. “Probably farther than England.”

“Oh.”

Kate, Christopher, and Sir Anthony all chuckled over Florie’s disappointment.

“Lord Thynne is one of the highest ranking members of Oxford society, so it is very important he have a pleasant visit.” Edith’s voice acquired a pitch of annoyance.

“Not to worry.” Sir Anthony reached across the corner of the table and patted his eldest daughter’s arm. “I will see that he is kept entertained. After all, he is here as my personal guest. So I shall take his entertainment upon myself.”

“Good.” Edith shrugged her father’s hand away. “He may be a viscount, and one of the wealthiest men in this part of England, but from what I recall, he is a right old bore, and not in the least handsome. It is no wonder he is still a bachelor at his age.”

Kate hated herself for the way her stomach leapt at Edith’s words. A wealthy bachelor viscount coming here? Boring, she could compensate for. Old, she could live with. Not handsome, she could overlook. But could she make someone like him fall in love with her? It would be the only way to get a marriage proposal that came with an agreement to help her family financially.

“There shall be ever so many more wealthy, titled men—handsome and young—in town this season.” Edith gave Dorcas a clearly patronizing look. “You are fortunate to be debuting this year. London will be a whirl of activity because of the Great Exhibition. We shall have to review our invitations quite carefully to ensure you and I are seen at only the best events.”

Kate ignored the obvious insult her cousin meant by excluding her from these hypothetical social activities.

Sir Anthony smiled as he dabbed at the corners of his mouth with his napkin. “Perhaps your good fortune will continue, Dorcas, and you will find a husband in your first season, unlike your sister, who will be entering her fourth season with not one offer of marriage yet.”

Kate held her breath to suppress her urge to laugh at her uncle’s comically tragic expression.

Edith’s eyes narrowed to slits and her mouth pursed into a small bud. The lines in her forehead and around her eyes and mouth created white streaks through her flush.

After several shallow breaths to control her reaction, Kate swallowed and pressed her napkin to her lips, eyes downcast. She would not, could not, look across the table. If she caught Christopher’s eye and he betrayed any reaction to Sir Anthony’s comment, she would not be able to restrain herself further.

“Now, Papa, you know that is not true.” Dorcas rose to her sister’s defense. “Edith has received an offer of marriage from Mr. Brockmorrell.”

Edith gave a shrill gasp. “Dorcas!”

But for once, Dorcas would not be intimidated by her sister’s remonstrative glare. “’Tis true. When we saw him in Oxford this week, I heard him tell you that he still awaited your answer.”

“As if I would consent to marry someone like Linus Brockmorrell—social climber that he is. No rank, no family of any account.”

“A fine gentry family,” Sir Anthony said pragmatically. “And his grandfather took that farm and turned it into quite an estate.”

Kate thought herself sufficiently disciplined to set her napkin in her lap and look up again. While Edith’s color had evened out, anger—or was it petulance?—still contorted her face into unattractiveness.

“And who was his grandfather? A man who came up from nothing by selling mutton and wool to the Royal Navy during the war.”

Kate made the mistake of glancing at Christopher. Grandfather Dearing had made his fortune by raising pigs and cattle to sell to the American army for meat during the War of 1812. Christopher cocked his head and raised his eyebrows, apparently thinking the same thing. Kate choked on a laugh and pressed her fingertips to her lips.

Edith pushed out of her chair, sending it teetering backward. A footman jumped forward to keep it from crashing to the floor and pulled it back. She threw her napkin onto the table. “If you find that so amusing, Miss Katharine Dearing, why don’t
you
marry him? After all, it’s your family who are poor relations and need the money, not mine.” She straightened, raising her chin and looking down her nose at Kate. “Besides. I have my sights set much higher than the grandson of a sheep farmer.” She stalked from the room.

“Do not take her words to heart, Cousin Kate. Edith is tired and bad-tempered from seeing to the arrangements today.” Dorcas folded her napkin and placed it on the table. “Once she gets a good night’s sleep, she will calm down and remember herself. I should never have mentioned Mr. Brockmorrell. Edith cannot abide him, and I knew it would make her angry. I am sorry she took her anger out on you.” She smiled across the table at Kate, then motioned for a footman to pull out her chair so she could rise. “Now, how about you and Florie and I go up to your room and pick out what you will wear to meet Lord Thynne tomorrow?”

C
HAPTER
T
EN

R
unning late for his meeting with Sir Anthony, Andrew ducked into the entrance to the orangery from the garden path rather than wasting additional time going around and entering through the service wing. He prayed everyone in the house would be occupied with the pending arrival of the important guest and not notice his presumption.

He drew up short, however, at the sight of a silhouetted figure near the door that led into the grand gallery that connected the conservatory with the rest of the house.

At the sound of his footsteps, the figure turned, the wide bell-shaped skirt catching on the low palms growing in large pots on the floor beside her.

He stared at Kate. He couldn’t decide if it was that he hadn’t seen her for a few days or if there truly was something different about her. Or perhaps it was that he usually saw her outside with a diaphanous brown cloak covering her from shoulder to hem. The deep-purple gown with black lace, like fine tendrils of ivy growing over it, clung to her torso in such a way that she appeared narrower in the waist than he remembered; it made her look taller too. Rather than clinging to her willowy arms, the long sleeves fell away at the elbows, revealing pristine white undersleeves with lace cuffs that brushed the backs of her hands.

Remembering himself, he inclined his head in greeting. “Miss Dearing.”

“Mr. Lawton.” Her voice had a breathless quality to it he hadn’t noticed before. She pressed her left hand to her side as if her ribs pained her.

“Are you all right?” He stepped forward, concerned at the grimace that crossed her face. “Shall I call for someone?”

A heated blush replaced the brief expression of pain. “No, thank you, Mr. Lawton. I am . . . I will be just fine.” She clasped her hands before her. “Have you come to inspect the conservatory? Anything to dig up in here?” Her blue eyes glinted with humor now.

He looked around the room as if he took her question seriously. “I do see a few ferns that should be cut back, and a fichus in need of pruning.” He returned his gaze to her, trying to hold his pulse—and his heart—steady. “I do not suppose I could talk you into assisting me with such a task.”