Follow the Heart (20 page)

Kate bent her knees in a curtsy, then took his arm. Beside her, Edith sniffed, but when Kate turned to look at her cousin, Edith was engaged in conversation with a young man with close-set blue eyes and a beak-like nose. Marquess someone or another.

Lord Thynne led Kate out into the center of the gallery. Christopher followed with a friend of Edith’s on his arm. The orchestra, positioned in the far corner of the gallery, started playing what Kate thought she recognized as a newer composition by Strauss—“The Vienna Children.” Her hand trembled a bit as she raised it to place in Stephen’s. His other hand settled at her waist, and she rested hers on his shoulder.

The confidence with which he moved about the floor, even after it was crowded by many other couples, set Kate more at ease, and she allowed herself to be carried away by the music . . . and by Stephen’s mesmerizing light blue eyes.

“Is the waltz popular in Argentina, Lord Stephen?” Kate asked.

The corner of his mouth raised, and Kate realized her mistake. But Lord Thynne spoke before she could correct herself aloud. “No. The music and dancing is somewhat different there. As you can imagine, on the ranch or the plantation, the ratio of men to women is quite large, and there aren’t many occasions for dancing. When we do, it is usually with the locals providing the music. Is the waltz popular in Philadelphia?”

Kate raised her brows. “Anything that is done in Paris and London is done equally well, if not better, in Philadelphia. We Americans pride ourselves on keeping up with the latest in fashion and entertainment, even though we may be a few months behind on the newest music or books.”

Lord Thynne laughed, a rusty sound that made Kate think he didn’t do it often enough. She liked the way the skin around his eyes crinkled when he smiled. In a few years, Andrew Lawton’s would do the same.

Her lapse of concentration almost made her stumble, but she caught herself at the last minute and moved her feet back into the correct position.

“Are you all right, Miss Dearing? You seemed as if you’d lost your balance there for a moment.”

“Yes, yes. I am quite well, thank you, my lord.”

“Please, you do not need to call me
my lord
.”

“But what else am I to call you, other than Lord Thynne?” She smiled when his expression warmed. “It is my understanding the etiquette demands you be called by your rightful title at all times by someone like me.”

“Someone like you?” This time, his steps faltered, and Kate almost tripped over his feet. He quickly righted himself and her, and continued before another couple bumped into them.

“Yes. Someone who is . . . well, not a close relation to you.”

“Ah, yes.” He lapsed into quiet contemplation for a few bars of the music. “But if anyone were to have an excuse to lapse into calling me by my Christian name, it would be you. After all, are not social customs more relaxed in America?”

“Not that relaxed,
my lord
. Besides, I would not want to dishonor my uncle, who has been so gracious as to extend his hospitality to my brother and me in—” She almost said
in our time of need,
but Lord Thynne did not need to know their circumstances . . . no matter how much she felt certain he would understand.

Before Lord Thynne could ask her what she’d been about to say, the music ended. She curtsied and was about to take his arm to be escorted off the dance floor when another man, this one older than Lord Thynne, approached and offered his hand to her.

Lord Thynne inclined his head and then walked away. It was several dances—and a few stomped toes—later when Kate saw him again. He led Edith to the dancing area, and Kate’s cousin seemed to melt into his arms when the music started. Her black hair glistened with golden sparks of reflected candlelight as Lord Thynne moved her around the floor in another waltz.

After the song ended, the orchestra took a break for refreshments. Edith left the floor with her arm twined through Lord Thynne’s, and she kept it there as they stopped to talk to another lord of something.

Kate excused herself from the third son of an earl she’d shared the last dance with and went to find her brother. Several young women, with their matrons hovering nearby, stood around Christopher, flirting outrageously.

“Ah, Kate—Katharine. Excellent.” Relief filled his brown eyes as he reached his hand out to her. She took it, and he tucked her arm under his before introducing her to the bevy of beauties he’d unwillingly collected. His grip on her hand bordered on painful, though as each of the young women drifted away one by one, his clasp eased.

Only one remained when Christopher looked beyond her, his brows rising. Kate followed his gaze, and her heart gave a little leap.

“Miss Dearing, might I have the next dance?” Lord Thynne offered his arm. “I believe it is a schottische.”

Kate pulled away from Christopher, ignoring the whispers of the young women and matrons standing a few feet behind them. “Yes, my lord.” She grinned at him on her use of the title. “I would enjoy that.” She rested her hand atop Stephen’s arm and allowed him to escort her down the length of the gallery.

“To be honest, I hoped you might allow me to take you for a stroll through the orangery, since it is too cold and dark to meander about the garden.” Lord Thynne slowed his pace near the door leading to the conservatory, through which they could reach the orangery.

“I . . .” She studied his face. No man had ever asked her to leave a ballroom with him. Not even Devlin Montgomery, and they’d been almost engaged.

Though she gazed into Lord Thynne’s pale eyes, it wasn’t his face she saw, but Andrew Lawton’s. If Andrew had asked her to leave the ball to take a walk, she would not have hesitated. But Andrew was not here. Andrew could not be here. Andrew, though he made her pulse sing in her veins, would never ask her to leave a ball—for he would never be invited to one.

Stephen Brightwell, Viscount Thynne, was here. And he was asking her to grant him the honor of setting herself up for gossip and speculation by leaving the ball for a private walk. Lord Thynne, whom she found handsome and interesting, but who did not make her pulse sing, wanted time alone with her.

“Yes, my lord. I do believe I could use the refreshment of a stroll in the orangery.”

At the sound of footsteps coming closer, Andrew moved into the deep shadows of the conservatory, praying he wouldn’t be seen. He already felt foolish enough, stealing into the house to spy on the ball like a child pressing his face to the window of a sweet shop. But when he had seen Kate take the floor with Lord Thynne, he couldn’t draw himself away—and he couldn’t stop the crushing disappointment that piled on him the longer he watched.

He’d grown so accustomed to seeing her in her dark cloaks, her head covered with a hood or bonnet, that he’d come to think of her as someone he could at least be friends with, someone who understood his situation, who could, one day—if he made a success of himself—even consent to live the kind of life he could offer. But seeing her now, dressed in a gown that shimmered like the sapphire at her throat, her reddish-brown hair reflecting the warm glow of the candles and lamps surrounding her, any delusion he had of a future with Kate Dearing vanished.

She looked like one of them. Like a fine lady. Like one of the privileged, entitled, wealthy aristocrats who allowed no one of mean birth to breach their sanctuary.

Soft voices joined the sound of footfalls, and Andrew moved even farther back into the corner. He should have known that once the musicians took a break from their playing, couples would take the opportunity for a private moment in the conservatory or orangery. He should have departed long ago rather than risk being caught.

Kate’s skirts made a soft swishing sound against the marble tile floor. She laughed at something Lord Thynne said and responded, though Andrew could not make out her words.

Even in the dim light from the few lit sconces, Andrew could see that Kate and Lord Thynne looked quite happy together. Naturally. Kate—no,
Katharine
Dearing, like every other socialite he’d ever met, had merely been amusing herself with their meetings and walks until someone with wealth and standing came along to turn her head.

Of course, in her case, he couldn’t blame her. With her family in dire straits, she must win the attention, and the heart, of the wealthiest man she could find.

The sound of their voices trailed behind them as they made their way into the orangery. With no time to waste, Andrew checked to ensure no one else came behind them and crossed the room to exit through one of the large floor-to-ceiling windows, shivering as he ducked out and then pulled the sash closed behind him.

Tomorrow he would tell Christopher that they would leave for London on Monday. Andrew had work that would keep him busy in town for at least a fortnight. That would allow Kate to secure the viscount without any distraction—and without Andrew’s having to witness her doing so.

Now that Kate was alone with Lord Thynne, she struggled for something, anything, to say. “I have heard that the mountains in Argentina are much like the great Rocky Mountains in the West. So high that trees cannot grow, that snow stays on the peaks even during the height of summer.”

“Though I have never seen your country’s Rocky Mountains, from that description, it does sound like the mountains in Argentina. But Santiago del Estero, where the ranch and plantation are located, lies in a plain and is almost one hundred miles from the mountains. I have traveled there, though, and they are magnificent.” Stephen closed his eyes and released a brief sigh.

“We have mountains in Pennsylvania, but they are not nearly so grand. The land here is flat by comparison.” Kate moved closer to him to keep her skirt from catching on the spike-like fronds of a plant in a large container on the floor. At the expression on his face—soft smile, raised brows—Kate realized he misinterpreted her movement. “We really should return. I do believe I am promised to Lord Haggerston for the polka next.”

Stephen returned her to the gallery and had only taken a few steps when Lord Haggerston approached, looking down his overly large nose at Stephen and taking Kate away for the dance, which had already started. From the corner of her eye, Kate watched Stephen make his way around the edge of the room, where Edith joined him. The dance’s steps meant she had to turn her back to them, but when she turned that way again, Edith leaned toward Stephen, apparently telling him something of great importance—at least the frown he wore told her he took Edith’s speech quite seriously. But the dance moved her the opposite direction, and the next time she turned around, she did not see either Stephen or Edith.

For the rest of the evening, Kate looked for him whenever she had a moment to catch her breath between dances. But whenever she did see him, he was turning away, speaking to someone else, or asking another woman to dance—and more than once, speaking with Edith.

Kate didn’t expect him to stand around mooning over her all evening, but in a room filled with strangers, meeting a friendly gaze every once in a while would have been nice.

The dancing ended at three and everyone went into the formal dining room for a light supper. Some third or fourth son of some Lord Something-or-Another escorted Kate in. Her feet ached and she had trouble stifling her yawns. But she tried her best to keep up with the banter from the young men, and a few not-so-young men, surrounding her. Not since her first year out had Kate received such attention. If for this outcome only, the journey to England had been worthwhile.

Never would she have dreamed that when the flattery of such attention came, she would resent it—because it did not come from the one man she truly wanted.

C
HAPTER
F
IFTEEN

I
t was almost four thirty by the time Kate returned to her room, and she would have dropped onto the bed fully clothed had Athena not been waiting for her.

Yet after such an exhausting night, Kate still woke around ten on Saturday. She dressed in a morning gown and went down to the breakfast room, where a footman was just setting out platters of food. None of the other guests or members of the family were up yet. Or, at least, none of them was taking breakfast downstairs today.