Follow the Heart (35 page)

She drew up short at the sight of a gardener with a wide-bladed shovel, his back to her, digging up a tree stump. Kate tried to slip away, but her shoes rustled the dry leaves and twigs scattered through the new-growth grasses. The man straightened, turned, and, seeing Kate, swept his hat from his head.

“Good morning, miss. Sorry if I disturbed you. I thought I would get an early start on this.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the stump. “I can lay off if you want, come back later.”

“No, it is I who am disturbing you. Please, do not let me keep you from your work.” Kate lifted her skirts and continued around the path encircling the gazebo, relieved yet anxious all the same.

She pulled a few weeds from a flower bed. But most of the beds lining the walls and surrounding the gazebo looked as if they were in the middle of being dug up and replanted, so she did not disturb anything else, lest the gardener get annoyed with her.

The heat rose with the sun as it ascended higher. Kate’s stomach growled, and even though she had not yet found the relaxation she sought, she decided to go inside for breakfast.

She reached the back entrance and set her hand to the knob, but it twisted and the door pulled away from her before she could turn it. She glanced up, ready to thank the footman or maid who’d seen her coming and opened it for her—but the words died in the back of her throat.

Andrew blanched at the sight of her.

She nearly swooned as she gazed at that square jaw, darkened from the whiskers that lay just under the skin. The curly hair, always in need of a trim. The eyes reflecting the greens, golds, and browns of nature. The dimple in his chin. The perfectly shaped mouth.

Her lips tingled in memory of the way his felt against them. So different from the terse, dry pecks Stephen gave her. She closed her eyes and shook her head. She would not let thoughts of Stephen ruin what might be her last chance to say good-bye to Andrew.

“I am sorry,” he muttered.

“You were right,” she said at the same time. Kate opened her eyes. Had Andrew just apologized to her?

“Right about what?” He stepped through the door and out into the courtyard.

She followed him away from the house, where they risked being overheard, and out into the yard. “I was afraid. I did use my family as an excuse.”

“I was wrong for saying that. You are one of the bravest women I’ve ever known, willing to sacrifice your happiness for your family. But . . .”

“But is it a sacrifice I truly need to make?” Kate sighed. “Believe me, I have been mulling that question over since the moment I learned Lord Thynne intended to propose marriage to me.”

Andrew’s shoulders drooped. “And you have come to the conclusion that you do need to make the sacrifice. I prayed for a different outcome, but”—he reached out and stroked her cheek—“because I love you, I must honor your choice.”

The tears she’d managed to hold at bay since her private outpouring after their argument in the garden at Wakesdown released and flowed down her cheeks. “If I could think of some way to change things . . . to make the circumstances such that . . . But I cannot.”

Andrew withdrew a handkerchief from his coat pocket and wiped her cheeks, then pressed it into her hand. “I know.”

Before she could consider her actions and the consequences thereof, Kate stepped forward, hooked her hand behind Andrew’s neck, and kissed him. She tried to communicate all of her longing, regret, and grief through the gesture.

Andrew’s hands settled on her waist and he drew her close, embracing her tightly. He slanted his head and deepened the kiss, branding her mouth—and her entire being—as his.

She broke away, trembling. With a shudder, Andrew pressed his forehead to hers. “I will never forget you,” he whispered.

“And I will never forget you.” Though it was the most difficult thing she’d ever done, Kate pulled away from his arms and ran into the house.

She stayed in her room the rest of the day, lying atop the bed, staring at the walls and ceiling, trying to find a way out of marrying Stephen Brightwell. But by the time Athena arrived to help her dress for dinner, no new solution presented itself. Apparently God was still not in the mood to talk to her.

The muted pinkish-purple of the silk gown provided the perfect setting for the heavy gold embroidery along the neck, waist, and hem. It was a dress fitting for Katharine Brightwell, Viscountess Thynne—too elaborate, too expensive for a plain Miss Kate Dearing. Which was why she had never worn it before.

Athena seemed to sense Kate’s mood and kept silent throughout the process of dressing her and arranging her hair. Neither of them were too surprised at a knock on the door moments before Kate was ready to go downstairs.

Stephen’s valet handed Athena a small box. “From m’lord for Miss Dearing.”

Athena closed the door and handed the box to Kate. Inside lay a ring—a large emerald surrounded by small diamonds. An engagement ring.

Athena frowned. “Shouldn’t he have given you that himself, not sent his valet with it?”

Kate shrugged and tried to slide the ring onto her finger over the tight silk glove. It wouldn’t fit. She handed the ring back to Athena and pulled off the gloves. “I’ll wear the lace mittens again.”

Athena retrieved the fingerless mitts from the wardrobe and put the silk gloves away as Kate slipped the lace over her hands. Kate took the ring back. It was still too tight to fit on the third finger of her left hand.

“Apparently my hands are too large. It must mean I am not fit to be a viscountess.” Kate laughed, trying to sound as if she jested, but her heart cried out in agreement with her words. She was not meant to be a viscountess. Was not meant to marry Stephen Brightwell.

She smiled and thanked Athena for her ministrations, then tucked the ring into the palm of her hand and carried it downstairs with her.

Stephen met her at the bottom of the stairs. “Do you like it?” He reached for her left hand.

She opened her fist to reveal the ring lying there. “My finger is too big for it.”

Plucking the ring from her palm, Stephen turned her hand over and tried to make it fit. Kate winced and pulled her hand away.

Stephen sighed. “I shall have to take you to the jeweler so we can have it refit.” He tucked it into the watch pocket of his waistcoat, then offered Kate his arm. “Shall we?”

Allowing him to escort her into the sitting room, where all the guests gathered before dinner, was part of the theater of the evening. They would enter together. Stephen would escort her into the dining room at the head of the line. They would be seated across from each other at her uncle’s right and left hands. And after the first course, Uncle would stand, raise his glass, congratulate Stephen, and wish Kate all happiness.

At least that’s how Sir Anthony and Stephen explained to her the evening would transpire. The schedule did not allow for Kate to become sick all over her uncle’s expensive carpets or on the silver and crystal at table.

“Cousin Katharine. Lord Thynne. Do come meet the baron and baroness.” Edith beamed at them. Taken aback at Edith’s friendly—no,
sisterly
—demeanor, Kate lagged behind Stephen until he practically pulled her by the arm. She recovered herself and regained his side.

Once all of the guests arrived, Edith graciously positioned Kate and Stephen at the door to lead everyone in to dinner.

“It isn’t like Edith to be so pleasant,” Kate whispered. She dropped her arm from Stephen’s arm so he could pull out her chair.

“Perhaps she has reconciled herself to our marriage.” He waited until Kate’s nod before going around to take his seat across from her.

Or perhaps it was because Edith had placed herself beside Stephen when making the seating arrangement. She smiled across the table at Kate as if there had never been any enmity between them.

Kate took one spoonful of soup, and her stomach nearly rebelled. She spent the first course stirring it and pretending to listen to the elderly baron—she’d already forgotten his name—tell her of his adventures fighting Napoleon as a young naval officer. He’d just launched into a story about going to Jamaica to fight pirates in 1814 when the footmen cleared the soup course and the butler refilled everyone’s wine glasses. Everyone’s but Kate’s, since she had not touched hers.

Sir Anthony stood and raised his glass. “Friends, thank you for coming. Three days ago we celebrated my daughter Dorcas’s presentation at court, and many of you joined us here for the reception afterward. Ladies and gentlemen, Miss Dorcas Buchanan.”

Wishes for health and happiness followed the raising of glasses. Dorcas blushed prettily. Between her beauty and her biddable nature, if her cousin were not engaged by the end of the season, Kate would be shocked.

Several people put down their glasses but picked them up when Sir Anthony raised his again. “Tonight, we have more good news to celebrate. Please join me in congratulating Lord Thynne, whose proposal of marriage to my niece, Miss Katharine Dearing, has been accepted.”

The guests tittered and wished Kate happiness and congratulated Stephen, just as planned. The roiling in her stomach began to calm.

Sir Anthony had just regained his seat when Edith stood. “Father, may I say something?”

The little Kate managed to eat today rose to the back of her throat. Though Edith smiled, her eyes remained cool and calculating—almost menacing—when she gazed across the table at Kate.

“Yes, Edith, of course. I am certain your cousin and Lord Thynne would be happy to hear your best wishes.” From his tone and expression, he obviously had no insight into his daughter’s jealous tendencies.

Edith raised her glass. “To my cousin Katharine. You came as a poor relation to snare a rich husband, and you performed beyond everyone’s expectations.”

Gasps and whispers followed this statement. Sir Anthony stood. “Edith, that is quite—”

“And to Lord Thynne. May you find happiness in your choice of wife. And may you be ever ignorant of her true nature—or at least possess the ability to turn a blind eye when you find her sneaking out of the house to carry on an affair with the landscape architect you have hired to redesign your gardens.”

“Edith!” Sir Anthony bellowed.

“I’ve witnessed it with my own eyes, Papa. As has my maid.” Edith shot Kate a sickeningly sweet simper. “Cousin Katharine and Mr. Lawton kissing, on more than one occasion. Including this morning, in the back garden of the house in which we sit.”

Her uncle sank into his chair, visibly shaken. “Katharine—is this true?”

Kate couldn’t breathe, and she feared she would lose what little she’d managed to eat if she opened her mouth. She closed her eyes and nodded.

From his place across the table, Stephen—Lord Thynne rose. “If you will please excuse me.” He tossed his napkin down and left the room.

The flat tone of his voice, the deadly calm in his pale eyes, pierced Kate’s soul. She didn’t love him, didn’t truly want to marry him. But she hadn’t wanted to hurt him, either.

He would never forgive her. And she couldn’t blame him. She would have a hard time forgiving herself.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
F
IVE

K
ate cringed as the door closed behind the final guest. The smell of the uneaten dinner lingered in the dining room, bringing Kate ever closer to being sick all over her gown and the table linen.

Tears burned the corners of her eyes. The need to find Stephen and drop to her knees and beg his forgiveness made her legs twitch. But she seemed rooted to the chair.

Nora, wearing the yellow gown Kate had asked Athena to dispose of—elegant now that Nora had removed most of the silk roses—slipped into the chair beside Kate and took Kate’s hand in both of hers. Christopher added his support, standing behind Kate with his hand on her shoulder.

Edith still sat across the table from Kate, preening in her success. Dorcas had fled the room in tears shortly after her sister’s speech. Florie, who had not been allowed to attend the formal dinner, would be sorry she missed all of this.

The urge to laugh came out as a strangled cough. Why should the thought of Florie’s reaction be so amusing? As quickly as the urge hit, Kate’s fear and remorse drowned it. She turned to her sister-in-law to apologize for ruining Nora’s first social event as part of the family, but her mouth would not form words.

Stephen returned, walking the length of the dining room in silence. He stopped to stare into the fireplace behind the chair in which Sir Anthony sat slumped, hand over his eyes. “I must speak with Katharine alone.”

Kate flinched at Stephen’s soft voice. Christopher squeezed her shoulder, then held his hand to Nora to assist her up and escort her from the room.

When Sir Anthony lowered his hand, Kate’s heart wrenched. Her uncle looked like he’d aged twenty years in the past twenty minutes. He pushed himself unsteadily to his feet and started around the table—but stopped and took Edith by the hand, almost dragging her up from her chair and out of the room.

The silence that followed their departure pressed painfully against Kate’s ears. Her body grew heavier and heavier with dread until she was certain the chair legs would crack and she would fall to the floor at any moment.

After what seemed like hours, but could have only been minutes, Stephen turned around and rested his hands on the back of Sir Anthony’s vacant chair. “Have you nothing to say for yourself, Katharine?”

When she was a child and was being reprimanded, her mother or father always called her Katharine, not Kate. Hearing it fall from Stephen’s lips felt different only in that she knew she deserved whatever punishment he meted out. And like a child, she could not raise her eyes to his. “I am sorry, my lord. I never meant to hurt you.”

He sighed. “I have told you many times that I wish you to call me Stephen.”

Kate’s gaze snapped up to meet his. “But . . .” Words jumbled and created a dam in her throat.

Stephen pulled out the head chair and sat, his back stiff and straight. “Katharine, I am under no delusion that you have feelings for me beyond friendly affection. At least I hope you feel that way toward me.”