Follow the Heart (37 page)

Kate drummed her fingertips on the arm of her straight-backed wooden chair. After fourteen of these daily tête-à-têtes, she was starting to get used to the unnaturally upright posture the chair forced her into. Every day, Mrs. Headington began with the same monologue.

It had seemed providential to meet Mrs. Headington on the ship from America. Edith Buchanan’s former governess told them much of the family’s background, filling in holes in Kate and Christopher’s knowledge of the family history, since their mother had not told Kate much in the eight years they had together, and Father claimed to know even less about the Buchanans than his children. So Christopher befriended Mrs. Headington and encouraged her to tell them stories of the years she had served them as governess.

“And how shocking that your brother eloped with the Buchanans’ governess. I left service a year before I married Mr. Headington, God rest his soul. After he died, I started Headington House for Wayward Women, to help all of you wicked young women who did not have the benefit of a strong moral hand to guide you in your childhoods.”

If Edith Buchanan served as testimony to Mrs. Headington’s strong moral guidance, Kate wanted none of it.

“Two weeks and still nothing to say? Well, we shall continue our little visits until you understand the natural wickedness in your soul that led you to throw yourself on the altar of sin and degradation. Only when I believe you’ve made a full recovery from your wicked ways will I give you the letter of recommendation you need from me so you can marry Lord Thynne.”

Kate had the wicked thought that the next time she heard the word
wicked
, she would scream. She and the three other wicked wayward women in residence at Mrs. Headington’s House for said wayward wicked women had taken to using the word to describe everything, from a stocking that needed darning to Mrs. Headington’s cat—however, in that instance, the epithet fit.

Though not confined to the house of ill reform, Kate had not ventured farther than the small patch of garden in the back since Sir Anthony escorted her here fifteen days ago.

She thought of leaving, of using what little money she had left to purchase a train ticket to Manchester and go stay with Christopher and Nora. Or even return to Oxford and see if Mrs. Timperleigh would hire her to teach at the seminary on recommendation from Nora.

Then she remembered her father. And her stepmother and little sisters. Christopher sent home what money he could, but it amounted to a pittance since he now had a wife to support.

So if Stephen would still take her, she would do whatever was necessary to meet her part of the agreement. “I admit it. I had wicked thoughts in my heart, which led me to wicked actions. But I am sincerely sorry for them.”

The joy that gleamed in Mrs. Headington’s eyes indicated she had not noticed the touch of sarcasm in Kate’s voice. “Have you prayed, repented of them, asked God to show you a better way?”

That was the rub, wasn’t it? Kate had tried praying but received no answers. “I will pray harder.”

“My mother always said that if your knees weren’t bruised, you weren’t praying hard enough.” Mrs. Headington reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a ledger. She wrote something on the page with Kate’s name written across the top, then put the book back in her desk and locked it. “You may go now, Miss Dearing. We shall meet at the same time tomorrow. My prescription for you is at least one hour of prayers tonight before bed, and two hours tomorrow morning before breakfast.”

Kate gave her a tight-lipped smile and escaped the study. She trudged upstairs to change from her plain brown morning dress into a similarly plain blue tea dress. At least here no one minded Kate’s old gowns and muted colors. She’d left her new, expensive gowns behind at the Buchanans’ home, with the exception of the purple gown with the black-lace overlay, for which she’d brought both the day and evening bodices. Just in case she needed to be seen publicly.

“How was it?” Jane, one of the other wicked wayward women, asked.

Kate told her about the prayer prescription.

“Do you pray?” Jane asked.

“I’ve tried. Over and over I’ve tried. I’ve asked God to show my father how to get his money back. I’ve prayed that God would make me fall out of love with one man and in love with another. I’ve begged to be delivered from my circumstances time and again, with no results.” Kate turned so Jane could unbutton the back of her bodice.

“Perhaps you just don’t know how to listen for an answer.” Jane went to her dresser and pulled a pamphlet from the top drawer, which she handed to Kate. “In here, you will find many verses that talk about prayer. It isn’t the words we say or the length of our prayers that God listens to. It is the heart. Sometimes praying is being silent, listening. Waiting for God to reveal His will. One of the verses in there says that if we pray, God will give us the desires of our hearts. If we truly learn to pray, God reveals the desires He has placed in our hearts. Not what we want, but His good and perfect plan for us.”

Reluctantly, Kate took the booklet. “If prayer is so efficacious, then why are you still at Mrs. Headington’s house?”

Jane’s rosebud mouth quirked up in a half smile. With her beauty, Kate could easily understand how the younger woman could have found herself in circumstances that would have led her family to send her here.

“I came because my family insisted, before I good and truly compromised myself—and with a married man, no less. But that was months ago. Now, because of this”—she touched the Bible on her nightstand—“I am here of my own accord. She doesn’t seem it, but Mrs. Headington has been a great help to me in rearranging my thoughts and ideas about how to behave around men. And I enjoy the companionship of you and the other
wicked women
.”

Kate laughed. She stepped out of her morning dress and Jane helped her into the tea dress. When Kate first arrived at Mrs. Headington’s, she’d been annoyed to learn she was expected to share a room with a stranger. But as they had no lady’s maids, it was a great help to have another woman to help with bodice buttons and corset laces.

After Jane buttoned Kate’s bodice, Kate helped her new friend change into an ivory-and-rose striped silk gown of which even Edith would have been jealous.

“Are you coming?” Jane paused at the door.

“You go on ahead. I’ll be down in a minute.” Kate waited until the door closed between them before picking up the pamphlet again.

She skimmed the first page. According to the booklet, if she prayed and truly believed God would answer, He would. But like a good father, God did not give His children what they wanted whenever they asked. Instead, He gave them what they needed.

Kate had already prayed for guidance and God did not provide it. So what was it that she really needed?

Over the next few days, Mrs. Headington daily asked Kate how many hours she’d spent in prayer the previous twenty-four hours and recorded it in her ledger. Thankfully, she did not ask to see Kate’s knees as proof.

Kate practiced praying in her own way. Every morning, in the hour she’d used to take her walks at Wakesdown, she sat on her bed, eyes closed. She pictured images of flowers and plants in her head, thanking God for each one. This, of course, led to thoughts of Andrew. Instead of asking for guidance, for a push one way or the other, she prayed for him. Prayed for his happiness. Prayed for the future success of his business. Prayed he might one day forgive her for involving him in her mess of a life.

She prayed for Stephen as well. For safe travels. Equitable and fair business dealings on all sides. For his future, whether it was with her or not. For him to feel about his future wife the way she felt about Andrew.

Yet even after spending an hour praying for the two men instead of for her own confusion, Kate still had no answer.

Was being trapped in a situation the same as receiving God’s guidance?

Andrew stood in the middle of the transept with Joseph Paxton and marveled as tens of thousands of people milled about, seeing and being seen. Queen Victoria and Prince Albert and their children toured the displays in the Crystal Palace like every other family in attendance.

More than the building or anything showcased in it, the most marvelous part of today’s opening of the Great Exhibition was that Andrew was in the same room as the queen of England. He had been only a few dozen yards away from her as she gave her speech declaring the Exhibition open and honoring Prince Albert for his vision.

He, Andrew Lawton, who’d spent half his childhood in the poorhouse and the remainder of his life trying his hardest to avoid going back, had sat in the gallery with many of the engineers and committee members and other invited guests.

“Go on, lad. Enjoy yourself.” Mr. Paxton nudged Andrew’s elbow. “Go find your friends.”

Oh, yes. In the excitement he’d almost forgotten Christopher and Nora. Getting his bearings, Andrew started down the wide corridor toward the east entrance. Flags and banners hung from the galleries above to show what was being displayed and where it was from. Andrew walked . . . and walked. Past enormous marble statuary and displays of art, textiles, and machinery—and the elm trees no one had wanted to chop down.

A giant lion towered over the Zollverein displays, followed by textiles from Denmark and Sweden on his right and china and porcelain from Russia on the other side. But the entire section at this end of the building had been reserved for the United States.

The American delegation still worked feverishly at unpacking crates and setting up displays. But enough was out to promise guests spectacular sights—the next time they came.

He found Christopher and Nora looking at glasswares in the southeast corner of the American section. Nora exclaimed over the beauty of the pieces she liked, and Christopher pointed out anything labeled as having come from Pennsylvania.

“How was your journey from Manchester?” Andrew shook hands with Christopher and bowed to Nora.

“Oh, Andrew, please. Do not be so formal.” Nora laughed and held her hand out to him. He shook it as well.

“The journey was long. I was rather surprised at the warmth of the greeting that we received at my uncle’s house, but he seemed to genuinely miss us while we were gone.” Christopher and Nora exchanged a glance Andrew was fairly certain he understood. They had been informed of Kate’s agreement with Lord Thynne and had agreed not to mention her in front of Andrew.

He and Christopher took Nora around, telling her what they remembered of the place from months ago, when it had been empty.

“There she is!” Nora stepped back, pulling Christopher with her.

Andrew stopped, then quickly joined the people crowding the side of the walkway, all conversation now hushed. He bowed low, but peeked to watch the family walk by. From his seat in the box looking down on the podium earlier, he had not realized just how tiny Queen Victoria was.

Nora and many of the other women around twittered and cooed over the queen’s pink silk gown, her coronet and the white feathers hanging from it at the sides, how handsome and well behaved her children were, and how dapper Prince Albert appeared in his red-coated uniform.

After spending nearly an hour wandering through the exhibit of agricultural and horticultural machines and implements—although Andrew would have been happy to cut the time shorter—Christopher finally gave in to Nora’s soft sighs and asked her where she would like to go next.

Nora consulted the diagram of the exhibition spaces in the commemorative booklet. Her eyes sparkled with mischief when she looked up. “Why don’t we go upstairs?”

Directly over the machinery were displays of jewelry, embroideries, lace, silks, and shawls.

Christopher groaned. “Aw, Nora.”

“I looked at machinery with you. You can look at these with me.” Both laughed, and Andrew admired the easy friendship between them. He and Kate had—

No. He could not think about Kate.

“Do you believe cotton will someday overtake linen and silk for clothing, Andrew?” Nora asked, fingering an artfully arranged bolt of colorfully patterned silk. “Since it cannot be grown in England, and we are dependent on importing it, can it ever gain in popularity?”

Aside from wanting to understand the principles of growing, harvesting, and processing cotton, Andrew had taken some time to familiarize himself with experts’ writings on the future of the humble plant product. “If the Americans can continue growing it in the quantities they do now—or increase production, as they have over the past decades—I cannot see why cotton would not become just as popular as silk and linen.”

Beyond Nora, in the lace and embroidery area, his gaze fell on a woman in a dress too tight and juvenile for her ample form. Something about her struck Andrew as familiar. He moved around Christopher and Nora to get a better look.

Four other women followed behind her, heads covered in bonnets, dresses obscured by shawls long enough to touch the floor in the back. Her daughters, most likely.

“What are you looking at?” Christopher moved to stand beside Andrew.

“That woman over there, in the green plaid dress. I feel I should know her.”