Follow the Heart (4 page)

“Miss Woodriff.”

She stopped and turned at the voice of Wakesdown’s housekeeper. “Yes, Mrs. Trevellick?”

The severe-looking woman gave her a kindly smile. “Young Mr. Lawton will be arriving with the master’s niece and nephew in less than two hours. The staff will be lined up to greet them. I wanted to invite you to join us if you so desire.”

“To see the Americans up close to find out if they’re as wild as Indians, as all the penny dreadfuls make them out to be?”

Mrs. Trevellick chuckled. “Aye, more than few of the footmen and chambermaids read those stories and have spent the day leaping from one wild fancy to another of what the Americans will be like.”

Nora opened her mouth to decline the invitation but stopped. She railed against the forced solitude of her position—not part of the family, but not part of the household staff, either. Yet if she turned down Mrs. Trevellick’s invitation, the solitude would be self-imposed. “I believe I will join you. I’ll get a good look at these Americans so I can describe them in full to Miss Florence in the morning, since she will not be allowed to see them until her fever is gone, I would imagine.”

She and the housekeeper parted ways, and Nora returned to her chambers. The schoolroom seemed unusually dark and quiet tonight—as if Florie’s absence the last two days had drained its essence.

Yes, she would see these American relations of Sir Anthony’s. And, if she could work up the courage and find the appropriate means to do so, she would ask them about the need for governesses in America. For America, her brother wrote, was indeed the land where dreams came true—if only one had enough gumption to follow her heart.

For Christopher, the hours he spent on the train listening to Andrew Lawton talk about his work as an apprentice to Joseph Paxton, designer of the Crystal Palace, was the first time since leaving Philadelphia two weeks ago that he had not been almost utterly consumed by a sense of dread. He simply had a different way of dealing with it than Kate.

Though almost three years his senior, Kate had always looked to him to take the lead socially, as he was far more gregarious and outgoing than she. Those who did not know the family well usually assumed Christopher to be the older and Kate the younger sibling. He hoped that would continue to be the case here in England so her age would not be an issue in trying to find a wealthy husband.

Christopher almost groaned at the thought. His poor sister—with as much as she wanted to help and protect the family, her only recourse now lay in finding a wealthy man to marry her and overlook the fact she had no dowry and the family had no money. When she’d explained to him after luncheon that she wished him to call her Katharine in public, deeming it to be more proper and acceptable to English society, he’d shrugged and agreed. But after seeing how his sister behaved toward Mr. Lawton, simpering and batting her lashes—
flirting
with him—he wasn’t certain he liked
Katharine
Dearing.

“So you came straight to Liverpool from London?” Christopher kept his voice low to keep from waking her. Only minutes after the train pulled out from the station, she fell asleep, rousing briefly the few times the train stopped along the way.

“Yes. Mr. Paxton recalled me to London a week ago to help transplant some of the trees and shrubs from inside the Crystal Palace to a hothouse nearby, where they will be tended until the palace is dismantled when the Exhibition ends in October.” Over the past several hours, as Christopher and Andrew had talked and gotten to know each other, the Englishman had transformed from stiff and formal to relaxed and friendly. Christopher quite liked him, especially as he had firsthand knowledge of the goings-on surrounding the Great Exhibition.

The train jolted and began slowing.

“This will be our stop, then.” Andrew stood, carefully, and shrugged back into his greatcoat.

Christopher was about to reach over and shake Kate awake, but withdrew his hand when her eyes opened and she blinked a few times to clear the sleep from them. “We’re pulling into Oxford station, Kate. Let me help you with your coat.”

Unlike most of the women he’d seen on the boat, who seemed to believe their wide-skirted dresses, with as many petticoats under them as possible, were just perfect for traveling in close quarters, Kate’s brown traveling suit featured plenty of skirt, but not one that stood out from her two or three feet in all directions. She stood and turned so he could help her into her coat. She topped it with the matching cloak and shawl, looking, when she finished, like a brown triangle.

Not that he minded seeing her in something that hid her physical attributes. She’d inherited her extraordinary height from the Dearing side of the family, but from the life-size portrait of their mother that hung in the back parlor at home, it was obvious she’d inherited her figure from the Buchanan side. He hoped she had not brought with her the pink dress she’d worn to the New Year’s Eve ball. It had taken all his willpower to keep from dragging her upstairs and finding something to drape around her exposed shoulders and chest. That the cut of her gown had been more modest than any other woman’s in attendance that night had not mattered. She was his sister, and he did not want men ogling her.

Christopher shrugged into his own coat, though with all three of them standing and wavering about as the train jerked and hissed its deceleration, elbowroom was limited. Finally, the train came to a stop, and someone on the platform called, “Oxford! Oxford station, end of the line.”

“Mr. Dearing, if you would take your sister to wait in the station house, I will find Sir Anthony’s driver and we will see to the luggage.” Andrew pressed the round bowler hat onto his head, nodded at Christopher, and touched the brim of his hat to Kate before opening the compartment door and disappearing into the night.

Kate stared through the window at the dark platform beyond. “I’m sorry I left you to the entertainment of a stranger.” She stifled a yawn behind her mittened hand. “I don’t know why I should be so exhausted.”

Christopher reached across the narrow compartment and settled his hands on her shoulders. “Most likely due to the fact you have not been sleeping but a few hours each night for the past month.”

Kate looked startled and then ashamed at Christopher’s words. He gave her a quick hug. “Never you mind. If anyone has a right to lose sleep over this situation, it’s you.”

She pushed him away. “Don’t coddle me, Christopher. I’m not a child. And please, do remember to call me Katharine. Wealthy men do not marry Kates. They marry Katharines.”

Taken somewhat aback by his sister’s sharp tone, as well as her reasoning, Christopher let his hands drop to his sides. Assuming she was grumpy because she was so tired, he said no more, but instead turned to pull down their two valises, Andrew having taken his with him.

Christopher opened the compartment door and, taking the handles of both bags with one hand, assisted Kate out onto the platform. Bitterly cold wind whipped around them, and Kate huddled close to him, pulling her shawl up to cover her mouth and nose. He wrapped his arm around her and hurried her over toward the light beaming through the window of the station house.

Though they could not get close to the coal heater inside, the congregation of travelers kept the room warm. Just when Christopher was thinking about getting impatient enough to go look for Andrew and the driver, the door opened and Andrew entered, coat collar held up to protect the bottom half of his face and ears.

“Mr. Dearing, Miss Dearing, the luggage is loaded and the coachman is eager to take us home to Wakesdown.” Andrew held the door for them and then led them to the carriage. Christopher was glad for his sake—and for Kate’s—that it was a closed coach, and hot bricks had been wrapped in the lap blankets to give them added warmth on the ride to their uncle’s country house.

With Kate leaning on his shoulder, and a long day of travel behind them, Christopher found himself fighting a stupor on the half-hour drive from Oxford to Wakesdown.

When the carriage finally pulled to a stop and Christopher climbed out, an obscuring darkness surrounded them, blinding him to anything but the light coming through the open front door of the house. He turned to assist Kate down from the coach and then gave her the support of his arm to the front door.

“Katharine, Christopher, welcome to Wakesdown.” The man who greeted them had close-cropped, curly hair of a silvery gray hue.

“Sir Anthony, thank you so much for your kind invitation to let us visit with you.” Kate dipped into a courtesy without releasing Christopher’s arm.

Christopher had to admit that what Kate lacked in expertise at flirting and small talk, she more than made up for with her ability at formal greetings. He removed his hat and bowed. “Yes, thank you, Sir Anthony.”

The man guffawed and raised his hand in protest. “Come, come. We’re not so formal when it is just family. Do call me uncle.” He stepped back and motioned for them to enter the house.

Kate released Christopher’s arm, lifted her skirts, and stepped over the threshold, Christopher following directly behind. He blinked against the bright, glittering lights of the dozens of candles in the chandelier overhead and the sconces that lined the walls of the wide entry hallway. He turned to accuse Andrew of vast understatement in describing the house, but the landscape architect was nowhere to be found.

Also lining the walls of the wide hallway were dozens of men and women—the men in formal suits, the women with frilly white aprons over black dresses. Christopher tried not to gape at the sheer number of staff. He had imagined Wakesdown to be similar in size and scope to their house in Philadelphia, at which they employed—had once employed—only around a dozen.

Sir Anthony stopped in front of two beautiful, raven-haired women dressed in full-skirted, fancy gowns that marked them as part of the family, not staff.

“Miss Edith, Miss Dorcas, I’m pleased to present your cousins, Mr. Christopher and Miss Katharine Dearing.”

Though Christopher could admire Sir Anthony’s daughters’ beauty, the cold haughtiness in Edith’s eyes kept him from finding her the least bit attractive. He remembered to bow a split second after Kate began her curtsy. The younger sister, Miss Dorcas, seemed friendly enough—though cowed by Miss Buchanan’s intimidating manner.

“Of course, we will not expect you to stand on the ceremony of titles when among the family.” Sir Anthony took a position beside his daughters. “I do apologize for the absence of my youngest daughter, Florence. But we expect the fever will be completely gone tomorrow, so you will get to meet her then. You will meet my older son and his new wife when we travel to London for Dorcas’s presentation at court in April. Indeed, the only family member you will most likely not get to meet is my second son, an army captain who is off making his fortune in India.”

For someone who went by the title
sir
and lived in a house that required such a large staff to run it, Anthony Buchanan sure did smile a lot. Of course with everything he had, why shouldn’t he smile?

The rest of the introductions passed in a blur. The butler, the housekeeper, the footman who would be serving as Christopher’s valet, the maid who would be assisting Kate. What was not a blur was the young woman in the simple gray dress standing near the housekeeper, hands folded demurely in front of her, her brown hair in a plain, almost severe style.

“And this is Miss Woodriff, Miss Florence’s governess.”

Curiosity filled Miss Woodriff’s golden-brown eyes before she dropped them as she curtsied to Christopher and Kate. Though nowhere near as beautiful as Cousins Edith and Dorcas, nor even as pretty as Kate, something about Miss Woodriff drew Christopher’s attention like iron shavings to a magnet.

Kate was not the only one who had been sent to England to try to marry money. But if Christopher could parlay his education and work experience from his apprenticeship into finding a job here, he could make his own money instead of trying to marry it.

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

K
ate lay still, her eyes closed. Surely it had all been a dream. A vivid, horrible dream. Devlin casting her aside upon discovering she had no dowry. The tense weeks in which precious items disappeared from the house. The train ride to New York. Twelve days on a steamship surrounded by strangers. Another train ride. And more strangers.

A soft whoosh preceded a clatter. Kate’s eyes popped open and she sat up in bed, heart pounding.

“I’m so sorry, miss.” A slender blonde woman in a gray dress and white apron, kneeling in front of the fireplace, full skirt still billowing, adjusted the screen. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

No. It had most definitely not been a dream. Kate swallowed past the thickness in her throat. “I was already awake.” She knew she’d met this young woman last night, but everything blurred in her mind. “I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

The maid dipped a quick curtsy. “Athena, miss.”

At the expression of surprise Kate couldn’t conceal, the fair-haired maid smiled. “My mother was fascinated with Greek mythology when I was born. I’m to be your lady’s maid while you’re here. Since I hadn’t heard from you by the time the rest of the family had breakfasted, I thought I’d better come up and make sure you knew where the cord is for the bell.”