Sandra Madden (25 page)

The wind seeped from Kate's sail.

"I wish he would look at me as if I were an old glove," Lady Judith declared petulantly.

"Edmund plans to marry you as soon as Kate is safely wed. He told me himself.”

"Verily? As soon as Kate is married?"

Lady Cordelia's pronouncement was like an arrow to Kate's heart. Pain rocked her.

"Aye. And if I may confide, he has worked diligently to find her a suitable husband. But it seems no one will do for Kate. She is a sweet girl but far too choosy."

Too choosy? Kate's emotions shot from high to low to somewhere in the middle. 'Twas all she could do at the moment to suppress her indignation. The need to burst through the door and defend herself was almost too great to bear.

Lady Judith's tone took on an edge of excitement. "Obviously 'tis in my best interests for Kate to marry at once. I must find a husband for her! I will join in the search."

Oh, fie! 'Twas all Kate needed. To wed a man of Judith's choice! Hah! Not if she were the last unwed woman in England. She would rather be a toothless spinster begging for alms at Charring Cross.

In the end, Kate knew Lady Judith could do no better than Edmund, presenting her with his limp-wristed limner and disheveled widower with six children.

"Mayhap a woman's touch is what's needed," Lady Cordelia allowed.

"I am certain of it," Judith replied with what could only be described as relish.

"I pray you have better fortune than poor Edmund," his aunt said, releasing a heartfelt sigh before continuing in a softer, confidential manner. "I believe the Duke of Doneval has a fondness for Kate. But, of course, he more than likely wishes to make her his mistress."

The kindly old duke wished Kate to be his mistress! A thimble could have knocked her over, so astonished was she at the news. Certainly, Lady Cordelia's mind had become addled. The duke had never suggested anything improper, had never looked at Kate with the light she expected was lust, that she'd seen in other men's eyes. James Moore's eyes.

"How could Kate live better than to be a mistress to a duke?" Lady Judith wondered aloud. "Have you encouraged her to seek his protection?"

"Edmund would never hear of Kate becoming any man's mistress," the older woman replied with some aspersion. "He has said only a wealthy husband will do for her. He seeks a member of the gentry."

"My barber surgeon is a single man."

Kate fumed. Only Judith would propose a man who pulled teeth to be a suitable mate.

"Send for him."

"Kate will never suspect me of being a matchmaker," Judith said with a sly edge to her high-pitched voice.

The women conspired against her. The injustice of it all made Kate want to weep. How wise she had chosen to eavesdrop on their conversation.

"To be candid, Lady Judith, I wish to see you married to my nephew as soon as possible. Edmund spends far too much thought and time with Kate, when he should be spending it providing a Wydville heir."

"Perhaps you should consider replacing Kate as your gentlewoman," Lady Judith suggested. "She is not suitable. And if she were not constantly about, Edmund might more quickly forget her."

Oh, fie! Judith Witherspoon was a wicked woman! Fie on her! Kate's fists dug into her hips; dismay and outrage rumbled in her the pit of her stomach.

"Aye," Lady Cordelia agreed.

She agreed! Edmund's aunt, the woman Kate thought to be her friend, agreed.

"Do it soonest," Judith urged.

"While 'tis true Kate has not the rank to be a gentlewoman, I am fond of the girl."

Thank goodness for that much,
Kate thought. She'd never have believed Lady Cordelia would betray her. Not if she had not heard it with her own ears.

Edmund's aunt went on unhappily. "Mayhap I am to blame for dangling the gardener's daughter before Edmund. But no one has ever soothed my headaches as she does. Kate's gentle massage works like magic."

"I shall learn to massage your headaches away," Lady Judith quickly assured Cordelia. "I will soothe you in her stead."

"Would you?"

She will never be as good as I,
Kate declared silently.

"Aye," Judith responded firmly. "Pray dismiss Kate at once."

"She is a sweet girl." Lady Cordelia sounded as if she might be waffling.

"But as long as she remains at Rose Hall, Kate stands between Edmund and me," Judith argued.

"I had hoped she would find a position as nurse. If her papa hadn't wed so suddenly, she would be employed elsewhere by now."

And Kate would not have been loved to bliss by Edmund. Thinking of it even now warmed her.

"If you dismiss Kate, she may be eager to marry my barber surgeon," Lady Judith insisted. "Single women with no means look more favorably on marriage."

" 'Twill be difficult to let her go."

"But it is best for all. Kate will have a husband, and Edmund will marry me and have his heir. I am six-and-twenty. 'Tis time I married and bore children."

"Aye. 'Tis the proper thing to do."

"I do not have time to dangle after Edmund. If he does not offer for me soon, I shall look elsewhere for a husband."

"Oh?" Cordelia was obviously startled by Judith's declaration.

"I must."

"Do nothing in haste, Judith. I will dismiss Kate on the morrow."

Oh, fie!

Chapter Sixteen

Moon rising brings great joy

Kate had never felt so unhappy. She fled to the rose garden to collect herself. The need to see Jutta was greater than ever. With one look at Kate's chart the baker's wife would know just what must be done. Not that Kate believed she had much choice.

But her garden refuge had been invaded. She watched in dismay as Edmund hastily attempted to conceal the evidence with what appeared to be a strange little jig. He pushed the dirt, dug up by Percy, back in place with his boot as the big dog barked and pranced. The scurrilous beast had escaped from his master's side and had been digging in the garden. It was not the first time. The hound seemed especially to like uprooting the eglantine bushes.

Kate contemplated the pile of dirt. 'Twas a symbol of what her life had become. A pile of dirt. Her heart sank.

Percy looked up—and bounded toward her.

"Sit!" Edmund roared.

The dog skidded to a halt.

Tears rolled down Kate's cheeks. Wounded moments ago by Lady Cordelia, Kate was pushed over the edge by this fresh injustice. No matter if it was a small thing, the digging up of the rosebushes. It was just one more lowering event. Was Percy helping Edmund prepare for the tennis court he wished to build here?

Kate could no longer hold back her feelings. The anger, the sorrow caught in her throat, tossed in her belly and spilled from her eyes. She'd had enough.

"I'm leaving," she blurted... and sniffled.

" Tis only dirt, Kate. I shall have it repaired in moments. Look." To emphasize the insignificance of his hound's misbehavior, Edmund whistled as he worked with greater speed. Dirt flew.

"Never you mind. I have accepted another position." She sucked up an oncoming sob, wiped her tears with the back of her hand.

Edmund stopped his foot flailing. He appeared transfixed, a lusty man turned to cold stone by an out-of-sorts, hurting woman. The earl regarded Kate with a dark, suspicious frown. "Nooo."

"Yes."

"But you cannot—"

She spun on her heel. "Watch me."

"But I have plans..."

Her heart jumped up, alive once more. Hope never strayed far from Kate's heart. She spun back. "What plans?"

"I shall build you a cottage of your own beside the tennis court. It will have as many rooms as you wish...." Edmund's voice trailed off. The corners of his mouth turned up in a soft, triumphant smile. "You will remain at Rose Hall for the rest of your life, as gentlewoman to Aunt Cordelia."

Oh, fie the man!

Kate stomped her foot impatiently. "But I desire a husband and family of my own one day."

Edmund opened his arms, his hands palms up. "To that end, have I not presented you with any number of eligible men?"

"I desire a husband of my own choosing," she snapped. "At the proper time."

The garden went still except for Percy's heavy panting.

Edmund folded his arms across his chest. "And just when will that be?"

"When I grow weary of the search for my birth mother."

"God's blood, woman!"

"The time may be close at hand."

His eyes narrowed. "What say you?”

"The Duke of Doneval knows of a ring similar to mine."

He hiked a dark brow. "Aye?"

Kate twisted her ring. She lifted her chin defiantly, met Edmund's skeptical gaze, and quickly lowered her eyes. "The duke's friend Anne, for whom he seeks a companion, wears a similar ring," she explained.

" 'Tis a ruse!" Edmund exploded. "Are you so gullible to believe such a tale?"

"Aye. I am." Kate raised her chin an inch higher. "I believe Donald Cameron. The duke is a good, kind man."

"A man who covets you." Edmund kicked the ground with disgust.

"Is every man who shows me kindness not to be trusted, Edmund?" She did not wait for his reply. "For you have shown me great kindness."

"
You cannot compare. I have known you and had your best interests at heart since you were a child. Donald Cameron wishes only to separate you from your friends."

"Why should he wish to do so?"

"The better to seduce you."

"Nay! For shame, Edmund! To even think such a thing."

"And shame upon you for
not
thinking of it."

"I shall never be mistress to any man." And then a thought occurred. Kate inclined her head, studying the warrior athlete who had become crimson with distress. "Are you jealous of Donald Cameron?"

"Not I!"

"Methinks you are green with envy!"

Percy, reacting to Edmund's and Kate's raised voices, began to bark.

"Go!" he shouted at the dog.

The bloodhound turned his big sorrowful eyes from Edmund to Kate and back again before he slowly loped from the garden, looking back at his master frequently, as if he expected a reprieve at any moment.

In Edmund's churlish state, Kate hesitated to disclose that her bedchamber had been ransacked, or that she was about to be dismissed. He would not believe her, just as he refused to believe her about the Doneval.

And she could scarce believe the arrogant earl could possibly be jealous of the old Scotsman. Kate's foolish accusation was merely the flapping of an angry tongue.

Edmund ran a hand through his hair. He responded in measured tones. "I am not jealous, Kate. But I do fear that in the light of your innocence you do not always see the darkness in the heart of others."

"My thanks for your concern," she replied quietly. Kate did not wish to argue with Edmund. "I promise to keep my eyes open to the darkness."

He growled. Kate knew he meant to intimidate her, but the low, throaty rumbling was lost on her. She thought Edmund magnificent when he growled. With his mane of midnight-black hair and his broad, muscled chest, he was like a wild jungle cat, untamed and exciting.

Turning a deaf ear to the earl's guttural warnings, Kate asked a question that had long been on her mind. "Edmund, when we were young, did you allow me to be your childhood companion because there was no one else to provide company for you?"

He scowled. "Nay." With his hands locked behind his back and his eyes on the ground, Edmund circled the recently uprooted rosebush. "You learned to fish eagerly. You grasped the longbow as if you were born with one in hand. You still ride like the wind. If you played tennis you would be a worthy opponent in that sport as well, I am certain."

His eyes met hers, challenging Kate to deny what he'd said.

She could not deny the truth, but it was only half-truth. Despite his denial she knew better. Indeed, Edmund had sought Kate's company when he was a boy. He had needed her approval and admiration. He could not bear life alone and unloved.

"Lord Lavingham plays tennis, and he is a far better gamester than I," she pointed out.

"Among women, you have no match."

Kate gave him a wistful smile. Likely, 'twas the highest compliment the Earl of Stamford could pay a woman. She should be grateful, yet she was not.

Kate drew a deep breath, steeling herself. "I will leave Rose Hall on the morrow with the Duke of Doneval. I will serve as his lady's companion in Scotland."

"Kate, you cannot."

"Aye. I can."

"Are you not happy at Rose Hall?"

"Aye, but—"

"I shall raise your wages," he interrupted quickly.

"Lady Cordelia does not--"

Again, he interrupted. "My aunt is difficult, I understand. I shall appoint you the rose gardener and grant you a generous pension."

Kate shook her head. Tears gathered behind her eyes. "I must go. Can you not see?"

"Nay. I do not see." His voice was steely.

Kate had to tell him. "Lady Judith has convinced Lady Cordelia to dismiss me. 'Tis a sign." She raised her eyes to the heavens as if the stars might be shining in the overcast sky, twinkling 1-e-a-v-e across the heavens.

Edmund spoke through a clamped jaw. "Neither Judith nor my aunt has a say who will stay at Rose Hall and who will not," he said.

Struggling to suppress a well of tears, Kate shook her head again. It felt as if wild thistles scraped at the walls of her heart. "Edmund, 'tis better this way. The planets have contrived to give us special moments together but that is all."

"Is your stargazer at the bottom of this?" he demanded.

"Nay, Edmund. 'Tis obvious even to one who is not an astrologer. The stars brought us together for a short time, and now they send us on our separate ways."

"Bloody hell!"

Determined to say her farewell, Kate ignored Edmund's angry protest. Her throat felt as dry as garden dirt in a drought. But she pressed on, hoarsely. "The memories of our times together will be with me always, in my mind and in my heart. But tonight I shall advise Lady Cordelia that I am leaving."

"Is there nothing I can say?"