Sandra Madden (31 page)

"Edmund, you will never believe what I have discovered."

"But I shall. Only first listen. I have traveled far to bring you news of great import."

At last! He realized he loved her. He was about to tell her he loved her, words she'd waited a lifetime to hear. And when he did, she would announce they could be married.

The tension took away her breath. Pins and needles spilled down her spine.

With a most satisfied smile, Edmund withdrew a small parchment from the leather purse. "This chart from Jutta shows clearly that you belong back in England, at Rose Hall."

Her heart swelled against her chest.

"There is more, Kate."

Oh, fie! Why did men have such a difficult time saying what was in their hearts?

On the verge of laughing and crying, Kate could only bob her head vigorously, encouraging Edmund to say the words. His lips parted; his mouth turned up into a wry, devastating grin. Kate's heart pounded wildly.

"I have found you the perfect husband."

Stunned, Kate squeaked a feeble protest as the life-blood drained from her body.

"Oliver Davys."

"Oliver Davys," she repeated dully.

"My aunt's physician. I can think of nothing finer for you than marriage to a young, wealthy physician. I will build you the cottage I promised where you and Davys can—”

"Oh, fie!" Balling her fists on her hips, Kate stomped her foot. "Fie on you, Edmund!"

"I beg pardon?"

"You arrogant, beef-witted barnacle!"

"Kate! Mind your tongue."

"You are a fool-born miscreant!" she raged.

Percy barked at her and then at Edmund.

Edmund's dark brows bunched into a bewildered frown. "What have I said?"

"Have you forgotten your promise not to meddle in my affairs?"

"I have not." Drawing himself up and straightening his shoulders, Edmund glowered at her. "But when I did not meddle, only look what happened. Here you are, living in a cold, cruel country with a foolish old man who desires to make you his mistress."

"By your leave!" she gasped.

"I only hope that I am not too late," Edmund pronounced indignantly, before lowering his voice. "Donald Cameron has not... taken you, has he?"

Kate shrieked. She let out a scream that deafened her own ears and rocked Edmund back on his heels. He backed toward the door.

Percy followed, tail curled between his legs.

"You cur. You bloody fool!"

The offended earl pulled himself up to his full height. "Do you forget who you are talking to?"

"Oh, aye." She swore under her breath, advancing upon him. "I know very well."

Percy scampered to the door, the nails of his paws clicking on the stone floor. All else was quiet except for the echo of angry words.

Edmund could not fathom where Kate had learned such language. He dared not speak, for fear of saying the wrong thing. He could not understand her fury with him. He had given up his tournament and risked his life to rescue her, and she reacted like a madwoman. He should not have mentioned Davys. Apparently that had been a mistake.

If Kate would be his mistress, he would not be forced to go to such great lengths to keep her. But he knew she would refuse, just as she had refused all of the men he had offered to be her husband. Her pride would never allow her to become his mistress. The mere suggestion would throw her into more of a temper than she currently displayed. If that were possible.

God's blood! Had he fallen victim to the same fate as his father and brother? Was it love?

"Leave! Leave at once!" Kate shouted, pointing at the door.

Percy barked and leaped in the air.

Edmund backed up slowly. Could she be serious? Throwing him out after he'd traveled hundreds of miles over horrid roads?

Kate tossed the astrological chart at him.

She was serious.

"Take your hound and go. I never wish to see you again, Edmund!"

He was shocked. "You cannot mean that. 'Tis the Scottish air that has put you in ill humor. This foul weather has that effect upon many English born.”

"Methinks it is
you
who have put me out of sorts. You have vexed me to the point where I should banish you to the Tower of London, were it not for my lack of power."

"Kate!"

"I will live my own life! I shall love whomever I choose. I shall marry whenever I choose."

"Perchance when you are calm we can discuss this again.”

"Go." She ground the word between her teeth.

"You have not yet told me your good news," Edmund reminded her.

"Be gone! Be gone from my life."

Before Edmund could say more, she spun on her heel and marched up the stairs.

Bloody hell. What had he done? Would he never see Kate again?

Chapter Twenty

The grand trine promises a season of peace and love

Summer had slipped into autumn when Kate and the duke arrived at his London town house. Sally Pickering had come along with them to aid in the search for Kate's brother. A search both Kate and Donald Cameron were eager to begin.

But first the duke made plans to present Kate at court. He insisted that no time be wasted in securing her safety with the public acknowledgment of her parentage. A half-truth he meant to present as the whole truth.

Kate sat next to her father in the lavish town coach he'd hired for the event. On what should have been the most exciting eve of her life, she remained mired in the lethargy that had marked her since her last meeting with Edmund. She even missed his dreadful hound, Percy.

In the heat of anger she had called the earl terrible names, banished him from her life. And she suffered for it, despaired without him. Except for the prospect of seeing the Earl of Stamford at the palace, Kate took no pleasure in this grand night when she would be presented to Queen Elizabeth.

During the long days since she had traveled to visit Papa Beadle and then to London, she had had much time to think. Kate concluded 'twas better to have Edmund in her life as a friend than not at all,

The carriage pulled up before the palace, which was ablaze with the lights of an untold number of torches and candles. The liveryman helped Kate from the coach, and she tucked her hand under her father's arm.

"Weel na, here we are.”

She smiled at his understatement.

His brown eyes shone with love as he looked down upon her. "Are ye fearful, lass?"

"Nay, Father."

Giving her a sly, encouraging wink, the duke turned and escorted Kate into Whitehall Palace. Her father doted on her, lavished her with gifts and love.

Their arrival was announced in sonorous tones. "The Duke of Doneval and his daughter, Lady Katherine."

Tears welled up in Kate's eyes as she cast what she hoped to be a radiant smile. She meant to make her father and Princess Anne proud of her this eve. As she stood with the duke at the top of the stairs looking down into the ballroom, Kate imagined Edmund's surprise if he was standing among the many resplendent guests already gathered below.

Holding her head high, Kate felt quite regal for the first time, mayhap the only time in her life.

A London seamstress had created her gown of Italian damask woven with gold thread and studded with diamonds and pearls. The square neckline dipped low, displaying more décolletage than Kate preferred. Where the stiff, pointed bodice ended, a wheel farthingale that spread her voluminous silken skirts emerged. And she at last had learned to walk quite gracefully in the contraption.

The sleeves of her gown were padded, and a wide band of gold metallic lace dripped from the narrow wrists. An elegant ruff set off the ropes of gold and pearls wrapped around her neck. For once, Kate had not misplaced or forgotten any part of her wardrobe. She wore a small pair of amber earrings in her ears.

Parliament had reconvened, and those who had fled London's sweltering summer for the country breezes had returned, as well. Nobles, esteemed gentry, knights and their ladies, in a mass of opulent costumes, convened in the gleaming ballroom to be welcomed by the aging queen.

Kate searched the spangled throng for Edmund but did not see him. Within the hour she learned he was not there, would not be attending. And it was all she could do to conceal her disappointment.

"Edmund has been at Rose Hall since the summer," Christopher Carew, the Viscount of Lavingham, told her as they danced the pavane. Edmund's closest friend had been first to ask Kate to dance. "He has fallen into a strange melancholy. Nothing I say cheers him."

Edmund in melancholy? Kate could not credit it. "I am sorry to hear Lord Stamford is... is unwell."

"Knowing your good fortune might lift his spirits. ’Tis not every day one discovers the gardener's daughter is in faith a duke's daughter. I am certain he would chuckle."

Kate was not as certain. "And Lady Judith? What has become of the lady?"

"She recently became betrothed to the Baron of Drakesmore. She will be at the ball this eve, as will Lady and Lord Chumley."

"Lady Judith is betrothed to Drakesmore?" Kate repeated, uncertain she had heard correctly.

"Aye."

"I must offer my congratulations to the lady," she said, wondering if the excited flutter of her heart could be heard. In the end, Edmund had not sought, or had not won, Lady Judith's hand. Although Kate burned to know the reasons, she could not ask the viscount. She must speak with Lady Jane before the night ended.

Christopher's mouth turned up in a wry grin. "Lady Judith will be astounded at your rise in society."

"Aye, I expect she will be," Kate agreed, returning his smile.

"As will Stamford. You know he disappeared before the tennis tournament on his outdoor court at Rose Hall."

"Lord Stamford missed the match?"

"Aye."

For the moment, the astonishing news that Edmund had missed the match put an end to Kate's distress over the placement of the court. Though she doubted she ever would forgive him for constructing a tennis court on the site of the rose garden.

"Pray, when was the tournament held?"

"Late in August. Not long after you left Rose Hall."

"Ah, yes." Kate remembered it well. 'Twas the time Edmund had come to Scotland to rescue her from what he imagined to be the diabolical clutches of Donald Cameron—her father. Edmund still did not know her true relation to the good duke.

"Stamford sunk into melancholy. He has not been entertaining for the longest time, since his return. He has refrained from all sport and refuses to say where he disappeared to."

"Alas, poor Edmund." Kate commiserated. She understood, for she had been suffering as well since their quarrel.

"Several of his friends have despaired that Stamford will ever be on the town with us again. But not me. Edmund shall recover in time... from whatever it is that ails him."

" 'Tis a long time to be prostrate," Kate said softly.

"Lady Katherine, if you would but speak to Stamford, I believe he might listen to you."

"What makes you think that?"

"He has always spoken of you with respect," the viscount assured her. "Even when you were naught but the gardener's daughter."

Kate glared at Christopher.

Oh, fie! She should not have done so. 'Twas improper at court. 'Twas improper any time for a lady.

"A most extraordinary gardener's daughter, to be sure," Edmund's friend added quickly. "Stamford will be delighted to learn you are in truth the daughter of

Doneval."

"Perhaps." If only Kate were as certain.

"Will you see Stamford?" her dance partner pressed.

"I, I will consider it."

But Kate felt a tightening in her chest. What if Edmund rebuked her, or worse, refused to see her? Her heart cringed from further pain. And she feared seeing Edmund again might bring more pain. What to do?

She looked about the glistening ballroom and found the jewel-bedecked queen. She would never address Elizabeth as dear Aunt Bess. And she felt grateful.

She watched the dancers, a jumble of whirling, sparkling extravagance. During her life as the gardener's daughter, Kate knew with certainty, she had not missed this pomp and circumstance. She felt out of place here. Court was not where she belonged.

Later, when she was introduced to the queen, with her father standing proudly at her side, Kate did not waver under the keen scrutiny of her aunt.

"You have eyes like my sister, Mary."

"I have the eyes of my mother."

The alabaster-faced queen nodded, obviously convinced by Kate's bold reply that sister and mother could not be the same person. "You are welcome at my court as the daughter of the Duke of Doneval, friend of King James."

"My thanks, Your Majesty."

The moment was over almost before it had begun. She had passed muster. She felt the tension drain from her father's shoulders. Grinning broadly, he led her to the dance floor.

Kate danced until her feet were sore. But without Edmund, her shining eve of passage paled. What to do? What to do?

* * * *

Edmund remained in the isolation he had imposed upon himself. Since he disliked solitude the most, 'twas the only fitting punishment. He'd driven Kate away from Rose Hall and lost any esteem she might have held for him.

It had not taken him long to discover that it mattered little who kept him company or applauded his sporting achievements. Without Kate to share the victory, winning no longer brought a sense of triumph. He felt no elation.

The world Edmund had known before Kate no longer satisfied him.

He often wiled away time in the rose garden, where he'd first discovered her again after their years of separation. In the end, Edmund had not the heart to plow over her rose garden to make way for the outdoor tennis court. He'd had it constructed near the east wing, not as favorable a spot. But he was glad for it, for memories abounded in the rose garden.

As plainly as if it happened yesterday, he could see Kate's wide-eyed apprehension when Percy hurtled toward her, just before knocking her over into the dirt and manure. He remembered her indignation when she recovered herself. The memory still brought a chuckle.