Wyndcross (The Families 0f Dorset Book 1)

by Martha Keyes

  He watched her, and then added, “I leave today for Weymouth. Here is my address.” He handed her a card. “I don’t expect you to give me your answer now, but if you come to see the sense in allying ourselves in marriage—if you have a change of heart or mind—all you need do is write and tell me.”

  She nodded absently as she looked at the card in her hand, and Simon took his leave. She rubbed the card, thinking what a strange visit and proposition Simon’s had been. Well, not strange, perhaps. But unexpected, certainly.

  When the Croftes were announced, Kate was still sitting in the morning room, lost in thought. Her stomach growled as Gryffin let the Croftes into the room. Kate had completely forgotten to eat breakfast.

  “How wonderful,” she said, setting down Simon’s card and shaking off her stupor as she rose from her chair to greet the visitors. “Lady Crofte, you look well.”

  The aging process had treated Lady Crofte kindly. While her figure wasn’t as trim as Kate remembered it being, it had not become full like the figures of most women her age. She carried her head high, just as she always had.

  “Well, there,” said Lady Crofte, looking Kate up and down with an admiring expression. “If it isn’t little Kate Matcham. Not so little anymore. How the years fly by!”

  “Isn’t she beautiful, Mama?” said Clara.

  Kate shook her head, a slight blush stealing up her cheeks. She did not admire her own beauty, especially in company such as Clara Crofte’s. “I’m afraid I may be taller but otherwise every bit the little dirt-covered thief who looted your gardens for roses.”

  Lady Crofte’s shoulders and chest shook with laughter. “Was it you who did that? I had always suspected Henry. He was such a troublemaker.”

  “Then I owe an apology to Henry—or Mr. Crofte, I should say. How is he? Has he little troublemakers of his own yet?”

  “Henry is very well,” Lady Crofte replied. “Not married yet, but I have hope he will settle down in the near future.” said Lady Crofte with a warm smile.

  “And what of your family, Kate?” said Clara. “It has been an age since I saw any Matchams. Of course, we see your uncle now and again, since he took up residence at Coombe Park. But I know nothing of your life since you left Dorset. It seems an eon ago.”

  It seemed an eon to Kate, too. Life now bore little resemblance to her years at Coombe Park. “Yes, well I was only eight when we left, so an eon isn’t too far off. Let’s see,” she said, casting her mind back to that time. “Once we left Coombe Park, we went to stay with my grandmother in Surrey. Then—but perhaps you already know—my mother remarried a man, Mr. Dimmock, from Birmingham, and she has been living there ever since.”

  “Oh yes!” said Clara, her eyes alight. “Mr. Dimmock of Dimmock and Sons, isn’t it? I have heard that he is absurdly wealthy.”

  Kate suppressed a smile, and Lady Crofte shot a disapproving glance at her daughter. “For heaven’s sake,” she said, “don’t be vulgar, Clara.”

  “I believe he is quite comfortable,” said Kate, rising to ring the bell for tea, “though I admittedly know little of his affairs. My mother sent me to a seminary in Bath once they married. I returned to Birmingham for some holidays, but I spent the majority of my time in Bath. After, I returned to live with Grandmama in Surrey to help care for her until her death. I have been living with my aunt ever since, for the past two years.” She came back to her seat, tucking one foot under the other. “But all this is quite a bore. Tell me, how is Sir Richard doing?”

  “Oh, Father is well, of course,” said Clara, brushing off the question. “But then you were not brought out until you were nearly 20?” Her eyes were wide in astonishment verging on horror.

  Kate smiled at her, accustomed to such reactions to her peculiar story. “Yes, it was quite out of the ordinary, to be sure, but unfortunately, circumstances prevented it happening any earlier.”

  It had almost not happened at all. It had required many conversations to convince her stepfather that it would be worth his money to finance such an ordeal. “I don’t mind in the least, though,” she said. “I have had more than ample opportunity to experience all the gaiety London can offer, I assure you.”

  “From what I know of Lady Hammond,” said Lady Crofte, wearing a knowing expression, “I would imagine you have been up to your ears in gaiety. She is so full of vivacity! Such a taking little thing.”

  Kate nodded. “I find it hard to keep up with her most days. She has been so very good to me and a wonderful chaperon and companion, with never a complaint about being saddled with such a burdensome charge as myself. And for longer than she had anticipated, to be sure.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly, Kate,” said Clara, dismissing Kate’s concern. “She is fortunate to have you. Which reminds me....” She sat on the edge of her seat, her hands clasped in front of her chest and her shoulders raised, as if she was trying to contain her excitement. “Mama and I would like to invite you to come stay with us at Wyndcross.”

  Kate blinked twice. “I….”

  “Please say you will,” cried Clara, jumping up and grabbing Kate’s hands. “Father is away from home, but Mama vowed she wouldn’t let that stop us from entertaining. Do come!”

  “Clara.”

  Clara stopped in her tracks at her mother’s stern voice.

  Lady Crofte’s expression morphed into a smile. “Do give her space to think and breathe. She won’t want to come to Wyndcross if she worries she will be suffocated all summer.”

  “Such a generous invitation,” said Kate, still looking bewildered. “Naturally, I will need to speak with Fanny, but what a lovely prospect.” Her countenance brightened as she considered it, and she laughed. “Now I am taken up with visions of possibility. If Fanny refuses, I may fall into a decline.”

  “Then it’s as good as settled,” said Clara with a final nod of her head, “I feel sure Lady Hammond could have no reason to refuse.” She squeezed Kate’s hands. “It will be exactly like old times.”

  3

  As Fanny was still out with Lady Carville, Kate had to while away the hours until dinner alone.

  It was not the fashionable time of day for a ride in the park, but the day was cooler than it had been for the past week, and Kate wanted some fresh air. She had her mare Cleopatra brought to the house while she changed into her riding habit.

  The mare Kate’s father had given her as a spirited filly a year before his death was now well into her middle age. Kate had grown extremely attached to her over the years.

  She was a handsome buckskin mare with black markings around her eyes. Her father had remarked that she looked like Cleopatra, and the name had stuck.

  The horse had been one of Kate’s greatest treasures, affording her the very small measure of adventure to be had in town. A solo ride through the park, while heavily frowned upon, could hardly be considered high adventure, but it was a delight to Kate, nonetheless.

  She would likely incur Fanny’s censure for it, but she comforted herself with the fact that she wasn’t a young lady fresh out of the schoolroom; she had nearly two full Seasons of experience, besides being a few years older than most of the debutantes. Surely, she deserved a little leeway.

  As she rode through the park, humming to herself in contentment, she realized with dismay that a visit to the countryside would mean leaving Cleopatra behind.

  She could apply to her stepfather for the money needed to have the mare brought to Wyndcross Manor, but it could take two weeks for that communication to occur, and it would go against the independence she was working toward.

  She sighed, patting Cleopatra’s neck. “Sorry, girl. I would take you with me if I could.”

  When Kate arrived back in Berkeley Square, it was only half past three. Instead of losing track of time as she usually did on her rides, the clock seemed to tick at half-speed. After changing her dress, she went back to the library to continue her reading.

  Her eyes soon glazed over, and her thoughts turned to memories of the Dors
et countryside. Rolling green hills checkered with dark hedges, ending abruptly at precipitous white cliffs which dropped into a deep blue ocean.

  Her heart skipped a beat at the prospect of returning. Her childhood in Dorset was such an idyllic part of her life. It was the place where she had felt carefree; before she had come to know pain, separation, and the weight of duty which made up the fabric of her life now.

  Kate was expected to make a great match to further the interests of her younger sisters, and she wished to do everything in her power to help them. She still had some time, but Phoebe was in her last year at Miss Monaghan’s seminary. Saddling Fanny with bringing out yet another Matcham daughter was out of the question for Kate.

  Perhaps her visit to Wyndcross would be an opportunity to clear her head and decide upon a future for herself, away from the distracting hustle and bustle of the city.

  The clock struck the hour of six. She had been lost in thought for the past two hours. She marked her progress—a mere two pages—with a bookmark of pressed lavender and made her way upstairs to dress for dinner.

  Fanny was full of news from her day shopping with Lady Carville. Kate preferred not to talk to Fanny about her visit with the Croftes until the servants had left, so she didn’t interrupt Fanny’s stream of talk: a log of her purchases with Lady Carville and the gossip she had acquired at the ball the night before.

  “...And that wretched Charlotte Thorpe came up to me as you spoke with Sir Lewis, and do you know what she said? That you had better not be choosy with the gentlemen who take an interest in you since you are practically on the shelf.”

  Kate took another bite of dinner, meeting Fanny’s fury with calm indifference. “Sir Lewis said nearly those exact words.”

  “Well,” Fanny continued, a smug look replacing her outrage, “you can imagine that I wasn’t about to let that scheming wretch get away with such a slight to you. You should have seen the look on her face when I casually mentioned that you were set to inherit twenty thousand pounds. I wish I could have bottled up her expression.”

  Kate’s fork dropped with a loud clank on the dinnerware. “Oh, Fanny! Please tell me you jest.”

  Fanny straightened herself in her chair, lifting her chin as she cut her potato with a firm hand. “I was never more serious in my life. It was a masterful set-down, and no one could be more deserving than Charlotte Thorpe, believe you me.”

  Dismay was etched into every line of Kate’s face. Her mind reverted to the ball. The looks and whispers which had tracked her, she had ascribed to those who had witnessed her intense conversation with Sir Lewis. Or had they rather been due to the quick work of Charlotte Thorpe’s infamous tongue?

  “I would not for the world have had you tell such a thing to Mrs. Thorpe, Fanny. She must have told the whole of London by now!”

  “So much the better,” exclaimed Fanny, impervious to Kate’s consternation.

  “But Fanny, it isn’t true. The likelihood of me receiving any money is negligible, at best. And even if it were to happen, I told you that I don’t feel I could accept any money. Indeed, If I must accept it, I am determined to—" she sputtered a moment "—give it to the church, or to some other worthy cause.”

  Fanny let out something between a laugh and a snort and covered her mouth in embarrassment at the inelegant noise. “What utter nonsense. Now it is you who are jesting.”

  “Not at all.” Kate’s face stilled, her eyes wide and grave. “I am very much in earnest. If you knew my stepfather and the mortification I’ve endured at his hands, I believe you would feel the same way, Fanny. And even if that weren’t a concern, I don’t wish to be tolerated or courted for my fortune.”

  She spent the next few minutes disabusing Fanny’s mind of a vision of Kate being wooed by the most eligible bachelors in London. It was not easy work. Kate’s reasons and concerns were ones that Fanny neither shared nor understood.

  Having learned of Fanny’s misstep, Kate was even more anxious to leave London behind for the summer. When she finally told Fanny about the invitation to stay at Wyndcross Manor, Fanny didn’t seem at all surprised.

  “When do you leave?” Fanny asked as she ate a walnut.

  “They hope to leave within the next few days,” Kate said, “which doesn’t leave much time at all.”

  “No, it doesn’t, but we shall manage.” Fanny scooped a bite of tart into her mouth.

  “Fanny!” cried Kate. “Admit it—you are positively excited to be rid of me.” She cut into the glazed pear tart on her plate. “Though I can’t say I blame you. Two years is an eon to be saddled with me.”

  “Don’t be a ninny, Kate.” Fanny dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “Of course I’m quite cast down at the thought of you leaving me, but only for my sake, not yours. You need a change of scene. I know you don’t thrive off town life as I do, and I am so grateful to you for indulging me by coming to all the parties, picnics, plays, and balls I’ve wanted to attend. How will I manage without you?”

  She reached her hand across the table to Kate who smiled genuinely and squeezed Fanny’s hand.

  Kate’s expression changed to one of faux innocence. She pushed the food around on her plate. “I suppose you might acquire some kind of permanent companion who shall be forced to escort you all around the town and care for you in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish til death do you part.”

  She looked up, feigning deep thought. “Now, where might you find such a companion…?” The sliver of a smile twitched at the side of her mouth.

  “Oh stop,” said Fanny, though she couldn’t suppress a smile. “It’s different. Walmsley is so…” she struggled to find the word.

  “Masculine?” offered Kate.

  “Yes!”

  Kate’s mouth broke into a full smile, and her eyes twinkled in merriment. “And so much more capable of securing your comfort than I. I am convinced he will make you very happy. He dotes on you, Fanny. And I know you care for him much more than you let on.”

  Fanny straightened her back and assumed an expression of exaggerated gravity. “A lady doesn’t wear her heart on her sleeve.” Her strict teaching face disappeared, and she stared ahead at nothing before saying, “I suppose I shall accept Walmsley.” Her face brightened. “At the very least, that means you will be forced to return for the wedding, so that I shall be sure to see you again.”

  “Oh, Fanny,” Kate said, “you are the one being ridiculous now. I’m going to the Croftes for a visit; not to die or to abandon you. Indeed, before you know it, I shall be back ringing your bell, forcing you to put me up for another two years.”

  Fanny looked doubtful. “In which case I shall be pleased. At any rate, we must make sure you are looking smart for your visit, since, from what I know of the Croftes, they are quite fashionable and frequently host parties.”

  4

  The next three days were filled with shopping and preparing portmanteaux. Kate had a few dresses needing replacement due to the heavy use they had seen over the past two seasons. She could ill afford to buy any and maintained to Fanny that it was silly to buy new dresses to wear in the country. But Fanny insisted on making her a present of two dresses and a bonnet.

  “Fanny, how in the world shall I ever repay you?” cried Kate on the way back to Berkeley Square, loaded with bandboxes and guilt.

  “Nonsense,” Fanny said, looking elated at the success of their shopping expedition. “I never gave you a proper coming out present, and I can’t possibly allow you to return to your childhood home in shabby dresses when people know you’ve been staying with me. You see, it’s quite selfish, after all.”

  Kate laughed and shook her head. Fanny’s generosity was crushing, and she already felt beholden to her.

  “Besides,” said Fanny with a little too much nonchalance to be believable, “who knows but what the Croftes’ son or some other country gentleman might take a fancy to you. I’m sure it would be no wonder if one did.”

  “Oh, my dear Fanny,” said Kate with
an appreciative smile. It was impossible to bring Fanny to understand that Kate’s options for marriage were fast dwindling. Fanny would insist on believing that Kate could look as high as she pleased for a husband.

  But she was alone in the belief.

  * * *

  The journey to Dorset was much more pleasant than Kate had anticipated. The weather was charming, and the roads were good, not having seen rain for nearly two weeks. Kate, Clara, and Lady Crofte spent the night comfortably in Andover at the King’s Arms where they had an enjoyable evening dining and reminiscing.

  “It is so long since I’ve been in Dorset that I’m sure things have changed,” said Kate.

  “Oh, I assure you that things are every bit as slow and mundane as they have always been,” said Clara. “However, Weymouth has become quite a different place, thanks to the King’s visits. It could never compete with London, but shopping has become much more tolerable than it was before. And some of the things we get here in the south would make Londoners crazy with jealousy to see. Did you see the lace I was wearing at the ball? Straight from Alençon.”

  “What a pretty penny that must have cost,” Kate exclaimed. “Fanny has a dress of the same lace, and she told me that it would cost a fortune now with the import taxes.”

  A satisfied smile stole over Clara’s face as she served herself from a plate of roast duck. “Oh no, it was quite an economical purchase.”

  Kate wrinkled her brow. It was quite rare to see new gowns featuring authentic French lace. Not only was it costly in the extreme, some people would not wear it on principle due to the ongoing war.

  Clara’s smile grew mischievous as she remarked Kate’s reaction. “You will find that living on the coast has its benefits.” She winked.

  Kate’s heart dropped, but she managed a perfunctory smile.

  Had she agreed to the visit prematurely? Clara’s thinly veiled implication that her lace was had by virtue of smuggling made Kate uneasy. She had been under the impression that the circumstances of her father’s death and his views on smuggling had been well-known to the Croftes. But the conversation moved on, and Kate was obliged to leave such thoughts for a later time.