by Syrie James
Lance had heard of Worth and understood this to be not just a fashion statement, but a testament to the size of the young lady’s fortune. Which, Her Ladyship hastened to murmur in his ear, was half a million dollars.
Half a million. Half the size of Kathryn’s dowry, but still enough to pay off Lance’s debts and then some. If he married this slip of a woman, he would save St. Gabriel’s Mount.
He made an attempt at conversation with her, but it was stilted and awkward. Although she was sweet and eager to please, they seemed to have nothing in common. Her father, the exact opposite in demeanor, was brash and coarse and so effusive that Lance couldn’t get a word in edgewise. After listening to Donald Russell drone on for thirty minutes about the details of his dry goods business, Lance felt as if he could open up such a company himself.
One thing Lance learned, however, did pique his interest. Russell had come to England not just to find a titled husband for his daughter. He also wanted to buy property.
“A real nice estate,” Russell said, puffing on his cigar, “that we can visit when we come to England to see our daughter. One of those old-timey manor houses, you get my meaning, with towers and turrets and whatnot. My wife, see, she’s always fancied the idea of living in some place that looks like a castle.”
Lance glanced over at Miss Russell, who was chatting in a corner with another debutante. He could never marry her. Or anyone like her. If he couldn’t have Kathryn, he realized, he didn’t want to marry at all.
He would rather sell out, pay off his debts, find a small home for his grandmother . . . and go back to sea.
Turning to Donald Russell, Lance said: “What would your wife think, sir, about living in an actual castle?”
It had been a very productive two days.
Yesterday morning, Kathryn had gone back to Patterson’s offices. The clerk and secretary had been the only people present. They had both been unable to look her in the eye, and seemed to feel sorry for her for being fired. Kathryn told them she was there to pick up her things, and had silently gone about her business. Which was to collect every single drawing she had done over the past two years. She’d then cleared out her desk and disappeared from the premises.
The rest of the afternoon Kathryn had spent at home, going over the list of London architectural firms she’d created during her original job search two years ago. She would have to visit each one to see if they were still in existence, and if the same men were in charge.
Kathryn added to the list by studying advertisements in the newspaper and noting stories about new buildings going up and the firms that had designed them.
Today, Kathryn had worked on her curriculum vitae (the British term for résumé) and a letter of inquiry that she would adapt for each firm she was applying to. It was important to get the wording right. If only she was a man, she mused, this would all be so much easier. It occurred to her that she could try using just her first initials in her correspondence. Prospective employers would look at K. J. Atherton without prejudice and assume she was a man. It would level the playing field.
A knock on her bedroom door interrupted her thoughts.
Kathryn glanced at the clock, surprised to discover that it was almost dinnertime. She was even more surprised to find the butler at her door, holding a silver salver with three letters which had just arrived. She sat down to read them.
The first letter was from the Royal Institute of British Architects.
Dear Miss Atherton,
Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you that, based on your recent score on the RIBA examination, the board has voted unanimously to admit you to the Royal Institute of British Architects and grant you a license to practice architecture.
The official documents will be sent in a separate post. Welcome to the RIBA. We wish you all the best in your future endeavours.
Sincerely,
H. G. Atwater
Acting RIBA Secretary
Kathryn’s jaw dropped. She let out a shriek and leapt to her feet, unable to believe her eyes. She was in! She had a license!
Excitement drummed through her as she ripped open the second envelope, which, she noticed, was from the London School of Art and Architecture.
In almost identical terms it announced that, after further consideration, based on her successful completion of the university coursework two years previously, the school board had voted to grant her a degree in architectural studies.
Kathryn jumped up and down, unable to prevent another shriek.
Someone knocked again at the door, this time a maid come to inquire if she was all right. Kathryn assured the maid that she was fine; she’d just had some very good news.
“I got my license!” Kathryn cried, waving the letters with glee. “I got my degree!”
The maid—who had only been working there a few weeks, and had no idea what Kathryn was talking about—looked at her as if she were mad. “Very well, miss,” said she with a curtsy, departing as swiftly as she’d come.
The third letter was, incredibly, from Mr. Patterson. He explained that after having given the matter further thought, he had decided to add Kathryn’s name as the official designer on the Lloyds Bank project. He went on to extend to her an offer of employment as an architect at a significantly higher salary than she’d been earning previously.
Kathryn stared at the three missives, utterly astonished.
What had brought all this about? How was it possible that her former employer and both of these institutions were doing an about-face at the exact same time, offering what they had previously and so emphatically denied?
Was it simply good fortune? The universe at last granting what she had worked so hard to achieve? Kathryn frowned. She doubted it. It seemed far too coincidental to just be fate or some cosmic reward. Something else about all this didn’t feel quite right, although she couldn’t put her finger on it.
Before she had time to process the matter further, Kathryn’s attention was caught by the sound of an arriving carriage in the street below. Darting to the window, she saw Maddie descending from a conveyance emblazoned with the Saunders coat of arms.
Kathryn smiled. Maddie had wired to say that she and Charles were coming up to London today, as he had a meeting with some lord or another about one of his inventions. Although Kathryn was still mystified as to the reason behind the news she’d just received, she was eager to share it with Maddie.
Hurrying downstairs with her letters, Kathryn met her sister in the front hall and threw herself into her arms.
“Maddie! I’m so glad you’re here.”
“When I got the letter you wrote on the train, I just had to come,” Maddie exclaimed, returning the embrace. “You sounded so heartbroken. I wanted to be with you.”
“A lot has happened since I wrote that letter,” Kathryn admitted as their hug ended. “But first, where is Charles?”
“He insisted on being dropped off at Lord and Lady Carnarvon’s house on the way from the station,” Maddie explained. “Of course, that meant I was obliged to have tea with Lady Carnarvon and listen to all the latest gossip.” Maddie studied Kathryn’s face. “You look much happier than I anticipated. Has something happened?”
“It has.” Kathryn waved the letters as she led Maddie into the drawing room. “You will never guess what I’ve just learned by the evening post.”
“Then you must tell me.”
Kathryn filled Maddie in about her exam results and the turnaround from the earlier letters of denial she’d received. “I have my degree and my license!”
“Kathryn, that’s wonderful!” Unaccountably, Maddie didn’t look the least bit surprised.
“Not only that,” Kathryn added. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you, but Mr. Patterson fired me two days ago when I dared to ask for credit on the Lloyds Bank building design. Now he’s offered me my job back with full credit and a raise. Can you believe it?”
Maddie patted the sofa and they sat down beside each other. “Yes. I can
.”
“You can what?”
“I can believe it. Kathryn . . . I didn’t expect it to happen so quickly, but I knew this was going to happen.”
Kathryn stared at her. “How could you know?”
“Lady Carnarvon told me just now that she’d heard from her friend Lydia Benson, the wife of Sir Sidney Benson, head of the RIBA Board, that Lord Darcy organized a meeting two nights ago with him, all the members of the board, the headmaster of the London School of Art and Architecture, and the president of Lloyds Bank, and insisted that they give you your due.”
“What?” Kathryn was dumbfounded. But even though this news came as a shock, she realized she should have guessed that Lance had been involved somehow. He’d been in town, after all. And he was a duke. It was the only logical explanation for this rapid and universal turn of events. “Lance did that . . . for me?”
“He did.”
Kathryn knew she ought to be grateful. She had everything she’d ever wanted. Her degree, her license, even her name on the plans of a prestigious new building. She also had her job back—not as an apprentice, but as a full-fledged architect.
Knowing that Lance had been behind all this, however, somehow tainted the pleasure of her achievement. She blew out a beleaguered breath. “So this only happened because of him.”
“Don’t be silly. Lord Darcy simply used his ducal power and influence to make those idiotic men finally do the right thing. You are the one who put in the years of hard work to get here, Kathryn. You deserve this on your own merit.”
Kathryn frowned. “I don’t know . . .”
Maddie gave a sigh that sounded like affection mixed with exasperation. After a moment, she took one of Kathryn’s hands in hers. “Kathryn: do you remember when I wrote my first book?”
“Of course I do. It’s a wonderful novel.”
“Do you also remember that I had no one to show it to? Not a single contact in the literary world. I had asked for Father’s help, but he laughed at the idea of me becoming a novelist, and Mother always said it was unseemly. If Charles hadn’t spoken to his friend at my publishing house, I might never have been published.”
Kathryn could see where her sister was going with this. “So you’re saying . . .”
“I’m saying that sometimes, no matter how hard we work to achieve something, we still need a little boost from someone else to open the right door to make that final step possible. Lord Darcy just helped open a door. You’re the one who earned the right to walk through it.”
Kathryn nodded reluctantly. “I guess you’re right.” Why, then, didn’t she feel more happy about this? “I don’t understand why he did it, though.”
“Isn’t it obvious? The man loves you.”
“No, he doesn’t. He only said he loved me to get me to marry him.”
“Kathryn. I know you feel he betrayed you by keeping mum about his debts. But I bet it almost killed him to keep that information from you. Do you know why he owes so much money?”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Lady Carnarvon heard it on good authority—even though the dukedom has kept it tightly under wraps for years—that St. Gabriel’s Mount is mortgaged up to its eyeballs. Lord Darcy inherited the entire debt from his feckless brother.”
“Oh.” Kathryn had presumed that Lance must have inherited some of the debt, but she’d also supposed that part might have been due to his own financial mismanagement or reckless spending.
“The situation is so bad Lady Carnarvon thinks the duke is in grave danger of losing the castle.”
“Oh no.” Kathryn’s heart caught. It hadn’t occurred to her that Lance might actually lose the castle. “Why didn’t he tell me?” But even as she voiced the question, she recalled something the dowager duchess had mentioned, and the answer came to her. “Wait—I think I know why. He didn’t tell me because he was too embarrassed.” Kathryn told Maddie about Lance’s first love, who broke off their engagement because of his debts and perceived financial mismanagement.
“That explains a lot. Darcy was probably terrified that he’d lose your respect—and any chance at winning your hand and heart—if you knew.”
Kathryn pondered that. Had she known about Lance’s immense debts, would she have thought less of him? No, she decided; she would have felt sorry for him. But would she have seen him as a marriage prospect?
She’d seen the need in the community. She’d fallen in love with the castle. And fallen in love with the man. Had she known all the facts, might she have been willing to marry him so that her fortune could help save St. Gabriel’s Mount?
Maybe I would have. If he truly loved me. Now, she would never know.
“He may have lied about that one thing,” Maddie went on. “But I met Lord Darcy. I believe he is a man of honor. And a gentleman. He didn’t have to hire you to work on St. Gabriel’s Mount—God knows he couldn’t afford it—but he did, before he knew you were an heiress. I think he did it out of the goodness of his heart, because he wanted to give you the opportunity.”
Kathryn sighed. “I never thought of it that way. But this doesn’t really change anything. He still just wanted to marry me for my money.”
“I don’t think that’s true. He stayed by your bedside for forty-eight hours, nursing you back to health when you could have died. Yes, he needs your fortune to save his family home. Maybe that was part of his draw to you in the beginning. But I think somewhere along the way, he lost his heart to you.”
Kathryn’s mind was in a turmoil. “That’s exactly what Lance said: ‘It may have started out that way. But I genuinely fell in love with you.’ I didn’t believe him.”
“He was telling you the truth.”
“But I overheard him talking to his solicitor. It was clear, from what he said, that after I married him, he never intended for me to work at all.”
“Actions speak louder than words, Kathryn. When Darcy called that meeting the other night, he had nothing personally to gain from it. He went out of his way to make sure that you could achieve your career goals. Because he’s proud of you. Because he loves you.”
Kathryn’s chest felt so tight she could hardly breathe. Everything Maddie was saying rang true. “Do you really think so?”
“I know so! You love him, too, don’t you?”
“I do,” Kathryn admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “I do love him.”
“Then get your priorities straight, sister dear. For years, you’ve been pouring everything you have into one bucket: your career path. Now it’s time to stop and take a breath. Working yourself to death isn’t the answer. You need time off, too. If anyone understands that, it’s me. I’ve learned to force myself not only to take breaks from my writing, but to carve out specific time for things other than work. When you make time for the people you love, it shows you care about them. And trust me, you’ll be happier and more creative as a result.”
Kathryn found herself nodding. Whenever she’d taken breaks to be with Lance, it had always replenished her energy. And during those times she’d gotten some of her best ideas. “I’ve been so blind. You’re right, Maddie. About all of it.”
“If you love him, if you want him, then go to him, Kathryn. Before it’s too late. Because if you want to save St. Gabriel’s Mount, you’re going to have to act fast.”
“Why?”
“According to Lady Carnarvon, Lord Darcy is about to sell St. Gabriel’s Mount to some rich businessman from Cincinnati to use as a vacation home. And he’s heading down to Cornwall tomorrow to look at the place.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The train journey took the usual nine hours, but felt more like nine weeks.
As Lance hiked up the cobbled road in the fading light of evening, he wondered how many times he had left to make this trek. It was always something he’d looked forward to after a long sea or train voyage—this walk up to the castle on the Mount.
Most home owners with the means drew up to their front doors in a carriage. But how pros
aic was that? To live in a castle atop a hill—that was far more interesting. And what better way to arrive than on foot?
Grimly, Lance thought about the meeting that would soon take place here. When Russell arrived to see if he wanted to buy the castle. Lance had given him a detailed description of the property and its history, and Russell had sounded extremely interested. Champing at the bit would be a more apt term.
The idea of selling St. Gabriel’s Mount to that loudmouthed American turned Lance’s stomach. But these days, not many people had the kind of cash that Russell did. Lance had to sell to someone. It might as well be Russell.
If Russell liked it, and they could agree on a fair price, Lance would turn matters over to Megowan to handle the paperwork. The estate had already been appraised. Lance was fairly certain that after the sale, even after all his debts had been paid, there would be enough left over to buy a small house somewhere for his grandmother.
Lance hoped, when he returned to the Royal Naval office and made his appeal, they would reinstate him at his former rank. There was no guarantee, though. Another man had already taken over the helm of the Defiant. It might be years before Lance could be assigned command of another vessel—there weren’t that many to go around. But he could settle for a lesser rank for a while, until “his ship came in,” as the saying went.
Fixing his gaze again on the monolithic castle looming above him, Lance heaved a sigh. He would miss this place. When he first came back, he hadn’t been enamored of the idea of being stuck on land for the rest of his life. He’d felt trapped. He’d worried that he’d get restless and fidgety.
But he had come to like it. To actually . . . prefer it.
Being on land, land that was yours, especially at a place like St. Gabriel’s Mount, came with distinct advantages. Yes, the place was old and outdated and parts of it were drafty and crumbling. Yes, you were cut off from the mainland most of the time by the tides.