The Bishop's Daughter

by Susan Carroll

  Harry's throat tightened at the memory. It was the only thing the old earl had ever asked of him, the only responsibility he had ever laid upon Harry's shoulders. There might be little else in his life he had ever done right. Surely he could manage to fulfill his father's one simple request.

  Harry's conscience pricked him just a little, for he knew it was not only the old earl he was thinking of, but Kate. Good lord, what would she think of him if he was so careless of his duty as to permit his stepmother to wed some silly chubb half her age?

  Even though he was disturbed by Sybil's gusty weeping, Harry remained resolved. He made one more effort to console his stepmama, patting her awkwardly on her shoulder.

  "I tell you what I will do, my lady. At the end of the summer, I will convey you to Bath. You've always enjoyed taking the waters, and the town would be full of more eligible suitors."

  "Old men with the gout!" was Sybil's wailing response to this hopeful suggestion. Recognizing the beginning of some strong hysterics, Harry prudently backed toward the door. He suddenly realized that this was the first time he had entered Sybil's room without breaking any china, but he did not expect his stepmother to take much consolation in that at the moment.

  Julia Thorpe unfurled her parasol, shortening her longer stride to match Kate's as they strolled through the village of Lytton's Dene. Miss Thorpe, as ever managed to present a crisp, fresh appearance, despite the heat and dust coating the lane.

  Kate could not help recalling a laughing remark Harry had once made about his cousin's cool elegance. "Aye, icebergs don't easily melt."

  As for herself, Kate could already feel her curls damp with perspiration beneath her bonnet, and her muslin gown clung to her as shockingly as though she had deliberately dampened her petticoats. She wondered what possessed her to be ranging abroad on such a hot afternoon, except that she had decided she had been keeping too close to the house of late. She had been nowhere since last Sunday and was beginning to feel quite out of touch with the world.

  "With the world?" a voice insider her jeered. "Or with Harry Arundel?" It was quite true she had neither seen nor heard from Harry since their abrupt parting at her gate. Her manner had not been such as to encourage his lordship to call again. Perhaps she had convinced him at last to abandon his pursuit of her. Perhaps he had simply found something more interesting to occupy his time.

  In either event, she told herself, she felt relieved that Harry had ceased to plague her, although her relief had taken on a most strange form, leaving her feeling restless, starting at every knock upon the cottage door, flying to the window to gaze out at every passing rider.

  Such nervousness, however, Kate had convinced herself, had nothing to do with Harry's absence. No, more likely it was to be blamed upon the vicar's sister, for although she had seen nothing of his lordship, she had seen far too much of Julia these past days.

  Even now as they skirted past Mr. Rising's carpentry shop, the smell of wood shavings and the clang of hammers heavy in the air, Julia seemed all too oppressively close to Kate's side.

  "It is far too hot to be out walking," Julia complained. "I declare we both must be quite mad."

  Kate refrained from reminding Julia that she had not been invited along upon this expedition. It had been Julia who had insisted upon accompanying her.

  "If you are feeling unwell," Kate began hopefully, "and wish to return to the vicarage, I would quite understand."

  "My dear Kathryn, I would not think of abandoning you." Julia gave her one of her arctic smiles, and linked her arm through Kate's in a possessive manner Kate found suffocating. The thought flashed through her mind that now she knew how prisoners in gaol must feel, so closely guarded. She dismissed the notion at once as mere peevishness, borne out of the heat.

  "So where is it that you wish to go?" Julia asked after the manner of an adult humoring a tiresome child.

  "I had thought of calling in at Miss Lethbridge's."

  Kate indicated a small pink-and-white brick shop with some bonnets displayed in a bow-front window.

  "Why ever would you want to go in there? That wretched woman trades in nothing but gossip."

  Kate had to agree, and as a bishop's daughter, of course, she had no use for gossip. All the same she heard herself replying, "Miss Lethbridge has acquired a length of brown merino that I am thinking of purchasing to have done up into a winter cloak."

  Julia made no comment, but her opinion was expressed clearly by the supercilious fashion in which she arched her brows. But she followed Kate to the shop across the lane without further demur.

  The interior of Miss Lethbridge's shop was small and close, the narrow shelves crammed with an odd assortment of fripperies, laces, ribbons, gloves, bonnets, and stockings that comprised the elderly spinster's stock in trade. The establishment was empty when Kate and Julia entered, Miss Lethbridge folding up the silk fringe she had failed to sell to her last customer.

  The diminutive woman summoned up a polite smile for the vicar's sister, but she bustled out from behind the counter to greet Kate with enthusiasm.

  "The brown merino, Miss Towers? Bless you, my dear, I shall fetch it in a trice."

  Hurrying to one of the lower shelves, Miss Lethbridge dragged out a bolt of cloth that she displayed to Kate upon the counter.

  "A good serviceable fabric, my dear," the shopkeeper said.

  Kate half-heartedly examined the ugly fabric that was the exact shade of the mud that filled the lane after a hard rain. She was aware of Julia close at her elbow, the lines of her face taut with a kind of bored impatience. It roused a rare streak of perversity in Kate, and she took her time about studying the fabric, although she wondered herself why she persisted in lingering when she had no intention of making a purchase.

  As usual, Miss Lethbridge's tongue ran on at such a breathless rate of speed, she was oft unintelligible. Kate listened in desultory fashion, having no interest in the latest prank of the squire's hoydenish daughter or how the butcher's boy had been caught stealing a slab of bacon.

  But the shopkeeper's next remark caused her to glance up eagerly. "I beg your pardon, Miss Lethbridge. What did you say about Lord Lytton?"

  Miss Lethbridge blinked, her bright inquisitive, eyes rounding in surprise. "Why, nothing, my dear. I merely remarked that if you did wish to buy the cloth, I would have it sent to your cottage. On such a hot day, you surely wouldn't want to carry it."

  "Oh," Kate said faintly, a rush of embarrassment flooding into her cheeks. Beneath Julia's sharp stare and Miss Lethbridge's look of motherly amusement, Kate felt ready to sink beneath the floorboards.

  It only made matters worse when Miss Lethbridge patted her arm. "Bless you, child, there's no need for you to color up so. I am sure all the young ladies hereabouts are fair starved for some word of Lord Harry. I have been telling everyone—"

  "I assure you," Julia interrupted icily, "neither Miss Towers nor I am prey to any such vulgar curiosity."

  Kate knew she should agree with Julia, but she felt more like stuffing a kerchief in Miss Thorpe's mouth. Miss Lethbridge appeared affronted.

  "I do not consider it vulgar to show a friendly concern for one's neighbors," she huffed. "But far be it from me to burden you with any tales of his lordship. The poor lamb." Miss Lethbridge heaved a deep sigh before briskly setting about to refold the bolt of brown cloth.

  It was entirely too much for Kate. Despite Julia's look of disgust, Kate put her hand over Miss Lethbridge's to still the woman's movements.

  "Oh, pray, Miss Lethbridge. Whatever did you mean? Why did you call the earl a poor lamb?"

  Miss Lethbridge's lips were compressed in a taut line, but when she glanced up at Kate's face, her expression softened.

  "Why, only that I think there must be something gravely amiss with his lordship since he's come back. He's done naught but a little gentle riding over his own estates, nothing at all in his usual dashing style. There's some as have been saying that Lord Harry was wounded more badly at Water
loo than any of us know."

  "Surely not," Kate faltered.

  Miss Lethbridge nodded solemnly. "Why else would the earl sell off all his best hunters? It is obvious the poor gentleman must not be able to ever hunt or jump again."

  "Harry sold his hunters?" Kate cried, aghast.

  "What utter nonsense," Julia broke in, abandoning her pose of disdainful disinterest. "Lytton prizes his precious beasts above rubies. Never would he part with them."

  "That is where you are quite out, Miss Thorpe," Miss Lethbridge said, flushing with triumph. "For not an hour since, I saw the squire's groom leading those horses through the village. Paid a wicked high price for them, the squire did. I cannot imagine what Mrs. Gresham will say to him." She added slyly, "Though I am surprised that any of this is news to you, Miss Thorpe. You being his lordship's cousin and so thick with him as you are forever telling everyone."

  Julia sucked in her breath with a sharp hiss. Turning a cold shoulder upon Miss Lethbridge, she said to Kate, "If you are quite finished here, Kate, I should like to go."

  "Yes, I am ready," Kate said, although she wanted nothing more than to remain and ply Miss Lethbridge with a dozen more questions, even with Julia's critical gaze fixed upon her. But it was obvious the shopkeeper had already told her all she knew about Harry.

  But why would Harry sell off his most prized possessions? Harry had never given a fig for the consequence of his title, his vast estates, or acquiring great riches. But his horses! Kate had seen him care as tenderly for their well-being as a father would his babes. She could not imagine what dire circumstances would have induced Harry to part with them.

  So unsettled was she by these tidings that Kate ended by purchasing the ugly brown cloth, though she hardly realized what she did. She quit the shop with a worried frown creasing her brow, all but forgetting Julia's presence.

  Miss Thorpe was quick to remind her. "That insufferable gossiping creature," Julia said as soon as they had gained the street outside. "But there! She is typical of the incivility and lack of gentility to be found in this wretched village. I am only astonished that you should have encouraged her, Kathryn."

  "I only wanted to know—" Ruefully, Kate bit down upon her lip, for once feeling far too disturbed to be guarded in Miss Thorpe's presence. "Julia, why do you think Harry has sold his horses?"

  "Heaven only knows. Lytton is forever in some sort of scrape."

  Kate found this reply far from reassuring.

  "I am far more concerned about you, Kathryn," Julia continued.

  "Me? Why?"

  "You display a most unseemly interest in Lytton's doings. You have not been so foolish as to fall in love with my cousin, I hope?"

  Kate glanced quickly away, willing her color not to rise. "Of course not."

  "I am glad to hear it. Lytton is a sad rake, you know."

  "He is not!"

  Julia's eyebrows rose. With great effort, Kate lowered her voice. "That is, I know Lord Harry can be a shocking flirt, but there is such a kindness in him. He would never set out to break any lady's heart."

  "He is my cousin, and I believe I know him far better than you," Julia began angrily and then checked herself. She forced a smile to her lips, "But, my dear Kathryn, let us not fall into a quarrel over him. It is far more attention than Lytton deserves, I promise you. It is only the heat that is making us both so cross and—" Julia broke off with a look of extreme annoyance. "I have left my parasol in that wretched woman's shop. If I do not retrieve it at once, I would not put it beyond her to sell it to her next customer."

  Julia clearly expected Kate to return with her, but Kate made no move to do so. After muttering in vexed tones that she would catch up to Kate, Julia strode back toward Miss Lethbridge's. Kate had to suppress a strong urge to bolt along the lane and escape Julia's oppressive presence. She was growing weary of Miss Thorpe's sharp tongue, her repeated attacks upon Harry.

  It seemed to Kate that she displayed little cousinly regard for his lordship, rather callously dismissing Miss Lethbridge's speculations that something was gravely amiss with Harry. Could the shopkeeper be right in her surmise about the severity of Harry's wound? It would be just like him to conceal such a thing from everyone.

  Paying little heed where she walked, Kate strained to remember every detail of her outing with Harry the previous Sunday, every expression upon his face. Never had he seemed more hale and yet upon further recollection had his movements seemed not quite so quick as usual? And yes, Kate was certain that she recalled him turning away when he had lifted her down from the curricle. To conceal a grimace of pain perhaps?

  With such alarming thoughts chasing through her mind, Kate did not realize she had wandered too far out into the lane until she was alerted by the thunder of hooves, a blast of a horn. Blowing upon his yard of tin, a coachman was urging the afternoon stage toward the inn yard of the Arundel Arms.

  The team of four sweating horses was bearing down upon her. Kate froze in momentary panic. Her heart leapt into her throat, but before she could make a move, she felt strong arms dragging her to safety.

  Kate spun about colliding with the hard wall of Harry's chest as the stage rattled past. His arms banded about her, crushing her so tightly she could feel his heart thudding as hard as her own. He swore at her.

  "Damn it, Kate. What on earth did you think you were doing?"

  She shook her head, unable to answer him at first. She had no notion whence Harry had sprung, only feeling grateful that he was there, even if he did huskily call her "a little fool" and hold her far too close.

  For a moment all Kate could do was lean weakly against him, soothed by the comforting feel of his arms about her. But as her fright subsided, she became all too conscious of her position, being embraced by Harry for all the village to see.

  Drawing in a steadying breath, she pulled away from him, gazing up at his face. All thoughts of her own near calamity fled, her mind returning to the worries that had so troubled her earlier.

  She scrutinized his features more earnestly than she had ever done before. He looked haggard, deep lines of exhaustion carved about his eyes, stealing away the smile from his lips. She feared it was owing to far more than his recent concern for her safety.

  "Are you all right, my lord?" she asked.

  Harry's grim expression vanished. For a second he appeared nonplussed and then he broke into his familiar irrepressible grin.

  "Am I all right?" he laughed. "The woman nearly flings herself beneath a coach and then asks if I am all right?"

  "I mean . . . are you quite well?"

  "Well enough, although I would be a dashed sight better if you did not choose to wander about in the midst of the road. What the devil possessed you, Kate?"

  "I fear I was woolgathering."

  Harry arched one brow wickedly. "Daydreaming about me?"

  "It so happens that I was. . . ." Kate started to confess and stopped, feeling foolish. She was not about to admit to Harry how she had permitted her imagination to run away with her. For it was patently obvious she had done so. Harry might bear an appearance of fatigue, but his swift rescue of her and a quick perusal of his hard muscular frame demonstrated there was nothing in the least amiss with his body. She longed to simply ask Harry about the hunters, but how could she do so without revealing she had been gossiping about him with Miss Lethbridge?

  "I was admiring the bonnet in the window across the way and not watching where I was going,” she finished lamely. “I but came into the village to do a little shopping."

  "For your bride clothes, I hope." Roguish lights danced in Harry's green eyes as he caught her hand, brushing a kiss against her fingertips.

  Kate tried to summon a reproving frown, but could not quite manage it. Even that fleeting contact of Harry's lips sent a breathless, tingling kind of rush through her.

  "It isn't Sunday anymore," he reminded her. The rogue's light vanished, the warmth in his eyes becoming more intense. "Will you marry me, Kate?"

 
"No. Oh, Harry, please." She made a weak protest as he upturned her hand and placed a not so chaste kiss upon her wrist, the heated contact seeming to sear her flesh.

  "My lord, you mustn't," Kate cried, attempting to disengage her hand, casting a flustered glance about her. Her distress must have been evident enough for Harry released her at once.

  "I am sorry, Kate," he said. "I had no intentions of trying to make love to you in the middle of the road. It is only that you cannot imagine how much I have been missing you these past few days."

  So where have you been, she wanted to demand. But to do so would be to admit how much she had been missing him.

  Kate fussed with her bonnet, straightening it, attempting to regain her composure. "And what brings you to the village this afternoon, my lord?"

  "Well, besides keeping damsels from straying beneath coach wheels, I have come to meet an old friend."

  Kate saw no sign of a mount or Harry's curricle. Dear heavens! Had he sold all his horses?

  "You came on foot?" she asked.

  Harry looked rather surprised. "Of course not. I rode Ramses."

  Kate sighed with relief, which only caused Harry's expression of puzzlement to deepen.

  "I left Ramses at the stable over at the inn where I was to meet Folly," he explained. "But the dratted fellow is never on time."

  "Folly?"

  "Yes, have you never met him? He lives not far from Chillingsworth and I am sure— Ah, well, never mind, I shall introduce you, for here he comes at last."

  Turning, Harry raised his arm and proceeded to hail the driver of a gig who was tooling into the village at a spanking pace. He was on the point of sweeping past, but at Harry's call, the gentleman sharply drew rein. Kate stepped back to avoid the spray of dust, waving her hand before her eyes.

  "Folly, you idiot," Harry choked.

  It took Kate's vision a moment to clear before she could make out the form of Harry's friend. Her first impression was of a dapper young man wearing a curly brimmed beaver, his clothing protected by a riding cloak with a multiplicity of capes. He was, Kate supposed, what she had heard vulgarly referred to as a 'buck of the first stare.'