It was only when Harry began to perform the introductions and the man swept the hat from his glossy waves, that Kate obtained a clear view of an amiable and familiar countenance. She stiffened with the recognition.
"The Honorable Samuel Ffolliot," Harry was saying. "And this is—"
"Mr. Ffolliot and I have met before," Kate said in clipped tones.
"I daresay not," Mr. Ffolliot replied jovially. "Not likely I should forget such a pretty lady."
"It was at the episcopal palace in Chillingsworth. My father was the late bishop of that diocese."
Mr. Ffolliot regarded her with polite bewilderment, his wide innocent eyes appealing to Harry for enlightenment, but Harry was obviously equally at a loss.
A hard knot formed in Kate's throat. To think that this fool did not even remember the incident that had nigh broken her father's heart.
"It was upon the occasion that your pistol shot shattered the stained glass in the Blessed Lady chapel."
"Oh, Lord!" Kate thought she heard Harry mutter under his breath, but she was too caught up in the painful remembrance to take much heed. She could still see her father's shoulders bent with grief as he stood surveying the colorful shards that had once been a magnificent representation of the Madonna and child, one of the few examples of fourteenth century stained glass to have survived both the ravages of Henry the Eighth and later, the Puritan army.
Mr. Ffolliot scratched his head, then a hint of guilt stained his cheeks. "Oh, yes, now that you mention it, I do remember something of the sort." He offered Kate a deprecating smile "But truly, I meant no harm. I suppose I must have been fox— er that is, I was having a little trouble with my vision that day—and it was only a wager."
Kate set her face into grim lines, offering him no hope of pardon, so he appealed to Harry. "I did pay to have the window replaced—with some nice new glass, you know, which I am sure would have been much better than that old stuff that had to have been there for ages."
"Four centuries to be exact," Kate said tersely.
Mr. Ffolliot beamed. "There! That is just what I meant—"
"Oh, do be quiet, Folly." Harry grimaced, casting an uneasy glance at Kate. "What's done is done. There is hardly anything to be gained by raking over old coals."
Her entire frame rigid with reproach, Kate did not agree with him. Such wanton destruction as Mr. Ffolliot had caused could not be so easily forgiven or forgotten. What gave her more pain than anything else was to discover that Harry could be friends with such a man.
An uncomfortable silence settled over the three of them, only to be broken as Julia at last came down the lane seeking Kate. Never had Harry shown such relief to see his cousin.
Vaulting up beside Mr. Ffolliot, he strongly suggested that the ladies be left to pursue their shopping, his haste to get Samuel away quite evident. With a final tip of his hat to Kate and Julia, Mr. Ffolliot started up his mare, heading toward the inn yard.
Kate turned away immediately, ignoring the rather anxious smile that Harry offered her in parting. Julia fell into step beside her.
"I am sorry that I took so long, Kathryn," she said. "But that foolish woman had already put my parasol in a 'safe place' and then the creature could not recollect what she had done with it. But I daresay Lytton and his friend kept you agreeably entertained?"
Kate made no reply to this rather barbed question, quickening her pace. She only wanted to return to the peaceful sanctuary that was her cottage and indeed was wishing she had never left it.
"Lytton seems to have wasted little time in seeking out the old set."
Kate knew she should simply let Julia's remark go unquestioned. If Miss Thorpe had anything to say about Harry, it was generally unkind. But Kate could not seem to help herself.
"Old set?" she asked.
"His old circle of friends, Ffolliot, Lord Erwin, and the others. All of them quite wild and quite foolish. Did you never hear of them?"
"No," Kate said, feeling quite numb with misery.
"I daresay even Lytton would not have brought such disreputable company with him when he visited the bishop's palace." Julia added, on a note of almost malicious amusement. "In any event, now we know why Lytton was obliged to sell of his hunters."
"We do?"
"It is obvious. He had to pay off gaming debts."
"No!"
"My dear Kate, what do you think Lytton and his friends do of nights for entertainment? They scarcely sit about, reading scripture to each other."
"I-I . . ." Kate faltered, but she managed to rally. "I am sure I never gave the matter any thought, being no concern of mine. Now let us make haste. It is almost teatime, and I am suddenly feeling most fatigued."
She set off at a brisk pace, but Julia, with her longer legs, had no difficulty in keeping doggedly at her side.
Julia experienced a mild sensation of triumph. Ever since she had seen Lytton drive off with Kate last Sunday, she had been experiencing all manner of alarm, the apprehension that her own scheme for marrying Kate to Adolphus would come to naught. She had attempted to keep as close a watch as she could over Kate these past few days, subtly pointing out his lordship's defects whenever opportunity availed.
But never had she felt that she had delivered a master stroke until now. She pressed home her advantage, now bringing up the subject of her brother, praising all his manifold virtues.
"And he is so shy," she said as she and Kate turned in at the cottage gate. "I fear he has developed a tendre for you, yet his modesty prevents him from speaking. Of course, you know that nothing would give me greater joy than to have you as my sister."
"Indeed," Kate murmured.
It vexed Julia to realize Kate had likely not heard a word she had been saying. A rebuke sprang to her lips only to be stilled as she studied Kate's face. In her eyes lurked an expression of such deep-set misery that Julia was moved to a rare stirring of pity.
She had become fond of Kate, as much as she was capable of being fond of anyone. She was shrewd enough to guess that Kate was indeed in love with Lord Lytton, and it caused Kate great unhappiness to believe that he could be a hardened gamester.
Guilt niggled at Julia for she was aware that despite all his other inequities, Harry had no taste for gaming.
Yet he could have changed, she argued with herself. Besides he had enough other faults to make him unsuitable as a husband for Kate. And as for love, Julia had never experienced such a tender emotion herself, but with a little fortitude on Kate's part, it could be easily dismissed.
Thus quieting her conscience, Julia followed Kate into tea. Before she had passed into the cottage, she had suppressed the twinge of sympathy and convinced herself that she was acting in the girl's best interests. By the time she had done with Kate, not only would she abandon all tender feelings for Lord Lytton, Kate would sensibly learn to despise the man.
Chapter Seven
The shadows had lengthened across the parlor by the time Miss Thorpe took her leave of Kate. Mrs. Towers was glad to see the cottage door close behind that icily bred young woman. She did not know what the vicar's sister had been whispering to Kate, only that Kate listened with little pleasure.
In point of fact, Mrs. Towers could hardly recall having seen Kate look more dejected and miserable, not even in those days following the bishop's death. She had appeared serene enough when setting out for her walk earlier. Mrs. Towers strongly suspected that something had gone awry during that little expedition to the village, and that something most likely had to do with Lord Harry.
But when she ventured to ask Kate if anything troubled her, Mrs. Towers received the usual reply.
"You must not worry about me, Mama," Kate was quick to answer, following it up with a brisk hug. The affection was there, Mrs. Towers thought sadly, but so were the protective walls forever closing her out.
Supper proved a dismal affair with Kate saying too little and Lady Dane saying too much. Her ladyship appeared in none the best of humors either, scolding Kate f
or getting too much sun ‘traipsing about all afternoon with that Thorpe chit.’
By the time the meal had ended, Kate pleaded a headache and tried to escape to her room, but Lady Dane insisted they all retire to the parlor. Mrs. Towers tried to intervene on her daughter's behalf, but as usual her gentle objections were swept aside.
"I have a gift I wish to present to Kate," her ladyship insisted.
Kate had no choice but to precede Lady Dane into the parlor. She sat stiffly upon the settee regarding with lackluster eyes the elegantly trimmed bandbox that her ladyship presented to her.
"I did not have that sent all the way from London merely for you to stare at it," Lady Dane said, nudging the box closer to Kate with the tip of her cane. "Open it."
Kate slipped off the ribbon and removed the lid to reveal a ball gown cut on the latest and most fashionable lines. As she shook out the folds of white India gauze shot through with silver and delicate pink silk applique, Mrs. Towers exclaimed with delight, but Kate regarded the gift with no more than dutiful politeness.
"Thank you, Grandmama," she said in wooden accents.
"I ordered that frock for you from my own modiste," Lady Dane said with great satisfaction, oblivious to Kate's lack of enthusiasm. "I daresay it will require a few alterations, but my maid Hortense can see to that. She is clever with a needle as all these Frenchwomen are. I am sure she can have it finished in time for the assembly tomorrow night."
"I never attend the local assembly, Grandmama." Kate folded the gown carefully and returned it to the box.
"Then it is high time that you did."
"My papa would never have approved. He did not think it seemly for the bishop's daughter to be seen at a public dance."
"But you are no longer the bishop's daughter."
Although Kate flinched at this tart reminder, her lips set into that expression of prim obstinacy that Mrs. Towers knew all too well. She stole a glance at Lady Dane's equally determined features.
"Oh dear," Mrs. Towers thought with a sinking heart. She reached nervously for her embroidery from her needlework basket, making an effort to change the subject that was ignored.
"There is no reason why you should not attend the assembly under my chaperonage," Lady Dane continued.
"That is very good of you, Grandmama, but I do not wish to go."
"Nonsense. A little dancing would do you good. You should see to it that the girl gets out more, Maisie."
"Why, I---I . . ." Mrs. Towers began, quite disconcerted by this unexpected attack. But she had no need to proceed before Kate leapt to her defense.
"It is not in the least Mama's fault. I have been too busy for such frivolous pursuits as dancing."
"Busy!" Lady Dane was far too elegant to snort, but the sound that she made came perilously close to it. "Busy with what may I ask? Exactly what have you been doing with yourself, child, buried here in this dismal village for the past year?"
"Many things." Kate lifted her chin proudly. "Receiving callers and visiting the sick of the parish—"
"That task should rather fall to that Thorpe female," Lady Dane said. "She is the vicar's sister, is she not?"
"Julia is not always disposed to such work. As a matter of Christian charity, I felt that I—"
"Charity is all well enough," her ladyship interrupted. "But one bears a duty to one's own family."
"I have always looked after Mama," Kate cried.
"Indeed! Kate is a most attentive daughter." But Mrs. Tower's faint interjection went unheeded.
"You have other duties, my girl," Lady Dane said. "The foremost being not to saddle your mother with the care of you till the end of her days. It is past time you thought of marriage."
"Oh, pray, don't," Mrs. Towers protested. Kate looked so stricken by her grandmother's harsh words, that for once Mrs. Towers actually thought of telling Lady Dane to be silent. Instead she said, "Kate is scarcely yet on the shelf."
"She will be if she continues to dillydally," was her ladyship's inexorable reply. "The child is no longer in mourning. It is time Kate met some eligible young men. If there is not any particular one hereabouts she wishes to marry, then I shall insist that she comes to London for the Season."
"That will hardly be necessary, Grandmama." Kate rose from the settee, the color flying in her cheeks, her eyes overbright. "I shall attend the assembly if that is what you wish. I never intend to be a burden to my family. I hope that I will always know my duty."
With that noble speech, Kate gathered up the bandbox with the air of an ancient Christian martyr going to face the lions and fled from the room.
As soon as her daughter had gone, Mrs. Towers shot to her feet, gripping the back of an armchair with trembling hands. Rarely had she ever dared contradict her mother-in-law, but her umbrage at Lady Dane's callous treatment of Kate could not be contained.
“You were far too hard upon her." Mrs. Towers cried. "How could you make her feel as though she were no longer wanted in her own home?"
"Do sit down, Maisie. I have no patience for such sentimental piffle." When Mrs. Towers did not immediately comply, Lady Dane fixed her with her eagle's eye and sharply rapped her cane. "Sit down if you please!"
Mrs. Towers didn't please, but she sank back into the chair, despising herself for a faint heart.
"Some sternness with the girl seems wanted. My other tactics have not worked thus far." Lady Dane scowled. "I shall have to have another word with Lytton. Whatever can the boy be about? He should be more attentive, nosegays and that sort of thing, not leaving Kate alone for days on end."
Mrs. Towers wished Lady Dane would leave both Lord Harry and Kate alone, wished even more for the courage to tell her so. She said, "I still fail to see how being cruel to Kate can remedy the situation."
"It is not cruel to appeal to the only thing the child comprehends, her sense of duty. You know she loves the boy. We simply have to find the way to overcome her ridiculous scruples."
Mrs. Towers did not find bullying Kate a proper method, but Lady Dane talked heedlessly on, weaving her own plans. "I shall make sure Lytton attends that assembly as well." Her ladyship chuckled. "A little waltzing in the arms of that handsome young man and, you mark my words, Kate will leap forward most eagerly to embrace her 'duty.'"
"Kate doesn't waltz."
"Then I shall find her a dancing master."
Mrs. Towers stifled a groan, sagging back against her chair.
Lady Dane unbent enough to offer a consoling nod. "You must not fret so, my dear Maisie. I have raised four daughters, all of them as muddleheaded as your Kate, and I guided every last one of them into successful marriages. Depend upon it, I'll wager Kate is even now coming to her senses and deciding that she will have Lord Harry."
Long after the rest of the household had lapsed into the peaceful stillness of night, Kate tossed and turned upon her feather tick pillows. Sleep was impossible with the events of the day crowding forward into her mind—that disastrous encounter with Harry in the village, Julia's acid whisperings about him, but most especially the disturbing conversation she had had with her grandmother.
You are no longer the bishop's daughter…It is your duty to marry.
Kate rolled over, stuffing her head beneath the pillow, but she could not seem to shut out that insistent voice. At last, despairing of finding any repose, Kate rose from her bed and slipped on her wrapper. Lighting a candle, she left her bedchamber and made her, way through the silent house.
Kate hardly knew what drew her toward the tiny front parlor. Perhaps because it was the one room in the cottage that retained an aura of her father's presence. Sadly, she trailed her fingers over his marble busts, the bookcase that housed all the bishop's ponderous texts.
Never had she missed her father as keenly as she did tonight; never did she feel in such want of his wisdom. Setting her candle upon the mantle, she gazed upward, trying to draw some consolation from the portrait of the serene and saintly looking man mounted, so far above her, but disturbing
ly, the bishop seemed to stare back at her with Lady Dane's eyes, full of stern reproach.
What have you been doing with yourself this past year?
Kate averted her head, as though to avoid that too piercing gaze. She had been quick to justify herself to her grandmother earlier, but standing before her own merciless conscience, Kate could find no satisfactory answer. The months all seemed to have evaporated like the mists of a dream. She vaguely recalled those numb, empty days after her father had died, packing away their belongings in the palace, moving to the cottage at Lytton's Dene.
And after that, her hours had fallen into a routine. Kate winced, seeing clearly now all the little tasks she had manufactured, tasks to give herself some sense of importance, something to do while she waited. She sagged down upon the settee, her struggles against the realization no longer of any avail.
She had spent the last year of her life waiting for Harry to come home.
"No! No, I didn't," Kate said, but the whisper sounded feeble in the room's unrelenting silence. She hugged one of the settee cushions to her breasts as though that soft silk could somehow shield her from the truth.
She had flattered herself that she had been so sensible, sending Harry away, avowing that she could never be his bride. Yet had her foolish heart not always kept on hoping that someday, somehow she would be able to give Harry a different answer?
What had she expected? Kate wondered bitterly. Some sort of a miracle? Harry's return from the dead had indeed seemed like one, but the fates conspired again most cruelly to show her that the bishop's daughter and Hellfire Harry were worlds apart. The neglect of his lands, seeing him in the company of that dreadful Ffolliot man, hearing the tale of how he had gambled his horses away—all of that should have been more than enough to convince Kate that her Papa's warnings against Harry had been justified.
And still she did not want to believe anything bad of Harry. Still she feared that if he gave her that smile that seemed to draw her straight to his heart, if he asked her again to wed him, she would want to fling herself into his arms with a resounding yes.
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