I’m so shocked, I do nothing but stare at the fine veins of the nearby leaves for so long he finally adds, “Others will be invited, too. My brother James will be home from Oxford and has requested a house full of guests and a ball to greet him.”
“I’d forgotten you had a brother,” I say, and then realize I’ve completely ignored his main point. “I would love to visit your home.”
He smiles, his carefully maintained mask disappearing for a whole two or three seconds. “Excellent. Your grandmother will not mind leaving town for a few days?”
I didn’t think about Grandmama’s reaction. It will be difficult to get her permission, but I am willing to do just about anything to get what I want. “Oh, I’m sure she’d love the chance. She so rarely leaves town after all.”
“That reminds me,” he says and steers me in the shade of a wide oak. “Was your grandmother terribly angry I brought you home last night?”
His voice is low, and he’s close enough that if I just leaned forward an inch or two, our noses would touch.
“Not terribly, no,” I murmur.
He reaches out and brushes a lock of hair from my neck, his fingers lingering just a moment too long. My breath hitches in my throat. “Good. Because I’ve only agreed to this party as a way to get you to my home.” He grins wickedly.
We both hear the hooves approaching and jump apart. Well, I jump away from him. He holds his ground, looking around with a disinterested expression. Two ladies I don’t know pass by, smiling in greeting.
A vein in my neck is throbbing as I meet his intense gaze. “You wish me to see your home?”
“I wish you to see a great many things, but yes, my estate is at the top of the list.”
If I was the flirtatious type, now would be the time to say something clever and provocative. For once, my wit fails me. “Then I very much look forward to it.”
He smiles as if I’ve said something much more intriguing. “I’m afraid our meeting today must be short in anticipation of your visit, as I must return home and prepare to depart London on the morrow.” He offers his arm again. “Shall we return to your sister?”
Just before we are within hearing range of Lucy, I ask, “Who else will be invited?”
He winces. “Ah, that. I’d hoped to avoid telling you.”
“It’s that bad?”
“Miss Gray overheard me discussing my plan last night at the ball. I’m afraid an invitation was unavoidable.”
I resist the urge to hang my head in defeat. Does Eliza have spies employed to watch Lord Thornewood’s every move? “Very well.”
Lord Thornewood gives me a half-grin. “There’ll be many others there. Perhaps she won’t even seek you out.”
“It’ll be the first thing she does, actually. But I thank you for attempting to comfort me. I know it was kindly meant.”
He halts our progress and takes both my gloved hands in his. “Don’t let her ruin your stay. Know this: I planned this frivolous ball with only you in mind. I care nothing for dancing, even less for socializing. But I find I’d do just about anything to have even the slimmest chance to be with you.”
A quip jumps to the tip of the tongue, but instead I say, “I’m finding I’d do the same.”
We stare at each other until I begin to think he might kiss me right here in front of everyone, but instead, he bows over my hand and presses a kiss to the back of it. My sister grins at us like it’s our wedding day.
“I’ll send word and a formal invitation first thing in the morning,” he says. “Oh, and Miss Sinclair? Tell your servants to prepare your luggage but not to load your carriage. I will send my own vehicle to transport you.”
With a smile and another kind word about Lucy’s drawing, he leaves us.
“So,” Lucy says as we both watch him walk away. “I take it we’ll be seeing more of Lord Thornewood.”
“Oh yes,” I say, “a lot more.”
SIXTEEN
WE arrive home in time for tea, and for once, I might even be able to tolerate my grandmother’s presence. The smile has not left my face since my meeting with Lord Thornewood. Thrills of excitement dance inside me every time I call to mind our frustratingly brief conversation. My grandmother’s dreadfully boring discussion of the various aspects of society may be just the thing to calm me.
While Lucy resumes her studies with Miss Watts, I make my way to the parlor alone. Before I reach the door, a bevy of voices escapes from within. I pause, surprised to find my grandmother engaged in anything but her usual dull routine.
“Well then, Lady Sinclair, what stakes are we to play for today?” one of the voices asks.
“I would like the chance to win back my carriage,” Grandmama says. “Though I wouldn’t mind playing for two of your lovely riding horses, Lady Hasting.”
“Those are high stakes indeed,” another voice adds.
I am of a mind to agree with the last voice. Gambling is not such a surprising thing; most members of Society indulge themselves, even ladies. But I’m quite certain most ladies gamble for negligible amounts of money—not horses and carriages. Suddenly, I think of the missing barouche the night of my debut. I knew my grandmother to be cold but not reckless. Was this what Papa warned us of? Just how serious is her penchant for cards? This newfound aspect of her character sends a chill of apprehension up my spine. The talk of horses especially unnerves me. What is to stop her from gambling away one of the horses Robert brought back for me?
“If I am to put up two of my horses,” Lady Hasting says, “then you must do the same.”
Before my grandmother can answer, I rush through the door. Four ladies including Grandmama sit in pairs playing the illegal game of baccarat. I recognize Lady Hasting, an elaborate crimson hat upon her head. The other two ladies are dressed in an abundance of satin and jewels, but their names, like so many others introduced to me by my grandmother, escape me.
Grandmama greets me with an aggravated look. “Katherine, it is abominably rude to interrupt us in such an abrupt manner.”
“Please forgive me for interrupting you,” I say with mock sincerity, “but I couldn’t help but overhear you about to gamble away the contents of your stables. As two of my horses are currently residing there, I came to be sure you would not include them in your ridiculous stakes.”
“Really, Katherine,” Lady Hasting says, the feathers of her hat quivering with her words, “this is most irregular.”
Grandmama shares a long-suffering look with Lady Hasting. “You must all forgive my granddaughter. She lost her mother at such a young age, and she has not had the benefit of knowing when to hold her tongue.”
One of the ladies makes a soft sound of sympathy and nods. “Such a terrible thing.” Her soft look melts into one of calculation as she meets my gaze. “If you are concerned about the loss of your horses, dear, then why don’t you join us for a game?”
“As I am unskilled at most card games, I must decline,” I say, anger sharpening my tone. Baccarat may be the favorite game of the king, but I’d rather not risk participating.
“Alas, Katherine has many letters to write. Isn’t that right, dear?” Grandmama says calmly, as if I am merely a child throwing a temper tantrum. When I obstinately remain standing in my spot, she sighs and says, “It wouldn’t very well be honorable for me to gamble away something that does not belong to me, now would it?”
“Those are the rules,” Lady Hasting adds when she sees me wavering.
“Very well,” I say. “I’m sorry to have interrupted.” Though I’m not sorry for much else. I have no doubt my grandmother would have done just as she pleased, whatever the consequences. As I return to my room, I am struck once again by how uncharacteristic gambling is for my grandmother. All the times she chided me for acting less than proper, and she treats her own parlor as though it were one of the gaming hells. I know but a few of the rules of gambling, only the ones Robert has seen fit to tell me, but I do know all debts must be settled immediately.
Worry makes its bed in the pit of my stomach as I keep watch on the stables from my window. It isn’t until later, when the three ladies leave without any of the horses, that I finally allow myself to breathe a sigh of relief.
The next morning, the invitation arrives as promised. It’s delivered by a liveried servant who refuses to hand off the creamy envelope to anyone but me. My name is scrolled in a bold hand across the front. On the back is Lord Thornewood’s crest stamped in red wax. I clutch it to my chest and race up to my room to open it free from distraction.
The invitation is straightforward enough, containing all the information he told me at the park. It’s the personal note to me that makes my breaths come a little faster. In the same bold handwriting, Lord Thornewood has written:
Dearest Katherine,
I enjoyed our brief outing in the park, but I look forward to you setting foot at Thornewood. There I hope we will be able to steal a moment or two of privacy—perhaps like those shared in my carriage.
Yours,
C.
I read and reread the note. So he does think about our kiss. His note all but implies he’d like the chance to do it again. A rush of excitement fills me at the thought that I’m not the only one who cannot stop thinking about that night.
I fold the letter and hide it in my reticule. I should probably dispose of it to avoid the risk of anyone ever finding it, but I can’t bear the thought.
Now for the hard part. Convincing Grandmama. After my confrontation with her only yesterday, she has been even chillier toward me than usual. But as I cannot walk myself to Lord Thornewood’s estate, I must gain her permission.
I push open the door to her sitting room, my hand more tremulous on the handle than I would like. “Grandmama?” I call.
She looks up from her mahogany writing desk. “Yes?”
“May I come in?”
She covers whatever she was writing with a blank sheet of paper. I try not to feel offended—or suspicious. “I suppose. What is it?”
“This invitation arrived this afternoon from Lord Thornewood.” I hand it to her, hoping it’ll do the talking for me.
“Hm. This is quite the opportunity. But we’d have to leave on the morrow.”
“It’s only for a couple days, though, so we won’t need much luggage. Lord Thornewood also said he will send transportation for us.”
Her eyes scan the invitation again, and I hold my breath. She looks at me. “And you wouldn’t mind staying at his estate?”
I shake my head. “On the contrary, I think it’d be a lovely change of scenery.” When I see some of the tension leave her, I add, “Penelope and Lady Hasting have already assured Lord Thornewood they’ll be there.”
Grandmama lets out a breathy sound that sounds suspiciously like a snort. “Yes, she informed me yesterday. It comes as no surprise. Lady Hasting jumps at any opportunity to parade her daughter in front of potential suitors.”
“He personally invited Lucy, too,” I say, grasping for my only other leverage.
“Oh? And what did your sister say?”
“She was eager to go.”
Grandmama sighs. “Very well. Call my steward to me at once. We mustn’t waste a moment if we are to leave in so short a time. Earls are unbelievable in this regard. No care given to the convenience of anyone else.”
She’s still ranting as I run to find Mr. Bancroft. Let her rant all she wants. I’m just grateful it was easier convincing her than I thought.
True to his word, Lord Thornewood sends a vehicle to bring us to his estate. Only it isn’t the carriage we expected. In its place is a gleaming motor car, its chauffeur impeccably dressed in black.
“I am Jasper,” he says with a short bow. “Please allow me to escort you to Thornewood estate as his lordship requested.”
“Well this is quite the surprise,” Grandmama says, almost grudgingly.
Lucy turns to me with excitement shining in her eyes. “Oh, Wren, is this not amazing? Not even Papa has a motor car!”
I can only stare at the beautiful machine, a thrill racing through me at the thought of being driven in it.
Jasper helps the servants load our luggage, and then assists us into the back, the black leather seats buttery soft.
“Thank you, Jasper,” I say. “Lord Thornewood had informed us he would be sending transportation, but we never guessed it would be something quite as modern as this.”
Jasper smiles. “His lordship wants you there as soon as possible, milady. This will cut your travel time down to only two hours.”
With a short bow, he closes the door and walks around to the front of the motor car. The engine starts with a rumble, and with a little jolt, we are on our way.
Grandmama sits across from Lucy and me in the motor car, preventing all meaningful conversation, but with the scenery racing by faster than I have ever seen, I am content to look out the window.
Everything looks so green after being in the cold city. Now we’re outside of London, the countryside is rich farmland with rolling hills shaded by tall, leafy trees. Homesickness stabs low in my chest as I think of my father’s estate. The Season has been more interesting than I could have hoped, but I still desperately miss home.
I let my mind wander and even nap for a while, until the motor car turns off the main road and onto a long, curving path. I sit up straighter in the seat, eager to catch the first glimpse of Thornewood. A large lake shimmers in the sun, reflecting the enormous oak trees that tower over it.
Lucy sucks in her breath as we go around the final curve. “Oh, my. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such a thing in England.”
I just stare at the house—if it can even be called such a common name. I cannot believe Lord Thornewood didn’t breathe a word of warning. Glimmering white in the afternoon sun, its Persian architecture all graceful lines and rounded arches, like a miniature Taj Mahal, stands the Thornewood manor. Lucy’s right. I’ve never seen such a thing in all of England and am surprised I hadn’t heard of it before. There are many aristocrats fascinated by all things Eastern, especially Indian, but never to the point their home is a replication of one of the great wonders of the world.
Even Grandmama’s mouth hangs open in shock. “What in the world?” she says.
The chauffeur takes us right to the front steps, and instead of the liveried servants one would expect of an earl’s household, lithe Indian men with copper skin and jet black hair emerge to take our luggage. My hands shake as I take the footman’s proffered hand. It’s like I’ve stepped into the words of a storybook. The front door opens again, and Lord Thornewood jogs down the steps to meet us.
His smile is wide and welcoming. “Kath—Miss Sinclair,” he corrects himself with a glance at my grandmother, “I trust your trip was uneventful.”
“Very,” I say, acutely aware of how my knees now feel like jelly. “Well, until we drove up the path to Thornewood, of course.”
Lucy joins me, and he bows. “Miss Lucy, I’m so happy your governess could spare you.”
“I am, too,” she says, without a hint of her usual shyness. “I wouldn’t have wanted to miss this. Your estate is breathtaking.”
For once, his confidence falters, replaced by an almost boyish hesitancy. “I know it must be a terrible shock. I find it’s often better just to see it with your own eyes, which is why I so cruelly didn’t prepare you.”
“It’s beautiful,” I say, my wide eyes still taking in this exotic piece of India transplanted to English soil.
Some of the tension leaves his face as if he had been waiting for some sign of my approval. “I cannot take credit for it, of course. My father was enamored with the story of the great Taj Mahal. He spent much of his time in India, actually.”
“I would love to visit India,” I say, watching the servants carry in our luggage, their silken clothes fluttering in the breeze. “So I thank you for giving us the opportunity.”
He smiles. “Of course. Ah, Lady Sinclair,” he says when my grandmother joins us,
“it’s an honor to have you and your granddaughters at my home.”
“Your home indeed,” she says. “A home like no other in England. No, the pleasure is ours, my lord. I know both my girls have grown restless in London. This will be a welcome retreat.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Come, then. I’ll show you to your rooms.”
We follow, and I try not to stare at his wide back, which I know from experience is knotted with muscle. It certainly doesn’t help he’s casually dressed, in only a light linen shirt, riding breeches, and tall boots.
When we enter the house, his boots ring out over the marble floors. I have to force my mouth closed, as I am tempted to stare at the soaring ceilings and enormous crystal chandelier. Everything is marble. Marble and ornate Persian rugs threaded with gold. Wide columns in the entryway give the impression we’re inside an emperor’s Eastern palace. He leads us up a sweeping staircase lined by beautiful paintings—the kind you can get lost in. Lucy gazes at them with naked admiration.
“This will be your room, Lady Sinclair,” Lord Thornewood says, standing to one side of the doorway. Grandmama breezes through, much less humble and appreciative than she should be.
“This is a well thought out room,” she says, gazing around her. Despite the marble floors, the room could be like any other found in a grand English estate. Perfect for my grandmother. I lean in to see what view she has from her window—it’s of a quaint English-style garden. “This will do nicely. I thank you.”
“Absolutely,” Lord Thornewood says. He turns back to Lucy and me. “Shall we continue?”
“Did you choose each room we’d stay in?” I ask.
“Naturally.” He leads us to another room, five doors down from my grandmother’s. “I chose this one with you in mind, Lucy.”
A wide smile brightens her face. “This is perfect, my lord, thank you.”
The room is dainty and feminine, and colorful paintings adorn every wall. The rounded archways continue here, and exotic leafy foliage makes it feel as though we truly have left England for the weekend. His obvious love for my sister makes my heart swell.
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