by Cindy Anstey
Kate sighed and shook her head. The Shakespearean phrase the lady doth protest too much came to mind. “You said all that in my defense?”
“Yes, I did. Though I must say, Mrs. Beeswanger did not look reassured.”
“I’m not surprised.” Holding Miss Emily’s gown up by the shoulders, Kate gave it a little shake and studied a small wrinkle on the hem. “There is nothing to worry about, Marie. All that you said to Mrs. Beeswanger is true.”
“But I have seen you look at each other in that sort of way—you and Mr. Harlow.”
“Indeed?” Kate remained focused on the gown. “And what exactly is ‘that’ way?”
“Dreamy like, as if all you can see is each other and none of us around you amount to a hill of beans. If you were betrothed, it would be another matter—no one would think anything of your fits of giggles. They wouldn’t be unseemly.”
Kate felt her ire rise at the description; she had only giggled once or twice and not in Marie’s hearing. “That’s a huge leap, Marie. To go from strangers to being engaged; how is one supposed to get there without courting?”
“Don’t think courting is Mrs. Beeswanger’s concern. It’s loose behavior an’ the results.” Marie turned sideways, cupping her dress and lifting it to form an overly large belly.
“You need not be concerned, Marie. She need not be concerned.”
Kate was quite ready to defend her conduct. Other than a brief moment of passion under the mistletoe, nothing had happened or would happen, and therefore Kate could get up on her high horse and call foul until the cows came home. Which was all terribly muddled, but everything about Matt left her confused … and happy. Fire, he thought they were fire together—
“Kate?”
“Yes? Oh, I beg your pardon.” Lowering the gown, Kate fixed Marie with a determined stare. “Were you saying something?”
“Yes, I—”
Before Marie could spout any more pointless, meddling directives, the door to the room opened. Miss Emily and Miss Imogene entered in a rustle of skirts and happy chatter. They stopped abruptly upon seeing Marie.
“Oh, Mary.” Miss Emily frowned, glancing between the two lady’s maids. “Was there something you needed?” She, too, found it difficult to remember the lady’s maid’s new moniker.
Marie mumbled an inane comment about passing a message and quickly vacated. Kate was not sorry to see her go; she had had enough of her interference.
“Is all well, Kate?” Miss Emily asked.
“Yes, indeed. There’s lots of hustle and bustle this close to Christmas, miss, getting ready for the open house tomorrow afternoon and all. Mrs. Lundy’s got us coming and going.”
“You need not be pressed into service, Kate. You know that.”
“Oh yes, miss. I would not neglect my duties to you and Miss Imogene while trying to help Mrs. Lundy.”
Miss Emily laughed lightly, giving Kate a quick hug. “Silly goose, we would not have you overburdened. Mrs. Lundy revels in these busy days—she occasionally forgets everything else.”
Kate grinned. Miss Emily was all kindness and consideration. It was not thus in many households.
“So, now that is resolved, I have an important question.” Miss Emily paused for dramatic effect. “What do you think of beads in my hair? I know the embellishment is a tad elaborate, but this is the Steeples’ first night at Shackleford and I would hate to appear…” Glancing over her shoulder, she met Miss Imogene’s steady gaze. “Oh dear, that was rather thickheaded of me. You haven’t seen Ernest since your dispute in the summer. This was your first meeting after our disastrous journey to the coast to visit him. How are you, my dear friend? Truly. Was it difficult?”
With a smile, Miss Imogene shook her head. “No. Ernest is, and always will be, the perfect gentleman. He asked after my health, my art lessons, and if I had found something suitable for a teaching studio in Canterbury.” She paused, her eyes taking on a faraway appearance. “He and Ben seemed very happy to see each other. They seem to have settled their differences. Indeed, all is well. Actually, better than expected.”
“Excellent. Most excellent. And when is Ben to receive that huge tome you purchased for him?” Letting her day dress drop to the floor, Miss Emily stepped out of the puddled material and handed it carefully to Kate.
Miss Imogene laughed. “I thought on Christmas, just before we go to church. I dearly hope he doesn’t have that particular book yet.” She lowered herself onto the bed, hand on the nearest post, waiting for Kate to finish Miss Emily’s evening preparations. “Could you thank Mr. Harlow for me, please, Kate?” Then she frowned. “Or perhaps that is not a such a wise idea.”
Tossing her pretty brown curls, Miss Emily glanced from Miss Imogene to Kate. “Why not?”
“Best not have Kate in Mr. Harlow’s proximity more than necessary.”
Miss Emily nodded her thanks as Kate fastened the last button of her evening gown. “Has Mr. Harlow misbehaved?” Even as she preened in front of the full-length mirror, her eyes met Kate’s with a worried expression.
Kate shook her head, though Miss Imogene answered, “No, indeed not. His behavior is beyond reproach, as it should be … as one would expect of Ernest’s valet.”
“So there is no problem.”
“Indeed not, Miss Emily,” Kate said, pulling open the vanity drawer with a snap. She pointed Miss Emily toward the seat and placed the box of beads next to the brush. Being the subject of a conversation but not a part of it was most uncomfortable.
“Oh, I beg your pardon, Kate. I did not mean to talk over your head,” Miss Imogene said as if she had read Kate’s thoughts. “Mr. Harlow is a handsome young man and … well, he might turn any impressionable girl’s head.”
“Not to worry, miss. It takes more than a handsome face to turn my head.”
Focusing on the task at hand, Kate pulled the pins from Miss Emily’s simple upsweep, preparing her young lady’s tresses for the more elaborate evening style. The girls’ conversation became one of anticipation as they discussed the evening’s festivities and the melding of different family traditions. It gave Kate the opportunity to smile without censure.
Her mind had wandered toward the excitement of the season as well, especially as it pertained to mistletoe.
THURSDAY, DECEMBER 18, 1817, MARKET DAY
“WHO IS HE?” Johnny asked again and again, indicating various men around the market until, finally catching Kate’s eye, he clamped his mouth shut. Johnny was as jumpy as a jackrabbit, pointing out and asking after every red-haired person they saw.
The Tishdale market was not overly large, but it was diverse and crowded with happy, smiling denizens, muffed and covered by shawls. There were kiosks of hand-knit goods, wooden toys, and miscellaneous decorations.
Eventually, Kate refused to answer Johnny’s plaguing questions. She gave him a withering look and shared it with Matt—who jabbed Johnny in the ribs and bid him to be silent. With one last glance at Kate—no doubt realizing by her expression that he had pressed well beyond what was seemly—Johnny desisted.
Smiling faces abounded. Kate bobbed curtsies and exchanged greetings with everyone around her, enjoying the atmosphere so much that she took her time wending her way around the stalls. She could see Johnny’s impatience, watched as he had pushed others aside, and wondered where Johnny’s charm had gone. It was certainly not evident today. Even Johnny’s precious Camille had offered him a frown of confusion, likely surprised by his lack of attention. Rather than seeing it as a lesson, it would seem that Johnny was taking the theft of his ring as a personal affront.
Eventually, Kate had greeted all those she knew; she had spent a moment admiring Peggy’s overlarge belly, shaken hands with the Reverend, and picked up a trinket or two. Matt—and, unfortunately, Johnny—met her near the church steps.
“Did you see him? The huge brute of a man with the red grizzled beard?” Johnny asked before any niceties could be expressed. “You should have hurried; the man’s gone off
down the road. He was with a parcel of young ones—six on my count. One in his woman’s arms.”
Kate sighed and looked at Matt before turning back to Johnny. “Yes, that would be the butcher. Mr. Kelp. Surely you are not going to tell me that he is the man who cheated you. Mr. Kelp is a well-trusted man of the community. He would not have passed you a fake coin.”
“No, no, I’m not sayin’ it was him … but there is somethin’ about him that reminds me of the fella what stole my ring.”
“I thought you were going to let it be, Johnny. Stop belaboring the loss.” Matt hardly glanced in his friend’s direction; he was fixated on Kate.
“You decided I should let it be,” Johnny said, thrusting his chin forward. “I’m wantin’ me ring back.”
Shaking her head, Kate guided the boys out of Mr. and Mrs. Adkins’s way; the apothecary and his wife were trying to step around a collection of children admiring the toys on display. “There is nothing you can do,” she said to Johnny while nodding an apology to the older couple.
“Really?” Johnny smiled an odd, challenging sort of smirk. Not in the least appealing. “Think I might visit a butcher.”
“There is no time, Johnny.” Matt frowned. “We have to get back to the manor. Everyone is needed to help with the open house this afternoon.”
“I got time, I got time.” Johnny looked toward the road. “I’ll see ya back at Shackleford Park before anyone knows I’m gone.” So saying, Johnny nodded to Kate and smiled at Camille, who stared at them from the bottom of the hill. He trotted around the enthusiastic shoppers and was soon out of sight.
Kate watched him go. “I have a bad feeling about this,” she said, hoping Matt would disagree.
“So do I,” he said, in a most disobliging manner.
chapter 8
In which a thunderous expression leads to prevarication
“Katey-bird, who is that young man over there?”
Looking up from where she was cutting the gingerbread cake, Kate glanced in the direction of her mother’s pointing finger—despite the impropriety of gesturing in such a vulgar manner. Matt stood at the other end of the crudely set up trestle table dipping into the wassail bowl with a ladle. The entire staff had been pressed into service, helping with the Shackleford Park open house for the laborers and tenants of the estate. Families had been included in the invitation this year, necessitating a move out of the servants’ hall and into the hay barn next to the stables—without the hay, of course. Braziers had been lit near the entrance to offer a modicum of heat to those coming and going, but the cavernous barn itself was not cold, likely warmed by the rowdy crowd itself.
Kate dropped her eyes back to the task at hand, passing Mr. Tupper a second slice of rich, warm cake wafting with the aroma of nutmeg and cinnamon. “He is Mr. Harlow, Mam. Mr. Ernest and Mr. Ben Steeple’s valet. The gentlemen’s gentleman.” She glanced around to ensure that there were no Beeswangers or Steeples in the vicinity, not entirely sure why her mother was asking. She noticed that Marie, handing out plum pudding beside her, was leaning in their direction.
“Did you have enough to eat, Mam? Cook has another goose on the spit, and Mr. Murray has only just brought out the second boar’s head. Don’t want to miss that. Merle appears to be waiting for a second helping.”
“Plenty, plenty. Most generous of the family, I must say. They’s doing it up proper. Why does he keep lookin’ at you, Katey? Impertinent like. Bold. I don’t like it. Best be careful o’ him. Kinda shifty lookin’. A bad sort.”
“Colby is quite pleased with the model horse Mr. Beeswanger gave him, isn’t he, Mam?” Kate wiped her fingers absentmindedly across her skirt and then sighed when she realized that she had missed her apron and now sported a brown smear on the hard-to-launder linen of her charcoal skirts. “Very generous of him to remember the young ones.”
“Indeed, indeed. There, he did it again. That Mr. Harlow grinned at you. Who does he think he is, carryin’ on so? Did you see that?”
“I’m too busy to worry about handsome valets, Mam.”
“I didna say he was handsome. Is that what you think?”
“Might I suggest you join Henry for your dessert?” She shoved a slice of cake at her mother, gesturing toward her brother. He was seated with the other Tobarton farmers at the other end of a long line of makeshift tables. “Oh, look, there’s Mrs. Nappleberry.” Kate named one of her mother’s good friends. “Don’t want to miss the opportunity to wish her a happy Christmas.”
“Already have.”
“Ah, excellent,” Kate said somewhat sourly. Dropping the rest of the cake in a very generous serving onto Mr. Jordan’s waiting plate, Kate ignored his look of surprise. “Oh dear, it seems that I have run out. Excuse me, Mam. I have to get another cake from Cook.” She smiled wanly and tried, without success, to leave the barn without looking behind her.
As she walked to the door, Kate looked over her shoulder. Matt was watching; he winked and smiled and Kate grinned … until Marie stepped into her line of sight and offered her a scowl. With a shrug, Kate crossed the threshold and made her way to the manor. It wasn’t until she was halfway there that she realized she had left her shawl in the barn and that the wind was howling a very bitter tune. It didn’t seem to matter, though; her thoughts of Matt Harlow kept her warm.
* * *
“WHAT DID JOHNNY learn?” a voice of soft dulcet tones inquired from inside the pantry.
Matt’s pulse quickened, and he turned to find, as he knew he would, Kate standing inside the small room lined with shelves of foodstuffs. He had come into the manor and made his way to the kitchen hall for just this purpose: a moment, no matter how brief, with the lovely Kate Darby.
“I have not seen him as yet.” Matt smiled as he watched her lips curl up at the corners. “I’m glad to have the opportunity to speak with you.”
“Oh?”
How could so short a word sound alluring and cheeky at the same time? “Yes, I wished to inquire about your plans for your half day tomorrow.”
“Oh?”
Matt swallowed and tried to concentrate. “Yes … I … it is … do you…?”
The luscious, wondrous, inviting lips curled up even further … even as his gaze dropped.
“Matt?”
“Hmmmm.”
“Look up. Yes, that’s it; my eyes are up here. There we go.” Kate’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “It is traditional to spend holidays with one’s family.”
“Yes, indeed. Your family.” Matt fought the urge to look down again. “I do not want to interfere, whatsoever … but I wondered … I thought I might borrow a sled. No, that won’t work; there is only a dusting of snow. Skate … yes, might we go … No, I have not brought blades.”
“And the pond has yet to freeze completely.”
“Yes, there is that, too. Well, a walk, then. I know that doesn’t sound terribly interesting, but—”
“I thought that we were going to be prudent and practical.”
“Nothing untoward about a walk,” he said, worried that she would heed his unreasonable suggestion. “I’m sure we can be restrained strolling through the woods.” And then he smiled. “Mistletoe does not grow in this area.”
“I would love to.”
“You would?” Matt gulped his relief. Despite all his objections, despite logic, despite wisdom, he could not stop wanting to be near Kate Darby and her extraordinary … smile.
“Yes, of course. I will speak to Henry; he is the most sensible of my three brothers. I’ll let him know that I will be busy and, if I have time, I will join them later.” She shrugged with a slight downward cast to her expression. “I would invite you to join us, but I’m afraid my mother … well, we wouldn’t want to cause an ill-founded fuss.”
“True enough. True enough. Shall we say—” Matt began, when the click of heels in the corridor stilled his tongue.
“Mr. Heathrow?”
Matt tensed, and then lifted his cheeks before pivoting toward Walker.
Kate was hidden behind his back. “Harlow, Mr. Walker; the name is Harlow.”
“I care not what you are called, sir. I wish, instead, to know where your truant friend may be. I am short-handed and need Johnny to bring the dishes back into the kitchen. Where is he?”
“I have no idea,” Matt said. “The last I saw of him, he was carrying mince pies to the barn with Bernie.” The fabrication made Matt vastly uncomfortable, for, in fact, he didn’t recall having seen Johnny all afternoon.
Walker, having ascertained exactly nothing, turned, muttering something about incompetence under his breath, and stormed away.
“Matt, did Johnny return from Tishdale?” Kate asked.
“I’m starting to wonder the same.”
The atmosphere in the pantry, that moments earlier had been sultry, was suddenly chilled and heavy with disquiet. Where was Johnny?
* * *
THE LARGE NUMBER of persons milling about the barn and the stable yard was both a hindrance and a boon. While the overcrowding meant that Johnny was not easily spotted, it also meant that Matt and Kate’s search was not readily observed, either. By virtue of their positions, they were invisible and under no obligation to assist at the open house. Their absence would not draw comment now after having graciously served at the food table earlier. Fortunately, too, the Beeswangers and the Steeples had already played host—speeches and gifts for the little ones—and retired to their drawing room to await a late dinner; it was unlikely that the family would have cause to notice Matt and Kate hurrying and scurrying about the manor.
Matt began in the men’s quarters, while Kate chased down the other footmen. As suspected, Johnny was not abed with an ailment or tote-and-carrying with Bernie or Charles. He was not helping in the kitchens or jawing with the grooms. The gardener had seen neither hide nor hair of him, and the tittering laundry maids wished that they had encountered him … but hadn’t.
As the sated tenants and laborers drifted away to return to their own hearths, Matt still had no idea where Johnny might be. News came from a most unexpected source.