“Well done,” I said. He set her down, then reached up for me.
“Just drop and I will catch you,” he said, as I continued to fumble for my customary foothold.
“No. I don’t need that much help. Let me find that crack and then you may give me a hand ...”
“Does it really matter exactly how much assistance I render here? I am going to help you anyway. Let me catch you.”
“A hand will suffice.”
He muttered something. I found the crack, shoved the toe of my boot into it, and slid my hands to the outer edge of the windowsill. “What are you muttering about?” I asked.
“Stubborn. Something about this stubborn young lady I know.”
The sound of footsteps came through the window above me. Mama was coming to speak to me, and she was still angry, by the sound of her sharp steps. A loud knock sounded at my bedroom door. In that instant, I realized I had forgotten to lock the door again after opening it for Oliver. I pushed away from the wall and let go. I had no doubt that Henry would catch me. From the corner of my eye I saw him lunge forward. He grabbed me around the waist in time to slow my fall. I stumbled as I landed, but he pulled me to my feet and ran with me around the corner of the house. I pressed myself against the stone wall and tried to quiet my breathing.
“Kitty? Kitty!” Mama’s voice reached us from the open window.
Henry looked down at me, and his amused expression turned suddenly sharp with concern.
“You are upset,” he said.
I pressed my lips together, refusing to either confirm or deny his statement. His eyes narrowed. “Who has upset you?”
“Kitty!” Mama’s yell came again, louder this time. “Katherine Worthington! Answer me this instant! If you have been climbing out of your window again—”
The next instant Henry left my side and walked around the corner of the house. Panicked, I reached out to grab him, to stop him, but he was already out of my reach. All I could do was stand still and wait, tense with nervousness. Cora twined herself around my ankles, meowing, and I picked her up to quiet her.
“Oh. Henry.” Mama’s voice held a note of pleasure. I could imagine her smoothing her hair and leaning further out the window. I could imagine her smiling at Henry as he lifted his face up to her. “I was just looking for Kitty. You have not seen her, have you?”
“Not today. Perhaps she has walked into town?”
“Hmm. You’re probably right. I will send one of the servants directly. Thank you, Henry. You are a dear boy.” A pause, and then her voice lowered and she laughed, a low, throaty sound. “Oh, dear, but you are not a boy anymore, are you? And you are certainly growing more handsome every day.” I closed my eyes, sick with shame. “You must come to dinner tonight. I don’t know how many times I have told Kitty to invite you since your mother and Sylvia left for London, but she has failed me time and time again. I do want you here, dear Henry.” Her voice was sultry. “I want you very much.”
Cora meowed, wriggling in my arms, and I realized that I was squeezing her—strangling her, almost. I loosened my hold but did not let her go, burying my face in her fur. I wished I could bury all of me, somewhere far, far away from my shameful mother.
“Thank you for the invitation, Mrs. Worthington, but I must decline. George has invited the Farnsworths to dine tonight, and they are expecting me.”
“Oh.” Her voice took on a complaining tone. “I am sure your brother and his wife can get along fine without you for one evening.”
“I am sorry. Perhaps another evening. If you will excuse me ...”
“Very well. But I will hold you to it. One of these evenings, Henry, you will be at my side.”
A moment later, Henry rounded the corner and stood before me. Full of dread, I threw a glance up at him. His cheeks had reddened and his lips were pressed together, as if he was trying very hard not to say something. But his eyes, when he looked at me, were only kind. The line of his mouth softened, and he gave me a quick, small smile.
“The target, as I was saying, is set up, and I believe I have thrown your mother off your scent. Will you come?”
I trembled with anger and shame and wished I could apologize for my mother. But to apologize for her would be to acknowledge her behavior, and I couldn’t do that. I set Cora on the ground. “That is exactly what I need right now.”
I made sure nobody was watching from the nearest windows as Henry and I darted for the woods, Cora at our heels. The clearing was almost perfectly halfway between our two houses. When we reached it, Henry took off his coat and hung it over a tree branch. The target was set up beside the large maple tree. Two bows and two quivers of arrows rested on a large tree stump. Everything looked just as it should—just as it always had every other day we had spent in this clearing practicing our archery. But I was so angry at Mama that I doubted I could hit anything.
I picked up a bow and a quiver of arrows. Henry stood beside me, watching me in silence. My hands shook with anger. I took a deep breath while I lifted the bow and looked at the target. I released the arrow. It flew wide. No surprise, but still I glared at the offending target.
Henry nocked an arrow, pulled it back, and narrowed his eyes as he looked at the target. The sun glinted off his hair. He released the arrow. It hit the target with a satisfying thunk. He never missed.
“Are you ready to talk yet?” he asked.
I picked up another arrow and nocked it while I considered his question. Staring at the target, I imagined my mother’s cold eyes. “My mother,” I said, releasing the arrow. It hit the outer edge of the target. Pathetic.
“Of course,” Henry said. “But what has dear Mama done this time?”
His second arrow hit home just as soundly as his first had done.
“She is the most unfeeling mother in creation,” I said, picking up another arrow. “She does not comprehend my dreams, nor does she value my desires. She only wants me to marry. And you know how I feel about that.” I released the string. This time the arrow buried itself in the grass.
“Indeed.”
“Indeed!” I grabbed another arrow, upset with the arrows for not flying true and at Henry for being so calm when I was so angry and at Mama for not understanding me at all. “In fact, how many times have you heard me vow that I will never marry?”
He smiled, a little half-smile. “How many times? I have not kept count, Kate.”
“Estimate, then.”
He sighed. “Very well. I would estimate two dozen times, at least, since last Christmas. Perhaps another fifty times last year. Maybe a hundred in total.”
I felt accomplished. “And do you believe that I am serious in my intention?”
“Yes, I do.” Henry’s jaw was set as he stared down the arrow at the target.
“See? You understand me on this matter, and you are only my friend. But my own flesh and blood—!”
He flinched, his head jerking to the side to look at me, and his arrow fell off his bow. He lowered the bow and gave me a piercing look, his grey eyes glinting like steel. Then he raised it again and leveled his gaze at the target. “Only your friend?” He narrowed his eyes at the target, his pressed lips causing a line to crease in his cheek. “I think I deserve a better title than that.”
“Like what?” I asked, looking at him askance.
“Oh, I don’t know.” He released his arrow. Another solid hit, right on target. “Perhaps The Giver of My Heart’s Desire?”
An outraged laugh burst from me. “The Giver of My Heart’s Desire?” A smile crept across his lips. “I will never call you that,” I said, picking up another arrow.
“Why not? I earned it. I think you should call me by that title every time you see me.”
“How do you believe you earned it?” I demanded.
“I gave you your cat, and that is the thing you love most in this world.” He gestured at Cora lying in the grass nearby. “Therefore, I have given you your heart’s desire.”
I scoffed, then drew back th
e string and released the arrow. It hit the target. Finally. I smiled with satisfaction. “I am not going to call you The Giver of My Heart’s Desire. That is ridiculous.”
Henry looked at me with a satisfied smile. “There. Your eyebrows are back to normal now.”
“You are not supposed to tease me about my eyebrows, remember? We made that pact five years ago.”
“That was a one-time arrangement, after you tried to shave them off with your father’s razor.” He pulled back the string on his bow, leveling his gaze at the target. Henry’s form was something I had always admired but never more so than now. At age twenty his back was broader, his shoulders stronger than ever before. The muscles in his arms stood out, cords of light and shadow. There was that line in his cheek again—that line that was more crease than dimple, and I had to look away. I heard Henry’s arrow hit the target while I bent down and drew the last arrow for myself.
My last arrow flew true, and I breathed a sigh of relief. This was better. I had found my aim again. I set down my bow and walked over to the target with Henry. After prying my arrows loose and gathering the errant ones, I wandered over to the large maple tree that stood on one side of the clearing. It was so tall that its lowest branches began far above my head. I leaned against its familiar, mottled bark and sighed deeply. My temper was in check, but resentment and grief still burned within me.
Henry joined me, leaning against the tree as well. I held my arrows in my hand, studying their feathers and wishing, not for the first time, that I could fly away from this place. I felt Henry’s gaze on my face.
“What is really bothering you, Kate?” he asked in a quiet voice. “This problem with your mother is nothing new. What has happened today to upset you?”
I ran the feathers of the arrows between my fingers, fighting back another round of angry tears. I drew in a deep breath, struggling for some control over my emotions.
“She has said I may not go to Blackmoore,” I finally said.
“What?” Disbelief mingled with anger. “Why not?”
I tipped my head back and covered my eyes with my hand, hiding the fight against my tears. “She is angry with me for refusing Mr. Cooper’s proposal.”
“Mr. Cooper?” Henry’s voice was appalled. “The man is diseased!”
I laughed a little, a tear leaking out of one eye. “I know!” My stomach turned as I recalled his most recent visit. “The last time I saw him, his ear was bandaged. Why is it always a different part of his body that is bandaged?”
“I cannot answer that,” Henry said in a serious voice. I looked at him, and there was such a look of revulsion on his face that I burst out laughing.
“The bandage was stained, too,” I said, wheezing with laughter. “A greenish color.”
Henry shook his head. “Stop. Say no more.”
I was laughing so hard that tears ran down my cheeks. But they reminded me of what I really had to cry about, and the thought sobered me.
“It is entirely unfair,” I said, “that when we have finally convinced your mother to let me visit, my mother has put a stop to it.”
Something flashed in his eyes—something that made him look away for a moment. “How right you are.” He sighed. “So ... I take it this means that your mother has not yet accepted how fundamentally stubborn you are. She thinks she can still convince you to marry? Turn you into a proper, obedient daughter, hmm? Will she be rearranging the order of the universe while she’s at it?”
I smiled sadly. “Something like that.”
“You know, you never have explained to me your decision never to marry.”
I shook my head. No matter how many times he had asked me about that in the past year and a half, I refused to give an answer. “Not today, Henry. We have more important battles to fight.” I looked over at him, meeting his gaze with my own. “I must go to Blackmoore. I must,” I whispered. “I think I will resent her for the rest of my life if she keeps me here.”
He nodded, his grey eyes serious, as if he understood perfectly the gravity of the situation. If anyone did understand, it was he. He had made me that model, after all. I wiped away another tear, and that time I was sure Henry saw.
Henry nudged me with his elbow. “Come, now. There is no need to despair. We are two very intelligent people capable of outsmarting one mother, I think.” He stepped away from the tree and began pacing. “What does your mother want, more than anything?”
“For me to marry,” I answered immediately.
“Yet you are determined not to.”
“Precisely.”
“Hmm.” More pacing. Then he paused and turned to me. “Can you not pretend to want to marry? Tell her there will be many eligible gentlemen at Blackmoore, and you may make a match there.”
I shot him a look of disbelief. “No. There is no point in winning the battle if it means jeopardizing the war.” I tapped my arrows against the tree, willing myself to think of a solution. “But what else does my mother want in life?” I thought hard for a long moment, then shrugged. “Nothing. This is all my mother lives for—marrying off her daughters.” And flirting with as many men as she can, I added silently.
Henry looked at me sharply. “Her daughters,” he said slowly. “Plural.”
“Yes. There are four of us. Three if you don’t count Eleanor.”
He smiled. “Maria.”
I looked a question at him.
“Tell her that Maria may come as well and that she will have a chance to make a match at Blackmoore.”
I considered his suggestion dubiously. “What will be her incentive, though?”
“To be rid of Maria. To give Maria a chance to make a match.” He paused, and a wicked gleam lit up his eyes. “To enrage my mother.”
I smiled crookedly. My mother and Mrs. Delafield had been polite enemies for the past four years, even though we continued to associate as families. I wondered if Henry knew the reason behind their dislike of each other. I had never broached the subject with him since I had found out what had caused their rift. And I certainly was not going to be the one to tell him.
“It could work,” he insisted.
“I don’t know if I can convince her,” I said. “She seems so intent on punishing me ...”
“And having Maria along is not a punishment?”
I laughed. “You are right. It is.” I chewed on my lip while thinking of Henry’s plan and had to admit to myself that I had no better plan to try. “Will your mother object, do you think? Or Sylvia?” Sylvia and Mrs. Delafield had been in London the past four months enjoying Sylvia’s first Season and were going to meet us at Blackmoore.
Henry shook his head. “Not a bit. There is plenty of room for one more.”
I shrugged, finally saying, “It is worth a try, at any rate. She cannot take away anything more important than my dearest dream.” I handed him the arrows. “I shall try at once, so that if this plan fails, we may still have time to try another.”
I took a dozen steps toward the house before I stopped and turned around. “Henry.” He had walked back to our shooting place but turned to look at me. “You are a good friend.”
He shook his head, nocking an arrow and lifting the bow. “Try again, Kate. Say, ‘You are The Giver ... ’” He pulled back on the string, then shot a look at me, as if waiting for me to continue.
I laughed. “Never. I shall never call you that.”
His grin flashed, and he turned back to send his arrow flying straight and true, finding easily the center of the target. He never did miss.
I found Mama in her bedchamber, sitting at her dressing table. She was already dressed for dinner, and her makeup containers were spread over the top of the table. She darted a glance my way as I walked through the door and began to speak before I had a chance to begin.
“Where have you been?” she asked, leaning forward to peer at her reflection. “I sent John to town to look for you. If you have been climbing out of your window again, I will have no choice but to have it nailed
shut. And why have you not invited Henry Delafield to dinner during his mother’s absence? He should have been dining here at least twice a week, and now he is leaving tomorrow for Blackmoore, so we will have no further opportunity for his company. He has grown far too handsome not to have here, Kitty, and you must invite him for my sake, if you will not do it for your sisters’—”
“Mama, it is about my sisters that I have come to speak with you. In fact, I have come to offer you something you will want.” I took a breath, waiting to see if I had successfully stopped her in her rant. She raised one eyebrow but said nothing, which I took as a good sign. I went on, choosing my words with care. “You will agree, I believe, that Maria has been unbearable since Mr. Wilkes left the area. Surely you cannot enjoy yourself with her constant crying, and as long as she is here crying, she is not out meeting other eligible gentlemen.”
I paused. Mama leaned forward to look closely in the mirror while she rubbed rouge on her cheeks. I winced. She always wore too much rouge when company was coming for dinner. “Go on,” she muttered.
“Well.” I took a deep breath, then plunged in. “I am offering to take Maria off your hands and give her opportunities to meet new gentlemen ... at Blackmoore.”
Mama paused in her application, and I saw one eyebrow lift with interest. “Who gives you the authority to invite your sister to Blackmoore?”
“Henry. It was his idea.”
“Hmm.” I heard the note of interest in her voice. “So you have been with Henry.”
“Yes,” I admitted in a quiet voice, wishing I had not noticed the look on her face—wishing I had not seen the arch in her eyebrow, the twist of her mouth.
Quiet sat uncomfortably between us, and I shifted my weight from one foot to the other while she focused all of her attention on the application of a single beauty mark high on her cheek.
After leaning back to look at herself from a new angle, she said, “Now that you mention it, I am sure Mrs. Delafield will invite many of her acquaintances to see the new wing she has had remodeled. It would be a nice opportunity to meet new gentlemen.”
Blackmoore Page 3