Kate shook her head. “I’m sorry, Violet. Please do not take it as personal slight, but I do not wish to marry your brother, or indeed, anyone. Certainly not a man who has been coerced into marrying me.” She arched an eyebrow as she looked at Freddie. “I could think of nothing worse.”
Violet leaned her head against Freddie’s shoulder, and Kate couldn’t help but envy their happiness just a little. “Oh, Kate, you are missing out on so much. But I understand your reluctance to wed unless it is a love match. I really do.”
Freddie gave Violet a little squeeze. “There is much to recommend marriage under the right circumstances.”
The right circumstances. Nothing was right about the circumstances surrounding her and Lord Stanton. He might have kissed her, but it didn’t really mean anything. It only happened because they’d both imbibed too much wine, and they’d succumbed to the impulse to follow a silly Christmas tradition.
Although nothing about that kiss had felt silly. Or inconsequential. If Lord Stanton cared for her… or even loved her… She mentally shook her head. Good heavens, she must still be feeling the effects of the wassail punch to be entertaining such ludicrous thoughts. Lord Stanton had barely regarded her all morning.
He was clearly regretting their kiss and wanted nothing more to do with her, especially after her tirade last night. Not that he didn’t deserve a decent scolding for attacking Freddie.
Freddie and Violet broke into her thoughts as they bid her adieu and then, arm-in-arm, made their way to their waiting carriage beyond the lychgate. Kate had shared a carriage with her uncle whilst Lord Stanton had walked the mile and half to the church on his own. Her gaze wandered back to the portico, which was a mistake; Lord Stanton was looking directly at her, and despite the bitter cold of the morning, her face grew warm beneath the weight of his somber stare.
She dared not contemplate what he was thinking.
Turning away, she followed the gritted path toward the graveyard for something to do whilst she waited for Uncle Harold to finish conversing with the vicar. Neither of her parents was buried here at St. Stephen’s in the Woodville family plot. They’d both passed away in London.
She missed her mother and her strength. She wondered what she would advise her to do in this situation. Harden her heart and continue along the lonely path of independent spinsterhood or look for love in life? She’d never believed in the idea of true love before, but seeing Freddie and Violet together and their incandescent happiness made her wonder if she should be more open-hearted in the future. Frivolous mistake or not, no matter how much she wanted to deny it, Lord Stanton’s kiss had awakened a side of her she never knew existed. Made her foolishly dream about love. About having a family of her own. And children…
“Miss Woodville.”
Kate started and turned to find Lord Stanton close by. “My lord,” she said stiffly but added nothing else. She had no idea why he should want to speak with her.
He looked tired as if he hadn’t slept in a week; there were dark circles beneath his gray eyes, and his wide mouth was set in a grim line. Kate shivered. Whatever he was about to tell her couldn’t be good.
But when he didn’t say anything at all, and the tense silence continued, Kate prompted, “I don’t suppose you wanted to wish me a merry Christmas again…”
He gave a small huff at that. “My apologies. I don’t feel particularly merry this morning.” He glanced away, over her shoulder toward the graves before his gaze returned to hers. “I wanted to apologize to you. For last night. I had too much to drink, and my manners deserted me. I shouldn’t have kissed you. It was wrong. And I’m sorry. If you agree, I think we should both forget it ever happened.”
Kate fought to keep her expression neutral even as the sharp prick of rejection pierced her heart. Which was quite absurd because hadn’t she been trying to tell herself and Violet and Freddie the very same thing last night and all this morning: that everyone should forget their kiss beneath the mistletoe had ever happened?
She drew in a steadying breath, praying her voice wouldn’t quiver. “Yes,” she said, attempting to plaster a polite smile on her face, “I agree. Let us forget all about it. It meant nothing. Nothing at all.”
Lord Stanton inclined his head. “Thank you… As I said last night, you are remarkable.”
And then he turned on his booted heel and walked away.
Oh. Kate gripped the nearest headstone as a blast of regret hit her. Why did he have to go and say that? For one mad moment, it made her think that perhaps she’d somehow got everything wrong.
But as Lord Stanton’s tall, rigid form disappeared behind the hedge abutting the lychgate, her sensible, ever-practical side told her that she hadn’t. He might have bestowed another compliment, but he was just trying to soothe the sting of his ungallant behavior.
Wasn’t he?
Chapter 11
Hollystone Hall, Buckinghamshire
New Year’s Eve
“I hope this bedroom meets with your approval, Miss Woodville.” Cedrica Grenford, the Duchess of Haverford’s niece and personal secretary, pushed her spectacles up her nose as she regarded Kate expectantly. “And I must say, the duchess is very pleased that you could attend her house party, even though it is nearing the end.”
“I’m delighted to hear that, Miss Grenford,” replied Kate as she glanced about the small but comfortable-looking room with its floral chintz curtains, delicate cherrywood furniture, and cheerful fire. There was even a small gray and white kitten purring contentedly on the shepherdess chair by the hearth; Miss Grenford had already introduced her as Pearl.“This will do just nicely.”
“Excellent. It is actually most fortunate that you have arrived only today. Until recently, Hollystone Hall was full to overflowing, but with the departure of a few of the duchess’s guests, we have been able to accommodate you, your brother, and sister-in-law quite easily.” She gave a shy smile. “If you don’t mind my saying so, I think they are rather pleased to have one of the estate cottages all to themselves. How romantic to think they had a Yuletide wedding in the Lake District. It seems to be the season for proposals and weddings.”
“Yes, it was very romantic,” agreed Kate.
Thank heavens the story they’d all agreed upon—that Freddie had proposed to Violet in London on the eve of the journey to Hollystone and that Kate and Lord Stanton had gone with them to Cumbria so that they might wed by special license in Fenwick House’s small private chapel—was being taken at face value. So far. Hopefully no one had asked why Lady Stanton had not accompanied them…
Miss Grenford was looking at her expectantly, so Kate continued, “And we are most grateful that the duchess has been so accommodating at the last minute. Now, about payment for the tickets to the ball for myself, my brother, and his new wife—”
Miss Grenford beamed. “Oh, it has all been taken care of.”
“It has?” Kate frowned. How odd.
“Yes. Lord Stanton paid for them. He arrived yesterday and settled everything.”
“Oh. Oh, right. Yes, of course.” She hadn’t known Lord Stanton would be here; he’d left Fenwick House early on St. Stephen’s Day without a word to anyone, including Violet, which had caused her great pain. But given his stepmother was quite possibly still a guest at Hollystone Hall, it really should have occurred to her that he would return. What she hadn’t expected was his financial support with regard to purchasing tickets for the charity ball. “This may seem like a peculiar question, but is Lady Stanton still here?”
To her credit, Miss Grenford didn’t even blink. “Yes, she is, Miss Woodville. Do you wish to speak with her? I believe she’s in the drawing room with some of the other ladies of the party. I would be happy to show you—”
“No, no, it is quite all right. I have traveled a fair distance over the past week or so, and I think I might have a rest before I begin to prepare for the ball.”
Miss Grenford inclined her head. “I hope I am not speaking out of turn, but I h
ave noticed you do not have a maid to assist you. If you need anything to be done—your clothing pressed or assistance with your toilette—please do not hesitate to ring, and I shall organize for one of the duchess’s maids to help you straightaway.”
Kate smiled, touched by the young woman’s thoughtfulness. “Thank you.”
“You are most welcome.”
Miss Grenford took her leave, and Kate opened her traveling trunk and began to rummage through her things. She needed to decide what to wear to the charity ball; it had to be something that would make a good impression on the duchess. It seemed like so long ago that she’d first met Her Grace at Miss Clemens’s Book Palace in London, and she wondered if the duchess even remembered her—if Her Grace did, hopefully she hadn’t been labeled as “that unreliable woman who hadn’t arrived to help when she’d said she would.” Kate hadn’t yet had the opportunity to greet Her Grace this afternoon either; she’d been caught up with other hosting duties.
In the end, Kate decided she would have to choose between the sea green gown she had worn to the masquerade at Vauxhall or her brand new gown of white silk gauze over white satin. Trimmed with tiny bows and ribbon rosettes around the neckline and on the puffed sleeves, it was both delicately pretty and elegant. Holding each dress up against herself in turn, she examined herself in the looking glass and decided the white gown would do even if the bodice was cut rather daringly—she didn’t think Lady Stanton would remember that she’d worn the green gown in August at Vauxhall as the woman had barely regarded her that night, but it wouldn’t hurt to wear something new all the same.
She dared not think the white gown might attract Lord Stanton’s attention…
Telling herself she was a fool to let her thoughts drift in that direction and that she should be relieved to have as little as possible to do with Lord Stanton, she took up Miss Grenford’s offer of assistance and rang for a maid to press her gown. Then she drew the curtains, kicked off her half-boots, and lay down upon the soft bed. She was so very exhausted. The night ahead was sure to be eventful, and she’d need to marshal her wits and whatever charm she might possess if she were to successfully advocate for funds for expanding the school program and completing the remaining repairs that needed doing at White Church House.
If only she knew what Lady Stanton had been up to in her absence… At least Miss Grenford had not looked askance at her, or worse, treated her with disdain; as the Duchess of Haverford’s assistant, surely she would be party to any gossip flying about. So perhaps Kate was starting at shadows.
She supposed she would find out, tonight.
* * *
“Katie, you look wonderful.” Freddie’s smile was wide as she opened the door to her room, and he took in her appearance.
“Thank you,” she said patting her hair; one of the maids had kindly arranged it into an elaborately piled-up confection of curls—she swore she had more pins stuck in her head than a hedgehog had spines—but she had to admit, she did look rather elegant for once. She snatched up her matching fan and beaded reticule from a nearby chest of drawers and turned back to Freddie. “I also want to thank you for agreeing to escort me into the ball. I must confess, I’m a trifle nervous. I haven’t even seen Her Grace yet.” Kate peered past her brother’s broad, superfine clad shoulder into the hallway. “Where is Violet?”
Freddie pulled a face as he offered her his arm. “Talking with her horrid witch of a mother in the drawing room before we all go in. You know, one must keep up appearances.”
“At least they are talking now. Have you spoken to Lady Stanton? Or Lord Stanton?”
Freddie snorted. “Hardly. Lady Stanton looks straight through me, and Stanton just scowls disapprovingly before looking pointedly away.”
“I suppose that’s better than you trying to kill each other.”
“Yes. The cut direct is brutal but not fatal.” He patted Kate’s satin gloved hand. “We shall prevail.”
Despite her nerves, Kate smiled. “Yes. We shall.”
Freddie navigated their way through the milling tonnish guests when they entered a sumptuously decorated drawing room resplendent with elegantly carved furniture, gold-hued fabrics, and plush carpets. Kate realized she didn’t know a single soul. They all looked so refined… and intimidating. She felt like a pigeon amongst peacocks.
She whispered to Freddie when an older woman peered down her long nose at her through her gilded lorgnette and gave a haughty sniff, “This is probably not the best time or place to be asking this, but have you heard any untoward rumors about any of us?” About me?
“Not that I’ve been out and about much, but no. Everyone I have met so far has been scrupulously polite.”
“Good.” Kate relaxed a little. Perhaps things would go well after all. She’d even flirt if she must to secure a donation or two or someone’s patronage. She eyed a passing footman bearing a tray of champagne flutes and gave a wistful sigh. A sip or two would surely quell her nerves before she met the duchess. And the Lockhart family again.
But it was not to be. Freddie deftly steered her through the chattering crowd toward a settee where Violet sat with her mother below a gilt-framed painting of a glowering Haverford ancestor in silver armor. Lord Stanton stood to one side, his hands behind his back, wearing almost the same forbidding expression as the nobleman in the portrait. Despite her resolve not to react to his presence, Kate’s pulse fluttered, and her mouth grew dry. She felt like a moonstruck debutante.
“Freddie, I’ve missed you so,” exclaimed Violet, and reached out her hand to him which he took and kissed.
“He’s only been gone ten minutes,” muttered Lord Stanton.
Kate curtsied to the dowager countess. “Your ladyship.”
Lady Stanton raised an eyebrow. “Have we met?”
“Phyllis…” warned Lord Stanton.
Lady Stanton looked her up and down as if she were something a cat had dragged in from the barn. “Oh, that’s right. The teacher.” She may have well said “the prostitute.”
“Miss Kate Woodville,” corrected her stepson.
“I’m not an imbecile,” countered Lady Stanton.
“No, just supremely rude as usual,” retorted Kate, and then pressed her lips together. Damn, damn, damn. She’d done it once again, been ill-mannered when she couldn’t afford to be. When would she ever learn?
Violet had gone white. Freddie touched her arm as if staying her, but one corner of Lord Stanton’s lips twitched with an almost imperceptible smirk.
Lady Stanton rose in a flurry of turquoise silk. “How dare you—” but the rest of her admonishment was lost as a small gong sounded, and Hollystone’s butler announced the duchess was ready to receive her guests.
Lord Stanton took his stepmother’s arm and led the way toward the ballroom. Freddie offered one arm to his wife and then the other to Kate, and they followed. As they were last in line, it looked as if it would take a good five minutes or more to reach the duchess. While she waited, Kate tried not to stare at the back of Lord Stanton’s elegantly shaped head or handsome profile whenever he turned to speak to his stepmother, tried not to admire the broad line of his shoulders, how his black evening coat tapered down to skim his narrow hips and his long, muscular legs in breeches and hose. Why, oh why, couldn’t she be immune to his every gesture, every change in his expression, the desire for him to look her way even though she knew she would blush? Why couldn’t she forget about his kiss?
Thankfully Freddie and Violet didn’t seem to notice how ill-at-ease she was. Caught up in their own world, they exchanged quiet words and loving glances. When Kate looked about, she noticed several other couples exchanging similar looks with each other. It seemed many of the guests at Hollystone Hall had found love; indeed, hadn’t Miss Grenford remarked that it seemed to be the season for proposals and weddings?
But not for her. How ironic to think that she, Kate Woodville, spinster and stalwart bluestocking, was actually warming to the idea of love-matches, yet the objec
t of her affection, the man she’d foolishly fallen in love with, clearly wanted nothing to do with her.
Hot tears stung her eyes, and she hastily blinked them away when she realized that within a matter of seconds, she would be meeting the Duchess of Haverford again.
She closed her eyes, inhaled, and on a slow exhale pushed away all thoughts of Lord Stanton and focused on what she wanted to say to the duchess until Freddie squeezed her hand. “It’s our turn, Katie.”
“Your Grace.” Kate dropped into her best curtsy then raised her gaze to meet the duchess’s insightful blue eyes. Miss Grenford, standing beside her, inclined her head in greeting.
The Duchess of Haverford smiled warmly. “Miss Woodville, what a pleasure it is to meet you again. I am very happy that you and your brother could attend after all. And in such felicitous circumstances. Mr. Woodville, your lovely new wife,” her gaze shifted to Violet before returning to Freddie’s, “and Lord Stanton have both informed me that congratulations are in order. I wish you both well.”
Violet glowed, and Freddie bowed. “Thank you, Your Grace. You are too kind.”
“You’re very welcome. Now, do go and enjoy yourselves. I believe the dancing will commence shortly.”
Kate felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off her chest as she turned away to follow Freddie and Violet into the magnificent ballroom. There had been no censure in the duchess’s gaze. Only approval. She might just get the funding she needed after all. Hopefully Her Grace would be able to spare a few moments during the course of the evening in order for Kate to court her interest a little more; she was certain the duchess would also be able to point her in the direction of potential patrons.
“Your Grace. A moment if you will.”
Oh, no. Lady Stanton. Kate tried not to visibly cringe as she turned around and watched the dowager viscountess step forward from the shadows of a nearby palm-shaded alcove. Lord Stanton seemed to have disappeared. So had Freddie and Violet.
Holly and Hopeful Hearts Page 59