Peter’s steel-blue eyes bore into her, flicking back and forth as if he was trying to read her expression. A hot tear welled, dripping down her cheek and she dashed it away, chuckling. “I am usually far too practical to cry,” she said.
His smile was warm, comforting. “There is nothing wrong with crying, Kate.”
Sucking in a cleansing breath, she gave him a weak smile. “Perhaps not. But the last few days have seen more tears than they ought.”
Peter’s large hand came around the arm of his chair, and Kate was arrested by the sight of it. She hadn’t been around men very often in her life. Did men always have such strong, capable hands? Kate didn’t know, but she certainly didn’t think so. The lawyer who had come to see her in Mrs. Presley’s office did not inspire this sort of comfort and ease. He’d fumbled the papers far too much to inspire any confidence in his hands.
“I think you must allow yourself some grace in this instance,” Peter said. “You did not know for a time whether your friend would awaken. That would distress a great many people.”
“Anyone with a heart, surely,” Kate quipped.
Peter
Anyone with a heart. Well, Kate had one of those, clearly.
Peter leaned back in his seat, creating more space between them. Kate’s strength of character had been made obvious with her clear head multiple times over. When he’d idiotically stopped her carriage like a mad highwayman, when she’d discovered him in the woods holding her friend’s limp body, when she’d had to wait for two days for the woman to wake. Kate had kept a level head through each circumstance.
Dr. Styles had said so first, but it was true: this was the sort of woman one wished to have on one’s side.
“Perhaps this whole thing would have been avoided if I rode.” She turned her gaze sharply, catching his eye. “This is the second time Emily has fallen since coming to Split Tree, you see, and she is typically an excellent horsewoman. I’m not sure what has her so distracted, but perhaps she would not have grown so careless had I ridden out with her.”
“You cannot blame yourself,” Peter said. “You can only look to the future.” He held her gaze, taking advantage of the opportunity to roam her face. What was it about Kate that was so familiar? He was certain he’d never met her before in his life, but she had a quality about her that nipped at him, that led him to believe they had met before.
“And in the future, I ought to ride?” she asked with a quirk of a smile.
“If you are comfortable with it, yes. It would be useful for a woman in your position to have such a skill.”
She bent her head.
Had he gone too far?
“I really need to get myself a land agent,” she said. “Otherwise I will be forced to learn to ride.”
Leaning back in his seat, Peter rested his ankle on the other knee, crossing his hands over his stomach. “Why not both?”
Kate chuckled. His body tightened and he decided in that moment the sound of Kate’s laughter was one of his most favorite things.
She lifted her eyebrows. “Shall I apply that same line of thinking to the dilemma with what I ought to do with my land?”
“Sheep or an orchard?” Peter asked. Now they were veering onto steadier ground. This was safe. “If you chose both, you would only be able to give half an effort to each. It would be wiser to focus all of your resources into making one of them successful. Then later, once the first was established, you could venture into the second.”
Kate nodded, her mind clearly elsewhere. But Peter was not in a hurry. He would sit and discuss these business ventures for as long as he could.
Kate
Kate spent one more day taking advantage of Peter’s hospitality, and Mr. Evans’s companionship, before Emily’s head felt recovered enough to endure the carriage ride home. Emily retained her dignity by walking herself down the stairs and to the carriage, however heavily she leaned upon Mr. Evans’s arm. Kate thanked both of the brothers for all they had done and proceeded to help Emily into the carriage, before stepping up to sit beside her, trying to remain unalarmed by how exhausted her friend looked. She was still recovering, and it would be some time before Emily fully regained her strength. The doctor had told them this was to be expected.
Dr. Styles planned to call on them that afternoon to check in with his patient anyhow, after giving her ample time to rest, and Kate was glad to have such a diligent man watching over Emily’s health.
The carriage moved at a crawl, but that did not bother Kate. She was grateful to be returning home.
The word stuck in her mind as she came to realize what she had unconsciously thought. She had referred to Split Tree Manor as her home. It was a surprise, though she found it was not an unpleasant one. Once Peter had helped her to look past Uncle Bartholomew’s ownership and recall that her ancestors held much more history in the house than her uncle did alone, she was able to see the estate in a new light. Perhaps she could erase his black mark on the place forevermore. She had already done that to a small degree by cleaning the house and opening up previously closed rooms. Perhaps it was time she redecorated the parlor and dining rooms. A wisp of revulsion snaked through her as she thought of doing the same in the study or library. No, not yet. She would take this one step at a time.
Kate spent teatime in the parlor after helping Emily up the stairs and into bed. She had brought down her sketchbook and a charcoal pencil and began reimagining the parlor in a variety of colors and styles. Of course, the colors were all neatly labeled, but she would have to go over them later with watercolors if she was planning on showing anyone else her vision. After an hour or so, the redesigns became something of a game, and she went from decent, classic ideas to the most far-fetched themes she could conjure.
One particularly amusing rendition of the room entirely done over in the Greek sense, complete with statues, gauzy drapes, and gold-leafed furniture, was interrupted by the arrival of Dr. Styles. Kate accompanied him upstairs and remained nearby while he examined the recently awoken Emily, then spoke with him in the foyer on his way to another patient’s house.
“She is coming along nicely,” he said. “If you will continue to ensure that she rests adequately, I believe her body and mind will heal quickly and efficiently.”
“Absolutely. Thank you, Dr. Styles,” Kate said.
He gave her a fatherly smile before glancing around the foyer and back to her. “It is nice to see Split Tree looking so warm again. It feels like so long ago now, but your mother did throw the best parties.”
Kate stilled, her brain taking a moment to catch up to her ears. “Did you know my parents well?”
“Oh, yes,” Dr. Styles said, tilting his head in compassion. “Quite well. I grew up with both of them. And the sweetest couple they were.”
Kate’s eyes began to tear of their own accord, and she cleared her throat quietly. “I am afraid I know nearly nothing about either of my parents.”
“Is that so? Well, what a shame.” Dr. Styles tsk-tsked. “Mrs. Styles and I must have you over for dinner one of these nights, and we can fill your ears with larks from their younger years.”
Kate nodded, trying not to appear as eager as she felt. The doctor gave her a sympathetic smile before leaving Kate to cry in the foyer uninhibited.
She went to pull a handkerchief from her sleeve and realized that she had forgotten to get a clean one that morning. Wiping her face as best she could, she returned to the parlor and her sketchbook, but she could not focus, her mind running wild with the things she had just heard. Having been placed in a stranger’s home by her uninterested uncle until the age of nine, Kate had very few memories of her parents. And when she was brought back to Split Tree Manor for the years of nine until twelve, there was no illusion of love or familial affection in the household. She had not even connected Split Tree Manor to her own parents until quite recently. Of course, she had tiny snitches of memory of her beautiful young mother singing to her in bed, or her curly-haired father throwing h
er into the air and catching her once again, but they had died when she was four, and the memories were neither full nor very reliable.
Spreading out her various designs on the low table in front of the sofa, Kate had to snicker at the Egyptian room with hieroglyphics on the walls, and the jungle room with furniture carved to resemble animals and a multitude of potted ferns and trees lining the walls.
“Miss Kingston?” a maid said, curtsying at the doorway. “Mrs. James would like a word on Mrs. Nielsen’s diet requirements when you have a minute.”
“Thank you, Jane. I will come now,” Kate said, leaving her drawings to finish later and following the maid downstairs. She really was so fortunate to have been able to bring Alice with her. Not only was the woman a mastermind in the kitchen but having worked in a school for girls that had seen every illness imaginable, she had a thorough understanding of what Emily would need to heal fuller and faster.
17
Kate
The following day brought an invitation from Mr. Evans to dine at his home on Wednesday. Dr. Styles had sparked a yearning within Kate to meet the families that had been around for years, and she hoped to make the acquaintance of those who might remember her parents. But Emily was still in something of a delicate situation, and Mr. Evans, of all people, ought to have considered that when the very purpose of the dinner party was to introduce Kate and Emily to the local gentry.
She brushed aside the concerns to worry over later. Emily would know best how to handle this situation.
A second missive arrived with the invitation, and she opened the note to discover Peter’s sure, tidy scrawl. Trailing her eyes down the page, she read a full accounting of the bills she had accrued while staying at Evanslea. A laugh escaped her throat when she read the line where Peter had charged her a pittance for rescuing the damsel in the rain and then a slightly larger sum for going back for the lady who would not stay put, as well as a small fee tacked onto the latter for undue stress in searching for said woman.
His sense of humor was in sync with her own, which she had discovered while they talked sheep and orchards, debating the merits of the two until the orchard had ultimately won out. She liked the idea of raising sheep as her father did, and maybe she still would one day, but if she ever wanted an orchard on this land then she needed to begin straight away.
She set the note from Peter beside the invitation to dinner, noticing a small scrap of paper falling onto the floor. It was a postscript from Peter—the name and direction of a trustworthy land agent, should she still be in need of one. She laughed aloud when she read the tiny print on the back that told her this man was particularly gifted at purchasing fine horses, should she be in need. Was this what it felt like to have a brother? A man she could speak easily with, who made her feel comfortable while discussing unladylike pursuits? She had confided in Peter that she thought it was time for her to learn to ride, though the concept terrified her even greater after her bout with Josephine in the rain.
Horses in general were so very tall.
She carried the two cards up to her room and set them on the fireplace mantel. One to make her laugh and the other to give her hope. Mr. Evans had been quite attentive during her stay at Evanslea, and regardless of who owned the estate, she was not one to turn away an interested, eligible man. Besides, she had her own estate. What would she do with it if she married someone that came with a house of his own?
She made her way to Emily’s room and knocked on the door softly.
“Come in.”
Kate found Emily seated in a plush chair near the fire, her face drawn, a slight bloom to her cheeks. She was beginning to look more herself, but she seemed to tire very easily. “I had thought to go into Larkfield and pick up a novel from the lending library. Is there anything I can do for you while I am there?”
“Why would you go all the way into Larkfield when you have a perfectly nice, fully stocked library right here?” Emily asked with a raised brow. Kate knew she was being baited, albeit good-naturedly.
“Perhaps I would like a more modern selection, thank you,” Kate countered with as snobby a tone as she could muster. “I will bring you one of those gothic novels you love so much if you promise to keep that tongue in check, missy.”
Emily smiled. “I promise. Now tell me, has anything arrived from Paul?” The eagerness in her voice was heartbreaking.
“Not yet, I’m afraid. But remember that he cannot have even received my letter yet, so it is unlikely you shall hear from him until at least another week has come and gone.”
“I know. I just miss him.” Emily sighed. Her gaze flitted to Kate and away, her jaw working as if trying to determine what to say. “I do not know what came over me that day in the storm. Or, well, maybe I do.”
Kate waited a moment. The silence stretched, and she tried to find a balance between giving Emily the space she needed and prying for information too quickly. It was clear that Emily wanted to talk about what happened, but it was delicate. She had never before fallen from a horse, and yet she’d been unseated twice already at Split Tree.
“I always worry when Paul goes away. It is natural, I believe.” Emily turned her gaze to the fireplace, and her eyes glazed over. “We have been planning on settling more permanently. He was going to sell out and find an occupation that could keep him home. But of course, we were not quick enough. Once he was called back to fight, he couldn’t back out; it isn’t in his nature.”
Kate nodded. “Paul is noble. He would have felt it his duty to go.”
“Precisely,” Emily agreed. “And though I know it is irrational, I find myself worrying about him constantly. So many of his friends have been coming home injured. Or worse,” she added, her voice falling to a whisper, “not coming home at all.”
“Becoming so distracted with worry that you make careless mistakes and injure yourself will not bring Paul home faster,” she admonished quietly. “So you may as well take care of yourself.”
“Yes, the logical part of me understands that; the irrational half wants to panic relentlessly. That half usually wins.”
Kate put an arm around her friend and gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Perhaps you ought to refrain from riding until you can do so without losing your head. Or falling from Josephine.”
Emily’s lips bent into a wry smile. “That would probably be best. I’m just not myself.”
“Do you feel like coming with me into town?”
“No, thank you. I have been walking circles about the room for exercise, and I think I am due for a nap. My head pounds relentlessly.”
“Then you rest. I can take Jane.”
She left the room with a heavy heart. It was not like Emily to be melancholy, and if she was saving her sorrow for her rides, then she was most likely trying to hide it. Kate determined to check in with Emily at regular intervals to make sure she understood Kate was there to share in both hardships and happiness.
Her maid, Jane, was agreeable to a trip to the library, and it was not much longer before they were in the carriage and on their way to Larkfield. They passed the split tree and Kate had an image pop in her mind of a crude drawing she had done of it as a child the day she had met Mr. Evans for the first time and saved him from those wretched, savage boys. She should locate the drawing when she returned home and come out with her easel and paints to do a better job one of these days. The idea excited her, for she hadn’t painted since leaving Lytle’s School for Girls.
The lending library was located next to Mr. Larkin’s shop, and Kate took her time selecting a novel called Pride and Prejudice for Emily that had just recently come to the shelves but came highly recommended from the woman sitting behind the desk of the library. Kate assumed anything written by A Lady must certainly be worth reading.
She perused a small section on gardening in search of a book on orchard care but walked away empty-handed. It would be wise to send a note to the man that Peter recommended as steward—hopefully he was knowledgeable about such things. Or
at least amenable to learning.
Kate stopped in the Larkins’ shop for some peppermints to take to Emily and chatted with Mrs. Larkin for a few minutes while waiting for her purchase to be wrapped. The bell above the door signaled another customer, and Mrs. Larkin excused herself to see to the raven-haired beauty Mr. Evans had driven home from church a few weeks past.
Kate attempted a smile at the lady. The woman paused, her gaze dragging from Kate’s neck to her toes, before flicking away in clear dismissal.
Swallowing the bitter sting of rejection, she tried not to be offended. It was true that they had yet to be introduced. But honestly, a small smile would not have been a trial.
Returning to her carriage, Kate did not notice the men approaching until she nearly barreled into them, so intent she was on not being offended by the lady in the shop.
She glanced up, catching Peter’s eye. “Pardon me, gentlemen, I’m afraid my mind is somewhere in the clouds,” Kate said with a stiff smile.
Jane stepped away to remain appropriately close but not involved in the conversation.
Peter glanced at Kate, a small tick in his brow indicating he did not believe all was as she said it was. “Allow me to introduce my steward, Mr. Balham. Miss Kingston.”
“Pleasure,” Kate said, dipping her head. “I have just come from the lending library and hoped to find some literature to guide me in my orchard endeavors, but alas there was nothing in stock. Perhaps you have a title to recommend?”
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