“That sore?” Peter asked, before looking away. A blush crept into his cheeks and Kate smiled at such an innocent display on such a large man.
“I am still growing accustomed to the saddle, yes.”
Peter cleared his throat awkwardly, holding the door open for Kate and then following her into the parlor. “Have you thought of a name yet for your horse?”
“No, not yet,” Kate said, grateful for the change in subject. She realized she had left her drawings all over the low table again that morning and rushed to gather them up before Peter caught sight. She was too late.
“These are marvelous,” he said over her shoulder. “May I?”
Kate handed over the stack of various parlor redesigns with a sheepish smile. “Most of them were just to amuse myself.” She had brought out her watercolors and added color here and there, and a few of the drawings weren’t too bad. Only, she could not decide which direction she wanted to go. Peter chuckled at a few of the more elaborate renditions, and she had to laugh a little too, to ease her awkwardness.
He glanced up and the smile on his lips was dazzling. The Evans men were certainly quite handsome. “I think the jungle room is my favorite.”
“That is one of mine as well,” she said. “Though I am not sure where I would locate an armchair carved to look like one is seated in the large, open mouth of a lion.”
“Or a sofa that resembles a relaxed bear.”
“I think the giraffe candelabras could be easily made though,” Kate said as if she was truly considering that design. She was gratified by Peter’s easy laugh as he finished looking through the sketches.
“This one,” he said, pulling out a basic room redone with tasteful furniture and simple colors. It was a clear blend of classic styles and modern colors.
“I was leaning that direction as well. I only wonder if it is not too boring.”
“Classic is not boring. It seems to me that sometimes by trying to outdo others we lose our sense of self; and this vision, to me,” he said, holding up the sketch, “is very you.”
Kate did not know what to think. She understood the compliment, and found his no nonsense way to be reassuring, in a sense. She had developed a great friendship with Peter over the recent weeks and appreciated his candid nature. She assumed it had gone a long way in commanding his troops during his years as Captain. Yet she was also a woman and would be lying to herself if she had pretended not to notice the lack of flowery praise.
“Now I must go help Martin prepare for this evening,” Peter said, standing. “Martin has a great deal in store for you.”
“For me?” she asked, unsure what to make of his pointed stare. “Whatever could you mean by that cryptic comment?”
He shifted his weight to his other leg. “He laid out his plans to me a few nights past, and I must say, I understood them perfectly. I hope you will be happy.”
Kate stared, trying desperately to think of something to say. Was Mr. Evans planning to court her? To make his intentions known and public? It was precisely what she had wanted when she met the man, but the prospect made her nervous, nonetheless. At least she would have Emily with her that evening to aid her. Kate hadn’t the least notion how to flirt with a gentleman.
Peter cleared his throat, calling her back to the present. “Do you look forward to meeting some of your neighbors?”
“Some of them, yes,” she responded truthfully, her mind flitting to Miss Smithson.
Peter smiled as if he could read her mind before setting the sketch on the table and taking his leave. Kate lifted the paper. She remained in the parlor a moment longer, studying the sketch of the simple design and wondering precisely what Peter saw when he looked at her.
Peter
It took all of Peter’s restraint not to run to his horse and gallop away. A bruising ride would clear his head, but he didn’t wish for Kate to glance from her parlor window and catch him in a fit of pique.
He hadn’t meant to tell her of Martin’s intentions, but temptation had grown too strong and the words slipped from his tongue like an oily snake.
Peter received his punishment watching Kate’s face move between expressions of surprise and excitement. The thought of courting Martin had clearly given her pleasure, which was vastly different from the feeling it had ignited within Peter. When Martin had told Peter of his intent to court Kate, an unwelcome feeling had settled in his stomach, growing heavy and thick.
That feeling had returned speaking to Kate in her parlor today. But a woman such as she deserved the best of everything. She deserved whatever it was her heart desired. And Peter would not stand in the way of that.
He couldn’t. He’d given Martin his word. As a gentleman, it would be in his best interest to strive to view Kate as the sister she would one day become. After taking so much from Martin during their childhood, falling into whatever plans Charles had concocted or standing by and doing nothing to stop Charles from his angry pursuits, Peter had no other choice now but to step aside and let Martin and Kate find happiness—however difficult that might be.
Swinging up into the saddle, Peter turned toward Evanslea and clicked his tongue. He would return to his stables, check on Destiny and her foals, and rid his mind of visions of Kate.
20
Kate
The carriage ride to Evanslea was short. Kate had found herself in a melancholy mood for the remainder of the day after Peter had left, and while she was glad Emily felt well enough to go to the dinner with her, she was also grateful that her friend’s fatigue would most likely lend itself in helping her to end the night early. She was not intending to dance.
In opposition to Kate’s dreary mood, Emily had received a letter from Paul in the afternoon post and her spirits had soared. He seemed to be doing well, and while he worried over Emily’s careless riding, he had faith that she was recovering nicely and had extended his thanks to Kate for caring for his precious wife. It seemed, to Paul, as if the war could not possibly go on for too much longer, and he had every hope of being reunited with his love in a reasonable timeframe.
Kate would only be too glad when that time came. Perhaps she could even convince Paul to take a restorative couple of months at Split Tree before returning with Emily to London.
It was as she mused over this that they pulled into the carriage drive at Evanslea and a footman helped her step onto the gravel road. Mr. Evans greeted them at the door, expressed his happiness at Emily’s recovery, and gave a special smile to Kate that had butterflies batting their wings in her stomach. They were not the first to arrive, and Mr. Evans introduced them to Mr. and Mrs. Kettlewell and their son, Albert Kettlewell; Mrs. Gressle and her companion, an elderly Miss Juniper; and Mr. and Mrs. Smithson and their daughters, Miss Smithson and Miss Annie Smithson.
Kate had already met Miss Smithson outside of Mr. Larkin’s shop, but she found that she rather liked the look of the younger sister, Miss Annie, considerably more. Miss Annie had the same raven hair and perfectly plump red lips, but the smile on her face and the glint in her eye lent themselves to an unpretentious attitude, and Kate thought she could see something of a kindred spirit in the girl.
They had only to wait on Mr. Faile and his Uncle, Mr. Horace, and their dinner party would be complete. Peter stepped into the room with Mr. Balham, the sight both familiar and comforting. Mr. Evans stepped away to see to the last of the arriving guests—a portly young man and his frizzy, white-haired uncle—so Kate and Emily approached Peter and his steward.
“I must thank you for the books, Mr. Balham,” Kate said after introducing him to Emily. “They have been excessively useful.”
“I had rather thought they would be,” he answered with a smile. “I’m glad they are of some value to you, but if you find yourself with any questions, I would be more than happy to discuss them.”
“So you are the reason my friend is holed up in that parlor day in and out with her nose stuck in those massive books,” Emily said with a playful glare, her nose scrunching
beneath drawn brows. “I vow, between all of the riding lessons and those wretched books, I have scarce seen her at all this past week.”
“I must apologize for taking away your companion, Mrs. Nielsen,” Peter said dutifully. “Though I cannot regret my part in it.”
“It has been a blessing, I think,” Kate said. “If I pestered you day in and out, do you think you would have healed as quickly as you did?”
Emily relented. “I suppose you make a valid point there.”
Mr. Evans returned, pulling Kate away, and apologized to the men without a hint of remorse. “I have it on good authority,” he told her, “that dinner shall be announced soon. And call me selfish, but I would like to find myself at your side when it is time to take in the guests.”
Kate smiled up at him prettily, or at least that was her goal. Were her teeth showing too much? Perhaps she ought to practice in the mirror again. “I should like that above all things.”
Mr. Evans’s answering smile was interrupted by the butler announcing dinner, and she glanced over to find Mr. Balham offering Emily an arm before allowing her own hand to rest on Mr. Evans’s. She watched Peter cross to Mrs. Gressle, the older woman, and startled a little at Mr. Evans’s voice in her ear. “Mrs. Gressle is the niece of an earl. She is the highest-ranking woman in the room until Sir Peter marries.” Kate nodded, ignoring the hint of malice that colored his words, and followed him into the dining room. It must be tiresome to plan and execute a dinner party without a woman to assist. Surely he was merely weary from the evening’s responsibilities.
“As our guest of honor, it should be you in the right-hand seat,” Mr. Evans continued, nodding to where Peter led Mrs. Gressle. “But I cannot say I am upset by Peter’s insistence that we show Mrs. Gressle her due. She does get persnickety if we do not remember her esteemed uncle.”
Kate chuckled at this, unsurprised by Peter’s gallantry in observing Mrs. Gressle’s need for recognition. “I would rather give up the seat of honor than ruffle any feathers. I am not entirely sure anyone else here sees Emily or I as guests of honor, anyhow. I quite received the impression that they couldn’t care less.” This was delivered in an amused tone, but she found, upon looking at Mr. Evans, that his face was stricken.
“Have you been mistreated?”
“Well, no,” Kate answered truthfully. “And I did not expect to be wholly accepted right away. Perhaps you misunderstood,” Kate said softly, laying a hand on top of his arm after he seated her at the table. “I only meant that it will take time for the gentility of Larkfield to feel like a comfortable group of friends.”
Mr. Evans looked relieved, if somewhat confused. “Such is the way of things, I suppose.”
Kate nodded, waiting for the rest of the men to seat themselves. Through the dinner she found her gaze straying down to Miss Smithson at the other end of the table, irritation prickling her every time she heard the lady’s stilted laugh or high-pitched teasing. Eventually she forbade herself from looking there, but that ended up being worse. She was afraid Mr. Evans would find her a dull dinner companion and it was with great relief that the meal came to an end and the women were ushered into the drawing room to wait for the men as they enjoyed cigars and port.
Mrs. Gressle took on the hostess’s responsibility to ensure that all of the ladies were comfortable. Turning to whisper a jest to Emily, Kate pulled up short—her friend’s face drawn and pale. Directing Emily to a sofa, she seated her against an array of pillows.
“Shall we leave now?”
“No,” Emily said, as if it was a preposterous idea. “Your Mr. Evans has a whole evening of entertainment planned, does he not?”
“Yes, but I had not intended on staying for the entire evening. You need your rest if you are to continue healing.”
“And rest I will get, against these marvelously comfortable pillows.”
“Emily, Paul is trusting me with your health,” Kate said with the severity she felt. She would not let Paul down.
“And my health requires a bit of entertainment,” Emily snapped. “No, do not look so offended, Kate, but remember that I have been holed up for a fortnight now, and longer still if you count the days I was unconscious. I am not ready to leave yet so quit looking concerned for me. I promise I will let you know the moment I am ready to go.”
Kate nodded. How selfish of her to forget that Emily must have been bored out of her mind of late. “As long as we do not have to play any ridiculous games like charades or hunt the slipper, I will stay as long as you like.”
The men entered the room then, filtering in to fill the spaces left by the women on various chairs or sofa cushions.
“I noticed that you have your piano prepared, Sir Peter. Would you like me to sing for you?” Miss Smithson asked, her lashes batting as she coyly dipped her head. False coyness, clearly. The woman seemed too calculated for it to be otherwise.
“Perhaps later,” Mr. Evans cut in, moving to stand at the head of the room. “I thought it would be exceptional to first play a round or two of charades.”
Miss Smithson clapped her hands in glee, an apparent attempt to override her irritation at not being asked to sing, while Emily smothered a laugh. Kate elbowed her in the ribs.
“How do you feel about charades, Miss Kingston?” Mr. Evans asked, turning to her. He searched her face for something, but she could not guess what.
She gave him her widest smile, while staying cautious of exposing too much of her crooked teeth. “I should like it above all things, sir,” she said with the sweetest voice she could muster. The party was then broken into two teams and Kate geared herself up to play a game that she, in fact, quite detested above all things.
Martin
The party was moving along splendidly. Martin saw the way Kate had lit up when she entered the drawing room on his arm and he didn’t think he was being excessively conceited to think she was pleased to go into dinner with him, either. It had irked him to find her comfortably discussing something with Peter and Mr. Balham, but he had righted that situation quickly. Ladies of distinction had no business in discussing anything with a steward. She was far too high above him in station.
The game of charades was rapidly dying down and Martin had thought a lively game of hunt the slipper would give him ample time to walk the corridors with Miss Kingston alone, but the group was looking a little wan, and he was afraid that suggesting such a game would throw them deeper into the doldrums. This was the problem with country society. His options for dinner guests were limited to country bumpkins, single, older women with companions, or hopeful, young gentility trying to pawn their daughters off to anyone of title or rank.
Not that he qualified. No, he was not the head of this household.
“Miss Smithson, would you care to play for us now?” Martin asked, glad when her eyes lit up that she would not hold his earlier deferral against him now. She looked as though she was trying to catch Peter’s eye tonight, and it was hideously obvious she was doing so in order to try and make Martin jealous—and failing, miserably. If the news she had brought to him earlier that month had not succeeded in dragging Martin to the altar, she should realize that none of her antics would force him to propose. She could flirt with his brother all she liked. Of course, Peter refused to be baited, and that was all fine by Martin. It gave him more time.
Miss Annie moved to the piano to accompany her sister, and it was apparent that the two had been practicing. Their delivery was superb, every note perfect. And while Martin was not a connoisseur of music, he could appreciate a well sung sonata.
He suffered through a few more pieces of music delivered by the Smithson sisters before asking Miss Kingston if she cared to play for them. She refused politely, stating that none of her talent lay in music. Mrs. Nielsen was apparently gifted with a lovely alto, but she was looking rather pulled and no one argued with her when she declined. This was turning out to be a sorry party indeed.
Martin threw out his plans of rolling up the carpets and g
etting Miss Kingston into a waltz, and instead suggested whist. It was universally accepted, and the group split up perfectly into four tables. He had played two exceptional games with Miss Kingston as his partner before she was pulled from the table mentally, if not literally.
“Is something troubling you, Miss Kingston?” he asked, trying not to be irritated. Her eyebrows pulled together to form a perfectly concerned brow and he longed to smooth out the wrinkles and force her problems away, that they might return to enjoying their evening.
Miss Kingston looked to the other two people at the table, Miss Annie and her partner, the portly Mr. Faile, before returning her gaze to Martin. He was gratified that she had hesitated to share something with him because of their company, for he knew she would not hesitate if it was only him. She trusted him.
“I really must get Emily home,” Miss Kingston said regretfully. “She is still healing, you know. I only wish I did not have to cut the evening short.”
Oh, was that all? Martin gave her his most compassionate face. “Of course you must do what is best for Mrs. Nielsen. I will have your carriage brought out straight away.”
The look of pure gratitude she gave him was worth cutting a million nights short. He tossed the rest of his hand on the table while Mr. Faile began gathering the discarded cards.
It took a moment’s work to instruct Homer to have Miss Kingston’s carriage brought round to the front, but when Martin returned to the drawing room, he simmered at the sight that greeted him. Peter had swooped in and helped Mrs. Nielsen to her feet, leading her to the door while Miss Kingston said her farewells, Mr. Balham guiding her behind Peter. The steward. He had only been invited because they were short by one male and he usually fit in perfectly, blending into the background of the dinner table and conveniently making his escape after dinner. Only tonight, Balham hadn’t made his escape. He had held on and continued to be a part of the activities. Of course, it ended up being beneficial during their impromptu games of whist, but that was beside the point. He had usurped Martin’s place, sliding in and escorting Miss Kingston to the foyer.
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