A Forgiving Heart

by Kasey Stockton

  Peter had probably thought her just as troublesome as Miss Smithson, but she didn’t care. He was going out of his way to ensure the woman’s safety, and letting Kate be part of it as well. He had been right, anyway, for it would have been foolish to invite trouble to Split Tree when she and Emily lived there alone with no form of protection. She felt much safer under Peter’s roof and was glad Miss Smithson had agreed to come as well.

  Emily moved aside the carriage’s window covering to watch the world pass through it. “I still do not understand why the Evanses are throwing a house party right now. There is hardly any society here. If they waited but a month, I am told the society will double, at least.”

  “Perhaps they are bored,” Kate said simply. She stared out the window. She could not force Emily to agree with her about anything but knowing that they so fully disagreed was not easy to bear, either. “Have you heard from Paul?”

  “Not in some time,” Emily said. “I would like to think it means they are nearing the end. We can only pray it will come speedily.”

  “I do,” Kate said, giving her friend’s hand a squeeze.

  Their carriage pulled into Evanslea and let them out at the front door. Peter stepped outside with Mr. Evans on his tail, and they welcomed the ladies into their home, explaining that they were the first to arrive.

  “I suppose we were just so eager,” Kate said, shooting Mr. Evans a smile.

  “Yes,” Emily agreed. “A house party is just such a splendid notion! We shall get to know the local gentility quickly this way.”

  The men took them inside, and they all sat to tea. “Would you like to see your rooms before the other guests arrive?” Mr. Evans asked.

  “I think we can skip the after-travel repose,” Kate said, suppressing a grin. “The drive did not weary me.”

  They visited for another twenty minutes before the other guests began arriving. Mrs. Gressle and Miss Juniper arrived first, shortly followed by the Smithson family and the Kettlewells. Kate remembered the son, Albert Kettlewell, from the Evanses’ last dinner party as being a young gentleman who had appeared easily bored by his fellow dinner mates. Mr. and Mrs. Kettlewell seemed nice enough, though on the quiet side. Mrs. Gressle was their opposite in every way, deeming herself the matron of honor, apparently, since Peter did not have a woman to host. He did not seem to mind, however, and Kate wondered if he expected Mrs. Gressle to step in and take control.

  When the guests had assembled after room checks and various post-travel ministrations were complete, Peter stood before the group and cleared his throat. Kate found her gaze traveling to the front door, for Mr. Faile and his uncle, Mr. Horace had not yet arrived, and neither had Mr. Balham.

  “The three remaining guests will not make it until nightfall, I am afraid,” Peter said. “So forgive me for the odd number at dinner, but I promise that the remaining company will be worth the wait.” He smiled at Miss Annie and Miss Smithson, and Kate felt a tightening in her gut. “Now, for the interim I would like to offer up the gardens for walking, the horses for riding, or the music room for playing. We have also set up gaming tables in the parlor. You are free to spend your time as you wish. We will gather in the drawing room to dine at six o’clock.”

  The party slowly broke off after this. Mrs. Gressle dragged Miss Juniper and the Kettlewells off to the parlor for card games; the Smithson ladies returned upstairs for a nap; Peter walked away by himself and the remaining gentlemen decided on a ride.

  Emily turned to Kate and lowered her voice. “Why did we not bring our horses?”

  “I did not think about it,” Kate answered with a lift of her shoulder. “Should we walk out to the stables and request that they send for Apple and Josephine? We will be here for a week. I do not think it would be unreasonable.”

  “Yes, let’s.” Emily stood and pulled Kate outside. They crossed the lawn some thirty feet behind the men and made it to the stables as they were leaving on their horses. Kate scanned the workers; a good many of them littered the stables and surrounding area, all of their livery an identical blue and silver. Her gaze caught on a familiar set of eyes and she called to the one man not in the Evans livery.

  “Mr. Gibson!” The man turned away for a moment before looking over his shoulder. She waved a hand and he handed off the horse he was about to mount before crossing the dirty stable floor to meet her on the outside lawn.

  “Miss Kingston.”

  “How fortuitous that we found you, Mr. Gibson. We were hoping to dispatch a groom to Split Tree to request that our horses be brought here for the week.”

  Mr. Gibson nodded, belatedly removing his worn cap. “Tonight, Miss Kingston?”

  “I think tomorrow morning would be sufficient. I don’t believe we’ll have use of them this evening.”

  “Very good, ma’am,” Mr. Gibson said, nodding his head. “I’ll see to it.”

  Emily pulled Kate around the back of the house to the gardens. A tall hedge maze took up a good portion in the center of the garden. Kate could not tell from this angle but assumed it to be circular.

  The surrounding gardens were lovely, predominantly roses with some other varieties mixed in. They made their way to a bench on a path facing the back of the house and took a seat, chatting about the possibilities for the house party and whether or not the Evans men were planning on closing it out with an intimate ball.

  “Mr. Cruikshank has begun planting the apple trees,” Kate said of her new steward. “I hope it is not unseemly of me to ride over in the morning and check on the progress.”

  “I cannot see Mr. Evans appreciating the immense interest you have in your orchards, no,” Emily said. “But that isn’t reason to avoid checking on them if you are concerned.”

  Kate rose, the butterflies swirling around her stomach and filling her with an anxious energy. “I will not give them up, so he may as well see what he would be getting with me.”

  They peeked into the hedge maze but then continued on the path, neither of them wanting to risk getting lost this close to dinner.

  Emily reached out and stopped Kate before they made their way up the stairs to change for dinner. “I do hope you know that while it is bizarre to care so deeply for your land as a woman, it is part of you, and whoever chooses to make you his wife will indeed need to accept it. Do not change yourself to snare a husband, or you will find yourself married to a stranger, for you cannot truly get to know anyone if you are not yourself.”

  Kate nodded. She gave her friend a smile and squeezed her fingers before moving up the stairs. Little did Emily know, her priorities at present centered on the safety of a certain houseguest. Matrimony was the last thing on her mind. Well, maybe not the last, but certainly not the first.

  27

  Kate

  The female half of the party moved to the drawing room following dinner as the men stayed behind for brandy and port. Kate did her best to watch Miss Smithson covertly during the meal but found nothing noteworthy. The gash on her arm was covered by her long gloves and her demeanor was much the same as it always had been—to Kate’s disappointment.

  She chose a seat near Miss Smithson in the drawing room and listened to the conversation between her, Mrs. Smithson, and Mrs. Kettlewell about the new milliner’s apprentice and her skill with a hat.

  “Quite interesting,” a voice whispered in Kate’s ear, causing her to jump.

  “You startled me.”

  Emily’s grin was unrepentant. “Why do you care about the new milliner’s apprentice?”

  “I was just curious,” Kate said honestly, with a slight lift to her shoulder. “How much longer do you think the men will linger in the dining room?”

  Right then the door opened to admit Mr. Evans and Albert Kettlewell. Kate returned the smile delivered to her by the former and glanced behind him to an empty doorway. Her view was interrupted by Mr. Evans and an elegant bow, and she nodded slightly when he gestured to the empty seat on her other side.

  “Dinner was superb, Mr. Evans.
Though you mustn’t let it slip that I said that. I’ll have a very jealous cook on my hands if it ever gets back to her.”

  Mr. Evans smiled condescendingly, much like he would if she was a small child that had said something humorous. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  Her stomach tightened. She did not mind the loving way Mr. Evans looked at her, but condescension was a step too far.

  “Has Sir Peter been detained?” Emily asked.

  Kate watched the tick in Mr. Evans’s jaw and irritation flashed in his eyes. Much like Peter’s, they were currently a stormy color, and she could not tell if they were gray or blue. What could have him so upset with his brother?

  “He has received the last of the guests and will be in shortly,” Mr. Evans said. He turned to Kate and gave her a searching look. “I would like to take you for a ride this week in my phaeton. I am not sure what Peter has planned for tomorrow, but perhaps we might go in the afternoon?”

  “I should like that,” Kate said, hoping her face didn’t betray her lack of enthusiasm. Her stomach swirled, souring the longer he watched her. How had she imagined this feeling to be the soft fluttering of butterfly wings? There was no mistaking the unease filtering through her, and she felt herself begin to panic.

  Mr. Evans was still gazing into her eyes intently, and she smiled, though she could feel the strain of it. Could he sense it, too?

  “Are you quite sad to miss your London trip?” Kate asked, desperately trying to force him to speak, to remove his fixated gaze from her person. The way he lingered on her, caressing her lips with his eyes made her want to vomit.

  “I don’t believe I am missing too much,” he responded, with a sigh that said otherwise. “When Peter mentioned these plans of his I immediately wrote my acquaintances in London and begged their forgiveness. Of course, I enjoy spending a little time there every year, but an uninterrupted week with my new neighbors was simply too good of an offer to pass up.”

  “Guests,” an authoritative voice rang out from the doorway, effectively cutting the conversation short and keeping Kate from needing to respond to that pointed remark. She turned to see Peter standing there, his legs planted firmly on the Aubusson carpet and his hands clasped behind him; she could see how he would have easily commanded a company of men in war.

  Three men stood off to his side—each of them striking in different ways. The first claimed shaggy brown hair with a gruesome scar that ran through his eyebrow and down the side of his face, standing in much the same position as Peter. Beside him, a blond gentleman leaned languidly against the wall, a look of endless boredom plastered on his otherwise thoroughly handsome face. The third, a tanned gentleman, leaned forward to listen to something the blond man whispered to him. A smile lit his face, revealing a set of even, white teeth—marred only by a chip from his front tooth.

  Peter gestured to each man in turn. “Allow me to introduce Lord Marshall, Earl of Marshall, Lord Aniston, Earl of Aniston, and Lord Cohen, Viscount Cohen.” The men each bowed as they were introduced, and Kate could not help but notice Lord Cohen’s missing hand. He quickly shoved his arm into a pocket following his bow—likely to hide that very thing. His skin was so tan and his hair so dark, she was sure he was not a native Englishman—but his title said otherwise.

  Peter continued to introduce the members of the house party and Kate paid enough attention to dip her head in acknowledgement when he reached her. She could not help but feel a little bewildered that their party had grown by three lords, and she suddenly felt childish for asking Peter about things like orchards and stewards or having him teach her to ride a horse when he kept such high company. Good heavens, he had taught her to ride a horse! He must think her such a ninny.

  “Shall we begin a game of charades?” Miss Smithson asked, rising to her feet and displaying herself at best advantage.

  “I was rather hoping you would delight us with a song,” Peter said gallantly.

  Miss Smithson blushed becomingly and agreed before turning to consult with her sister.

  Kate felt the disconcerting focus of Peter’s stare warming her. She kept her gaze on Mr. Evans as he described his favorite opera in London and mentioned, again, how eager he was to watch Kate experience the beauty of the soprano, but distraction from Peter’s marked attention held her captive. The candlelight flickered around them, and she looked up, suddenly overcome with shyness.

  She caught Emily’s eye, who gave her a questioning look, and then glanced away. She could not even explain what she was feeling to herself, so it would be impossible to describe it to Emily.

  “Miss Kingston, would you do us the honor of playing?”

  “I am sorry,” she said, briefly catching Peter’s eye before looking back at Mr. Evans. “I am afraid I do not play above adequately.”

  “Yes,” Emily agreed, “but you sing beautifully.”

  Kate shot Emily a quick look, trying to convey the message that she’d rather not sing, either. Not with three lords in the room.

  “And I’d be happy to accompany you, Kate,” Emily continued, the innocence in her tone obviously false. Well, obvious to Kate’s knowing ears at least.

  “You did not tell me that you sang,” Mr. Evans said, his tone laced with hurt.

  Kate tried to breathe in some patience, and maybe a little strength. “It is not something I do often. I have not been trained by any masters.”

  Miss Smithson took to the piano and the room quieted. Peter moved back to sit beside his friends, who seemed to enjoy the music.

  Miss Annie joined in next, singing a lovely soprano to Miss Smithson’s complicated playing. When they switched places, Miss Smithson’s voice rang out strong, her sister’s playing a little lacking but highlighting her voice all the more. Emily spent a few minutes looking through the available sheet music before showing Kate her selection. They took their places at the vacated piano as the room clapped politely, Emily seated and Kate standing behind her, ready to turn pages. The hush that fell over the room felt louder than before, and Kate kept her gaze on the music as Emily began to play.

  Kate sang the song she and Emily had often performed at school functions. Emily’s skill on the piano was on par with Miss Smithson’s, and Kate’s voice was a soft alto; her singing rang pure and clear.

  The song spilled from her lips as her eyes darted about the room, unwilling to rest for longer than a moment on any particular guest. They all watched her as she stood poised beside the pianoforte, her hands clasped lightly before her. But Mr. Evans’s stare was direct, even severe. She felt it in the core of her stomach, and it drew her gaze to him as though by force. Clear, gray eyes fastened on her, and she nearly stumbled over the familiar words of the song.

  Tearing her gaze from his, she searched the rapt faces, landing on the man standing at the back. Peter stood tall and steady, watching her with appreciation. His eyes glittered, flickering in the candlelight, and a smile settled on his lips, elevating her spirits.

  They completed the song to a moment of silence before the audience clapped and Mrs. Gressle requested an encore, which was seconded by Mr. Evans and Lord Aniston. Kate watched Emily move aside the sheet music to reveal another underneath, and they performed this one together, Emily singing harmony to Kate’s melody. They politely declined a second encore and reclaimed their seats, the musical portion of the evening at a close.

  “That was marvelous,” Mr. Evans said when Kate returned to his side, his handsome smile radiant. “Absolutely beautiful.”

  “I cannot help but agree,” Lord Aniston said, coming to stand beside Kate. “I have yet to hear such a pure tone tug at my heartstrings so.”

  “That is very kind, my lord,” Kate said, dipping into a curtsy. She could not recall being addressed by a member of nobility in all of her life. Unless Peter counted. Did he? No, not quite. He was a Sir, not a lord.

  “I hope you plan to grace us with another performance before the week is out,” Lord Aniston continued suavely. His fair hair was a golden shade,
much lighter than Mr. Evans’s, and his face was classically handsome with a tilted nose, not unlike how she’d imagined Adonis to appear.

  “Perhaps,” was her noncommittal reply.

  The group soon after broke up for the night, Mrs. Gressle leading the way with her companion, Miss Juniper, close behind. Kate and Emily bid Mr. Evans goodnight and moved into the corridor close behind Mrs. Gressle. They caught a bit of the conversation between the matron and her companion, and Emily pulled on Kate’s arm to hold her back after a particularly spiteful comment.

  “You cannot think she means it,” Emily whispered harshly. “The woman is old. And she surely does not have all her wits about her.”

  “No,” said Kate, drolly. “Only the ignorant ones.”

  “Come, do not take offence. Surely she meant that you have gotten to know your neighbors so well because of their proximity.”

  “Right,” Kate said. “I am sure that is exactly what she meant when she said, ‘that unseemly Miss Kingston.’” Kate raised her voice a shrill octave higher, mocking the older woman. “‘Taking advantage of those poor Evans boys. And no woman in the house to warn them of her wily ways.’”

  “Whoever authored those lies obviously does not know our Miss Kingston, now do they?” a deep voice said behind Kate.

  Her eyes drifted closed and she froze, caught out. She drew in a breath before turning to find Peter flanked by Lord Aniston and Lord Cohen.

  “Forgive me; I didn’t know I had an audience,” Kate muttered. She found it difficult to hold Peter’s steel gaze and looked to Emily for help.

  “Your name is so familiar, my lord,” Emily said instead, narrowing her gaze at Lord Aniston.

  His surprise was quickly masked with the same bored look he wore earlier.

  “Might you have served with the Light Dragoons at some point?”