Her certainty that a proposal loomed on the horizon did nothing but heighten her nerves. He discussed openly the joyful prospect of a future together, persuaded they would be blissfully happy. Yet Kate was equally convinced that she did not love him. The swirling sensation she felt in her gut when she was around Mr. Evans had only grown in recent days, and Kate suspected it was a mix of anxiety and apprehension, not the pleasant flutter of butterfly wings. Not love.
But why he made her so nervous went beyond her comprehension, which concerned her a great deal.
Peter had approached her the evening before and had asked to meet her at the stables directly after breakfast—and covertly if at all possible. She was certain he had come closer to solving their riddle.
She skipped breakfast, apprehension chasing her appetite away. Kate was certain something big was coming, and the idea was as scary as it was welcome. She was ready for this to be over. It was exceedingly tiresome being worried for Miss Smithson when it seemed the lady wasn’t worried at all for herself. Of course, now that she was in and out of consciousness it seemed too improbable to be a coincidence. Someone had to be poisoning her, Kate was sure.
“I was afraid you were not coming,” Peter said as she approached. He had Apple prepared and waiting beside Domino.
She could not tell him that she had been looking forward to it since he’d issued the invitation or that would seem too bold.
They rode to Split Tree the back way, cutting through the woods, and left their horses tied to a rear shed that sat on the property line beside the trees. It was a short walk to the stables, and Peter informed her of what he had learned.
“I was told that a member from your stables arrived at the vista after the rest of our party was already seated for the luncheon. He came under the guise of bringing additional desserts from Split Tree’s kitchens, but the man who questioned him did not see any parcels on his person.”
“Who was it?” Kate asked, her eyebrows screwed together in thought. Nothing had arrived during their luncheon from Alice, nor had the cook mentioned wanting to send anything. Rather, she had seemed happy for an afternoon off, if Kate recalled correctly.
“That’s the rub. They had no idea. His information came from a man not acquainted with the members of your staff.”
“Who was your source?”
Peter looked down and gave her a smile, saying, “I cannot give away my informant. You understand.”
“Yes.” She nodded, then shot him a grin. “Though it does not make me less curious.”
Peter led her around the side of the stables, pulling Kate to the side so they could approach unseen. “I was hoping we could look around a little.”
“And if we are caught?” she whispered, breathless. Peter’s large, warm hand encased her own and sent a chill up her arm, which spread over her body.
He glanced over his shoulder, an amused smile turning up his lips and revealing the dimple. “If we are caught, we simply tell them we are looking for an additional lady’s saddle for one of the guests.”
Kate nodded. She could be stealthy…she hoped. But she was far more eager to watch Peter. He was the one with military training, after all.
He mouthed “follow me” and released her hand before quietly sliding through a side door. The stables were quiet but for the soft neighing of Kate’s carriage horses. The workers were likely taking advantage of the break with Kate’s absence, which did not bother her, as long as her horses were looked after.
Peter took her hand again and pulled her quietly toward the office where Mr. Gibson conducted his business. A sound within the small room indicated that it was occupied, and Peter paused before pivoting toward the wooden staircase which led to the quarters upstairs. Kate followed him up the steps, impressed by his agility. For a man so large, he was adept at moving unnoticed.
“You begin on this end and I will start over there,” he whispered, pointing to the far side of the narrow corridor. Kate nodded and moved to the first bedroom, only to find it empty. She moved to the next and searched the belongings, not quite sure what she was looking for, but confident she would know when she found it. Guilt pricked at her, but she had only to be reminded of Miss Smithson’s very real peril and her resolve hardened.
Room upon room came up empty of any valuable clues. Meeting Peter in the center of the corridor, she shook her head and he mimicked the action.
“Drat,” she said. “I was hoping we would find something.”
“Let us see if the office is no longer occupied.”
Nodding, she followed him down the stairs, glad they were away from the bedrooms that would undoubtedly lead to a scandal should they have been found. The door to Mr. Gibson’s office was left open and Peter slipped inside, telling her to stay and remain outside the door to keep watch. Her heart sped at the danger of the situation. Should they be found, she was confident she could distract with meaningless questions, the quest for a sidesaddle her fallback. She was relieved when Peter returned, shaking his head, and she was not required to do so.
“Nothing,” he said.
It was bittersweet that they had seemed to clear her staff. Of course she did not want a traitor under her roof, but she would have been glad to discover who was trying to hurt Miss Smithson.
“Shall we tackle the study now that we are here?” Peter asked.
It took Kate a moment to understand his meaning. “Now?” she asked.
He nodded, watching her steadily, his gray eyes unyielding. She drew in a deep breath. She had told him she wished to go into the study, and he had offered to stand by her side if she needed support. Gazing up at the man, she realized how deeply she wished for his support—that she’d meant it when she’d said she could do anything if he was by her side.
And now was a perfect time, while her servants believed her to be gone. She would not likely have an audience. “Very well.”
They walked quickly toward the house and slipped inside. Her butler was not beside the front door, and Kate was relieved to avoid any spectators. She directed Peter down the corridor, and they stopped at the study door, her hand rising slowly until it stuck, as though glued to the doorknob.
She had entered this room countless times before to take away empty bottles of spirits or tend to the fire. She’d hardly been old enough to put aside fairy tales and young girls’ dreams when she’d been brought to her once childhood home and forced to serve.
And all the while, her uncle was merely managing her inheritance.
“Would you like me to open it?” Peter asked kindly.
“No,” she said on an exhale. Fire burning in her chest, she gripped the knob, the reeded wood digging into her fingers. But hesitancy nipped at her, creating a barrier that prevented her from stepping forward. Kate shut her eyes, shaking her head. “This is silly. I can do it.”
Peter’s large hand covered hers, pushing her fingers deeper into the ringed wood. She looked up at him, caught by the compassion pulling his eyebrows in, his blue eyes roaming over her as if he could remove her distress by his gaze alone.
“It is not silly to face your demons,” he whispered. “It is brave.”
She nodded, afraid speaking would unleash a flood of tears. Peter squeezed her hand before letting go, and she turned the knob, pushing the door open.
The creak of the swinging door cut through the quiet house. Kate’s gaze swept the room, landing on the oversized mahogany desk. A flash of Uncle Bartholomew sitting behind it assaulted her, bringing to mind his slow perusal of her while she stood in her plain dress for his initial inspection upon her arrival at Split Tree.
The empty room in the dim light looked…pathetic. Kate drifted to the windows and moved aside the heavy drapes, disturbing some of the dust as morning light streamed through the open windows and highlighted swirling particles dancing languidly from their resting places.
Catching Peter’s gaze over her shoulder, she smiled. “Thank you.”
He dipped his head.
“I was sent to live with a family when my parents died—tenants of my uncle’s friend,” Kate said, unsure of why she was telling Peter this, but feeling the need to speak. She was faintly aware of him closing the door behind himself and she moved to the desk to look within its drawers. “My uncle probably had me go because he did not wish to deal with me. But then he sent for me when I was nine and forced me to return to Split Tree.” She turned, holding Peter’s gaze. “I did not realize until years later that he likely only did so to gain access to my money— money I did not even know I had until a few months ago.”
Peter shook his head. “I knew he was ruthless in business. But this? I had no idea. What an awful man.”
“Yes, he was.” She smiled at Peter before opening the top drawer of the monstrous desk. “He was awful. I was a servant he did not have to pay. And when he did not have a use for me, he kept me locked in the school room with a horrible woman until he sent me away to school. I was glad to go. I found a home within the school, with the teachers and the other girls.”
“You never went outside while you were here?” Peter asked, an odd emotion in his voice. She glanced up, but he seemed at ease, his arms crossed casually over his chest as he watched her with interest.
She shook her head, rummaging through the quills and ink bottles. She stopped suddenly and looked up at him. “Oh, I suppose I did once. But it wasn’t a very pleasant experience. And the switching I got on returning convinced me not to try it again.”
Peter looked arrested.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I…” he started. He cleared his throat and came around the desk, resolve hardening his features. “I’m afraid there is something—”
The door swung open to reveal Mr. Cruikshank, eyes wide as he halted midstep. “Forgive me, I didn’t realize…” He looked between the two of them, unsure of what to do.
“Do not mind us,” Kate said, shutting the drawer and taking a step back. “We were just finishing up here. Please, Mr. Cruikshank, feel free to use this room as you see fit. I plan on instructing Mrs. McKinley to keep this room cleaned and open for use. I do not imagine I’ll be using it myself, but that doesn’t mean it must remain closed up.”
“Very good, Miss Kingston.” He cleared his throat awkwardly and glanced away.
“Is there something you wish to say?” Kate asked, mildly defensive.
“Only, I have been coming in here on occasion to access the bookshelf that is kept in here. And I found a small stash of ladies’ belongings. I was unsure of what to do with them.”
“Oh? Perhaps I may see them.” Kate was unprepared for the pile Mr. Cruikshank led her to. Underneath the massive desk in the cavity where knees would hide was a small pile of items, including the missing slippers, jade earring and riding glove, along with a few ribbons, a worn pocket watch, and green thread that perfectly matched the horse blankets kept in the stables.
“I’ve seen the cat come and go,” Mr. Cruikshank explained. “I wondered if that was our culprit.”
Kate chuckled as she leaned down and picked up her earring. “That explains it. I have been slowly losing halves of a pair ever since we moved in.”
Peter reached for the watch. He looked at it, his stony face failing to reveal anything. “I believe this belongs to my brother. He must have dropped it during one of his visits.”
A silence settled between them that was broken by Mr. Cruikshank’s toe scuffing the carpet.
“Shall we?” she asked Peter. He was gazing at her intently and she was eager to be alone again. She wanted to know what he had started to say before they were interrupted.
He followed her from the room, and she paused. “Might I just meet you by the horses? I’d like to check in with my cook while we are here.”
“I will go with you,” he said instead. “I have a mind to formally meet this famous woman.”
Smiling dryly, she recalled their first meeting when Peter had stopped her carriage like a highwayman. She turned for the servants’ stairs and took them down to the kitchen, where she found Alice humming over a soup pot.
“Alice,” she said, “I hope we are not interrupting.”
The cook looked up to see the large man standing beside Kate and her young eyes widened. “Oh, nonsense, Miss Kingston. You know I’m always happy to have you in my kitchen.”
“Does everything go on well here?” Kate asked. She hoped Alice understood that she meant the entire household and not just the kitchen.
“Well, I suppose so. But there was an odd thing last night.” Alice screwed up her face in thought. “That man from the stables was snooping around my kitchen. I don’t know why—I suppose he wanted a late-night snack. But when I found him, I was surprised by his quick escape. I even offered to cook him up something right quick.”
“Which man was it, Alice?”
She glanced to Peter and leaned in closer to Kate. “You know I’m no good with names, miss. But this one had those beautiful eyes. You know the one I mean? A girl can get lost in them, she can.”
“Yes,” Kate said, extremely aware of Peter standing just behind her. “I know precisely whom you mean.”
“And you found him in the kitchen?” Peter asked.
“Well, the still room. But it’s just right there,” Alice said, flinging her soup spoon in the direction of the still room. Kate stepped out of the way just in time to miss a string of onion. “I made some blackberry jam yesterday, so I thought that’s maybe what he was looking for.”
“Alice, that sounds delicious. I can hardly wait until we get back home to try it.”
Alice set down the spoon and scurried into the still room, bringing back a jar of the dark, sweet substance and held it to Peter before hooking a stray curl behind her ear. “Take it. We’ve got quite a bit stacked up in there.”
“Thank you,” Peter said, sounding touched. “I have heard great things about your work.”
Alice blushed. A compliment from a handsome gentleman would do that to a girl.
“Thank you, Alice. I hope you are enjoying your break this week.”
She nodded and went back to her soup, most likely thinking that cooking for the army of servants really wasn’t much of a break at all.
They barely made it outside when Peter rounded on Kate. “Who’s the man she caught in her kitchen?”
“Oh!” Kate said, taken off guard. She tottered backward and fell onto the grass, so taken aback by Peter’s enthusiasm.
He helped her up with a quick apology but did not let the question drop, his free hand resting on her shoulder.
“That would be Mr. Gibson,” Kate said warily, warm from his touch. “He runs the stables.”
He dropped his hold and she found herself able to breathe normally again. “And he is also the man you ran into at my stables at the start of the week, yes?”
“Yes, that would be him.” Kate began walking toward the shed where they had left their horses. They’d already spent a good deal of time at Split Tree and needed to get back before the guests of the house party began noting their absences.
“Why was he there?”
Confused, Kate stopped. “I beg your pardon?”
Peter ran a hand agitatedly through his hair. “Did he tell you why he was in my stables when your carriage had already delivered you and he had not brought your horses?”
She felt silly. “No, I hadn’t thought to ask.”
Peter beamed—the exact opposite reaction than she had anticipated. “I think we have found the first piece to our puzzle.”
“Mr. Gibson? He is kind. And helpful.” She scurried to catch up to Peter, his long stride carrying him toward the horses quickly. “He was the only servant who stayed after my uncle died.”
Peter came to a stop. “What was that?”
Kate was breathing heavily. “I was just commending his loyalty.”
“No.” Peter shook his head. “Did you say he was the only servant who remained? Kate, he did not work here when your uncle was ali
ve.”
She looked at him warily, wondering how well he’d known Uncle Bartholomew or his servants.
“Trust me,” Peter said. “I spent a good deal of time with the stablemaster at the end there, Mr. Farley. Bartholomew and Farley were dabbling in horse breeding, and I went in on the investment since a friend of mine has hopes of breeding himself.”
“Lord Cohen.”
“Yes,” Peter said, looking a tad surprised but recovering quickly. “Why did you think your uncle had willed me the stock of his stables? I owned half of them already. And I stole his stablemaster at the end there, too. After Bartholomew died, of course.”
“I had no idea,” she said with an unladylike shrug.
Peter gawked at her for a moment. “You didn’t think to find out? What if the old man had just given away all of the horses on your estate and they were, by rights, yours?”
“He had a good solicitor. I figured if I had any claim to them, he would have told me.”
Peter laughed. “That was very trusting of you.”
A smile spread over her lips, aware of the naivety of her own actions. “I have not been steered wrong yet.”
“Except,” Peter said with a raise of one eyebrow. “By your Mr. Gibson.”
“Oh, right.” Frustration rolled through her. Had she really been taken in so easily? And if he had malicious intentions toward Miss Smithson, why would he set up at Split Tree?
Peter rubbed a hand over his face. “I cannot figure out the connection between Miss Smithson and Split Tree.”
She smiled to herself. They reached the horses and Peter untied them, saying, “Perhaps we can check in on her when we get back. I have a feeling she does not suffer from a typical illness.”
“I had the same thought,” Kate agreed. “If only I could understand who might have something against her. She seems harmless.”
Peter placed his hands around her waist, pulling her thoughts away from Miss Smithson entirely.
A Forgiving Heart Page 20