With that, he strode back out of the cottage to retrieve his horse. There was no point in further talk. Now was the time for action. It was good that his ex-mistress was not before him at the moment, for he was seething with a beastly rage.
Chapter 9
Despair
Katherine was miserable. She cursed under her breath and swept the worn stone floor of the cottage, needing to be active with something or she would go mad. She might as well clean up before she spread out the straw that Foxleigh had been sleeping on. It was humiliating that floor straw had been the only bed she had to offer, but there was no chance he would need it now. He would never return to such a mean dwelling, especially after she had acted like such a fishwife.
Why had she been so terrible to Fox? Maybe he did not express himself quite as delicately as he could have, but he was trying to be kind. Being accosted by Atherton had not put her in the best frame of mind, but that was not a good enough reason to be so ungrateful.
She winced as she recalled the look he gave her when she accused him of treating her like a whore—it was as though she had slapped him in the mouth. And he was incensed when he left. She could see it in his smoldering dark eyes. He could not get away from her fast enough.
Was he angry that she had believed Marie’s story without first asking him? Well, that much was unfair. Perhaps she should not have accepted Marie’s version of events as completely as she had done, but would it have mattered? If Marie bore his child, whomever Foxleigh married would suffer that woman and her offspring as a constant source of misery, for the rest of her life. Surely he could see that Katherine could never continue with the engagement under such circumstances.
But she had said too much, been too easily nettled by her smarting pride. It did no good to dredge up all the pain in their past and hurl it at his head. Things were as they were, and there was no undoing them.
And yet, what if his denial was true? What if the child really was not his, and Marie was out of his life forever? Could Katherine let it go? Could she learn to trust him again?
She snorted at her own romantic fancy and began to spread the straw over the cold part of the floor near the entrance. As if it mattered. He was not coming back. What did she have to offer him now? She was all coarse and thin from too much work and too little food. What did she have that could possibly attract a man like Foxleigh?
He was a duke and now he apparently had more money than he could spend. And he was handsome. Still so insufferably handsome. And he smelled irresistible. She bent to sniff the straw. It still held the ever-so-slight fragrance of leather and oranges. Or was it her imagination?
Stop it, Kat. There was no point in indulging these pathetic fancies now. He was gone. She had lost him all over again. She felt the tears trickling across her cheeks before she realized she was crying. So apparently she had not quite cried herself dry, after all. That was some sort of ironic comfort. Dog licked her hand consolingly.
His mournful look of compassion made her come completely undone, and she dissolved into a blubbering mass on the floor, hugging her hound for dear life. “What in the world will I do to keep us from losing our home and starving?”
Chapter 10
Foxleigh’s Plan
Foxleigh arrived at the village banker’s private home for his last item of business and was conveyed into a brightly lit parlor that was filled with the smell of baked sweets. He inhaled the warm cloud of vanilla and grinned. Everything was perfect.
His arrangements so far had gone very well. Most importantly, he had purchased a cart and found servants to fetch provisions and necessaries for the cottage. Getting some suitable furniture would have to wait, but food, wine, every delicacy he could lay his hands upon would be showered down upon Kat’s dwelling as soon as it could be contrived.
She might not accept money, but she could not decline the food. Even if she were not too hungry to refuse, which she must be, he could always appeal to her pride by telling her that she could not expect him to stay there with nothing to eat. That was if she did not send him packing immediately and bolt the door behind him. She thought him such a scoundrel.
He sighed and dismissed the doubtful thoughts. He would remain optimistic. It was the only way to be. God had handed him a second chance and he was not going to lose her all over again. Marie was no longer in his life and he had faith that given some time, Kat could forgive his making such a hash of things and grow to love him again.
His heart fluttered and he beamed so brilliantly as he exchanged greetings with the banker, that the man gave him a quizzical look. “Is your grace quite well?”
“Yes, I am very well, thank you, Mr. Pendle. I am terribly grateful to you for meeting with me at this unusual hour.”
“Not at all, your grace. It is my great honour. How may I be of service?”
They seated themselves and accepted wine from the servant.
“I will come straight to the point. I was recently held up by highwaymen who shot my servants and made off with my strong box. No, no! Please do not be alarmed. I am quite well. I escaped with what money was about my person and had enough to hire a few servants and such, but, as you may imagine, I shall need to set up an account to draw upon while I am here. If you have any concerns, you may enquire for references with the Duke of Bartholmer, to whose estate I was travelling when my carriage was attacked.”
The banker emitted a shudder that proclaimed his discomfort with any suggestion of the sort. “That will not be necessary, your grace. Not at all. Though I would be happy to lend your grace a carriage as conveyance to his grace’s home at Blackwood. I know it is but a humble vehicle, however, I believe having a finer one delivered from London will take some time. I would not wish the Duke of Bartholmer to grow anxious about your grace.”
“Never mind that. I have already sent word to Blackwood. I shall buy a vehicle here. It need not be overly fine. But I have a few matters to attend to before I travel on. For example, I am concerned for the families of the servants I lost in the robbery. They ought to be permitted to have a proper funeral. I assume you have some connections locally that might be called upon to deal with such matters?”
“Certainly. Leave it in my hands, your grace.”
“Thank you. You may pay for the expenses out of my account. I have sent a messenger with a fast horse to my man of business in London, Mr. Sumner. He should arrive within a few days to provide more detailed instructions, and to make a deposit with your excellent bank. I trust that will be amenable.”
“Very satisfactory. Only your grace should not be inconvenienced by such trifles. I will happily await the transfer from whatever London account is convenient.”
“Quite unnecessary, I assure you. Now there is another matter that more particularly requires your expertise.”
The banker leaned forward. “How may I be of service?”
“There is a property near here, rented by a poor widow. She saved my life, and I should like to reward her by paying her rent. However, I do not know how to contact the agent, or what the property is called.”
“Do you recall the location, your grace?”
“It is an hour’s ride southeast of here.”
“Ah yes. I think you must be speaking of old Mr. Burns’ plot. He banks here, as does the agent, Mr. Atherton.”
Foxleigh scowled. “I had occasion to see Mr. Atherton while I was at the property. I confess I did not like the look of him.”
The banker tilted his head. “Far be it from me to speak ill of even the smallest account holder, but he is not my favourite customer. On the other hand, he is not outside of the common way for land agents. Still, it should make paying the rent an easy matter. I can see to the transaction myself.”
“Excellent!” Foxleigh paused a moment. If the banker knew the owner, could Foxleigh simply buy the property outright? Then Katherine would never have to worry about losing her home. He hoped to move her under his own roof someday, but getting her to marry him could take some time.
In the meantime, this would keep her safe from that jackal Atherton. “But now that I think of it, as Mr. Burns banks with you, might you not make enquiries with him about selling the property?”
“Most certainly, your grace. I shall call on him tomorrow morning.” Mr. Pendle seemed extremely happy and obliging.
He would get a commission for the sale, of course, but Foxleigh thought the man was mostly happy to have made a connection with a duke. That was the way of the world. Among everyone he had met, only Kat had been immune to the allure of his rank. Just like the fates to make him fall in love with the one woman whom he could not impress with wealth and station.
He chuckled and shook his head. She was utterly perfect—so strong and proud, eking out an existence on her own. It frustrated him to no end that she would not take his money, but at the same time it made him admire her all the more.
As Foxleigh made to take his leave of the banker, he was struck by a dizzy spell.
“Is there something the matter, your grace?”
“I’m a bit vaporish.” Foxleigh tried to laugh it off. “I have accomplished so much today. As a duke, I am not accustomed to being at all useful, you know.”
The banker did not reply to this wit, but squinted at Foxleigh, then hailed his servant to fetch the doctor. “I think that bump on the head should be looked at. I do not mean to be officious, but please come lie down on this couch for a moment, your grace. I will arrange transportation to your inn when the doctor has pronounced you well enough to travel that far.”
Foxleigh thought of protesting, but as he was finding it difficult to stand, he allowed himself to be led to the fainting couch, where, appropriately, he fainted.
Chapter 11
A Load of Fertilizer
Katherine gave half of the last egg to Dog, then ate her own portion, chewing very thoroughly. They had finished the remains of the rabbit that Dog had caught two days ago, which was a real boon. She was only feeling a little dizzy, but knew that without more food she would soon grow weaker.
Her last mouthful went down with a final pang of regret, and she tried to fill the remaining space in her stomach with a cup of wild chamomile tea. It was all she had now. Soon she would be forced to eat dried grass, unless she did something.
She eyed the guns where they lay on the table. Perhaps she could try again. Not that her most recent attempt at robbery had gone so swimmingly, but at least there had been no casualties, unless she counted her wounded heart. But self-pity was not going to improve things.
Katherine sighed and resolved to act. She would don her great coat and take up her pistols tonight. It was getting so close to Christmas that there would be few travellers, but someone with money would have to come by eventually. At least she had to tell herself that. Some bad person with a bulging purse. Someone who really had it coming.
“How droll it would be if it turned out to be Atherton!” She laughed out loud, but was cut short in her chortling by a knock on the door.
Who could that be? Hopefully not Atherton. She had been so foolish as to speak his name—had she summoned the devil a second time?
An optimistic spark ignited in her breast. What if it was Foxleigh? What if he came back? She should not even wish it, for nothing had changed, but a hopeful smile curled the corners of her mouth as she opened the door.
It was not Foxleigh, but a tall woman with an angular face framed by well-constructed curls of deep chestnut hair. Marie Dubois. Katherine’s smile turned to a scowl, and she stepped backwards as though the breath had been knocked out of her. Was God punishing her for the sins she had planned, before she even had a chance to commit them? He must be.
The woman’s eyes darted about the room behind Katherine in search of something before she spoke. “Miss Blake. How lovely to see you again.” Her tone was superior and her greeting lacked any true warmth. “I had hoped I might find the Duke of Foxleigh here.”
The mention of his name was all it took to stir Katherine’s ire and shake her out of her stunned silence. “Then your hope was ill-founded. He is not here.” Katherine slammed the door in Marie’s face and lowered the wooden bar across the portal as loudly as possible. She might not be mistress of her own household for much longer, but while she was, there was no earthly reason why she should have to put up with that woman’s prying eyes.
How had Marie found her? Obviously Katherine was not as well hidden as she thought. But perhaps the better question was why? If things were really over between Foxleigh and Marie, why should she go to all the trouble of searching for him—and at Katherine’s cottage, of all places?
It was a mystery. But Katherine did not want to think about it. The suspicion that they were still having an affair churned her stomach. Or perhaps that was just starvation. It was becoming hard to know which of her life’s torments was responsible for her pain.
She sat down and called Dog to her so she could bury her face in the soft fur of his neck. She needed not to think of any of it, not to worry and not to hurt, if only for a few moments.
But when she looked up, she was affronted again by the hateful sight of Marie’s face peering in her window. Had the woman no shame at all? Katherine glared at her as she stomped over to the glazing and pulled the curtains shut. Did the nasty harlot really believe Katherine was somehow hiding a duke in her tiny abode?
A moment of madness seized her, and she rushed to snatch up the pistols from the table. She should drive the woman off of her property. It was a trespass, after all. But Katherine slumped despondently into the chair moments later. She was not a fool and she was not a violent person. Let the tart get cold and bored and go on her way.
She lay her head in her arms and dozed off. Being hungry made her terribly tired. After a half hour she thought it must be safe to go outside. There was no hope for another boon of eggs from the poor hungry chickens, but Katherine wanted to go check on them anyway. She put on her patched wool cloak and wandered along the path to the hen house.
What on earth would she do with them? She could not leave them there to starve when she got evicted, but how could she travel with them? It had not snowed that day, but the temperature was cold enough that the existing blanket of white remained. It would be horrid to have no shelter during such a winter as this, but at least the snow would permit her to pull her possessions on her sled. Maybe she could find a way to take the hens along, even if it was merely delaying the inevitable.
These sad reflections were interrupted by the sight of Marie. Katherine froze and stared in disbelief as the uninvited guest wandered around, peering behind trees and finally trying the door of the chicken house. Finding it unlocked, she peeked inside before turning around and realizing that she had been caught spying.
“Are there no limits to your gall, Mrs. Dubois? Have I not made it clear that you are unwelcome?”
Marie flounced up to Katherine, smiling sweetly and pretending not to have heard. “Yes, quite right. It is rather cold. I thought I would take a quick peek around the place. So cheerful and snug. Why you will be as happy here with your four legged friend,” she gestured at Dog, who stood beside Katherine, “as anyone can be!”
To his credit, Dog did not look overly impressed by this speech either. Katherine tilted her head and glared in open contempt at Marie, not speaking a word.
Marie smiled more intensely and emitted a faint, through-the-nose laugh. “I only hope that Foxleigh and I will be as cozy and content as you must be.”
What did this insufferable woman want? Had she actually come all this way simply to pick at old wounds? “I suppose you will have to find him, first. Best get to it and stop wasting your time here.”
Katherine pushed past Marie on the path and proceeded to the chicken house. She still had to remove the pile of leavings she had shoveled up the last time. Not pleasant work, but it would be worse for Marie. Katherine laughed inwardly. If the trollop insisted on staying, she would have to put up with the ammonia stink. Inside the building she found her shovel and a
wooden bucket and began loading it up.
“Oh, I am sure we shall be reunited soon enough. Foxleigh must be buying a few gifts for our boy.”
Katherine took the full bucket and, resisting the temptation to spill it on Marie, stomped outside to dump it behind the building.
“Stay!” Marie retrieved a miniature painting from her pocket and followed Katherine, holding it out for inspection. “This is a likeness of our little darling. He is a real growing concern—so bright and full of vivacity. Foxleigh simply adores him, as you can imagine.”
Katherine turned to go back to the coop for another bucketful and the proffered image caught her eye. Though she avoided looking closely at it, it was obvious at a glance that the child was fair haired and blue eyed. He looked nothing like either Marie or Foxleigh.
Katherine could not help snorting with disgust. “Do you mind stepping away? I may have to deal with another bucket of chicken filth, but I do not think I can stand one more load of your brand of fertilizer.”
Just as though Katherine had said nothing, Marie continued to follow her around, pressing a kerchief delicately to her nose, but prattling on. “Yes, he quite dotes on the child. We are planning a winter wedding you know—so romantic.” She clapped her hands together in a contrived gesture of rapturous joy, almost dropping her kerchief. “To be wed at Christmas, especially as there is all this snow—lovely!”
Katherine contemplated knocking the woman into the chicken poop, but merely filled her bucket in silence. Surely even a desperate harlot like Marie would eventually tire of the stink and leave.
But the woman followed her back out of the barn. “It will be like God is casting white rose petals on the bridal path!”
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