Follow the Heart (15 page)

He turned, his expression full of innocent questions.

“Christopher, I see how you look at her.”

“Her?”

“The governess.”

“Miss Woodriff?” He glanced over his shoulder toward where Nora and Florie had disappeared.

“Yes, Miss Woodriff. I hope you aren’t thinking . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to finish the statement. More than anything, Kate wanted to see her brother happy. But the thought of their little sisters being forced from their home, not having enough to eat, made her stand firm in the need to discourage him from this path.

Christopher’s expression closed, darkening. “I am thinking nothing that should be of any concern to you, Kate.” He stalked away, leaving Kate standing alone in the cold, echoing hall.

Fighting both anger at Christopher and anxiety for her own lot, Kate returned to the orangery. But even the loamy, moist smell of soil and mulch, mingled with the sweet spices of the flowers and herbs growing there, could not raise her spirits.

She found herself standing by the table holding the trays of purple China asters. She fingered the velvety petals.

I will think of you.
That’s what the cheerful little flower meant when given from a man to a woman.
I will think of you.

Turning her back on the blooms, she closed her eyes and hugged her arms around her abdomen. The expression on Andrew’s face when he’d so gently tucked the flower in her hair would be etched in Kate’s memory forever.

“I will think of you too,” she whispered.

C
HAPTER
E
LEVEN

K
ate pressed her left hand to her side and maneuvered her shoulders to see if she could find any relief from the corset boning that insisted on digging into her lower ribs. Athena was even stronger than Miss Bainbridge; the gowns that had arrived yesterday, altered to Kate’s measurements with the new stays, did not fit as tightly to her torso as they had when pinned for taking in. And she found breathing harder after Athena laced her up than she had in the seamstress’s shop.

But if it helped her catch a husband . . .

Kate paused at the top of the stairs.
Lord Thynne. Stephen Brightwell, Viscount Thynne. My lord. . . .
At each step on her way down to the entry hall, she mentally rehearsed the guest’s name and title. Though, after Edith’s greeting of him this afternoon, Kate had no reason to believe anything she said to the man would matter. The viscount had obviously been invited by Sir Anthony for Edith’s benefit. And Kate did not want any more animosity from her cousin than what was already there due to Edith’s obvious annoyance with having poor relations living at Wakesdown.

“Good evening, Miss Dearing.”

Kate’s heel slipped and she lost her balance. A strong arm whipped around her waist to keep her from tumbling down the remaining half-dozen steps.

Gasping for air, Kate looked around at her rescuer. “Oh! My—my lord . . . Bainbridge. No.” Mortification blazed across her face. “Lord Brighton. I mean . . .” Heart in her throat, she closed her mouth before she could embarrass herself further with additional incorrect names.

“Lord Thynne,” he corrected, voice gentle. Amusement creased the soft skin around his eyes, though he didn’t actually smile. “Although the title is so new to me, it is hard to remember to answer to anything other than Stephen Brightwell.”

Kate nodded. “I am terribly sorry, sir—my lord. Please forgive me. Calling people by the wrong name is a malady I have been cursed with since childhood.” She looked down at his arm, still encircling her waist.

He pulled his appendage back. “No forgiveness is necessary, Miss Dearing.” He leaned closer, his expression conspiratorial. “I, too, often forget names after being introduced the first time.” He stepped down beside her and motioned toward the main floor below. “Shall we join the others in the sitting room?”

If he’d offered her his arm, Kate would have been tempted to take it. But he did not. And the withering glance Edith gave her when she and Lord Stephen—no, Lord Thynne—walked in together confirmed for Kate that she should have as little to do with him as possible.

Kate joined Christopher and Florie near the fireplace and left the viscount to the attentions of Edith.

“You have been away from England for so long, my lord. It must be a relief to have returned to the civilized world from the wilds of the East Indies and years of living among savages.” Edith’s voice took on a shrill pitch that carried through the room. Kate looked over in time to witness Edith resting one hand on his crossed arms.

Kate would have sworn that he flinched at Edith’s touch. Edith, however, seemed not to notice the man’s discomfort. And with a face like his, set in an almost perpetual scowl, who could be sure what he was thinking?

Distance muffled Lord Stephen’s response—no, not Lord Stephen. Kate wanted to rap her knuckles against her temple to try to get his names and titles to settle into her memory. Why were some people’s names so easy to remember and others’ so easy to forget?

For now, until she became accustomed to hearing him addressed by name, at least she could get away with saying
my lord
and leave it at that, with no insult given or taken. She hoped.

Edith latched onto the viscount’s arm as soon as the butler appeared in the doorway to announce dinner.

Christopher offered his arms to Kate and Florie, and they followed Sir Anthony and Dorcas into the dining room.

But when they sat, Kate ended up exactly where she did not want to be—beside the viscount. She hadn’t remembered that with another guest, the seating arrangement at table would necessarily change. As not only a guest but the highest-ranking one, the viscount took the place of honor at Sir Anthony’s right hand. The seat Edith had occupied until now. Edith now sat at her father’s left hand, with Christopher and Florie beside her. Dorcas sat to Kate’s right.

“I understand you are from Philadelphia, Miss Dearing.”

Swallowing a dainty bite of peas, Kate turned her head toward the viscount. “Yes, sir—my lord. Have you ever visited America?”

“Twice. Once to St. Louis by way of a paddle steamer from New Orleans, and once to New York. The city reminded me much of London.”

A high-pitched laugh made them both look across the table.

“Surely you jest, my lord.” Edith pushed her plate of untouched food away. “There is no city in the world like London.”

And no women in the world like Englishwomen, Kate mentally added for her cousin.

“Then you have traveled extensively, Miss Buchanan?”

Kate dropped her gaze to her plate and bit the tip of her tongue to keep from smiling over the barb in Stephen Brightwell’s voice.

“To London, yes. Not only did I attend finishing school there, we have a town house near Mayfair at which I have spent every season since I was presented at court.” The last word choked off as if Edith remembered that it might not be wise to remind Lord Thynne she had seen more than one or two seasons. Though at his age, which Kate guessed to be around forty, would he care if a woman were not fresh from her debut ball?

“I see. Then you have seen much on which to compare London to other cities, such as Paris or Rome or”—he glanced at Kate with a nod—“Philadelphia or New York?”

Edith’s lips drew into a pursed bow that did her sharp features no favors. “I have no need to see other cities to know that London far surpasses them.”

“Lord Thynne.” Sir Anthony cleared his throat. “Tell us of the renovations to Greymere. Wakesdown is also in the midst of renovations, though ours are out-of-doors—to the hothouses and gardens and park.”

Kate’s attention strayed from the description of construction of a building she had never seen, using architectural terms unfamiliar to her. She was, however, amused by Edith’s feeble attempts to interject herself into the conversation with questions and comments that, even to Kate, sounded inane.

When dinner came to a close, Kate followed her cousins into the sitting room so Sir Anthony, Lord Thynne, and Christopher could talk about manly things.

Kate chuckled.

“What is funny, Cousin Kate?” Florie sidled up next to her and drew Kate to a settee near the fireplace. Dorcas joined them. Edith took the armchair at the far end of the seating arrangement—with them, but as far away from them as she could get.

“I was just remembering something. When I was eighteen, at one of the dinners my father and stepmother gave that season, I sneaked out of the sitting room and into the hallway outside the dining room and eavesdropped on the men’s conversation after dinner.”

Dorcas and Florie gave astonished gasps. Edith’s scowl grew.

Kate would not let her cousin’s displeasure deter her story. “The talk of politics intrigued me so much, I started to read my father’s newspapers and periodicals. I became interested—nay, passionate—about many issues, including slavery and women’s suffrage.”

Edith released an inelegant snort. “A woman with a husband has no need of voting.”

“And what of a woman with no husband?” Kate raised her brows and cocked her head.

“Her father will do so for her.”

“And if her beliefs and views are different from her father’s? Then what? Are we to have no say in the future of the place in which we live? My country fought a war over that very idea—that no one should be governed without representation to voice his, or her, concerns.”

A pained expression overcame Edith’s face, and she closed her eyes and turned her head away. Kate thought to remind her that the United States had won that war. But she let the subject drop. After all, America was a country that still allowed human beings to be held as slaves because of the color of their skin. Best not to scratch too far into the shiny surface of American idealism, or it would surely tarnish.

Florie turned the conversation to one of her favorite topics—the American West and the “Red Indians”—and Kate shared some of her sisters’ favorite stories with her cousins.

Her third story was interrupted by Edith’s piercing voice. “My Lord Thynne, please, do come in and sit by the fire.” Edith glowered at Kate, Florie, and Dorcas until they stood and allowed Edith to force the viscount into the chair closest to the fire while she arranged herself on the settee.

Florie instantly found Christopher’s side, and her seemingly endless questions about America flowed freely once again.

Dorcas sat on the settee beside Edith, hands folded, head bowed. Kate pitied the middle sister—and recognized many of her own traits in the young woman. A preference for solitude. A self-consciousness that came across in nervousness and unease around strangers.

If Kate had an older sister like Edith, she, too, would most likely have turned into an apprehensive mouse of a creature like Dorcas. But Kate had been blessed with Christopher, who wouldn’t allow Kate to pull in her petals like an evening primrose when the sunlight of attention shone on her.

However, playing the shrinking moonflower to Edith’s showy camellia in Stephen Brightwell’s presence might serve her best for now.

Were there any moonflowers in the conservatory or orangery? Next time she saw Andrew Lawton, she would ask.

She took the chair beside Sir Anthony and engaged him in an unremarkable conversation about his sons, and the cousins she had yet to meet, and tried to clear thoughts of the landscape architect from her head.

The next morning, the weather took a turn for the better, with rain clouds fleeing and the sun making an appearance after several days’ absence. Kate blinked against the glare and accepted the footman’s hand for assistance into the coach.

She took the space in the far corner of the backward seat, not wanting to usurp Edith’s or Dorcas’s place. She’d just settled her skirts and cloak so she didn’t take up more than half of the bench when the coach jostled and Florie climbed in. The young woman’s pink cheeks were almost the same shade as her fur-trimmed cape.

“Good morning, Cousin Katharine.” Florie dropped onto the seat in a billow of pink wool, white fur, and petticoats. She stood and started over, carefully arranging her clothing before sitting again. “We might have a wait. Dorcas told me she saw Edith scolding one of the housemaids before she—Dorcas—came down.”

The carriage jostled again, saving Kate the necessity of a response.

“Yes, that poor creature.” Dorcas sighed. “Edith had her by the wrist and had leaned down in her face to berate her for something. She probably found fault with the way her fire was laid this morning or something else trivial. She’s so cross these days.” Dorcas settled herself across from Kate. “Father, Lord Thynne, and Christopher just climbed into the other coach, so we should be under way as soon as Edith joins us.”

“Edith said Lord Thynne wasn’t handsome, but I thought she was mistaken.” Florie’s eyes sparkled. “I thought he was quite handsome, especially with the way he looked at Cousin Kate.”

Kate guffawed. “He looked at me no differently than any of the rest of you.”

“No, I believe Florie is correct.” Dorcas looked up from arranging her cape so it would not crease too badly in the confines of the coach. “His entire demeanor changed when Papa introduced you. And you saw how Edith tried flirting with him last night. I am certain she also noticed how he looked at you.”