Follow the Heart (23 page)

Stephen. She was doing a better job of remembering him by that name than by his formal title. “Are you certain it’s proper?”

“No more proper than it is for us to be alone without a chaperone, Katharine.” He took her hand and tucked it into the bend of his elbow. “Do I have your agreement?”

As they were of nearly the same height, Kate could look him directly in the eye without effort. She did so, trying not to contrast how his eyes seemed pale and lacking compared to Andrew’s darker ones, which seemed to change color with the weather. “Yes, Stephen, you have my agreement.”

Too early on Monday morning, Christopher closed the door of the study behind him and slung the strap of the satchel holding the three books on railway law over his shoulder. Trying to rub away the twitch from his left eye, he hurried down the hall, hoping Andrew wouldn’t have been waiting too long for him. In the middle of a cheek-stretching yawn, he drew up short at the sight of a figure hovering near the entrance to the entry hall. The slim waist, bell-shaped skirt, and absence of an apron and cap made Christopher’s heart trip and miss a beat.

He moved up behind Nora Woodriff and waited for her to acknowledge his presence, but after a moment, realized she hadn’t noticed his approach.

“Who are you looking for?” He leaned past her as if looking to see who might be standing in the entry.

She squeaked and jumped, the back of her head bumping his chin.

Clasping his jaw as if she’d broken it, Christopher moaned to add to the effect.

Nora’s hands flew up to cover her mouth. “I am terribly sorry. But . . .”

Christopher dropped the pretense of being injured. “But what?”

She planted her small fists on her hips. “But it serves you right for sneaking up on me like that.”

Christopher repositioned the strap of his bag higher on his shoulder. “Speaking of sneaking around, what are you doing hiding here, spying on the entryway?”

Nora’s cheeks glowed pink. “I . . .”

“You weren’t, by chance, coming to bid me farewell, were you?” He cocked his head and grinned in a way Kate had never been able to resist. Apparently, it worked on more than big sisters. Nora bit her bottom lip and ducked her head. Christopher lifted her right hand and brushed his lips over the backs of her fingers. “Will you miss me while I’m gone?”

Nora pulled her hand away. “I will miss the lessons you have been teaching Miss Florence.”

Christopher gazed deeply into her eyes. “I will miss you while I am in London.”

Her brown eyes blazed golden and her breathing hitched. Christopher leaned forward. Nora tilted her head back—

“Mr. Dearing, the carriage is ready.” The butler stepped into the doorway and cleared his throat.

Christopher didn’t miss the disapproval in the older man’s expression. He hitched up the strap of the bag again. “Thank you. I will be there directly.”

Both of them watched until the butler was safely on the other side of the massive marble staircase.

Rather than risk trying to kiss her again—and unsure she would accept it now that the moment had passed—Christopher ran his thumb down her cheek. “Farewell, Nora. I will think of little else but you while I am away.”

She pressed her hand to her face when his fell away. “I . . . Miss Florence will miss you.” Her gaze dropped to the floor.

“And you?” he prompted, unwilling to leave until she admitted she had some kind of feelings for him.

She mumbled something incomprehensible.

“What was that?”

She huffed a sigh and finally looked up at him again. “I will miss you. There. I have said it. Does that make you happy?”

He grinned at her and tweaked her chin. “Inordinately.”

Before walking out the front door, Christopher turned and glanced back down the grand entryway. Nora raised her hand in a wave, then turned and disappeared down the hallway.

Christopher hurried outside to the carriage, but his haste proved to be unnecessary. Andrew trotted up from the side of the house, breathless. “I hope you did not have to wait overly long.”

“I just arrived myself.”

Andrew handed his valise to the footman but kept his leather-bound book with him and climbed into the carriage. Christopher’s valet had brought his baggage down earlier.

The drive to the Oxford train station seemed much shorter this morning than it had the night he and Kate arrived. They took seats in the second-class car, Andrew riding backward, facing Christopher so they could both sit beside the window.

After forty-five minutes of staring at the English countryside but unable to get his mind off of Nora Woodriff, Christopher decided to do something about it. “What do you know of Miss Woodriff?”

Andrew dragged his gaze from the window as if startled anyone else was nearby. “The governess?” He shook his head. “Almost nothing. I have met her on a few occasions in the orangery—she apparently likes to sit there to read when Miss Florence has lessons with another tutor.” He blinked several times as if waking from a deep sleep. “Have you . . . have you some reason for wanting to learn more of Miss Woodriff?”

Christopher shrugged, unsure now he truly wanted to discuss this with Andrew. While he considered the Englishman a friend, he was by no means a
close
friend. But with whom else could he speak? “I think quite highly of Miss Woodriff.”

Andrew considered this for a moment, then made a face as if to say he could allow for that opinion. “What are the qualities she possesses which you most admire?”

The unexpected question stumped Christopher for a moment. Nora Woodriff was not a woman who would draw the eye of most men, especially around women like Kate or the older Buchanan sisters. So what was it about her that had garnered his attention the first night he walked into Wakesdown? “She has a kindness, a sweetness, about her that is . . . hard to find. Yet she is not so gentle as to allow anyone the upper hand with her. She also has a hunger for knowledge about the world—history, geography, nature, science, even religion and politics and the law—which I find invigorating. She will never be one to sit still and allow the world to change around her while she ignores it. She wants to be part of the changes, wants to know what is happening, and help it if she can.”

Andrew’s brows had raised slowly as Christopher talked, and a smile drew up the corners of his mouth. “You admire her because she is like you in those aspects.”

“I suppose so, even if it is flattering myself to admit it.” He sighed, propped his elbow on the windowsill, and rested his cheek against his palm. “Of course, it does me no good to consider the reasons I am attracted to her. I could never act on it.”

“Because of her station?” The words could have been accusatory, but the understanding gleaming in Andrew’s gaze kept Christopher from feeling reprimanded.

“No. Because I cannot allow the responsibility of finding a wealthy spouse fall solely on Kate. The burden weighs too heavily on her already—and if I were to marry someone of little or no wealth, I believe it would destroy my sister.” Christopher rubbed his forehead. Every time he thought about this, his head started aching.

“But if you were to secure employment, if you could make your own way, would that allow you to marry where you will?” Andrew leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.

“It depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether the wages would be enough to support not just me and my wife but my father, stepmother, and sisters as well. Because with as much trouble as Kate had finding suitors in Philadelphia, I doubt she will be able to snare a husband here very easily.”

Andrew straightened. “I find that hard to believe.”

Christopher raised his head. “I’m sorry?”

Elbow against the windowsill, Andrew pressed his fist to his mouth a long moment before turning back to Christopher. “I find it hard to believe that Kate—Miss Dearing—did not have suitors lined up to court her in Philadelphia. The men there apparently cannot spot a rose among thistles when they see her.”

Tempted to laugh at Andrew’s gardener’s analogy, Christopher paused, taking in the meaning behind the statement. “You . . . Are you in love with my sister?”

The muscles in Andrew’s square jaw twitched as if he were grinding his teeth, and a flush crept up the man’s face. “I . . . hold great affection for her. And I believe she feels the same for me.”

Now Christopher did laugh—but only a brief chuckle. “I knew if Kate were to ever fall in love, it would not be with one of the men my father picked out for her, who could think of nothing other than business and money. So there was no way she was going to fall for one of those dandy aristocrats Sir Anthony paraded before her.” He thought back to his conversations with Kate over the past few days. “Of course, I never dreamed she could be such a hypocrite—warning me away from Nora all the while she was forming an attachment to you.”

“But as you just observed, she cannot choose someone like me when she has your family’s financial support to consider. Sir Anthony contracted me to redesign his gardens and hothouses when I was still an apprentice to Joseph Paxton. And while I believe he is happy with my work and will provide me with an excellent reference once the job is finished, I have no guarantee of another when I leave Wakesdown. I could never do that to her.” Andrew heaved a sigh and leaned his temple against his fist. “Not that it matters whether she would have me or not. We agreed to avoid each other when I return so that she can get on with the business of securing a wealthy husband. Though it is my opinion that she may be closer to that end than even she realizes.”

Christopher studied his friend’s expression, trying to decide if it was more wistful or angry. “What do you mean?”

“One of Sir Anthony’s guests has shown a decided interest in your sister. And if she is wise, she will accept him if he makes her an offer. After all, he is a viscount and one of the wealthiest men in all of Oxfordshire.”

A viscount? Sir Anthony’s friend? Surely he referred to Stephen Brightwell. But he was so old. And staid. And tied to England. “Lord Thynne would do well to secure Kate’s goodwill. But I cannot imagine her marrying someone she does not love.”

Andrew frowned, the skin between his brows folding into a triangle. “If she wishes to save your family, she must.”

Christopher pressed his forehead to the cold glass and watched the landscape fly by the window. As much as he wanted to throw caution to the wind and allow his heart to guide him, could he do that if it meant Kate’s sacrificing what might be her only chance at love? There must be a way both to support his family and to allow his sister to have the happiness she so richly deserved. Even if it meant sacrificing his own.

C
HAPTER
S
EVENTEEN

T
hough she would have preferred to stay in her room all day and mourn the loss of Andrew, Kate allowed Athena to dress her and arrange her hair, then took herself downstairs to breakfast. Although the grandfather clock in the hallway still echoed from sounding the hour of ten, a cacophony of voices drifted from the breakfast room.

Kate entered the room . . . and the voices went silent. Six women, including Edith, sat at the table. The unnatural lull in their conversation made her stop just inside the door. She glanced over her shoulder to see if someone else—perhaps one of the gentlemen—had followed her in, but she stood alone.

Dorcas opened her mouth to speak, but Edith’s hand clamped down on her sister’s arm, and Dorcas dropped her gaze to her plate, lips pressed shut.

Self-consciousness almost drove Kate back out into the hallway, but she rounded the perimeter of the room to the sideboard and began to serve her plate. She refused to look around at the sound of chairs moving and skirts rustling, but when she finished filling her plate and turned toward the table, it was empty.

Telling herself she was glad for the solitude so that she was not forced into trying to make polite conversation this morning—knowing that, even now, Andrew Lawton sat on a train bound for London—Kate sat down to eat. She skimmed through the newspaper someone had left on the table—most likely one of the male guests, as it was from Oxford, not one of the London papers Sir Anthony brought in every day.

Unlike Sir Anthony and most of the men here, according to what she read in the paper, most of the locals seemed excited about attending the Great Exhibition. One of the articles focused on warnings about congestion on the roads and train in the week leading up to the opening of the Exhibition on May 1, as well as precautions to ensure the safety of one’s possessions and person once in London.

She made short work of her meal. After returning to her room to retrieve her coat, Kate escaped outside. Clouds made the sky a solid gray, but so far it wasn’t raining, and it was not too cold. Rather than haunting all the places she’d seen with Andrew, Kate chose a path she’d never taken before. It edged several of the decorative gardens before turning away from the cultivated part of the park and into a more rustic setting. She paused when she came to a point at which the land sloped gently downward.

The vista that spread out in front of her should not be viewed alone. Andrew should be here with her, explaining to her his vision for this part of the Wakesdown estate. For she had no doubt he planned something for it—it was too overgrown and wild for him to leave it alone.