Follow the Heart (9 page)

“Come in,” Kate’s voice came faintly through the door.

He entered, glancing around at the suite. Slightly larger than his own room, it had definitely been decorated with a woman guest in mind: lace and frills and flowers on any surface that would countenance fabric covering or hanging from it. Kate must hate it.

“Christopher!” Kate set aside her book and hopped up from the shepherdess chair beside the wide fireplace. She took his hands in hers and squeezed them. “I feel I haven’t seen you in ages—even though we share the same table for dinner every night.” She motioned him to pull over one of the chairs from the table.

She looked different. He’d noticed the past few evenings that her hairstyles were fancier. But despite the intricate twists and curls her hair had been coaxed into, which should have given her an air of confidence and poise, she seemed withdrawn, nervous—almost sad.

Sir Anthony’s words echoed through Christopher’s head. It would not help Kate in her mandate to find a wealthy husband if Christopher refused their uncle’s offer of new clothing from his own selfish sense of pride and independence.

Looking at his sister, he resolved to do anything to ensure her success in the marriage mart, no matter the blow to his pride or what steps he must take.

C
HAPTER
S
IX

K
ate frowned, watching a myriad of emotions and thoughts cross through her brother’s warm brown eyes. He’d come here with a purpose, of that she was certain. But now he seemed to be waging an internal war with himself over his mission.

“How—how are you faring here, Kate? Are you and our cousins getting on well?”

“Well enough, I suppose, for people of such different backgrounds and ages. And you? What do you find to fill your time with?”

Christopher’s thick brows raised and lowered. “I have been over most of the house in the past five days. I have also started exploring the grounds. I came across Andrew Lawton in the gardener’s lodge this morning.”

Kate’s attention wandered as Christopher told her about his morning’s activities. Andrew Lawton. She could not get the handsome, square-jawed gardener out of her head. Her mind slipped back to that first morning when she found herself on the ground looking up at him, that superior smile on his face.

That superior smile that showed the dimples in his cheeks and the cleft in his chin. And when he helped her to her feet and she was close enough to gaze into his eyes . . .

She shook her head to clear the thoughts of the man she’d already spent too much time thinking about. Thankfully, Christopher didn’t notice.

“So I suppose I will be going into Oxford this afternoon to have my new suit fitted.”

New suit? What had she missed? Not wanting to let him know she hadn’t heard a word he’d said after Andrew Lawton’s name, she frowned but nodded.

“You can understand my frustration, can’t you? I want to do what’s best, for you and for our uncle and cousins, but it’s hard for me to accept such charity when I haven’t been accustomed to it.”

Ah. So that was the problem. And it was
his
problem. But he seemed to want to make it hers. Anger bubbled in Kate’s throat until she couldn’t contain it. “Christopher, keep in mind that the brunt of this situation falls on me. I am tired of your acting as if this is hampering your plans or keeping you from doing something more important. Do you think I
wanted
to come here? That I enjoy putting myself on the marriage mart like a slave on the block? I have never asked you for anything in my life, but now I am. I need your help. I need your support in this venture. And if that means you must sacrifice your pride and accept Sir Anthony’s charity, then that’s what I’m asking you to do.”

Christopher stared at her as if he no longer recognized her.

Guilt flowed in, but Kate resisted the urge to apologize and retract her request—her demand. She needed to know he was on her side, that he would help her in how best to present herself, the persona she was required to put on.

He took her hand in his, giving it a squeeze. “I’m sorry, Kate. You’re right, I’m being selfish.”

Talk returned to his activities of the morning—and of his time spent with Andrew Lawton. Kate’s mind wandered again down the garden path where she was certain to run into the handsome young architect.

“. . . to London.”

Kate’s attention snapped back to her brother. “London?”

“Yes. Uncle Anthony believes Andrew’s mentor, Mr. Paxton, might have connections that would be beneficial to me in securing employment. If I can find a position that pays well, then you and I need not be dependent on our relations.”

But she still needed to marry. And raised as she had been with wealth and privilege, she knew she would make no good wife to a poor man. No matter that she had availed herself of all the schooling available to women in Philadelphia, her training was as a hostess, as someone fit only to become a matron of society, a woman who managed the household but didn’t keep it herself.

Christopher stood, stretched, then leaned down to kiss the top of Kate’s head. “I shall leave you now, Sister. And I will do whatever I can to support you. You have my word.”

For several minutes after the door clicked shut behind her brother, Kate tried to return her focus to the novel she’d been reading. But to no avail. Rain still tapped against the tall windows, which had kept her from taking her usual morning walk.

Christopher said he had been all over the house. Why could she not do the same? So far, the only rooms she’d seen were her bedroom suite, the sitting room, and the dining room. But she knew from her walks outside Wakesdown just how far the manor sprawled, and she imagined it would be grander inside than the gray-stone exterior hinted.

Outside of her room, she paused a moment, tempted to take the back staircase down to what she was certain would be the more interesting part of the house—the areas off limits to family and guests, such as the kitchens, laundry, and servants’ halls. But as she was uncertain Edith had forgiven her for her impertinence to the guests the other day, she couldn’t afford another faux pas.

At the bottom of the main stairs, instead of going directly across the wide entry hall—itself as large as the salon that served as the ballroom at home—Kate turned right and headed toward the back of the house. The hallway led her past the billiard room, an informal gentlemen’s sitting room, and a large library before it ended at the entrance of a grand room even larger than the front hall. With the ceiling soaring at least twenty feet above her, Kate’s feeling of insignificance increased. Crystal sparkled from the enormous chandeliers lining the center of the room, even though the windows, as wide as double doors and twice as tall, revealed gray skies and continued rain.

The wall opposite the windows displayed larger-than-life portraits of people she assumed were her ancestors. She chuckled at their morose expressions. If she had to wear starched ruffs and corsets like that, she probably wouldn’t have smiled much either.

Her heart leapt when she reached the doors at the other end of the gallery and discovered they led into a good-sized conservatory. The room, with windows making up most of the walls and ceiling, had probably once been the main indoor greenhouse for Wakesdown many years ago. It still held plenty of plants, but it had been made into a pleasant sitting room, with groupings of chairs in each corner, separated by a fountain in the center.

A door opposite caught her eye, and she stepped through it—only to stop in rapture. An orangery. Wakesdown had an orangery!

More than twice the size of the conservatory, the orangery featured a mostly glass construction, but this room had been kept to its true intention—growing delicate fruits, vegetables, and flowers all year through.

Closing her eyes, she let out a sigh of appreciation, then drew her breath in slowly through her nose, separating and cataloging all of the different aromas as best she could.

“Smells wonderful, does it not?”

She jumped, pressing her hands to her chest and taking a quick step back to keep from falling over.

“Sorry. I did not mean to startle you. I thought you saw me.” Andrew tied a piece of twine around the delicate branch of a small tree. When he released it, a white tag fluttered at the end of the string.

“I . . . I was exploring and . . .” Kate hated the way her voice squeaked when she was nervous or upset. She wasn’t sure which affected her more—the memory of their last encounter, with her falling in the mud in front of him, or the way his shirt clung to his chest, shoulders, and arms. She closed her eyes again and took a deep breath. “Yes, it smells wonderful in here.”

“Tell me what you smell.” His voice sounded closer, but she dared not open her eyes.

Slowing her breathing, Kate tried to separate the riot of scents surrounding her. “Jasmine. Orange blossoms. Fuchsia. Peonies.” She turned her head to the side to see if she could distinguish more. “Sweet peas. And . . . lilies. I know there are more I recognize, but the fragrances are all mixing together.” She opened her eyes and almost took a step back.

Andrew stood not five feet from her, tying the twine of another white tag to a small wooden stake, which he stuck down into the soil of a potted aspidistra. He turned toward her. The sardonic expression he’d worn at their last meeting had been replaced with one of respect. “I am impressed you could distinguish so many. I recognize most of the scents because I know what flowers and plants are in here.”

“My stepmother was quite fond of strongly fragranced flowers, so our hothouse smelled like an expensive Parisian perfume.” She smiled at the memory. “Well . . . like five or six different perfumes all mixed together.”

Melancholy clouded Andrew’s expression. “When I was a boy, I would pick flowers for my mother, to give them to her when she returned home from work. Now I know they were weeds, but she acted as if they were the most beautiful blooms from the royal hothouse.”

“Is that where your love of gardens came from?” Kate trailed her fingertip along the long, flat leaf of the aspidistra nearest her to keep from staring at Andrew’s long, nimble fingers as he tied another tag to a stake.

“Partially.” He stuck the wooden peg into the pot closest to Kate. “Part of it comes from learning how to bring something that can be so wild and destructive as nature under control, and how the discipline of pruning and repotting and replanting can make something even more beautiful.”

“Destructive?” Kate swung her arms wide and turned in a slow circle. “How can you call any of this destructive?”

Andrew cocked half a smile at her and moved on to the next table of potted plants. “I have seen ivy grow so dense and thick that it pulled down a brick wall. The job of the gardener—and of the garden designer—is to create a balance between the beauty of nature and the power of it.”

Kate picked up a tag he’d dropped and curled it between her fingers.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “You must admit, you would not enjoy a garden so overgrown and wild that it has overtaken all the paths and hinders you from walking in it.”

She pressed her lips together and wouldn’t look up from the small piece of paper. She couldn’t admit that he was right, but she couldn’t think of a counter-argument, either. “What are you doing with these tags, anyway?”

He had the good grace not to look too triumphant. “Construction is completed on a new hothouse. The plants I am tagging will be moved into it tomorrow. Feel free to look around. I can tell you what something is if you do not recognize it.”

As if she would ask. She turned and strolled down the next aisle, stopping to inhale the strong, spicy fragrance of the jasmine blooms. Halfway down the aisle, she stopped. She’d forgotten her plan. This tête-á-tête with Andrew provided a perfect opportunity to practice her flirting techniques. Sir Anthony had mentioned guests coming—male guests so Kate could try to find a husband. And if she couldn’t flirt convincingly, how would she ever catch one? However, seeing Andrew, talking about plants and flowers, had put all thoughts of
Katharine
and the need to find a wealthy husband out of her head.

Pushing aside fern fronds, she peeked at Andrew. Her heart skipped, and she let the greenery obscure him from view again. It wasn’t just that he was handsome—Devlin Montgomery had been even more distinguished. It wasn’t that she could talk to him about plants. She’d spoken with the gardener at home all the time without feeling the least palpitation in her pulse.

He came around the end of the row and started toward her, tagging plants.

Every time she opened her mouth to say something flirtatious, it died in the back of her throat. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t flirt with Andrew Lawton.

Finally, she looked down at her pin-watch. “Oh, dear. The hour has gotten away from me.” She hurried toward the door to the conservatory. “Good-bye, Mr. Lawton.”

He tipped an imaginary hat to her. “Good-bye, Miss Dearing.”

The portraits in the gallery glared at her as she hurried past, not slowing her pace until she reached the main stairs.

She’d always hoped she’d marry for love but was pragmatic enough to realize that her marriage would more likely be a business arrangement. She’d debuted into Philadelphia society at age seventeen, marking her official entrance to the marriage market. Because of her father’s wealth, her mother’s aristocratic pedigree, and the dowry Kate was destined to bring, she’d been introduced to most of the wealthy young men in New England. Tall, short, thin, stout, homely, and handsome, she’d seen them all.

Not one of them made her heart skip or beat faster. Not one of them made her tongue-tied by his mere presence. And not one of them had a gaze that could penetrate the layers of refinement and poise and see who she really was inside.

No one but Andrew Lawton. And no matter how he affected her pulse and her speech, she must push those reactions aside and forget about him. Because he was most definitely not the wealthy, titled man her father had sent her here to marry.

Kate returned to her room to find Edith and Dorcas riffling through her gowns. She stepped forward and grasped the post at the foot of the bed to keep from yanking her gray-and-purple plaid dress out of Edith’s hands. The only wealth Kate now possessed was her wardrobe and her mother’s jewels. Perhaps it was vanity, but she felt the need to jealously guard the only material possessions she had left. “What is going on?”