Wyndcross, p.21
Wyndcross, page 21
Lord Ashworth glanced through one of the large windows lining the hallway where the skyline was beginning to lighten with the first signs of morning. “Sleep as long as you are able, Miss Matcham.”
He bowed abruptly and left her to the maid.
Kate’s limbs seemed to be sluggish with exhaustion. Anxious as she was for rest, she dreaded the battle between fatigue and the desire to analyze all she had just experienced.
Her feelings were, for better or worse, not in question. To spend more time on them was to waste energy in a cause already decided. Everything she had learned in the last few hours had reconfirmed and magnified her regard for Lord Ashworth ten-fold.
His own feelings were another matter. She didn’t doubt he enjoyed her company, but the way his warmth had cooled so suddenly underlined what she already knew—Lord Ashworth had much more than love to consider in making a match. Even if not, enjoying her company did not equate with love or a desire to marry her.
Whatever his future held, the successes and failures he might experience would forever be tied up in his decision to marry. Kate had seen it often during her seasons in London, and she recognized it in her own parents’ marriage.
Her mother had been deemed too far below her father to be an acceptable choice. As a result, anything Charles Matcham did which was disapproved of was attributed to his unwise marriage. The ills in her father’s life were looked on without sympathy, viewed as the natural byproduct of an unwise marriage. Kate couldn’t wish such treatment upon someone she loved as well as Lord Ashworth.
And love him she did.
Kate woke at an advanced hour of the day, momentarily confused by her unfamiliar surroundings. The room was more opulent than any she had inhabited before, with tasseled curtains, various gilt mirrors, and fine papered walls.
She made a motion to pull back the bedcovers only to find the skin on her wrists painfully stiff. A flood of memories from the night before explained her discomfort, and she examined a wrist for a moment, pursing her lips at the ugly sight of her scabbed, red skin.
A knock sounded on the door, and Kate rose from the bed and cracked it open, expecting to see the kind maid from the night before.
“Lindley!” she exclaimed, opening the door for her maid to pass through.
Lindley’s eyes darted to Kate’s cheek. “Miss!”
Kate put a hand to it and shook her head with a reassuring smile. “It is nothing. I am well. How do you come to be here?”
“Yes, you may well ask. And it is no thanks to you that I am here. Worried sick is what I’ve been!” She sniffed loudly, setting down a portmanteau full of Kate’s belongings.
“I am indeed sorry, Lindley, but I can tell you there hasn’t been even a moment when I could have written to you. How in the world did you know to come?”
“His lordship was good enough to send word over early this morning, and my mind couldn’t rest until I’d seen you myself.” The words came out as a strange mix of chastisement and hurt.
Kate led her to the window seat, and Lindley recounted her hours of concern over Kate’s whereabouts when Cleopatra was found wandering the grounds riderless; the return soon thereafter of Clara, who was too hysterical between fits of crying and terror to speak a coherent thought; and finally, the intervention of Sir Richard, who was forced to pour the nearest vase of water over his daughter’s head and talk sense into her before she could be brought to tell what she knew.
But even once Clara had recounted all, they had no way of knowing where Kate might be found. Sir Richard had sent out two servants to search for her, but Lindley hadn’t slept a wink for worry. She herself had been very near going out to search when she had received the missive from Lord Ashworth.
Lindley referred to him as “that angel of a man” and “your guardian angel.” She became noticeably calmer as she spoke of her conversation with him and did it with such a light in her eyes that Kate was made to wonder if her own maid hadn’t fallen victim to his charms as well.
Lindley had much to say when the subject of Clara and the Crofte family arose. “Saving Sir Richard, if you please, miss, for a more decent man I’ve never met, even if he was dreadfully oblivious to what was happening under his own roof, which I do believe he was. When he discovered what his children and wife were about, there was such a fire in his eyes as you never would wish to encounter.”
Once Lindley had exhausted her stream of talk, she insisted on attending to Kate’s mutilated wrists, all the while detailing the events of the preceding day.
Kate listened patiently but was relieved when Lindley shuffled her out of the bedroom door to go see her hosts. She was met in the hallway by the maid from the previous evening, who informed her the ladies were partaking of a nuncheon outdoors.
Kate thanked her and breathed deeply, wondering what to expect from her hosts. The circumstances of her stay were so peculiar, after all.
But Lady Anne and Lady Purbeck were all consideration, expressing surprise Kate was already awake and dressed after such an evening as she had passed.
“Good heavens!” Lady Purbeck said, her eyes wide and horrified at the sight of Kate’s cheek and bandaged wrists. “William mentioned you had been injured, my dear, but—” Her mouth drew into a tight line. “I should very much like to box his ears!”
Kate smiled appreciatively, aware of the way her heart felt light at Lady Purbeck’s concern. “I hope you will not,” she said. “I feel nothing but gratitude to your son. Bruised wrists would have been the least of my worries had he not come to my rescue.”
Lady Purbeck seemed gratified by Kate’s professions of appreciation, though she continued to glance at Kate’s injuries and shake her head in mute disapproval.
Kate couldn’t help thinking Lady Purbeck was everything one could hope for in a mother. Her genuine concern for someone she knew as little as Kate was a clear manifestation of her nurturing personality.
Kate partook as politely as she could manage given the ravenous hunger she felt. As the three of them were finishing, Lord Ashworth approached from the house.
Inhaling a deep breath to stabilize her nerves, Kate focused on the sandwiches. She wasn’t at all sure how to act in front of him after the events of last night.
He greeted them, kissing his mother on the forehead and commenting how well she looked before asking if he might have a word with Kate.
Heart racing, Kate thanked Lady Anne and Lady Purbeck and excused herself to join him.
They walked slowly toward the east side of Ashworth Place, Kate admiring her first views of the grounds. They came upon a small pond, covered in large lily pads. Their white flowers were open and soaking in the early afternoon sun.
“Were you able to sleep?” Lord Ashworth asked.
“Yes, very well, in fact.”
“I am glad to hear it. After the night you passed, I admit to being worried.” He paused a moment. “The timing of all this has obviously been far from ideal in that your visit to the Croftes has coincided with this affair. I think it will be best if you remain here at Ashworth Place for the present. The Croftes will be much occupied for some time with the predicament they are in. I do not think—and your capable maid agrees with me—it is a suitable situation for you. I am exercising the small influence I have to soften the blow to the family, but it will take time for everything to be ironed out.” He watched for her reaction as they strolled.
Kate nodded her understanding. “Thank you for your kindness and trouble.” She smiled up at him. “I appreciate your willingness to entertain an unexpected visitor, but I shan’t impose upon you. I am sure my Uncle John would be happy to welcome me at Coombe Park until I can arrange to go to Brighton.”
The words were said in a confident tone, but Kate thought it just as likely her uncle would shut the door in her face. She would take the mail coach to Fanny in Brighton if she had to, but she would not ask Lord Ashworth’s family to host her indefinitely, however awkward her situation might be.
Lord Ashworth’s eyebrows knit, and he stopped walking, pushing down an errant patch of grass with his boot before looking at Kate.
“But then begins a journey in my head
To work my mind, when body’s work’s expir’d:
For then my thoughts—from far where I abide—
Intend a zealous pilgrimage to thee,
And keep my drooping eyelids open wide.”
Kate’s cheeks warmed. “Ah, you have remembered the lines.” She sought out the small ripples in the pond to avoid looking him in the eye.
“I am afraid memory played no part in it. I was far too curious to leave it to memory, and I sought Shakespeare out before I did haste me to my bed.”
Kate was silent, so unsure what he had inferred from their interaction the night before and from his reading of the sonnet that she could think of nothing to say that would not give her feelings away entirely.
“Kate.” He stepped closer, and her heart thudded with such force, she was sure he could hear it. “I must ask you. When you smiled in such a way while thinking on those words last night, were you thinking of Mr. Hartley?”
Kate looked up at him, the surprise visible on her face. “Simon Hartley?” The nerves she had been feeling, the relief she felt to know he had cared enough to seek out the sonnet, and the hope she felt at his question collided, eliciting a shaky laugh from her.
She searched his eyes, where she thought she recognized the same doubtful hope she herself had been feeling for an age.
“I had no thought of Simon,” she said, looking back to the pond, for she couldn’t bear to see his reaction. She felt his eyes trained on her, as if he were waiting for her to finish.
Quiet reigned, and she turned to meet his gaze, willing him to break the silence, to take her meaning without requiring her to speak the words. He had asked a simple question, and only a simple answer was required of her. “I thought only of you.”
He took in a slow breath, never losing eye contact with her, and placed a hand on her uninjured cheek, smoothing her cheekbone with his thumb as he looked in her eyes. She struggled to breathe evenly. Was there enough air for two to breathe in such proximity?
He lowered his head, touching his forehead to hers, and she closed her eyes.
“I cannot tell you,” he said in a voice so soft she had to strain to hear it, “what hope I felt as I read those words last night. Or of the doubt which accompanied it.”
She swallowed, all too familiar with the sentiments he was expressing, then smiled softly as another verse of Shakespeare came into her thoughts.
“Doubt thou the stars are fire,” she quoted, “Doubt that the sun doth move...”
“Doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love. Kate,” he said softly, his eyes staring into hers intently as he brushed a hair behind her ear. “Don’t go to Brighton. Stay here. Stay with me.”
She sucked in a shuddering breath. “If you desire it.”
His mouth quirked up at the edge as he wrapped an arm around her waist. “I demand it.”
“How overbearing you are,” she said as he pulled her to him.
He guided her chin up with a finger. “You have no idea.” He shut his eyes, closing the distance between them until their lips brushed. There was a pause, then he pressed his to hers.
He kissed her gently at first, then with more intensity. Kate wrapped her hands behind his neck as his fingers threaded into her hair, cradling her head from behind.
She kissed him as though she would never have the opportunity to do so again, for she didn’t dare believe she would.
“What will your parents say?” Kate asked when they finally broke apart.
He smiled, kissing her forehead, then both cheeks, avoiding her injury. “My mother has been hoping for a match between us from the first time she met you.”
“But your father—”
“Can go to the devil for all I care. Kate.” He held her injured cheek tenderly in his palm. “I love you. I choose you. Can you not comprehend that?”
She laughed softly, leaning into his hand. “How can I? It is too good to be true—a dream, even.”
He took her face between his hands and stared into her eyes. “Then let us dream together.”
Epilogue
“Are you ready, Lady Ashworth?”
Kate’s skin buzzed at the new title as they stood inside the church, the great wooden doors in front of them shut. Along with glimmers of sunlight, the muffled sound of chatter and excitement seeped through the cracks around the wood.
She looked up into her husband’s eyes and shook her head.
His brows contracted ever-so-slightly, his eyes questioning her.
“Not without a kiss first.” She grasped his lapels and pulled him toward her, catching a short glimpse of his smile before their lips touched—their first kiss as husband and wife.
William cradled her jaw, kissing her in a way that felt as familiar as it did new, for they were married now. Everything was different.
The vicar cleared his throat, and they broke apart, smiling at one another.
“Any time now,” the vicar said, his voice colorless but a little twinkle in his eye.
Gaze still on Kate, William opened the door, and cheers erupted. Arm in arm, they walked the path between their families and well-wishers, rice and seeds falling upon them like rain in the autumn sun.
There were so many familiar and smiling faces amongst the crowd—Kate’s sisters and mother, the Clarksons, Isabel and Cecilia Cosgrove, the Croftes. Clara and Kate met eyes, and Clara beamed at her, though Lady Crofte’s smile had a slightly forced quality to it.
Thanks to William’s efforts, Henry had come away from the smuggling incident with nothing but a bit of tarnish on his reputation. Sir Richard had reigned in the family finances to, in Lady Crofte’s opinion, an alarming degree. But the entire episode had sobered both Clara and Henry, and Kate was confident they would ultimately prevail.
Emmerson was no more and his conspirators and minions fledgling after his execution. For now, at least, the coastline surrounding Ashworth Place and Wyndcross was free of smuggling, and Kate was content.
William helped Kate into the phaeton, and they made their way to Ashworth Place, followed by the majority of the church party. It was Lady Anne and Lord and Lady Purbeck who descended from the carriage just behind them in the courtyard of Ashworth Place.
Lady Purbeck strode over and took Kate by the hands, looking at her warmly, then embracing her. She moved to congratulate her son, and Kate faced Lord Purbeck with a clear gaze as Lady Anne waited patiently behind.
“My congratulations, Kate,” he said tightly, looking as though he hadn’t any idea what to say as his son and wife embraced heartily.
Kate smiled at him for a few seconds, then embraced him.
He was rigid and stunned for a moment, but then he relaxed, even going so far as to put an arm around her. Progress was all she could ask for.
They made their way inside, where the drawing room had been cleared of furniture and rugs to pave the way for dancing and food.
William and Kate were separated for a time amidst conversation with all those wishing to congratulate them, but their eyes caught every few minutes as they shared smiles.
“A happier day I can hardly remember,” Isabel Cosgrove said, wrapping Kate in an embrace.
“I am so pleased you could be here,” Kate replied. “I had intended to ask if you would like to go for a ride, but I understand you are leaving to London.”
“Indeed,” she replied. “We are to spend the Season there. My parents have great hopes of a smart match for Cecilia, you know.”
“And for you, no doubt.”
She smiled politely, but Kate had come to know the Cosgroves well enough to understand that all their family’s hopes were pinned on Cecilia. It was a pity, for Isabel was a kind soul, and only in the presence of Cecilia was she outshone.
“I hope to see you,” Kate said, “for we shall certainly be in Town for a spell.”
“You give me something to look forward to.”
They embraced once more, and Isabel left Kate to greet her next well-wishers.
“Excuse me,” said a voice behind Kate.
She smiled before turning to face her husband. “Yes?” she asked, lifting her chin and raising her brows.
“I come to claim a promised dance.” He slipped an arm about her waist and looked down into her eyes, his own kindling with warmth. “Forget everything else, my love, and come dance with me.”
So, she did. And it was the easiest thing in the world.
* * *
THE END
Read the next installment in the series, Isabel
When a wager becomes a game of hearts
Other titles by Martha Keyes
A Chronicle of Misadventures
Reputation at Risk (Book 1)
The Donovans
Unrequited (Book 1)
The Art of Victory (Book 2)
A Confirmed Rake (Book 3)
Battling the Bluestocking (Book 4)
Sheppards in Love
Kissing for Keeps (Book 1)
Just Friends Forever (Book 2)
Selling Out (Book 3)
Tales from the Highlands Series
The Widow and the Highlander (Book 1)
The Enemy and Miss Innes (Book 2)
The Innkeeper and the Fugitive (Book 3)
The Gentleman and the Maid (Book 4)
Families of Dorset Series
Wyndcross (Book 1)
Isabel (Book 2)
Cecilia (Book 3)
Hazelhurst (Book 4)
Romance Retold Series
Redeeming Miss Marcotte (Book 1)
A Conspiratorial Courting (Book 2)
A Matchmaking Mismatch (Book 3)
