Wyndcross, p.6
Wyndcross, page 6
Clara put a pensive finger on her lips, her brows drawing together. “It sounds familiar. I believe Mama is acquainted with a Hartley family. Or is it Hadley?” She shrugged off the thought. “Shall you accept him, then?”
“I am not sure,” Kate replied, finally feeling as though she were speaking whole truth. “He is a very good sort of man, and my affections are not otherwise engaged.” When another twinge of guilt arose at those words, Kate reminded herself that it was impossible to feel real affection for someone she knew as little as Lord Ashworth. “I simply do not know that I want to become his wife.”
Clara’s expression had brightened perceptibly, and she linked her arm through Kate’s. “Well, I shall feel bad if you reject his offer, but only for his sake.”
Hoping she had done the right thing but determined to see it through regardless, Kate smiled at Clara. “And what of you? Have you any lovers pining away for you in London?”
Clara laughed and assumed a mischievous grin. “Perhaps one or two. But they will forget me soon enough. They so often do.”
“Fickle London men,” said Kate with pretended ferocity.
“Fickle, indeed. Though,” said Clara, looking pleased with herself, “I do not regard it. After all, Mama says she thinks I shall receive a very promising offer soon.”
Kate kept her gaze forward. Was she referring to Lord Ashworth? Things must be quite serious if Lady Crofte anticipated an offer. Such confidence and glee were not, in Kate’s experience, the frequent companions of uncertainty.
“Do you refer to Lord Ashworth?” asked Kate, wanting to be sure she wasn’t making incorrect assumptions.
Clara beamed as Kate’s heart sank.
“Can you believe I shall be a countess?” There was a slight pause. “When his father dies, of course.”
Kate’s brows went up. She could hardly believe Lord Ashworth would appreciate hearing his father’s life disposed of with such elation by the woman he intended to make his wife.
But he was more than old enough to know his own mind, surely. It was really no business of Kate’s, and a match between the Crofte and the Ashworth families would indeed be a good match.
Yet, somehow, Kate still felt as though she had received a disappointment.
Chapter Ten
Henry gulped down the last bit of his gin, smacking the tankard down on the table. The top of his lip turned up in distaste as he swallowed. The air was thick and hot in the inn, the scent of alcohol wafting around from each table and mug.
“Wishing we had some of that fine burgundy instead of this shoddy Blue Ruin, eh?” said his friend Fitz with a knowing grin.
“If only.” Henry’s eyes glazed over as he pictured a wine cellar full of the spirits they had just handled. He slumped back in his chair. “I’m more likely to spend the remainder of my days in debtor’s prison than to ever have the chance to get bosky on burgundy of that caliber.”
Fitz drank the last of his own tankard, his eyebrows raised. “Debts that bad?”
“Worse,” said Henry. “My luck took a turn for the worse at Madame Aubertin’s.” He felt sick even thinking on the sum he had lost.
Fitz had sworn the gaming hell was just the ticket for Henry’s difficulties. And so it had seemed at first.
Henry shuddered. He couldn’t bear to think what his mother would say if she found out.
Fitz shook his head. “Rotten luck, that’s what it is.”
“It’s only gotten more rotten since,” Henry said. “My mother has informed me that I am soon to be congratulated.”
“Eh?” Fitz said, looking mystified.
“Married, Fitz. She’s decided I’m to be married.”
Fitz looked blankly at him for a moment, then began laughing hysterically. “You? Leg-shackled!”
“Now that’s rich!” Fitz gave into his mirth, wiping an eye only to succumb to another bout of laughter.
“Rich? Yes, that’s precisely the problem! She is to be rich as a nabob, and my mother is adamant I make a push to marry her.”
Fitz’s laughter died down, and his frown returned. “Well, you’ve had a run of bad luck, my boy, but your pocket is a couple guineas the better for tonight’s work, eh? And what a night!”
The side of Henry’s mouth turned up in a smile. A night of disguised smuggling which ended with money in his pocket was precisely the type of adventure he never knew he’d been missing. “If I can keep this up, Marshalsea won’t be able to get its hands on me.”
“Don’t be silly. You’d be daft to come back for more. It was a drunken lark, no more.” He stood and clapped Henry on the back. “I’m for bed.”
Henry nodded. “Go on without me, then. I’m not going home till I know my mother’s fast asleep. I’ve had enough of her lectures to last me a lifetime.”
Fitz tossed a coin on the table, and Henry watched as he left through the door.
Fitz had said he’d be addle-brained to make a repeat of the night. But Henry wasn’t so sure. If it saved him from his mother’s marital machinations, put money in his pocket, and kept him entertained, why not?
He looked around him. A large, surly man sat at a table at the far side of the room. Henry stood and walked over to him.
“Roberts, isn’t it?” he said to the man, offering his hand.
The man looked up at him, and recognition dawned slowly on his ruddy face. He nodded, taking Henry’s hand and grasping it with such strength that Henry wondered if he might bruise.
“You’re one of the new ones,” Roberts said in a half-question, half-statement.
“That’s right.” Henry sat down across from him, clenching and unclenching his throbbing hand. “How long have you been at it?”
“A year and more,” Roberts said, sitting back.
Henry nodded, wondering how much money he could amass after a year of free-trading. “Is it worth it?”
Roberts’ mouth turned down as he considered. “Pays better than my other work. The next shipment will give me more in two nights than I make in a year.”
Henry leaned in. “What’s different about this next shipment?”
“I don’t rightly know,” Roberts shrugged. “All I know is Emmerson ain’t taking any chances with this one. And the payday will be far and above anything we’ve had.”
“More than tonight’s?” Henry asked slowly, his heart picking up speed.
Roberts chuckled and indicated Henry’s coat with his head. “You won’t be able to fit the earnings in those pockets of yours. Nor in twenty pockets like them.”
Henry’s eyes widened. How would his mother look if he were to tell her she needn’t worry her head over their debts anymore? If he could take all that money and double it at the card table, even better.
His skin prickled with excitement. This was his chance.
Chapter Eleven
Kate awoke on the morning of the expedition with the Cosgroves prepared to have an enjoyable day riding and making new friends. She was pleased and grateful to see that her riding habit had been rid of all black spots. Lindley was a magician. Fanny would have been exasperated to know that the brand-new riding habit she had gifted her niece had been forever ruined the first time it had been worn.
Kate looked at herself in the mirror. Though she didn’t pretend to be much out of the ordinary, she was not unhappy with her appearance. She felt her eyes to be her one redeeming feature, and the subdued gray of her habit made their green seem all the brighter. Next to the striking blonde Clara, Kate was quite eclipsed, of course, but there was nothing to be done about that.
She descended to the entrance hall at the same time as Henry.
“Good morning, Miss Matcham.” He gave a stiff smile and a bow.
“Good morning,” she replied warmly. Why Henry was so tense again, she had no idea, but she trusted it wouldn’t last. “As you see” —she held her skirt out to the sides and turned slowly— “I am entirely spotless today, thanks to the efforts of my maid. There shall be no sending me to the circus now.”
Henry chortled. “Outsmarted us, you—no, wait! Hang on now. There’s a spot there. Under your arm.”
Kate lifted her right arm and, sure enough, a black spot peered back at her.
“So there is.” Kate rubbed at it. “I suppose I must embrace my new future.”
“Clara has loads of riding habits. Not a bother at all to let you borrow one. She’s probably standing in front of three or four right now, trying to choose. In fact, I’ll lay you a wager we don’t see her for another half hour.” He leaned against the wall, as if settling in for the wait.
Kate raised her brows. “Surely she will not be that long?”
“You’re a true friend to think such a thing. Ain’t a shred of promptness in Clara, though.”
After a few minutes, they decided to proceed to the courtyard, where Clara could meet them in her own time. They walked out to see Lord Ashworth and his sister approaching on horseback. A wagon full of blankets and baskets of food for the picnic stood waiting nearby.
Lord Ashworth was riding a handsome chestnut, while his sister sat atop a striking dapple gray. Lady Anne was an undeniable beauty, with porcelain skin, dark eyes, and curly, brown hair under a pale green bonnet with white ribbon. She smiled as they approached, and Lord Ashworth dismounted.
Kate’s heart gave an aggravating flutter at the sight of him. It seemed unfair a man could possess good looks, title, and amiability.
“Good morning. I trust we find you well, Miss Matcham?”
“Yes, thank you, my lord.” She thought back to their last encounter with only a slight warmth in her cheeks and revealed her empty hands. “I bear no ink today. I made the excessively painful decision to leave my writing utensils here.”
“What a shame,” he said, eyes twinkling appreciatively. “I promised my sister an excursion quite out of the ordinary, in the presence of a true artist. I see now we are bound to have a humdrum expedition after all. Miss Matcham, allow me to introduce you to my sister, Lady Anne Ashworth.”
Lady Anne smiled and inclined her head as Kate curtsied. “What a pleasure to meet you, Miss Matcham,” she said. Her voice was soft and kind, her demeanor calmer than her brother’s.
“The pleasure is mine, I assure you,” replied Kate.
Clara appeared at the doorway of the manor.
“Good morning, Lord Ashworth and Lady Anne,” said Clara with an especially bright smile directed at the former.
Kate looked to Lord Ashworth, wondering if she would see any evidence of his regard for Clara, but he seemed to greet her with the same polite amiability he had used toward her and Henry.
“Shall we be on our way?” Henry asked, mounting his horse.
The path from the Wyndcross courtyard out to the main road was wide enough for the five of them to ride comfortably in two rows, with the servants and wagon bringing up the rear. The shortcut to the Cosgroves, however, was frequently narrow enough that only two could ride abreast. Lady Anne and Henry were engaged in conversation, leaving Clara, Kate, and Lord Ashworth to find an arrangement between them.
Anticipating the situation, Kate placed herself slightly behind the two of them, giving Clara a wink and a smile as she pulled her horse back further.
Lord Ashworth looked back at Kate as if to protest, but Kate only smiled at him and directed her eyes upward to watch the sun shining through the gaps in the tree branches above. She felt content, determined to enjoy the day to her utmost ability. The one thing missing from a potentially perfect day was her own mare. She gave her mount, Cinnamon, a pat on the neck, as if trying to atone for her train of thought.
Positioned behind the rest of the riding party, she had the opportunity to observe each of the other four.
Lord Ashworth and Clara made for a striking pair, with Clara’s petite figure and golden hair, and Lord Ashworth’s athletic frame and dark brown hair. They both had winning smiles, which were apparent as they conversed.
Smiles were not Kate’s only observation, however.
Lord Ashworth was the recipient of lash-veiled looks and exaggerated laughs. Clara was one who thrived in the spotlight, but Kate was surprised to see her acting with such affectation when her normal behavior was already engaging. Some gentlemen might be drawn to such behavior, but Kate said a silent prayer of gratitude that she had never felt the desire nor developed the ability to flirt. She would look a fool.
Clara was still captivating, though, and even if she didn’t agree with Clara’s approach, Kate admired her determination to pursue what she wanted. Would that she could pursue her own goals with such confidence.
She shifted her gaze to Lord Ashworth’s profile. He wore a kind expression as he spoke with Clara, but he didn’t look to be a man in love. Could the marriage possibly be one of convenience on his end? Her eyes narrowed as she searched his face, as if she might find the answer there.
He turned his head, his gaze flitting to hers. Encountering her expression of intense focus, he looked a question at her. Her cheeks grew warm, evidence of the subject of her thoughts.
She smiled, then pretended to shift Cinnamon’s bridle, aware that Lord Ashworth’s gaze lingered for a moment before he turned to respond to Clara.
They arrived at the Cosgroves in a matter of a quarter of an hour and found the two sisters awaiting them in the courtyard. Kate’s eyebrows rose when she saw the younger of the two Cosgroves. Miss Cecilia Cosgrove looked more like an angel than any young woman of Kate’s acquaintance.
After a few short minutes, though, Kate was certain she was more likely to get along with the elder of the two. Isabel was much plainer than Cecilia, but she had a frank way about her that Kate immediately liked.
After introductions had been performed, the party headed in the direction of St. Catherine’s Chapel. The road to the chapel passed by hills on one side, and long green fields on the other. Everything seemed to roll right into the ocean.
Kate struggled to focus on the conversation, too fascinated by the beauty around her. At one point, Isabel Cosgrove had to say her name three times before Kate realized she had been asked a question.
Blushing at her own incivility, she apologized. “What a terrible riding companion I am. Forgive me. It is only that, after being in London so long, the beauty here has me speechless.”
“Speechless or deaf?” asked Lord Ashworth.
Kate’s gaze snapped to him, but as she encountered a wink, she relaxed. “Both, it would appear. I beg your pardon, Miss Cosgrove.”
“Do not apologize,” Isabel said with a kind smile. “It is wonderful to have someone so appreciative of the place we call home.”
“I do envy you,” Kate admitted. “None of you seem to be afflicted with a set of manners as poor as mine, but surely you have all become accustomed to the beauty, as I undoubtedly shall be in time.”
“Oh, yes,” declared Clara. “I am sure I hardly regard it. It looks like every other bit of England I have seen. I much prefer Town to country. After all, once one has seen one field, one has seen them all.”
“Perfectly true,” said Miss Cecilia.
“But it is so nice to come home at the end of the Season,” Isabel commented.
“Which do you prefer, Miss Matcham?” asked Lord Ashworth. “Town or country?”
“Oh, the country,” said Kate. “Quite unfashionable of me, I am sure. I do enjoy London, but primarily for short visits. I do not find unending joy in balls and parties and late nights.”
“You must have been miserable with Lady Hammond then,” said Clara. “Mama says she is at all the parties.”
“Oh no,” Kate said, anxious to disabuse her of such a notion. “I have been very content living with my aunt. She has been an angel, and I will never be able to repay her kindness. I simply do not find my appetite for social events equal to hers.”
Isabel nodded her understanding. “There is nothing so aggravating as desiring to be home but being at the mercy of one’s friends or family. Shall you return to your aunt in London after your visit, then?”
“I believe my aunt has plans to remove to Brighton. I anticipate I shall join her there, though.”
“Is she not going to marry that Wilmsey fellow?” asked Clara. “Will you live with them once they are married? Or” —Clara’s eyebrow quirked suggestively— “shall you marry Mr. Hartley?”
Kate’s jaw clenched, her eyes darting to Lord Ashworth, who was watching her, his expression unreadable. She felt an urgency to disabuse him of whatever ideas Clara’s words might have given him, but the impulse was ridiculous. She had promised herself to promote things between Clara and Lord Ashworth, not to ensure he had no misapprehensions about the state of her own heart.
She was at a momentary loss for words, unsure how to explain her plans and reluctant to do so among people she hardly knew.
“Ah, there’s the chapel!” interjected Lord Ashworth, looking up at the hill they rode alongside.
“How beautiful it looks in the sunshine,” Lady Anne remarked softly.
Kate shot a grateful look at Lord Ashworth, who returned a smile as the group slowed their horses, coming upon the small gate which led up to the chapel on the hill.
Kate shaded her eyes as she looked on, waiting for the others to proceed through the gate. The warm brown stone of the chapel was surrounded by green grass, bright blue skies, and, further off, a placid ocean of turquoise and navy, which melted seamlessly into the sky.
Lord Ashworth cleared his throat.
She glanced at him. “Oh, you needn’t wait for me.”
“I think I rather must.” His smiling gaze dropped to her horse, and Kate looked down.
Cinnamon was grazing at her leisure in front of the gate, blocking Lord Ashworth’s access. She tugged on the reins to pull the mare’s head up. “Forgive me. I shall endeavor to focus for the rest of the day.”
“Please do not,” said Lord Ashworth. “Your enjoyment of the beauty is as delightful as the beauty itself.”
