by Martha Keyes
Henry nodded. “Go on without me, then. I’m not going home til 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 at the pub. 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. “Aye. It pays better than my other work.” His brows went up and he nodded slowly. “The next shipment will give me more in two nights than I make in a year.”
Henry sat up, leaning in toward Roberts. “What’s different about this next shipment?”
“I don’t rightly know,” Roberts shrugged. “All I know’s Emmerson isn’t taking any chances with this one. And the payday will be far and above anything we’ve had.”
“More than tonight’s then?” 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 bulged. He imagined how his mother would look if he were to tell her not to worry her head over their debts anymore. If he could take all that money and double it at the card table, such a conversation might well become a reality.
He could feel his skin prickling with excitement. This was his chance.
9
Clara’s hopeful and happy spirits endured for the next few days. In such moods, Clara was at her most pleasant and engaging.
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, and she silently blessed Lindley for it. 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, being much more average in all aspects but her height—Kate was still waiting for giants to become the rage.
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 with a warm smile. Why Henry was so tense again, she had no idea, but she hoped it wouldn’t last. “As you see—” she held her skirt out to the sides and turned slowly “—I am entirely spotless, thanks to the efforts of my maid. So, I am afraid you have missed your window to send me to the circus.”
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 and laughed. “Well, there’s nothing for it. I suppose I must embrace my new future.”
Henry chuckled. “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 that we don’t see Clara for another half hour.” He leaned against the wall, as if settling in for the wait.
Kate raised her brows and suppressed a laugh. “Surely she won’t be that long?”
Henry’s brows went up. “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 walk out 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, and 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 Kate, and Lord Ashworth dismounted.
“Good morning, Miss Matcham. Henry. I trust we find you well, Miss Matcham?” He wore his usual amiable smile.
“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. “You may rest easy knowing that I bear no ink today. I made the excessively painful decision to leave my writing utensils here.” Her eyes twinkled, and his did the same in response.
“What a shame,” he said. “I promised my sister an excursion quite out of the ordinary, in the presence of une vraie artiste. But now I see we are bound to have a humdrum expedition after all,” he lamented. “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,” said Lady Anne. 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 just as much polite amiability as he always showed.
“Shall we be on our way?” said Henry, 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 bringing up the rear. However, the shortcut to the Cosgroves 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 had already placed herself slightly behind Lord Ashworth and Clara, giving Clara a slight wink and a smile as she pulled her horse back.
Lord Ashworth looked back at Kate as if to protest, but Kate only smiled at him and then 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, golden hair, and blue eyes, and Lord Ashworth’s athletic frame, dark brown hair, and brown eyes. They both had winning smiles which were apparent now as they conversed.
Kate observed Clara and found herself amused at what she saw. 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 nor
mal behavior was already engaging. Kate knew that some gentlemen were drawn to affectation but said a silent prayer of gratitude that she had never felt the desire nor developed the ability to flirt.
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 with such purpose. 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. She felt a sense of relief. Could the marriage possibly be one of convenience on his end? Her eyes narrowed as she searched Lord Ashworth’s face as if she might find the answer there.
He turned his head to look at her and, encountering her expression of intense focus, tilted his head, looking a question at her. She realized that she had been staring, and her cheeks grew warm: evidence of the subject of her thoughts. She smiled and then pretended to shift Cinnamon’s bridle, aware that Lord Ashworth’s gaze lingered for a moment before he turned to respond to Clara.
She was surprised at herself for acting so childish, unable to meet his gaze without blushing. It was not something that had occurred under the gaze of any other gentleman. It would be best to keep her distance from him.
She looked further on at Henry and Lady Anne. Lady Anne seemed amiable and kind, though somewhat quiet. Something about her made Kate wish to know her better. In her experience, it was uncommon to meet young women who were beautiful, confident, and reserved without seeming arrogant. Lady Anne somehow managed it.
Henry seemed to have shed the stiffness he had shown earlier upon greeting Kate as he regaled Lady Anne with his stories. Whatever the reason for his fluctuating behavior toward her, Kate hoped it would peter out as they spent more time in one another’s company.
They arrived at the Cosgroves in a matter of ten minutes, finding the two sisters awaiting them in the courtyard. Kate’s eyebrows shot up 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. But even after a few short minutes, Kate was certain that she was more likely to get along with Isabel—she was much plainer than Cecilia, but she had a frank way about her that Kate liked immediately.
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.
Fascinated by the beauty around her, Kate struggled to focus on the conversation. 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 I am so awestruck by the beauty that I find myself speechless.”
“Speechless or deaf?” said Lord Ashworth.
Kate’s head snapped up. Was he teasing or in earnest? She encountered a wink from him and laughed at herself.
“Both, it would appear. I beg your pardon, Miss Cosgrove.”
“Oh, don’t 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’m sure I hardly regard it. But then, I have always much preferred the town to the country. After all, once one has seen one field, one has seen them all.”
“I prefer the town, as well,” said Miss Cecilia.
“But it is so nice to come home at the end of the Season, isn’t it?” said Isabel.
“And which do you prefer, Miss Matcham?” asked Lord Ashworth. “Town or country?”
“Oh, the country,” said Kate. “Quite unfashionable of me, I’m sure. I do enjoy London, but primarily for short visits. I’m afraid that I did not acquire the family trait of finding 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 to me, and I will never be able to repay her for everything. I just don’t find my appetite for social events equal to hers.”
Isabel smiled at her, nodding 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 where I anticipate I shall join her.”
“But is she not going to marry that Wilmsey fellow?” said Clara. “Will you live with them once they are married? Or—” Clara’s eyebrows wagged up and down “—shall you marry Mr. Hartley?”
Kate’s jaw clenched, and she swallowed, glancing at Lord Ashworth. She had not anticipated that Clara would remember Simon. She felt irritated that his reaction had been of concern to her. He was watching her, but his expression was unreadable.
Kate felt an urgency to disabuse him of whatever ideas Clara’s words might have given him, but she recognized that the impulse was ridiculous. She had promised herself to promote things between Clara and Lord Ashworth, not to ensure he had no misapprehensions about 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 in her gentle voice.
Kate looked gratefully at Lord Ashworth, and he smiled back 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. 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 seemed to melt seamlessly into the sky.
Lord Ashworth cleared his throat.
She looked at him. “I apologize. Only it’s so striking with all the colors. Please don’t wait for me, though.”
He laughed. “I’m afraid you’ve left me no other option.”
She 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 and laughed. “I shall endeavor to focus for the rest of the day.”
“Please don’t,” laughed Lord Ashworth. “Your enjoyment of the beauty is as delightful as the beauty itself.”
She looked at him, wondering if he was trying to flirt with her, but all she saw was honest enjoyment.
“It is refreshing,” he continued, “to see genuine appreciation for beauty after spending time in London where everyone disdains awe and strives to make each wonderful feat or marvel seem commonplace.”
Up ahead, Kate saw Clara dismounting, her eyes on Kate and Lord Ashworth.
Kate cleared her throat and guided Cinnamon through the gate.
Though she would have liked to explore the chapel and surroundings, the party had already agreed that they would eat first. Each of the three families had brought dishes for the picnic, and the blankets were positioned so that the picnic party had a clear view of the chapel, the adjacent village of thatched-roof cottages, and the wide blue sea. Cows grazed peacefully along the hill and fields. How could anyone prefer London to such sights?
Arriving last to the picnic area, Kate and Lord Ashworth found themselves next to one another as the party began to seat themselves. Kate tried to think of a polite way of switching positions with someone else in the party, but there was no need. Clara came over and positioned herself between K
ate and Lord Ashworth as she addressed a remark to Kate. Kate smiled and gracefully made room for her.
“Oh, Henry!” Clara said. “Do come sit over here.” Clara indicated the open spot on the other side of Kate which Isabel Cosgrove was about to sit down in. “My arms are too short to reach the cheese, you see, and I know I can impose upon you whenever I want some, which you know I shall frequently.” She gave a sweet smile which invited everyone’s forbearance with her.
Kate’s eyebrow went up. She was unaware that Clara had such an affinity for cheese or why she didn’t simply switch places with Isabel. Isabel stopped in the act of lowering herself to the ground and said somewhat bemusedly, “Oh, by all means.”
“Nonsense, Clara.” Henry went to move the platter. “Move the cheese closer to yourself. Simple as that.”
“What,” Clara said with a censuring look, “and deprive Isabel and Cecilia of the cheese? For shame, Henry. Do come sit. I shan’t bother you above three times, I promise.”
Henry looked at Clara with narrowed eyes, and she smiled at him. His nostrils flared and his jaw set, but he sat down obediently next to Kate, forcing a civil smile. Kate wasn’t sure whether his annoyance was directed at her or at Clara.
With three families who had known each other for years, the discussion naturally took a reminiscent turn. Kate rested her cheek on her hand and listened in appreciative silence as the group laughed and debated whose versions of recounted memories were correct.
She considered Lord Ashworth as he chuckled and chimed in from time to time. Her smile grew as she watched him throw his head back in enjoyment at one of Henry’s exaggerated stories. It was impossible to dislike someone as genuine as he was.
Recognizing that such a train of thought was not conducive to her aims, she rose from the blanket and walked to the chapel.
She stood at its façade and inhaling the air which held a mixture of grass and salt. Running her eyes over the aged stones for a moment, she opened the chapel door to enter.
