by Martha Keyes
Nothing made sense—Lord Ashworth’s behavior, Clara’s situation with Lord Ashworth and Mr. Bradbury, even Kate’s own options regarding her future. The thought that she had been brought to Wyndcross only for her reputed inheritance made her feel sick inside. Sick at the feeling of being valued for a fortune; sick with a heavy feeling of obligation to the Croftes for her having presumed upon them as an unknowing imposter; sick with a feeling of loneliness.
It was in valiantly masking this dismal state of mind that Kate met Lady Anne for a morning ride. She had considered sending a note to Ashworth Place to cancel the plans, but she needed fresh air to clear her head.
Familiar enough with Kate to know what type of ride she would most enjoy, Lady Anne guided them toward the coast where they followed a small path. It passed by a large cove and down to the pebbled beach where white cliffs loomed above. With each step the horses’ hooves poked hoof-shaped pockets in the pebbles below.
Kate looked out at the waves rolling onto shore, some approaching them closely enough that sea spray tickled their faces. As each wave receded, it dragged pebbles back out to the ocean in an irresistible and rhythmic motion. It was calming.
“Are you well, Kate?” Lady Anne’s voice intruded into her thoughts.
She smiled reassuringly at Lady Anne. “Yes, only caught in a daze of admiration, yet again.” Did Lady Anne, too, believe her to be an heiress to a large fortune? If she did, Kate hadn’t noticed anything in her demeanor to suggest it.
“Oh, don’t apologize,” said Lady Anne. “I know you are an admirer of nature, and I am happy if our path gives you something to admire.”
Though the beauty of the scene had not been the subject of her thoughts, Kate smiled and stretched her neck to look up at the tall cliffs above. Two gulls circled above in the sky.
“It is very majestic, isn’t it?” Kate said.
“It is. I fear I have come to take it for granted.” Lady Anne gazed wistfully out at the ocean. “I shall miss it terribly when we leave.”
Kate frowned. “Why must you leave?”
Lady Anne looked down at the pebbly beach below. “Our stay was never meant to be permanent. Ashworth Place is William’s residence, and he has been working for years to put to rights the myriad problems which have resulted from generation after generation of financial incompetence and lavish living. My mother and I joined him because he likes the company and my father because he prefers Ashworth Place to his own seat in Bere Regis. But we will naturally remove there when William marries.”
Kate was momentarily silent. Did Clara know that Lord Ashworth’s family was in financial trouble? How far was Lord Ashworth willing to go to bring the estate back to solvency?
Kate pushed her thoughts aside. “Then you will be leaving soon?”
Lady Anne cocked her head to the side. “I hope not, unless you know something I don’t.” She directed a teasing look at Kate.
It was Kate’s turn to look confused, and her cheeks blushed. “Oh no! Only—” she hesitated. “I was under the impression that a match was impending. It was clumsy of me.”
“No, no,” Lady Anne reassured her. “Do tell me what you meant. I’m very curious.”
Kate’s confusion grew. Was it possible that Lady Anne was unaware of the arrangement between her brother and Clara? Lady Crofte had spoken of it as though it were common knowledge, at least between the families.
“I had gathered,” Kate spoke slowly, “that there was an understanding between your families.”
“Between what families?”
“Your family and the Crofte family.” Kate said the words slowly.
Lady Anne scrunched her nose. “What? Between William and Clara?”
“Yes.” Kate took her lips between her teeth, feeling foolish.
Lady Anne looked contemplative for a moment before asking, “May I ask how you arrived at such a conclusion?”
Kate bit her lip, and Lady Anne rushed on, “It is just that I know William quite well, and I am tolerably certain that no understanding exists between him and Clara.”
Kate hesitated, still biting her lip. Had she perhaps misunderstood Lady Crofte?
No, Lady Crofte had been quite plain with her. Unmistakably so.
“I don’t mean to press you,” said Lady Anne, reaching over to grasp Kate’s hand reassuringly. “I understand your hesitation. But I am sure you can appreciate that whoever is communicating such untruths must be set right. Otherwise, it could create a very awkward situation for both my brother and Clara.”
There was no denying the force of her argument. Surely Lord Ashworth did not deserve to be forced into marriage simply because his and Clara’s names were being paired together unjustly. But would she be doing Clara a disservice by divulging anything more to Lady Anne?
Kate was certain that Clara and Mr. Bradbury were in love. It seemed unthinkable that Clara would wish to marry anyone besides the person her heart belonged to—particularly since her love was returned. But that was still a decision for Clara to make. Any interference from Kate might very well be unwelcome.
If there was truly an understanding between Lord Ashworth and Clara, though, surely it would not be damaged by Lady Anne being made aware.
“You are quite right, of course,” Kate replied. “I was told that Clara and your brother were promised to one another by Lady Crofte. She seemed to believe that the understanding between your families was of long standing.”
Lady Anne nodded and sighed. “I might have guessed as much. Lady Crofte has hoped for a union between our families for as long as I can remember.”
Kate felt relief bubble inside her. Lord Ashworth was not promised to be married. Not to Clara. Not to anyone, apparently. Her mouth twisted to the side. “But why would Lady Crofte talk so surely of such a thing if it is not true?”
Lady Anne watched Kate’s bewilderment with a half-smile. “I think I know the reason.” But before Kate could inquire about her meaning, Lady Anne continued. “I believe William knows of Lady Crofte’s wishes and has considered the option. But nothing more. He has been far too engaged in the business of the estate for the past few years to have devoted much time to courting.”
“That is very admirable,” Kate said, unsure how else to respond.
“Yes, there are many luxuries attached to a title, but there are also many duties and obligations. My grandfather and great-grandfather seemed not to have cared for anything but the luxuries. William, however, understands his duty to maintain the estate and, preferably, to leave it better than he found it. He is very conscious of the weight of that duty.”
How far might he go to relieve that weight? Certainly, such pressing financial difficulties coupled with a strong sense of duty could drive someone to engage in smuggling.
“I admire your brother’s sense of duty to his family.” Kate was unsure what else to say. She thought of her sisters and mother; their hopes for her to make a good match. “I wish I could be as dutiful to my own.”
“I am sure you are every bit as dutiful.”
“I am not,” Kate said simply. “My family hopes for me to make a good match. I have not been able to bring myself to do it, though. I have been too selfish to marry out of duty.”
Lady Anne looked at her hands on the reins. “If I may, Kate, I would not encourage you to sacrifice your own happiness merely for the social possibilities it might afford your family.” She paused, taking the reins in hand and looking to Kate. “I trust this will stay between us, but my own mother and father married out of duty. Their marriage has been a painful one. It is not a fate my mother or myself or my brother would wish upon anyone.”
Kate digested what Lady Anne said. But she found herself facing the same dilemma she had faced before coming to Wyndcross. Which was the more miserable option between marrying out of necessity or facing a life of penury and unrelenting work? Lady Anne might be right, but she gave her advice from the position of security which had been afforded by the very same type of marriage she
was counseling against.
In any case, a marriage of convenience was no longer within Kate’s reach.
23
When Kate arrived back at Wyndcross, she found Clara sitting in the morning room with a sampler in her hand, attempting to unravel a roll of thread. As she entered the room, Clara threw down the roll in frustration and looked up. Her expression changed from one of frustration to something between a smile and a grimace.
“Oh dear,” said Kate with a laugh in her voice. “This is a scene I am all too familiar with.” She walked over to Clara and sat down on the floor next to her chair, picking up the thread and beginning to sort through the chaotic entanglement. The conversation naturally turned to the dinner party, which Clara declared to have been terribly insipid.
“And Mama can never bear to end a party,” she complained, “without obliging me to play the pianoforte, which she knows I dislike above all things.”
Kate’s fingers tugged at a particularly tight knot. “You may dislike it, but I can tell you that others did not.” She paused a moment, stealing a glance at Clara. “Mr. Bradbury in particular did not seem able to tear his eyes away. Indeed, I believe his father was obliged to speak his name several times before he was attended to.” Kate winked.
Clara tossed her head. “Pooh! What do I care for the opinion of Mr. Bradbury?”
Kate’s fingers slowed their movement. She hesitated before saying, “I thought you both cared a great deal for one other’s opinions.”
Clara snorted her disdain, but Kate wondered if it was the makings of tears which she spotted in Clara’s eyes. “I’m sure I have no time to spend worrying about the Mr. Bradburys of the world when I will be a countess.”
Kate was silent. She could only hope that Clara was in a fit of pique to speak so ill of Mr. Bradbury. But for what reason? They had appeared to be on such good terms just a few days ago, indeed, even at the beginning of the dinner party.
Shortly after her conversation with Clara, a letter was brought from Fanny. Fanny had no patience for letter writing and had made it a practice to dictate her letters to Kate instead of writing them herself, but this one she had clearly written herself. Her script had an impatient flow to it.
Dearest Kate,
I have been quite remiss in replying to you, but receiving Lord Ashworth’s letter reminded me that I hadn’t yet responded to you. Injured your ankle? Of all the things! I hope you are quite mended by the time you receive this, but please take better care. I worry so for you.
We arrived in Brighton two days ago, and things here are very much as you would expect. I have so much to tell you that has happened since you left. Can you believe that Lady Carville has been quite throwing her youngest daughter—the one with the hideous freckles—at all the bachelors in Brighton? Though no one will take her, poor thing!
I was not aware that you were acquainted with Lord and Lady Purbeck, Kate. You might have mentioned it, as I would naturally wish for you to convey my best wishes to the Countess who is a friend of mine. In any case, how very thoughtful of Lord Ashworth to send for Cleopatra! His letter was quite civil, and he insisted that it was no trouble at all. I own that I wish I had sent her to you myself, but the truth is that I am quite selfish, as you know, and never even thought of it. I know you’ll forgive me, though, because you are always doing so.
I have much else to tell you, but you know I can’t abide writing letters, so I will treasure up all the tidbits and tales as an incentive for you to come to Brighton as soon as you may. And now I must ready myself for the Regent’s ball tonight. Walmsley is escorting me. And since I can already hear you asking, yes, I have accepted him. We will likely marry after Michaelmas. When will you return to us? Brighton is so dull without you!
Love,
Fanny
Kate’s heart raced as she read and reread the third paragraph, certain that she had misread the words on the page. “And how thoughtful of Lord Ashworth to send for Cleopatra?” Surely there was some misunderstanding.
Her mind returned to the day before when she had found Cleopatra in the stables. Lord Ashworth’s unexplained presence there with his own horse hadn’t made her wonder at the time, but given Fanny’s letter, it made more sense. If he was indeed responsible for her horse’s sudden arrival, though, why had he not said something? And why in the world would he have gone out of his way to send for her horse?
The mess of feelings she had been attempting to sort through tangled even further at this new knowledge. She couldn’t reconcile the various things she knew of Lord Ashworth, and it frustrated her to no end.
Lady Anne’s insistence that no understanding existed between her brother and Clara had fanned the persistent but flickering hope which had refused to be extinguished. The resentment Kate felt toward Lord Ashworth for being involved in smuggling was, she admitted reluctantly, further evidence of the depth of her feelings for him.
Knowing now that he had been kind and thoughtful enough to transport her horse to Wyndcross added to both her confusion and her appreciation for him. How could someone be so thoughtful and yet so duplicitous?
Her conversation with Clara had brought her spirits down again, and along with them any inclination to dwell on a future that included Lord Ashworth in anything but the role of Clara’s husband. The irony of finally coming to feel the desire to marry someone she could not have was not lost on her.
If she could not have Lord Ashworth, what did it matter whom she married or where she ended up?
She wished she had never come to Wyndcross. Before, she had accepted her future, if not with happiness, at least with equanimity. Her visit to Wyndcross had provided her with a glimpse of what she had desired but had thought could not exist.
Feeling an unbearable restlessness nag her, she descended the stairs to dinner, blessing the early dining hours they kept in the country—they would allow her to excuse herself from the dinner table complaining, not untruthfully, of a headache.
She made her way to the stables with the knowledge that there was enough light left for a short ride, feeling only a twinge of guilt at the knowledge that the Croftes would assume her to be in bed. But only a ride would clear her head in the way she needed.
24
Kate tucked a piece of hair back into her bonnet. The ride had been gusty, and great care had been needed to steer clear of the cliff edges that the dirt riding path hugged so closely—cliffs which dropped precipitously down onto jagged rocks and choppy sea water.
Cleopatra’s wet coat glistened a final time as the sun dipped behind the hills. Its final rays peeked through the barn door. The diminishing light left the surrounding countryside a dull blue after a glowing sunset. Kate needed to act quickly before the light was completely gone.
As had been the case when she had entered the stables earlier that evening, there was no sound of anyone else, and only a single light within.
It was an unusual circumstance, but it was very likely that the Croftes had given some of the servants a night off after the previous evening’s dinner party. In any event, she didn’t mind unsaddling and brushing Cleopatra herself, so she lit one of the candles near Cleopatra’s stall, knowing she would need its light before long.
She lifted the saddle off the horse’s warm back, the smell of wet horse hair permeating the air. Cleopatra’s mane was unusually tangled after their gusty ride along the coast, but there was no time to attend to it. She spoke softly to Cleopatra as she brushed her sweat-covered coat, praising her for the good ride they had enjoyed.
Though she felt no closer to deciding on her future than before her ride, Kate felt much calmer and more collected. She had no marriage prospects. Employment was the only option to achieve the independence she craved.
The next hurdle would be to obtain a reference. Fanny would never agree to do it; she would never agree to Kate’s plans.
She hefted the saddle over her shoulder, slipped the bridle over her arm, and made her way carefully toward the tack room. The absence of t
he usual sconces left very little light in the barn. As she approached the room, precious few beams from the candle reached her destination.
Crossing the threshold of the tack room, her boot hit something round and wooden, sending her and her load crashing to the dirty floor. She let out a frustrated cry. The saddle lay before her, but her eyes searched the dark in vain for the bridle.
She hunted her surroundings with her hands but had no success. Cursing her luck, she picked herself off the ground and returned to Cleopatra’s stall for the candle she had lit.
When she returned, the gleam of the small candle cast moody shadows along the rows of tack. Kate looked down near her feet where the missing bridle lay and bent down to pick it up. Immediately to its right lay the culprit responsible for her fall—a wooden object which looked to have been covered up by a canvas which her clumsiness had displaced.
She let the light fall on the object that had tripped her. It was a wooden tub, out of place in a room full of saddles, bridles, and bits. Her brow wrinkled in confusion, but she bent down to replace the canvas. She lifted the corner off the ground, and the light of the candle reached underneath.
Her eyes grew wide and her jaw tensed.
Beneath the canvas were rows, stacked four feet high, of wooden barrels.
The villager Sally’s words reverberated in her head: “Lord knows what’s hiding inside with all these free-traders about.”
The sound of footsteps on dirt met her ears. She turned, holding out the candle in her hand to illuminate whoever had joined her in the stables.
The man squinted as the light hit him. He wore a uniform.
Oy!” he said between a whisper and shout. He carried a tankard in one hand, and liquid dripped from it, landing in the puddle which had formed on the floor when he had jolted in surprise.
Kate breathed a sigh of relief and lowered the candle which shook in her jittery hand. “Thank heaven! You’re an officer. I thought you were perhaps a free-trader.”
