He couldn’t scrounge up an ounce of enthusiasm for anything at the moment. Anything beyond the idea of Kate, who, no doubt, wasn’t the least bit enthused by the idea of him.
He could hardly blame her. A little time and the vast amounts of coffee had bought him a small amount of clarity, and with it, an ocean of remorse.
I’m very fond of you.
Like apple tarts.
What the devil had he been thinking? He should have remembered the jest he’d made the night before about apple tarts. He should have remembered a great many things. He should have remembered the novels she read were about love, not just adventure. He should have remembered that her friends and family all had love matches of their own. He should have remembered the way her eyes lit up when she’d watched Evie dance with her husband at Lady Thurston’s ball.
But he’d been too focused on acquiring her. He’d gone after her hand and all it represented in the eyes of society in the same way he’d gone after his fortune, with blind determination.
He’d not once, not once since she’d left Pallton House given a thought to what her hand represented. He no longer cared. She could be a fisherman’s daughter, a seamstress, a scullery maid and he wouldn’t want her less. He wouldn’t miss her less. He wouldn’t be less remorseful for having broken her heart. And in breaking, lost it.
The pain bloomed.
Bloody hell, it hurt. Just as it had when he’d lost his parents and cousin. Just as it had when his aunt had turned her back on him. And just as it had when Lizzy had walked away.
Just as it had every other time he’d lost someone he loved.
He squeezed his eyes shut on a groan. “Oh, bugger it.”
He loved her. Despite swearing he never would, despite taking every precaution known to man to ensure he never would, he’d fallen deeply, hopelessly, and irrevocably in love.
And now he was paying for it, just as he had in the past.
No, that wasn’t right. That wasn’t right at all. It wasn’t anything like what had happened before. Kate wasn’t dead, for pity’s sake. She’d not walked away to a place or a life unknown. She’d not left, abandoned, or forgotten him. She wouldn’t. It wasn’t in her nature. Isn’t that part of what had drawn him to her in the first place—her absolute loyalty to those she loved?
She’d just…very understandably backed away, a little. And very courageously invited him to follow, he realized, remembering her invitation to risk a visit to Haldon.
This time, it had not been he who’d been willing to beg. It had been he who had turned away.
And this time, he thought with a growing sense of hope and urgency, he wasn’t a powerless little boy who didn’t know how to make things right again.
“Beggin’ your pardon again, sir, but—”
“No.” Without turning his head, he jabbed a finger in the direction of Anne’s voice. “There will be no more begging.”
“Er…Yes, sir. It’s only that you’ve been standing there—”
“Never mind that. I need my coat and gloves. Where…?” He looked around him, uncaring that the grin growing on his face likely made him look a veritable loon. “How the devil do you find anything in this monstrosity?” He turned and jabbed his finger at Anne again. “We’re getting a smaller house.”
“I…Yes, sir.” She backed away slowly. “Very good, sir. I’ll just fetch your things, then, shall I?”
“My things, yes,” he said distractedly and then called after her as she turned and fled. “And have someone ready my horse!”
He was going to make things right.
Twenty-six
The symphony was done.
Kate sat back in her chair and stared at the piles of paper littering her writing desk.
She’d finally completed it, finally discovered why she’d not been able to complete it before. Anger, grief, and heartache, that’s what the missing piece of her symphony had needed. She hadn’t been able to hear them before, because she hadn’t been able to feel them. Well, not feeling them had ceased to be an impediment. She’d felt all of them and more during the return trip from Pallton House. She’d felt as if she would drown in them.
Desperate to do something, anything really, with those feelings besides drown in them, she’d gone to her room the moment she’d arrived at Haldon, pulled out her supplies, and begun to compose. She’d worked until her eyes burned and her fingers cramped, until the red light of dawn filtered through her window and grew until the gold light of early day. And then she’d eaten, slept for a few hours, and begun composing once again.
What was it now, she wondered blearily, seven o’clock in the evening the day after she’d left Pallton House? It seemed odd that she had only been awake for a few hours.
“Have you a moment, Lady Kate?”
Kate glanced up to see Lizzy standing in the open door between their rooms. She looked anxious, Kate realized. She was biting her lip, and there were circles under her eyes. Worry and guilt were added to the heartache. Had something happened while she’d secluded herself away to lick her wounds?
“What’s the matter, Lizzy? What’s happened?”
“Nothing’s happened. Nothing’s the matter, not really. I don’t wish to interrupt.” Lizzy hesitated, then walked in and eyed the papers strewn across the desk. “Your symphony, isn’t it?”
“You’re not interrupting,” Kate assured her. “It’s done.”
“Is it?” Lizzy’s face brightened. “Is it really? You’ve finished the whole of it?”
“I have.”
“That’s wonderful,” Lizzy breathed. “An entire symphony. I can’t imagine. It’s…well, it’s wonderful, isn’t it? You must be very excited.”
Kate nodded, and wished she could, in fact, feel some level of excitement. In truth, she’d rather the symphony have gone unfinished than experience the pain that had inspired its completion. “I’m glad it’s finished,” she said evasively. “What is it you wished to speak to me about?”
“Oh, right.” Lizzy looked down and began fiddling with the edge of her apron. “A letter arrived from Lord Thurston to your mother an hour ago. Mr. Hunter has returned to London.”
“I see,” Kate said carefully. She knew Lizzy had spoken with Hunter about their shared past, but aside from that, neither had broached the subject of the real reason they’d left Pallton House.
The guilt she was experiencing grew. There had to be much more for Lizzy and Hunter to discuss than they could have in the short time they’d been given. And though Kate had encouraged Lizzy to stay behind with Mrs. Summers, Mirabelle, and Whit so she could further her friendship with Hunter, Lizzy had adamantly refused. Kate had no doubt that refusal stemmed from her loyalty to her friend and mistress.
“Would you like to go to London, Lizzy?”
“I wouldn’t.” She pulled a face. “Why should I want to go to London? You know I don’t care for it there.”
“Wouldn’t you like to speak with Mr. Hunter again?”
“I’ll speak with him next time he comes to Haldon Hall and…” Lizzy trailed off and winced. “I’m sorry, I know you wouldn’t care to see him.”
“It’s not that I wouldn’t care to see him, it’s only…” Only that she wanted to see him so terribly that she hurt with it. She shook her head. “Never mind. If it’s not Mr. Hunter you’re troubled over, what is it?”
“It is Mr. Hunter, in a way.” Lizzy bit her lip again. “It’s what we spoke of. Well, part of what we spoke of. We didn’t speak of it exclusively, or even a very great deal. He mentioned it almost in passing, although he was quite clear—”
“What is it, Lizzy?”
“He offered to take care of me.”
“Oh?”
Lizzy nodded. “A house of my own in Benton and a yearly allowance.”
“I wondered if he would.” She and Evie had planned to offer the same in a few years’ time. “Will you accept?”
“I don’t know. What he offered is…it’s ridiculous, is what i
t is,” Lizzy huffed. “He told me I could have Bethel Manor. Said he bought it a year ago with me in mind and—”
“Bethel Manor? Good heavens.” The house and grounds were enormous. She and Evie couldn’t afford anything quite that grand. They’d chosen a small cottage not far from the town square, and they’d had to borrow the money from Whit. “And a yearly allowance?”
“Five hundred pounds, plus salaries for staff.”
“Five hundred pounds and Bethel Manor?” Kate felt a smile form. “You’re richer than I am.”
Lizzy’s eyebrows winged up. “Am I really?”
“I don’t have five hundred pounds a year and my own manor house, do I?”
“I don’t have it as yet either.” Brow furrowed, Lizzy walked to the bed to take a seat on the end of the mattress. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve always been a lady’s maid. I don’t know how to be anything else.”
“You’ve never been just a lady’s maid,” Kate replied, shifting in her seat to face the bed. “You’re a friend. You always will be.”
“It puts me in an awkward position, to be neither servant nor lady.”
“Then be something else entirely,” Kate suggested. “You could open a shop. A bookseller’s shop. Oh, that would be lovely.”
“Benton all ready has a bookseller’s.”
“Yes, but Mr. Kirkland caters to the gentlemen. And a town can never have too many booksellers.” She smiled a little at Lizzy’s pained expression. “Something else, then. A milliner’s, a bakery, a blacksmith’s if you like. Whatever it is that tickles your fancy.”
“It’s not to be a blacksmith,” Lizzy said dryly. “Or live in a house as grand as Bethel Manor.”
“Well, whatever it is, whatever you decide to do, you know you’ll have the support of every Cole at Haldon.”
A light blush bloomed on Lizzy’s cheeks. “Thank you.”
Afraid Lizzy was still hesitant to take Hunter’s offer of assistance because of her, she added, “I should tell you though, that I’ll be giving mine most grudgingly if you refuse what Hunter would give you. I don’t fancy supporting you in your decision to be a twit.”
“I suppose I’d have to be, to deny myself a windfall,” Lizzy replied on a laugh. “Thank you. I want to put my mind to the matter a bit longer, but I feel better for having spoken with you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Lizzy bobbed her head, then looked about the room for a moment. “I’ll feel better for having said this too—Tisn’t good for you to spend so much time in here.”
“Yes, I know.” She nudged the papers on her desk. Now that the symphony was done, she wasn’t at all sure what to do with herself. Rising from her seat, she shoved the papers into the center of her desk and lifted the front lid to enclose her work inside. “I believe I’m done with composing for a while. Perhaps I’ll go for a stroll.”
She hesitated a moment, and then, before she could talk herself out of it, went to her vanity to retrieve the pocket watch Hunter had given her. A walk in the garden, she decided, might be just the thing to distract her from the heartache she no longer had a way to vent now that she’d finished the symphony.
After twenty minutes of meandering along the gravel paths without giving a single thought to the flowers, trees, and bushes around her, she was forced to admit that a walk in the garden was an entirely ineffectual means of distraction.
The pain was relentless. She feared it always would be. Though she knew time could heal a great many wounds, in that moment it seemed impossible that she should ever feel truly happy again. She needed Hunter too much. Loved him so deeply it made even the most poignant romances she’d read in her novels now seem hopelessly shallow. And she would, without doubt, always love him in the same way.
Not too many years ago, had she proclaimed to Evie and Mirabelle that such a love could exist, they would have teased her good-naturedly and informed her that she was being fanciful. And not too long ago, she would have laughed and admitted—if reluctantly—that they were right.
But she wasn’t being fanciful now. She wasn’t insisting she loved Hunter with every fiber of her being because she wished to love Hunter with every fiber of her being. At the moment, she’d have given nearly anything to feel less for him. How could she not, when he hadn’t a fiber of love to spare for her?
Battling back tears, she stopped to sit on a stone bench, and reach into her pocket to pull out the watch. She traced the gold inlay with her thumb and felt the watch ticking, steady and sure, beneath her finger. For the life of her, she couldn’t explain why she’d taken it out of her vanity. She wasn’t using it to keep a consistent tempo of any music. She’d simply wanted it with her. She wanted to feel the steadiness.
That’s what Hunter wanted too, she thought dully—steadiness, certainty, constancy. It was what he had gone without as a boy, and it was what he needed now.
She’d offered him a love that constant. She’d offered to beg, for pity’s sake. She closed her eyes as a wave of humiliation washed over her. Oh, what had she been thinking?
That I love him.
That I’d do anything for him.
That I wanted him never to doubt either.
Surely he couldn’t have doubted after that. Except…she had left. She’d walked away as he’d stood there, watching her from the steps. She’d gone even after he asked her—albeit in a very roundabout sort of way—not to go. She’d left him, just as his aunt had, and Lizzy.
It was different, of course. He didn’t love her as he’d loved his aunt and Lizzy. But it was the same, in that she was supposed to be someone who loved him, and she’d left.
“Oh, dear.”
But what else could she have done—remained at Pallton House, pretending to enjoy the house party as if nothing was wrong? As if he’d not broken her heart? Besides, she’d only gone to Haldon, not Australia. He must have understood she was only going away a little and only because he’d hurt her.
She rolled her eyes at the ridiculous qualifications. A little? What difference did a little make? What difference did it make that her reason for going away was valid? She had still claimed to love him in one minute and left in the next. How was he to understand and trust that the love she offered was constant from behavior such as that?
She should have waited a little longer, should have taken the time to make certain he understood that she would always love him.
Perhaps she should explain herself in a letter. No, that would never do. She wasn’t certain she could convey what she felt in a letter, and like as not, receiving a letter from her would only reiterate the fact that she was some distance away.
Perhaps she could speak with him when her mother took her to London for the Little Season. But that was months away. She couldn’t possibly wait that long. Perhaps she should go to London sooner. Perhaps she should go tonight.
She bit her lip, calculating the risks and benefits of such an endeavor. London was only a short distance away. She could easily make the trip, speak with him, and be back at Haldon by morning. She’d wait until after midnight, and she’d take at least two footmen she could trust to keep her secret. Whit and Mirabelle hadn’t yet left Pallton House, and her mother and Lizzy would be fast asleep by then. With any luck, she could get to London, speak with Hunter, and return to Haldon without any member of her family being the wiser.
There was the possibility that it would change nothing. Probably, it would result in a lecture about being impetuous. Without doubt, she wouldn’t deserve one. She wasn’t being impetuous, she decided and rose from her bench, she was taking a calculated risk.
Twenty-seven
Hunter eyed the wall beneath Kate’s window and blew out a short breath.
One would think, given the woman’s romantic nature, that she would have a trellis or the like about for her prince to clamber up—a balcony for him to climb onto at the very least. Or perhaps trellises and balconies were only for white knights and doomed lovers. Probably, princes were meant to u
se the front door. Very probably, princes were not meant to use the front door in the middle of the night. Which meant he would be climbing the wall.
No matter, he had more practice sneaking in and out of windows than most. In addition, the exterior walls of Haldon were made of uneven stone. It would be an easy thing for him to find handholds and footholds…relatively easy. He’d always been better at opening locked doors than crawling through windows.
He eyed the wall a little longer, blew out another short breath, and found a handhold. The climb, he soon discovered, was not quite as easy as it looked. The stone was chipped and jagged in places, and worn smooth in others, so that he alternated between feeling as if he were trying to scale a rosebush, and attempting to climb a waterfall.
By the time he was two-thirds of the way up, he was a little out of breath and a little put out with himself for not having thought to search out a ladder in the stable. Granted, scaling a ladder wouldn’t be quite the romantic gesture that scaling a wall was, but Kate would probably have appreciated it more than finding him broken and bloody beneath her window. Then again, if she was very angry with him…
He pushed that thought aside and concentrated on navigating the remainder of the wall. When, at last, he reached the window, he breathed a sigh of relief to find it was not only unlocked, but wide open. He moved the drapes aside, slipped silently over the sill, straightened, and then, shocked by what he found, stood where he was, unable to move a muscle.
During the ride from London, he’d fantasized, countless times, about how his little escapade might play out. He imagined finding Kate sound asleep in her bed, the covers up to her chin and her pale blonde hair spread across the pillow. He’d envisioned stealing softly to her bed and kissing her awake. He’d imagined her lids fluttering open and the fog of sleep slowly clearing from her blue eyes.
But nowhere in his daydream had Kate been standing in the middle of her room dressed in cape, gloves, and bonnet, and staring at him as if he had two heads and a tail.
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