Freddie pulled a face as he offered her his arm. “Talking with her horrid witch of a mother in the drawing room before we all go in. You know, one must keep up appearances.”
“At least they are talking now. Have you spoken to Lady Stanton? Or Lord Stanton?”
Freddie snorted. “Hardly. Lady Stanton looks straight through me and Stanton just scowls disapprovingly before looking pointedly away.”
“I suppose that’s better than you trying to kill each other.”
“Yes. The cut direct is brutal but not fatal.” He patted Kate’s satin gloved hand. “We shall prevail.”
Despite her nerves, Kate smiled. “Yes. We shall.”
As Freddie led her downstairs, she informed him about the Penrose’s unexpected arrival at the house party, and he beamed with pleasure, no doubt thrilled to hear he had a friend in attendance too. However, as they made their way through the milling tonnish guests in Hollystone’s main hall and drawing room, Kate didn’t spot a single familiar face; Tessa, her brother Lord Trevilian, and their aunt hadn’t arrived yet. Everyone looked so refined and intimidating, Kate suddenly felt like a pigeon amongst peacocks.
She whispered to Freddie when an older woman peered down her long nose at her through her gilded lorgnette and gave a haughty sniff, “This is probably not the best time or place to be asking this, but, have you heard any untoward rumors about any of us?” About me?
“Not that I’ve been out and about much, but no. Everyone I have met so far has been scrupulously polite.”
“Good.” Kate relaxed a little. Perhaps things would go well after all. She’d even flirt if she had to, to secure a donation or two, or someone’s patronage. She eyed a passing footman bearing a tray of champagne flutes and gave a wistful sigh. A sip would surely quell her nerves before she met the duchess. And the Lockhart family again.
But it was not to be. Freddie deftly steered her through the chattering crowd toward a plush settee where Violet sat with her mother below a gilt-framed painting of a glowering Haverford ancestor in silver armor. Lord Stanton stood to one side with his hands behind his back, wearing almost the same forbidding expression as the nobleman in the portrait. Despite her resolve not to react to his presence, Kate’s pulse fluttered and her mouth grew dry. She felt like a moonstruck debutante.
“Freddie, I’ve missed you so,” exclaimed Violet and reached out her hand to him, which he took and kissed.
“He’s only been gone ten minutes,” muttered Lord Stanton.
Kate curtsied to the dowager countess. “Your ladyship.”
Lady Stanton raised an eyebrow. “Have we met?”
“Phyllis ...” warned Lord Stanton.
Lady Stanton looked her up and down as if she were something a cat had dragged in from the barn. “Oh, that’s right. The teacher.” She may have well said ‘the prostitute’.
“Miss Kate Woodville,” corrected her stepson.
“I’m not an imbecile,” countered Lady Stanton.
“No, just supremely rude as usual,” retorted Kate then pressed her lips together. Damn, damn, damn. She’d done it once again, been ill-mannered when she couldn’t afford to be. When would she ever learn?
Violet had gone white, Freddie touched her arm as if staying her, but one corner of Lord Stanton’s lips twitched with an almost imperceptible smirk.
Lady Stanton rose in a flurry of turquoise silk. “How dare you—” but the rest of her admonishment was lost as a small gong sounded and Hollystone’s butler announced the duchess was ready to receive her guests.
Lord Stanton took his stepmother’s arm and led the way toward the ballroom. Freddie offered one arm to his wife, and then the other to Kate, and they followed. As they were last in line, it looked as if it would take a good five minutes or more to reach the duchess. While she waited, Kate tried not to stare at the back of Lord Stanton’s elegantly shaped head or handsome profile whenever he turned to speak to his stepmother; tried not to admire the broad line of his shoulders and how his black evening coat tapered down to skim his narrow hips.
Why, oh why wasn’t she immune to his every gesture, every change in his expression? Why couldn’t she stifle the longing for him to look her way even though she knew she would blush?
Why couldn’t she forget about his kiss?
Thankfully Freddie and Violet didn’t seem to notice how ill-at-ease she was. Caught up in their own world, they exchanged quiet words and loving glances. When Kate looked about she noticed several other couples exchanging similar looks with each other. It seemed many of the guests at Hollystone Hall had found love. Indeed, hadn’t Miss Grenford remarked that it seemed to be the season for proposals and weddings?
But not for her. How ironic to think that she, Kate Woodville, spinster and stalwart bluestocking, was actually warming to the idea of love-matches, yet the object of her affection, the man she’d foolishly fallen in love with, clearly wanted nothing to do with her.
Hot tears stung her eyes and she hastily blinked them away when she realized that within a matter of seconds, she would be meeting the Duchess of Haverford again.
She closed her eyes and inhaled, then on a slow exhale pushed away all thoughts of Lord Stanton and focused on what she wanted to say to the duchess ... until Freddie squeezed her hand. “It’s our turn, Katie.”
“Your Grace.” Kate dropped into her best curtsy then raised her gaze to meet the duchess’s insightful blue eyes. Miss Grenford, standing beside her, inclined her head in greeting.
The Duchess of Haverford smiled warmly. “Miss Woodville, what a pleasure it is to meet you again. I am very happy that you and your brother could attend after all. And in such felicitous circumstances. Mr. Woodville, your lovely new wife,” her gaze shifted to Violet before returning to Freddie’s, “and Lord Stanton have both informed me that congratulations are in order. I wish you both well.”
Violet glowed and Freddie bowed. “Thank you, Your Grace. You are too kind.”
“You’re very welcome. Now, do go and enjoy yourselves. I believe the dancing will commence shortly.”
Kate felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off her chest as she turned away to follow Freddie and Violet into the magnificent ballroom. There had been no censure in the duchess’s gaze. Only approval. She might just get the funding she needed after all. Hopefully Her Grace would be able to spare a few moments during the course of the evening to introduce her to potential patrons.
“Your Grace. A moment if you will.”
Oh, no. Lady Stanton. Kate tried not to visibly cringe as she turned around and watched the dowager viscountess step forward from the shadows of a nearby palm-shaded alcove. Lord Stanton had disappeared. So had Freddie and Violet.
The duchess raised an eyebrow. “Yes? What can I help you with, Lady Stanton?”
Miss Grenford stepped closer and murmured by the duchess’s ear, “Please excuse me, Your Grace, but there is a rather long line of guests waiting to be admitted at the front door and it has just begun to snow again.”
The duchess nodded before turning to the dowager viscountess. “Perhaps we could speak later—”
“I’m afraid it cannot wait, Your Grace,” interrupted Lady Stanton, turning her back on Kate. “I have been meaning to tell you for some time that I have grave reservations about the worthiness of the charity that Miss Woodville is asking you and other guests to support.”
“Is that The Benevolent Society for the Women of Whitechapel?” asked the duchess.
“Yes. You are quite correct.” Lady Stanton took a step closer to the duchess and lowered her voice as she added, “I’m not sure if someone as illustrious as you, Your Grace, should be associated with fallen women and their illegitimate offspring.”
The duchess’s gaze grew frosty as she regarded the dowager viscountess. “Aside from the fact Miss Woodville gave me a very clear and satisfactory account of her charity months ago, your stepson also gave it his resounding endorsement this afternoon, Lady Stanton. It sounds like the most w
orthy of causes, offering children in desperate need the opportunity to receive an education whilst their mothers are at work. I understand there is also a lodging house which provides a safe place for families to stay until they can find alternative accommodation?”
At the risk of being branded an eavesdropper, Kate stepped forward and nodded. “Yes, Your Grace, you are indeed correct. It’s called White Church House.” Lord Stanton had advocated for her charity? It felt like a bright spring bloom was opening inside her.
The duchess smiled at her. “Ah yes. I remember now. I would be more than happy to publicly endorse your admirable charity this evening. I am sure more than a few sizeable donations will be headed your way.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Ignoring Lady Stanton’s glare, Kate took her leave, her head pleasantly buzzing as if she’d been imbibing too much wine again. The effect was only magnified as she stepped into the ballroom; it was breathtakingly beautiful. Elaborate chandeliers and gilt wall sconces illuminated a high ceilinged chamber decorated with exquisitely rendered plasterwork featuring scrolls and flowers, vines and fruit. Swathes of emerald green brocade adorned the windows, and the walls above the golden beechwood panels were papered in pale gold and ivory damask. Even the wooden parquetry floor gleamed.
Although the room was quite crowded and filled with chatter, laughter and music, she located Freddie and Violet fairly quickly. They were soon joined by Tessa and her rakishly handsome brother, Christopher Penrose, Lord Trevilian, and the Penrose’s aunt, Lady Salter.
The conversation became quite lively, and after Kate had drunk a glass of champagne, danced a quadrille with Freddie, and then a sedate minuet with the charming Lord Trevilian, she’d begun to believe she might actually have a pleasant evening ... despite the fact she kept looking for Lord Stanton’s dark head amongst the other guests.
Because try as she might, she couldn’t suppress the desire to say thank you to him in person for supporting her much beloved charity.
He might not wish to have anything more to do with her, but she couldn’t fault his generosity or kindness. Not now. It made her wonder why he’d suddenly become a champion for her cause.
After Lord Trevilian returned her to Freddie, Violet, and Tessa, Kate helped herself to another champagne from a passing footman. As she took a sip, she caught a movement at the edge of her vision. And then a deep and familiar voice murmured, “Miss Woodville, I know you have just begun to drink a glass of champagne, but would you consider joining me for the next dance? I would be greatly honored.”
Oh, my goodness. Kate’s heart somersaulted in her chest. She turned and met Lord Stanton’s gaze. She had to swallow before she could speak, but even then her voice was husky. “Yes. Yes, I would be most happy to.”
Lord Stanton smiled. “Excellent.” He darted a glance at Lord Trevilian before his eyes returned to her face, the light within so tender, Kate’s breath caught. “I was beginning to wonder if I might have competition for your attention and dare I say it, your affection?”
Affection? Surely he didn’t mean that.
But what if he did? All at once it felt as though Kate’s heart was dancing as wildly as the guests whirling past her in a Scotch reel. The vigorous dance suddenly came to an end and Kate decided she really didn’t want her champagne after all. She passed her glass to a frowning Freddie then said to Lord Stanton, “I’m ready if you are.”
He offered her his arm by way of response and within moments, they were in the midst of the other couples on the ballroom floor. “Do you know what the next dance is, my lord?” She looked about, watching the other guests to see whether there was a particular position she should assume, but then to her dismay, she noted that everyone was pairing up for a turning waltz. “Oh ...”
Lord Stanton drew closer and placed his hands gently beneath her elbows. “Don’t worry, Miss Woodville,” he said softly. “Just relax if you can and follow my lead.”
Her pulse skipped about chaotically as she placed her hands on Lord Stanton’s wide shoulders. The last time she’d touched him like this had been beneath the kissing bough ... “I’ll try,” she whispered.
This time when he smiled at her, a flash of something she thought might be genuine pleasure rather than mere amusement lit his eyes. “Good.”
The dance began and Kate followed Lord Stanton as well as she could; the ballroom floor was exceedingly crowded and more than once she found herself tripping over her own toes or Lord Stanton’s. But Lord Stanton didn’t seem to mind. He caught her each time and murmured words of encouragement. By the end of the waltz they were both laughing.
“Come with me,” he whispered as the last notes of the music faded away. His fingers threaded through hers most scandalously, and before Kate knew what he was about, he was leading her off the floor, out of the ballroom, and down a corridor to a room that appeared to be some sort of small parlor. It was a decidedly cozy room—all rose silk wallpaper and feminine, mahogany furniture. A large arrangement of Christmas roses, holly, ivy, and fragrant rosemary adorned the mantelpiece and a fire burned brightly in the grate.
“I don’t understand. Why are we here?” Kate asked in a voice breathless from nerves as much as rushing.
Lord Stanton closed the door and his mouth curved into a mysterious smile. “All will become apparent in a moment, Miss Woodville.” He crossed to a beautifully carved desk, pulled out several pieces of folded paper from his inside coat pocket, then picked up a rather large, swan feather quill.
Kate’s gloved hand flew to her mouth when she realized where they were. “Is this the duchess’s personal study?” she breathed. “Lord Stanton, I really don’t think we should—”
“Miss Woodville. It is quite all right. I spoke with Her Grace earlier and I have her permission to use the room.
“For what?” She drew closer to the desk, curious.
Lord Stanton dipped the nib of the quill in the ink well then signed the papers. He blotted them then passed the smaller one to her with a grin. “For this.”
Kate took it with shaking hands. Oh, my Lord. It was a bank note, made out to The Benevolent Society for the Women of Whitechapel for an exorbitant sum. It was enough to secure a permanent teacher and completely restore White Church House. They could even buy books and a new pianoforte.
Kate gripped the edge of the desk and looked up at Lord Stanton. His face blurred as her vision grew misty with tears. “You cannot ... I cannot accept ... You must be mad,” she whispered. “This is too much. Why would you do this?”
Lord Stanton moved around the desk to where she stood. “Because, my dear Miss Woodville, this charity means so much to you. And I want to make you happy.”
Kate shook her head. Had she heard him correctly?
“I have something else for you too.” He passed her the other set of papers. It was the deed for White Church House.
And it was made out to her.
“I ... I don’t know what to say ... How ...? When ...?” she stammered. Her eyes brimmed with tears again. Confusion and elation had all but rendered her speechless.
“I sent word to my man of business in London before I left Fenwick. He negotiated with St. Mary’s Church on my behalf and arranged the purchase. I received the papers this afternoon. Which are your papers now.”
“Oh ... I still don’t know what to say except thank you. Thank you from the very bottom of my heart. You have no idea ... I never expected anything like this.” Somehow Kate managed to blink away her tears of happiness enough to see Lord Stanton’s handsome face clearly. “Thank you, Lord Stanton,” she said again with heartfelt sincerity. “I don’t know how I shall ever be able to repay you.”
The smile that curved his mouth was gentle. “You don’t owe me anything, my lovely, Kate. Although, I was rather hoping you might begin to call me Anthony, rather than Lord Stanton.”
“But ...” Did that mean what she thought it might mean?
Kate’s heart all but stopped before it began racing so very fast. Lo
rd Stanton—Anthony—was smiling at her again so tenderly, with such adoration, it could only mean one thing. “I would be delighted to call you Anthony,” she whispered. “And it would also please me greatly if you continued to call me Kate. But you must tell me why.” Her voice caught and she had to swallow past the lump in her throat before continuing. “I don’t think I can bear it if you don’t speak plainly.”
“I fully intend to, my sweet.” He took the bank note and the deed for White Church House, put them on the desk, then took her trembling hands in his. Caught her gaze and held it as he drew her closer. “Kate Woodville, you are the sweetest, kindest, bravest, fiercest, and most intelligent woman I have ever had the good fortune to meet. I love everything about you from the tip of your freckled nose to the toes of your clumsy but dainty feet.”
“Even my wild red hair?”
Mischief danced in Anthony’s eyes. “Most definitely your wild red hair.”
Kate gave him a mock frown. “I’m not that clumsy.”
He brushed his fingers down the side of her hot cheek. “No.”
Kate bit her lip. Oh, my. “Did you really just tell me that you love everything about me?” she whispered.
“I most definitely did, but more than that, I love you, Kate. So much so that I have come to realize I cannot bear to live without you. I know I’ve been a bombastic ass a good deal of the time, but I want you to know, since I left you at Fenwick I’ve been in a state of absolute despair. You are all I think and dream about. I long for you, sweet Kate.”
Kate’s vision blurred again. “Oh, Anthony, I love you too. I—”
Before she could finish, Anthony framed her face with his hands and kissed her with a thoroughness that made her giddy and breathless with joy. When they at last drew apart, she was pleased to note Anthony’s dark lashes were damp with tears too.
Dashing Through the Snow: A Regency Christmas Novella Page 10
