“Where would you need to go, my dear?” Father said. “We have all the entertainment we need right here. Besides, I don’t see as how we’ll have any need of the car before tomorrow, and even then not until late in the day when our guests will need a ride back to the train station.”
“Before Lady Grace asked about Dr. Webb,” Merry said to the earl, “you were about to tell us what you decided to do with the, er, body.”
Grace shuddered. It was such a gruesome topic to broach, particularly coming from Merry. But then, when she noted the worried expression on Merry’s face, she knew she couldn’t blame him for asking it. She found that she, too, wanted to know how it had been disposed of. Anything was better than thinking about a dead man just lying out there somewhere, exposed to the elements and wild animals. Of course, nothing could hurt him, being dead already, but it was still awful to think about it.
“I told the gamekeeper to have a few of the gardeners bury him in one of the more remote gardens,” Father said.
“How horrible!” her new cousin’s mother, Rowena Clarke, said.
“I don’t see why you would say that,” Grandmama replied. “It seems to me to be a fine use to make of a murderous valet. How better to continue serving than to become compost?”
“Are you always this insensitive and unkind?” Rowena asked.
“Yes, she is,” Grandfather said.
“I’m sorry, my dear,” Grandmama said, failing to look sorry at all as she ignored Grandfather and addressed her words to Rowena, “but what other way is there to be?”
“You’ll have to excuse my mother-in-law,” Mother said. “Her sense of humor can take some getting used to.”
“Please do not apologize for me, Fidelia,” Grandmama said. “And what, pray tell, is there to apologize for?”
“I don’t know,” Grandfather said, consulting the ceiling for inspiration. “Everything you’ve ever said or might say in the future, perhaps?”
“Be still, George,” Grandmama said.
“Didn’t the man deserve at least a Christian burial?” Rowena asked.
Grandmama considered this, but just briefly, before concluding, “I don’t see how. I’m pretty sure that, once he tried to kill two of my three granddaughters, he forfeited all such rights. It’s a good thing Grace wasn’t there, too. Not that she’d ever allow herself to be placed in a position of potential danger or know what to do with herself if she were.”
Grace waited for Grandfather to come to her defense, but she saw that he was already nodding off again. Who knew when he might be as lucid again as he’d just been? There was nothing else for it but to wince at Grandmama’s words even as she had to acknowledge that this assessment of her was accurate. In her embarrassment, she cast her eyes about—anything other than the people she was dining with would do, really. And as she looked elsewhere, her eyes passing by the footmen lining the walls, something she saw made her stop and travel her gaze backward. Had that footman—the one called Daniel, she believed—been looking at her with something like sympathy? Was that concern she saw there? But no sooner did her eyes settle on him than his own shot straight forward as though seeing nothing.
“Shouldn’t we be scared?” Grace asked.
“Of what?” Kate said.
“That two men have died!” Grace exclaimed. “And how they died…”
“I suppose such a reaction—fear—might be expected from others,” Kate mused, as though seriously considering the suggestion. Then she snorted a laugh. “It’s a shame we don’t scare more easily.”
“Yes, just dreadful,” Grandmama added with a titter.
“I do think we’ve had enough talk of death for one evening,” Mother said. That was so like Mother. Grace always imagined that Mother viewed her role in the family as that of the eternal peacemaker and that, no matter what happened in their world or in the outside world, her job was to keep everything smooth and pleasant and light for Father. “Let me tell you all about this story I read today in the Tatler…”
As Mother launched into her tale of London gossip, no doubt hoping to bring the talk back to something she thought more suitable for dinner conversation, Grace’s mind wandered, so she barely noticed when Mr. Wright walked in with his silver salver.
But she couldn’t help noticing when Father, having read whatever note Mr. Wright had brought to him, announced to the table at large, “It’s from Dr. Webb. He says the case is a bit more tricky than he anticipated, but he is sure all will be well in the end, only he won’t be joining us this evening.”
“Well, we knew that already,” Grandmama said with a laugh.
“Please send a note back with Ralph,” Father told Mr. Wright, “saying that we wish him well with his medical situation and to send word again as circumstances develop or if anything changes.”
“Dead bodies. Medical emergencies.” Mother sighed. “This is not how I envisioned this meal going.” She sighed again. “Perhaps you gentlemen would like to remain here for your port?” she suggested to Father, Benedict, Merry, and the duke. “We ladies will adjourn now to the drawing room.”
Once there, Grace sought out Lizzy. She was concerned about how her younger sister was feeling after her hunting ordeal.
“I’m fine,” Lizzy said. “Really, Grace, you mustn’t worry about me so.” Then Lizzy’s expression shifted from one of blithe unconcern to something more serious and considering. “You know,” she said, “come to think of it, I do think that today has taken its toll on me. Perhaps it’s best that I retire early.”
Lizzy excused herself from the group.
A moment later, Grace excused herself, too, thinking to go after Lizzy. Perhaps she needed some kind words of reassurance—truly, anyone in Lizzy’s position would have done the same today or, at least, any brave person—or possibly a hug?
But when Grace caught up with Lizzy and saw her ascending the grand staircase, she noticed a smile playing on her younger sister’s lips.
Was Lizzy up to something? And if so, what?
Chapter
Nineteen
The men had finally rejoined the ladies in the drawing room.
Little good that does me, thought Kate.
There the men all stood—her father, Mr. Young, the duke, and Benedict Clarke—clustered around together at one end of the room, brandy snifters in hand; Grandfather did love his brandy but was nowhere present, so perhaps Mr. Wright had escorted him up to bed already. No doubt, the remaining men were solving the problems of the universe. While here she sat, confined to the sofas before the fireplace with her mother, Grandmama, Rowena Clarke, and Grace. They were back to discussing the Tatler. Not that Kate minded a bit of gossip. She liked it just as much as any person, and she preferred hers fresh and juicy. But after such a day, she had hoped for something more stimulating.
It was too bad Lizzy had gone up so early. Lizzy might never be accused of being the sharpest knife in the drawer, but even she would have been something. At least with her there, they might have discussed what had gone on before. It was still hard to fathom that Lizzy—Lizzy!—had pretty much saved her life.
Well, after the stable boy had done it first.
She wondered, not for the first time, if he remembered that one day they’d spent together as friends all those years ago, and decided: probably not. It probably had never meant the same thing to him as it did to her.
Kate narrowed her eyes at the cluster of men, zeroing in on Cousin Benedict.
For the first time, it occurred to her: While Father might be designing that she marry Cousin Benedict to keep Porthampton Abbey in the family—their family, not Benedict’s—might it be possible that Cousin Benedict had other designs? After all, couldn’t he marry anyone he chose and still inherit after Father’s death? And where would that leave her? Where would it leave all of them?
Perhaps, Kate thought for the first time, I should give him a chance. After all, he did represent the clearest and easiest path to what everyone in the household wanted, wh
ich was to secure the estate. And he looked so handsome in his dinner clothes. That was one thing you couldn’t fault Cousin Benedict for: a lack of handsomeness.
Besides which, if she didn’t take advantage of this opportunity, might one of her younger sisters—Grace seemed most likely—swoop in and take him off the market first?
Despite some few brief moments of closeness, Kate had never had much use for her younger sisters growing up. Grace and Lizzy had gotten on well enough with each other—why, at some points, they’d practically been a team! But Kate? She’d always been her own world, apart from the others. She’d had to be. Kate had always known she was destined for greater things. She was, after all, the eldest. She couldn’t afford to be so eternally nice like Grace or as silly as Lizzy. She had the family’s future to think of. But looking at Grace now…
Not that Grace was the swooping type. But despite Grace’s fears about, well, pretty much everything, she did have an unusually strong sense of wanting to do right by her family. So if Grace thought that Kate was not doing her duty, might she feel compelled to take over? Kate wouldn’t give her the chance. Maybe she’d decide Cousin Benedict wasn’t for her, no matter what was at stake, but that should be her decision, and hers alone.
“Excuse me, ladies,” Kate said, rising from her place on the sofa and putting up a hand to make sure her hair was still perfectly secured in place before she made her way across the room. She knew she posed a striking figure in her emerald-green dress. It was always such a good color with her blond hair. Well, all colors were, really.
“Kate!” her father said as she approached.
“Lady Katherine,” Mr. Young and the duke greeted her simultaneously, both formally and with some surprise, as though they hadn’t all been together at the table not too long ago.
Kate noticed that Cousin Benedict didn’t greet her with words, but merely with a slight tilt of his head and an appreciative half smile, which caused her to think there might be hope for him yet.
“You’ve decided to join us!” her father said.
“Yes, Father, I thought I’d take the opportunity of a pause in chatter about the Tatler to come over here and see what is going on in the real world. Cousin Benedict? Might I have a word?”
He showed only a mild surprise as he replied, “Of course, Lady Katherine.”
With a hand on his arm—such a surprisingly strong arm; he said he’d been in the war, hadn’t he?—she peeled him off from the group. And when she’d led him a sufficient distance away so as not to be overheard, she turned to face him.
“You know,” she said, “you don’t need to address me as Lady Katherine as the others do. We’re related, after all. Although, thankfully, not too closely.”
“What shall I call you, then?”
“Kate will do.”
“Very well, Kate. And what was it you wanted to discuss?”
“I was wondering…” But suddenly it hit her. For once in her life, she hadn’t thought far enough ahead. She’d thought only about getting away from the women and getting to him, to give him that chance. But now that she had him here, to herself, what did she have to talk to him about?
Then she remembered her training.
When she and her sisters were little, Grandmama had impressed upon them the importance of being able to hold down a decent conversation with anyone, no matter what their station in life, at any time. On sunny days, she’d had them practice on animals around the estate—plants, even! And on rainy ones, which were always far more frequent, they’d practiced on Fred, the suit of armor.
“The trick,” Grandmama would say, “is to pretend you have an interest. Ask the other person questions about what you think is of interest to them, and ask those questions as though you might actually care. Like this: ‘Fred, how is that suit of armor treating you today? Not too hot in there, I trust?’ or ‘Fred, how are you finding this wet weather? Best not go outside today, if I were you. I can’t imagine rust is good for a man in your condition, don’t you agree?’”
It was grand advice, this talking to others about what might interest them, not that Grandmama ever seemed to heed it much herself in social situations, but it did save Kate now.
“What do you do for entertainment, Cousin Benedict,” she asked, “if you don’t like to hunt?”
Peculiarly enough, having feigned interest in the asking of the question, she now found that she genuinely was.
“I like to read,” he said.
“Oh!” she said, forcing herself to speak brightly. “How, er, interesting.”
“I like to read whenever I have free time, whenever I am not required to do anything else.”
“I see.”
She liked to read as much as the next person, more than her other close relatives really, but to do it in one’s spare time to the exclusion of all else? It did seem a bit much. It did seem a bit unbalanced.
“We have a lovely little library here at Porthampton Abbey,” she said.
“Yes, I’ve seen it. A most impressive selection.”
“And what do you like to read?” she asked, determined to keep trying.
“Oh, all sorts of things. Anything and everything, really. The classics, of course, all of Shakespeare…”
“All of Shakespeare?”
“There are only about thirty-seven plays. Well, and the sonnets.”
“You know, I have read some Shakespeare.”
“Really? Which ones?”
“The important ones, of course. Although I’ve never quite understood the appeal of Romeo and Juliet. That one is a puzzle to me.”
“How so?”
“Only, how can two people fall in love so quickly, in love enough to die for each other in such a short time? It strikes me as silly.”
“I take it you’re not a romantic, then?”
“I don’t know if I’d go so far as to say that. Now, why don’t you tell me more about all this reading you do? I find it so…fascinating.”
As he did so, speaking on what was obviously his favorite topic, she studied his face, that handsome face, and that mouth of his in particular as it moved to form words.
Kate may not have shared the depth of his enthusiasm for books, but she did admire passion in other people. And as she stole glances at that mouth, she found herself, inexplicably, wondering what it would be like to be kissed by those lips. They would no doubt be soft at first, but then, perhaps, it would progress to a point where things were…firmer?
Kate had never kissed anyone before, never been kissed in the way she was now imagining. Of course, she had some notion of what married people got up to behind closed doors. Her mother was modern in that way, and made sure her daughters knew at a startlingly young age what might be expected of them on their wedding nights so it wouldn’t be the surprise to them that it had been to her, although Kate was never quite certain that Lizzy in particular had understood what she’d been told.
And of course, she’d seen animals doing things around the estate.
But the only kissing of the nature she was thinking on now that she’d ever experienced was when she was younger and she and her sisters would bend all their arms at the elbow and then practice romantically kissing the crook formed at the juncture of upper arm and lower, their eyes closed tightly, mashing their lips around. It was one of the few times in her life that Kate had felt at home with her sisters, free not to be troubled by any concerns, free from the tyranny of being eldest.
Kissing their own inner arms—how they’d laughed over that!
Kate wasn’t laughing now, though.
Because as she watched Benedict’s lips moving, not registering the meaning of the sounds coming out of him, her mind went back to another pair of lips.
The stable boy’s, as he lay over her beneath the bushes, his strong body pressing into hers.
What, she found herself thinking wildly, would it be like to kiss those lips?
Chapter
Twenty
Fanny had had barely
a second to think all day, although when she had, she’d found herself thinking of Will Harvey.
They’d never talked as much as they had that morning. And she found that if she had liked him before, she liked him even more now.
Not to mention what she’d heard from Daniel and the others when they’d returned with the hampers following the barn luncheon. Apparently, after Will’s talk with her, he’d followed the family and their guests on their hunt, hanging back so as not to be seen, but then jumping in just in time to push Lady Katherine out of the way of danger.
Kind, he was, and brave, too.
Fanny had to admit she wouldn’t mind so very much if Will Harvey were to push her out of the path of danger.
Fanny couldn’t imagine Lady Katherine would even bother to feel appropriately grateful or show gratitude to him for it.
Not that Fanny would want her to anyway, at least not too much a show of gratitude.
It was the time of day—late at night, really—when it was Fanny’s duty to help Mrs. Owen set the kitchen to rights. Agnes and Becky were upstairs, helping the daughters of the house get ready for bed. Daniel and Jonathan were in the servants’ hall, playing one last game of cards before going up to the attic. Mr. Wright and Mrs. Murphy, the head housekeeper, were enjoying their nightly small glass of sherry in the butler’s pantry.
“It isn’t right,” Fanny said, moving leftover food from larger serving dishes to smaller ones before storing them in the refrigerator. That refrigerator was such a wonderful invention. Mrs. Owen always said that back before Fanny had started working there, before the house had gotten one of the first ones of its kind for commercial use, they’d mostly had to throw out a lot of things. So wasteful. At least now things would last for a bit. Of course, Upstairs could never be allowed to have a leftover pass their lips, but she and the others down here might enjoy it for their lunches tomorrow.
“What’s not right, Fanny?” Mrs. Owen said, adding in exasperation, “And watch what you’re doing with those plates! I’d like some of that salmon for my lunch tomorrow, but I won’t like it half so much if you drop it on the floor first.”
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