“We thought he was with you,” Jane said. “You and he seem to be such good friends.”
“What do you mean by that?” The sitting room felt much larger than it had when she’d been here with the duke. She sat gingerly on the edge of the red settee, as far as possible from Anne at the other end. Jane had taken the armchair.
“I saw you dart into the bushes with him yesterday,” Anne said.
Cat’s stomach dropped. She wouldn’t admit anything. “How could you have? The vicarage is nowhere near Davenport Hall.”
“I wasn’t at home. I was here, looking around, planning what I would do with the garden once I move in.”
Jane snorted. “A waste of your time, since I’ll be the one living here.” She smiled. “I’ll invite you both to visit, however.”
The panic she’d felt at the door thudded in Cat’s chest again. “We all have an equal chance.”
“Unless the duke manipulates things to give you the advantage. He probably wants you to win so he can sneak in and out to visit.”
“Jane!”
That had been Randolph’s voice. Cat had been too shocked by Jane’s venom to do more than gasp. Jane had never been like this before.
Jane flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. It was a horrible thing to say. I just want to live here so badly.”
“That is no excuse to forget your manners and even common decency,” Randolph said.
Did the man truly wish for Jane to strangle him?
“You are not my father, Randolph. I don’t need you to tell me how to behave.”
“You apparently need someone. I’ve never seen you act like such a shrew.”
Jane glared at Randolph, her jaw clenched so hard it looked like it might shatter.
“Jane has a point,” Anne suddenly said into the tense silence. “It will look very odd if you win, Cat.”
Good God, what was this? “Why? I have as much right to live here as you or Jane.” More right, since Isabelle was her ancestor, but that didn’t seem like a good thing to say at the moment.
“The duke compromised you when he took you into the bushes,” Anne said. “You are more a fallen woman than a spinster.”
“I am not.” How could Anne say such a thing? “And the duke didn’t take me into the bushes. I took him.”
Anne, Jane, and Randolph gasped in unison.
Drat! She’d not intended to admit that. “Only to have some privacy to discuss the Spinster House.”
Jane sniffed. “That must have been an interesting ‘discussion’.”
Dear God, don’t let her blush.
Anne tittered and then her brows rose. “Indeed. And nothing else happened?”
“Of course not.”
God didn’t like liars. Cat felt heat sweep up her neck to cover her face.
Jane and Anne exchanged an unpleasant, knowing look, and then turned their eyes toward her. She felt like a bug pinned to a board.
“Everyone knows your sisters have used those bushes as a trysting place for years,” Anne said. “No one will be surprised to learn that you used them, too.”
Cat suddenly had trouble drawing an adequate breath. Spots danced briefly before her eyes. What would Papa say? And Mama? She’d be disgraced—
No. She must not panic. Nothing had happened.
Well, nothing much.
“Our conversation was perfectly innocent.” It was what had happened after the conversation that had strayed toward the scandalous. “And, in any event, no one but you saw us, Anne. Surely you will not spread unpleasant rumors about me.”
“I wasn’t the only one to see you. Lord Haywood observed the scene as well.” For some reason Anne’s color was suddenly very high. She dropped her gaze to her hands.
“But he’s the duke’s cousin. He won’t say anything.”
Anne smoothed her skirt. “And someone else might have seen you. The Boltwood sisters were out walking.” She shrugged, still not meeting Cat’s eyes. “It’s a small village. You know how quickly gossip travels.”
Desperation—and then anger—twisted in Cat’s chest. She gripped her hands tightly together, forcing herself to take a slow, deep breath. She would not lose her temper. She would—
“Good morning, Wilkinson, ladies.”
The voice wrapped around her heart and sent her pulse racing. She turned to see the duke standing just inside the doorway.
The room suddenly got smaller, as small as when she’d been here with him before, and she felt warm and breathless as she got to her feet.
“Sorry I’m late. I ran into a small problem.” The duke looked at Randolph. “Shall we get this over with?”
“Yes, Your Grace. I have the lots in the kitchen. If you will—”
“Just a moment, Randolph,” Jane said. “How are you going to ensure His Grace doesn’t favor Cat?”
The duke’s expression froze. “Are you calling my honor into question, Miss Wilkinson?”
Cat shivered. The temperature had dropped several degrees.
“Jane!” Randolph could not have sounded more appalled. “What are you thinking?”
Jane, hands on hips, faced her brother. “I’m thinking I want to be completely certain I’ve got a fair chance to win the Spinster House.” She turned to regard the duke. “I’m sure you’re the epitome of honor, Your Grace, but this might be my only opportunity to escape my brother’s home.”
“Good God, Jane, you make me sound like a bloo—like a blasted jailer.”
“I often feel like I’m incarcerated, Randolph.”
Randolph’s face grew very red, and a vein in his forehead began to pulse.
“I have to agree with Jane,” Anne said. “I, too, want to be certain everything is aboveboard.”
His Grace’s eyebrows were up by his hairline. He managed to look insulted and disdainful simultaneously. “And why, may I ask, do you ladies think I would favor Miss Hutting?”
“Anne saw us go into the bushes, Your Grace.” There was no point in trying to hide that. In fact, Cat was very much afraid that if she did indeed win the lottery, Anne would spread the story throughout the village. Anne had never been vindictive before, but this situation seemed to be bringing out the worst in all of them. “And though I explained I merely wished to have a private word with you, she seems to think something else happened.”
Oh, dear Lord, had she seen a smile flit over the duke’s lips?
“I’m sure the ladies didn’t mean to call your honor into question, Your Grace.” Randolph glared at Jane in particular, but she glared right back at him. “Emotions have been running a bit high, as you might imagine, since each of the ladies is very eager to reside here.”
“I see. And I suppose I must be the one holding the lots?”
“I believe so, Your Grace.” Randolph’s mouth twisted. “I’m not certain that Miss Dorring’s instructions specify, but since I’m the only other person available to do it, and my sister will likely accuse me of arranging things against her if she loses, I think it will have to be you.”
“Would you accuse your brother, Miss Wilkinson?”
Jane didn’t even flinch. “Yes, Your Grace, I would.”
The duke nodded. “Then I suppose I must take comfort in the fact that mine are not the only motives you question. Very well. Tell us how you had planned to go on, Wilkinson, and we can then adjust the procedure to meet the ladies’ requirements.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” Randolph scowled at Jane. “I believe I’ve already devised things to guard against any favoritism. I put clay in the bottom of an old ceramic vase and carefully arranged the three sticks in it so they appear to be of equal length. Unless you can see through solid objects, you will not know yourself which is the shortest straw and thus have no way of favoring one candidate over another.”
The duke nodded. “That seems sufficient, but in an abundance of caution, I will blindfold myself as well. Will that do, ladies?”
Jane frowned. “I suppose so. Do you agree, Anne
?”
Anne looked as if she’d like to find fault, but finally said, rather reluctantly, “Yes, I guess so.”
Of course no one asked Cat, not that she would disagree. What else could the duke do? The entire situation was ridiculous.
The duke pulled a large, white handkerchief out of his pocket. “If you will be so good as to tie this around my eyes, Wilkinson? And then please let the ladies inspect your handiwork to be certain they feel confident everything is in order.”
“I’m sorry, Your Grace,” Randolph said as he took the handkerchief. “I never guessed this would turn into such a farce.”
The duke had beautiful eyes, but once they were covered, Cat found herself focusing on his lips. Lud! Her body remembered in exquisite detail exactly how they had felt on hers.
She looked away as Jane and Anne stepped closer to assure themselves that the duke couldn’t see.
“Don’t you wish to examine the blindfold, too, Cat?” Randolph asked.
“No. I trust you to be able to tie a knot.”
“Thank you.” Randolph looked at Jane and Anne. “Does everything meet with your approval, ladies?”
Anne nodded.
“Yes,” Jane said. “Let’s get on with it.”
Randolph fetched the vase and put it carefully in the duke’s grasp. Cat’s stomach twisted, and her legs started to shake. In just a moment, she’d know if she’d won the Spinster House or if she was condemned to continue living in the vicarage’s chaos.
“May I suggest I count to three and then each lady put her hand on her chosen lot? However, before anyone pulls one out, I will give the vase to you, Wilkinson.” The duke’s beautiful lips turned up into a grim smile. “I should like to have removed my blindfold before the result is known in case I need to defend myself.”
“I hope we have more control than to attack you, Your Grace,” Jane said.
“I hope so, too, but I find myself strangely reluctant to wager my safety on it.” The duke extended his arms, holding the vase well away from his body. “Here we go, then. One. Two.”
Cat’s heart raced. She tensed, ready to dart her hand out the moment the duke said “three.” She had her eye on the lot she was going to choose.
“Three.”
She reached out—and had her fingers knocked away by Anne’s.
“Anne!”
“I got to it first.”
Cat had no choice. She had to take the last lot.
“Wilkinson,” the duke said, “if you will hold the vase?”
Randolph took it, and the duke stepped back, ripping off his blindfold.
“Very well,” His Grace said. “Let us see who will be the next Spinster House spinster.”
Cat pulled her stick out of the vase and then looked at the others. Oh! There was no question—hers was far shorter than Jane’s or Anne’s.
“I won!” She grinned at the duke.
His Grace did not return her smile. “Congratulations, Miss Hutting. And may I advise you to watch your back if you wish to maintain your position?”
“What? Why?” She looked at Jane and Anne. “Oh.”
Her friends were scowling at her as if she were their mortal enemy.
Chapter Twelve
May 30, 1617—The gabble grinders are whispering about me. Mrs. Bidley even gave me the cut direct at church Sunday. But I don’t care. All I want is for my dear Marcus to return from London. His dreadful mother insisted he dance attendance on her last week, but he promised to come back as soon as he is able. I’m counting the days.
—from Isabelle Dorring’s diary
“You’re moving into the Spinster House?”
“Yes, Papa.”
Cat had waited until dinner when the entire family was gathered to make her announcement. It had not gone well.
No, that was a colossal understatement. It had gone terribly. It had been like tossing a bomb into the middle of the dinner table. All conversation stopped, and everyone stared at her, mouths agape. Even Mama, for the first time in Cat’s memory, was speechless.
And then Mama . . . well, drooped was the best way Cat could describe it. Her shoulders, her mouth, her eyes—everything slid downward as if pulled by unbearable disappointment.
Mikey started to cry, and even Tom sniffled.
“But why, Cat?” Papa sounded completely bewildered. “Aren’t you happy here?”
“Of course I’m happy, Papa.” On one level, that was true. She did love her family. “But I’m twenty-four years old. It’s time I moved out.” She forced a smile. “I don’t even have my own bed here.”
“You will soon,” Mary said, “when I wed Theo.”
“Yes, and then Mama will move Pru in.” Cat tried to laugh and almost managed it. This was much, much harder than she’d thought it would be.
“No, Cat.” Mama finally found her voice. “I would have let you have the bed—and the room—to yourself if you’d told me that was what you wanted. We have enough space now. Pru and Sybbie can keep sharing.”
“Yes, Cat. I don’t mind,” Pru said, her voice quavering. “Please don’t leave.”
Good God! She’d thought Pru would be the one opening the door and giving her a sisterly shove to hasten her departure.
Sybbie was sobbing into her napkin now, and Walter and Henry just stared at their plates. They must be extremely upset—they’d stopped eating.
This was silly. “It’s not as if I’m moving to London. I’ll be just across the street.”
It was the right decision. She’d wanted this for years. So why did she suddenly feel as if she was making a terrible mistake?
She just hadn’t expected this reaction, that was all. It was unfortunate, but change was always hard. Once everyone got used to her living in the Spinster House, things would settle down.
And, really, when Tory and Ruth had moved out, there hadn’t been this great fuss. And Mary was leaving in just over a week—no one was crying about that.
No, the problem wasn’t Cat moving out. It was her leaving without marrying.
“How could I not take advantage of this opportunity? I never guessed Miss Franklin would wed and open up the Spinster House position.”
“But I thought you lov”—Mary caught herself—“liked the duke, Cat.”
“Of course I like him.” She gave Mary a look that threatened slow dismemberment if she said one word about their nighttime conversation. “What does that have to say to the matter?”
Mikey had come over to wrap his arms around her waist and soak her dress with his tears. Now he wiped his streaming nose on her. “You’re supposed to marry dook, Cat.”
She hugged him tightly. “No, I’m not, Mikey.”
“Yes, you are.” Tom had stayed in his seat, but his eyes were red and his lower lip stuck out as it always did when he was fighting tears.
“Oh, Tom.” She smiled at him, and then looked around the table and forced a laugh. “This is ridiculous. The duke hasn’t even offered for me.”
“But he will.”
“Papa!”
“I saw how he looked at you during dinner last night, Cat. And how you looked at him. You can’t say you’re totally indifferent to the man, because I won’t believe it.”
“She’s not indifferent to him, Papa.” The words burst out of Mary. “She—”
“I said I liked him.” Cat glared at her sister, and Mary flushed and held her tongue.
Mama shook her head, clearly baffled. “I can understand your reservations about Mr. Barker, but the duke is nothing like him.”
“I know that.” Of course she knew it. In other circumstances—
But the circumstances were as they were. The duke was bedeviled by the curse, and she wished to write books. A husband—even a husband such as the duke—would be a tremendous distraction. Living in the Spinster House was the perfect way to ensure she actually wrote rather than merely wished to do so.
“I’ve told you, Mama, and you, too, Papa, that I have no plans to wed. I want to
write. I need time and a quiet, solitary place to do that.”
“I don’t know why,” Papa said. “I would think all you’d need was some paper and a pen.”
Of course Papa didn’t understand. No one had ever understood, except perhaps Miss Franklin. Writing a novel was far more than just scribbling words on a sheet of paper.
“It’s not that simple. If I married, running a household, especially one with children, would take all my time.” She looked back at Mama. “Isn’t that true?”
Mama raised an eyebrow. “I suspect as the Duchess of Hart, you’d have an army of servants ready to do whatever you needed at the crook of your little finger.”
“Oh!” Prudence’s eyes widened. “That’s right. If you marry the duke, you’ll be a duchess.” She almost bounced in her chair. “My friends will be so jealous.”
“And I wager the duke has a bang-up stable,” Walter said. “Or he will once he decides to live at the castle.”
“And he has a cook that bakes good biscuits,” Tom said.
“And a horse that doesn’t bite,” Mikey added.
“And he can buy me my cavalry commission—”
“No, he cannot, Henry.” Mama scowled. “You are not going into the cavalry.”
“But, Mama—”
“Stop!” Cat took a deep breath. “I am not getting married.”
“But Mama is right,” Prudence said. “If you married the duke, you’d have servants to take care of everything. And the castle is so large, you could probably go days without seeing him if you wanted to.”
But that was not what she wanted. She wanted to share her life with Marcus. She wanted to wake up with him every morning and go to bed with him every night.
And now she was blushing. She could not think about beds and Marcus.
“I am not marrying the Duke of Hart. How many times do I have to say it?” She struggled for control. “Contrary to what you say, Papa, he will not propose. Are you forgetting the curse?”
Walter shrugged. “Even better. If you marry him, you’ll be a wealthy widow in just a little while. Then you’ll have the castle and money and plenty of time by yourself to write. I should think that would be exactly what you’d want.”
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