Blackmoore

by Julianne Donaldson

  “I thought this would be a good place for fulfilling our bargain,” he went on. “The three proposals. And what you will pay me.”

  My smile slipped. I had momentarily forgotten about the question of payment.

  “Yes, the payment. Have you decided what you want?”

  “I have.”

  He leaned down, resting his hand on the wall behind my back. I had to tilt my head back to look at him. My heart quickened with nervousness. “Your heart’s desire is to leave all of us and fly away to India. And my heart’s desire is to unravel the mystery of Kate Worthington.”

  I laughed nervously, trying to find room to back away from him. But the stones at my back offered no escape, and I felt much too vulnerable so close to Henry in this dark night with the stars like jewels overhead and the dark rooks our only chaperones. “I am no mystery, Henry. How you exaggerate.”

  He leaned down so that I could see the intent look in his eyes in the moonlight. And when he spoke, his voice was low and strong and unwavering. “Two years ago something happened to you. The Kitty I knew suddenly became Kate.” There was no trace of amusement in him. “The Kate who refused to dance with me. The Kate who declared to all the world that she would never marry. The Kate who gave her heart to her cat and no one else.” He paused, and I felt the weight of his words as if they were a confession. “I lost something then. And for two years I have wanted it back. Or at least to understand why I lost it.”

  My thoughts were reeling, and I gripped the stones behind me as if the world was turning and they alone could keep me from falling off the edge.

  “So that is what I will trade you, Kate. Three proposals for three of your secrets. The answers to the mystery that you became two years ago.”

  I could not believe he had just said those things. I could not believe he would ask this of me. We had gone so long without talking of these things—so long that I had been confident my secrets would remain mine forever. I tried to draw a steady breath, to process what he was saying, to wrap my mind around the idea of Henry in the moonlight.

  But he was too close. I could do none of those things with him standing so close to me, leaning into me so that I felt his warmth. I could easily picture exactly where I would touch him, and how I would pull him to me, and I could count the breaths I would steal from him if I could kiss him.

  My breath came quicker and quicker, and the tension between us became a palpable thing that quivered and stretched and made my skin burn with wanting. And finally, I could take it no more. I twisted out of the corner he had backed me into, ducking under his arm and slipping away quickly. Then, several steps away from him, I turned back and said, “I will agree to your terms. Three secrets in exchange for three proposals. So let’s have it. Say ‘Will you marry me?’ three times, and I will answer no three times, and then you may ask your questions, and we’ll be done.”

  He shook his head. “No. Not in a hurry. Not to get it done. I will give you one proposal a night.”

  I was panicking with the vulnerability I felt. “Why not just do it all at once?”

  “Because,” he said, his voice tinged with sadness, “I am in no hurry to throw you to the wind and watch you fly away.”

  It was the sadness in his voice that took me off guard. I swallowed my surprise and then said, faintly, “Fine. I agree to your terms.”

  Henry stepped close to me, reached out, and gently took one of my hands in his. My heart was pounding with nervousness, and I felt on the verge of either laughter or tears—I couldn’t tell which. I was afraid my hand was sweating. I bit my lip and shifted from one foot to another. My sweaty hand was limp in his. There was so much that was wrong about this scene.

  “Katherine Worthington.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Katherine?”

  “Shush. I am being formal. It’s fitting.”

  He knelt on one knee before me.

  “Oh, no,” I muttered. “Please don’t. Get up. Please.”

  He glared at me. “No complaining allowed.” He took a breath and looked at my hand in his and said, “Katherine, you have stolen my heart.”

  A strange urge to laugh took hold of me.

  “I cannot bear the thought of living without you.”

  My hand was so sweaty it slipped in his. Another urge to laugh bubbled up. But I should not laugh. My lips twitched; my shoulders started to shake. I clapped my free hand over my mouth to cover my smile.

  “And I beg you to—”

  I choked back a giggle.

  Henry frowned up at me. “Are you laughing?”

  I shook my head, biting back another laugh.

  “Yes, you are.” He stood, dropping the hand he had been holding. “Let me see your mouth.”

  Another almost-laugh burst from me. I covered my mouth with both hands, shaking my head.

  “Kate,” he said in a warning voice, stepping closer. He grasped my wrists and pulled my hands away from my mouth. I bit my lip, but I could not bite back the giggle that erupted. Henry dropped my wrists with a look of disgust and backed away.

  “This was a mistake. You will never grow up, will you, Kitty?”

  I gasped. “Kitty? How could you?”

  “You laughed at me!”

  “You were acting ridiculous!”

  He threw a hand out. “I was trying to be serious!”

  “Well, I wish you wouldn’t.”

  “And why should I not? It was my first proposal. I wanted it to be good.”

  I stared at him as realization dawned on me. “Your first proposal.” I reached out and put a hand on his arm. “Oh, Henry. Are you ... do you feel ... compromised?”

  His head jerked back, and then he laughed a short and mirthless laugh. “Yes,” he said in a sardonic voice. “I feel compromised, Kitty.” I could tell he was rolling his eyes. “No! I don’t feel compromised! What do you think of me? That I’m some sort of pansy?”

  I pulled my hand off his arm. “Don’t bark at me, Henry Delafield. I was trying to be sensitive.”

  “Well, don’t. It doesn’t suit you at all.”

  I lifted my chin. “Then I won’t.”

  “Good.”

  We looked at each other for a long moment, the air charged with hurt and anger and misunderstandings. After a moment, I turned away and walked back to the stone wall. I rested my folded arms on the top of the wall, my chin on top of them. “What a disaster this was,” I muttered. “We have not fought like this in years.”

  After a long moment I felt Henry come to stand behind me. “True. We have not.” His voice was quieter now.

  “And now you are back to calling me Kitty.” A sigh broke from me, and I felt inexpressibly forlorn and dejected and so hopeless I wanted to cry. Henry had been my last hope. Without his help, I would not realize my dream of going to India. But I would not accept help from him at the cost of our friendship. If only I had not wanted to laugh! My nose stung and I rubbed it, thinking it was only fitting that now I should cry, rather than earlier, when it might have helped my case.

  Henry sighed. “Don’t go rubbing your nose. Please. I have such a weakness for that.”

  “I can’t help it.” I rubbed it again, blinking back tears.

  He sighed again. “I am sorry. Kate.” Well, at least that was back to the way it should be. “I find myself very ... out of sorts lately.”

  I sniffed and blinked hard and cursed my wayward emotions. “I am sorry too. I don’t know what came over me.”

  “Shall we try again?” he asked in a quiet voice.

  I rubbed my nose one last time, wiped my eyes, and turned back toward him. “If it’s going to be like this, Henry, then it’s not worth it. I’ll find another way to India. I don’t want us to fight with each other.”

  “Just ... give me another chance,” he said, smiling.

  I nodded.

  This time he did not take my hand or kneel down or call me Katherine. He just stood in front of me and said, “Kate, you are stubborn and silly and horribly unro
mantic, except when you are dreaming of foreign lands. For these and many other reasons, I would love to marry you.”

  I chuckled, wiped my nose on my sleeve, and said, “That is more like it. No, thank you, Henry.”

  He looked at me for a long moment before drawing a breath and saying, “Now for my payment.”

  My heart thumped hard.

  “Do you remember the day I gave you your heart’s desire?”

  I shook my head. “You did not give her to me.”

  “I still want to hear you call me that, by the way.”

  I laughed softly. “Never.”

  “Perhaps we should change the terms of our agreement. You share with me three secrets and you call me The Giver of My Heart’s Desire.”

  Smiling, I shook my head. “It will never happen, Henry.”

  I knew he was smiling too. He leaned on the stone wall, resting his elbows there and looking out across the trees. “The day I gave you your cat was the day you asked me not to call you Kitty.”

  I nodded, solemn now.

  “What happened that day?”

  Taking a deep breath, I leaned on the wall next to him and let the realization of what he was asking sink into me. How did he know the questions that would pierce me so dearly? How did he guess what I most wanted to hide? I had to ask myself again whether this was worth the price.

  Chapter 19

  Three Years Before

  Eleanor stood beside me and pointed at the bonnet through the glass window of the shop. “That one. With the broad lace trim. In the middle.”

  I inspected the bonnet in question from every available angle. “It is too dear. You would have to save up your pin money for months to afford it.”

  “Mama will buy it for me.” She spoke with her characteristic, unfailing confidence. I wondered if such assurance came from being the eldest or if it came from being Eleanor.

  “She will not,” I said, but my voice carried a hint of doubt. Where Eleanor and Mama were concerned, I had been surprised more than once.

  Eleanor smiled as if she were a cat with a canary between her claws. Leaning toward me, she lowered her voice and said, “She will when I tell her that Henry Delafield will not be able to keep his eyes off me when I wear that bonnet to the picnic next week.”

  I scowled at her mention of Henry, a fierce, protective urge blazing to life within me. “Leave him be, Eleanor.”

  Her smile stretched. “Do you think you’re the only one with eyes around here?” She tilted her head to the side, studying me. “Or do you have eyes, little Kitty? Hmm? Have you noticed how handsome he has grown?”

  My face burned. I pressed my lips together, refusing to answer her question, because it did not deserve an answer. Just as she did not deserve Henry’s attention.

  She laughed and, reaching out, pinched my cheek. “You are too serious for your own good.”

  I pulled my head back and swatted her hand away. “You cannot have Henry, Eleanor,” I said in a fierce whisper. “I will not allow you to make him into a plaything.”

  Her smile fell, and her eyes grew hard, a challenging glint in them. “You will not allow me?”

  I knew in that instant that I had made a terrible mistake. I tried to undo my error: I shrugged and said in a voice I forced to sound casual, “Or do play with him. Do whatever you like.”

  Her smile curled back into place. “I plan to.” Her gaze shifted to something beyond my right shoulder. “Oh, look. There’s Mama now. I am going to ask her for the bonnet.” She waved, calling out “Mama,” but I did not look. I stared at the cobblestone street and fought the resentment that threatened to consume me.

  “What is it, Eleanor?” Mama was annoyed. It was apparent in her voice. But before Eleanor could say more than “Do you not think this bonnet will—” a new voice joined the conversation.

  “Mrs. Worthington.” It was a man’s voice, and it was rich with secrets.

  I looked up sharply and moved closer to Eleanor, who had pulled away from Mama and shut her mouth quickly. He was tall and young and wore a red officer’s coat. And Mama was looking at him in the same way she looked at the gentlemen who came to dinner.

  “Who is he?” I whispered to Eleanor.

  She lifted one shoulder and whispered back, “Her latest flirt. She hasn’t told me his name.”

  The man did not look at either me or Eleanor. In fact, he appeared to have eyes only for Mama as he stood close to her and smiled. “It has been too long since we last saw each other. How have you been?”

  I glanced around quickly to see if anyone else was watching them. Eleanor shifted so that between the two of us, Eleanor’s parasol, and the wall of the store, Mama could hardly be seen by any passerby. I waved my fan furiously and nodded, wearing a broad smile, pretending the man was addressing all of us.

  Mama laughed and murmured something too quiet for me to hear. Then the man said, loudly enough that my face burned, “You are much too coy, my kitten.”

  I fanned all the harder and grinned like a fool, but inside I had to fight the urge to retch. Eleanor leaned closer to me and murmured, “He must be half her age.” I looked at her sharply, sure I must have imagined the admiration I heard in her voice. But no—it gleamed in her eyes as well, and in that moment it became clear to me that Eleanor saw in this spectacle not something to be disgusted by but something to aspire to.

  The man was leaving, thank heavens. He whispered something too low for me to hear, and with a wicked grin he walked away. I dropped my fan and my stupid grin, and without a word to either Mama or Eleanor, I walked away in the opposite direction. Working hard to keep my face expressionless, I left the village by the shortest route possible, ending up close to the river. I walked with measured steps until I reached the broad shade of a tree by the river.

  I threw off my bonnet and knelt at the water’s edge, thrusting my hands into the cold water and then splashing it on my burning cheeks. The shame would not leave me; the water would not cool the burning of it. And it would not wash away the memory of that man’s wicked grin and what he had said to my mother. My stomach heaved at the thought.

  I had seen hints of such behavior in my own home with the gentlemen who came to dinner. I had witnessed my father’s growing disdain across the table. But this was the first time I had seen her behave indiscreetly in public. In our own village, where anyone might have seen them. It was enough to ruin us—all of us, if she continued down this path. It was enough to ruin any chance at a respectable marriage for Eleanor or me or Maria or Lily. Oliver would not be hurt by her, but we would. We would be hurt in ways we would never be able to recover from.

  I sat back on my heels, pulled my dripping hands out of the water, and stared at the reflection of sunlight on the water as despair and shame threatened to overwhelm me. I was ashamed of my mother, and soon I would be ashamed of my older sister as well. For it was more apparent each day that Eleanor was following in Mama’s footsteps. The thought of her flirting with Henry—of toying with his feelings—hit me with a fresh onslaught of shame. And then, in the midst of that shame, the words came to me: I am not like them. I will never be like them. The words formed themselves, and I caught onto them like a lifeline. “I will never be like them,” I repeated over and over, first with desperation, then with a growing conviction. I would do something different. I would be something different.

  A sound broke into my reverie—harsh and grating. It was a group of boys, standing upstream from me, yelling and laughing and fighting over something. Then, as I watched, one of them swung something dark, back and forth, and with a cheer from all of them, let it sail into the air. I was on my feet as it arced over the river. I was running when it struck the water. And I was diving headfirst into the river when it began to sink.

  The cold water made me gasp and I coughed, choking on water, stroking through the current to reach the sinking dark object. I dived under, keeping my eyes open, stretching and kicking and flailing until my fingers brushed the burlap sack. I grasp
ed it, turned toward the surface, and kicked hard. My boots and dress weighed me down. The sack, though, was worse. It was like an anchor, and it became heavier with every passing second. I kicked harder, my lungs begging for air. But the surface retreated, the sunlight moved away from me, and my legs burned and the sack was too heavy and I had to breathe.

  Suddenly an arm was around my waist, legs were kicking next to mine, and I was pulled up, out of the water. I sucked in air and coughed and struggled to hold onto the heavy sack.

  “Calm down. I have you.” It was Henry’s arm around me, and it was Henry’s voice in my ear, and I relaxed at once, knowing I was safe. He was three years older than I. He was strong. He was dependable. I was safe.

  It felt like an eternity before we were able to fight clear of the current and reach the bank of the river. I heaved the wet sack out of the water and fell onto the grass, panting, still coughing up the water I had sucked in. Henry sat on the grass beside me, out of breath, and shook his wet hair out of his eyes.

  “What were you doing out there?”

  I knelt and turned the sack around, looking for the tied opening. “I had to rescue them.” There was the twine, but I could not make my fingers unravel the knots. I shook too much with the cold, and water dripped from my hair into my eyes, making it impossible to see clearly. But Henry was quicker than I was, and in seconds he had pulled off the twine and spread open the mouth of the burlap sack.

  Six grey-and-white kittens lay motionless within the sack. I picked them up one by one, rubbed their wet bodies, and lifted them to my face, trying to feel their breath or their hearts beat. Henry did the same, both of us moving quickly, silently, until Henry said, “Here!”

  The grey-and-white kitten cupped in his hands moved weakly and meowed plaintively. He handed it to me, and I cradled it to my chest, my hands shaking, and suddenly I was crying. I sobbed and shook from the cold, and Henry stayed very still beside me.