A Forgiving Heart

by Kasey Stockton

  “Good day to you, Miss Kingston,” Mr. Evans said in a jolly tone indicating the mirth he had recently felt.

  “Good day,” she mumbled, taking refuge in a curtsy.

  “Mercy, Kate! You are filthy!” Emily said in an unguarded tongue. “I did not realize when you spoke of the garden that you intended on doing the work yourself. Whatever did you hire those gardeners for?” She seemed to remember their company and added a stilted laugh.

  “They are busy tackling the vines, and I was worried about waiting too long to get the crops started. I am not very knowledgeable about these things, but I assume we must get to planting soon if we are going to yield any harvest this autumn.”

  “We?” Mr. Evans inquired with a bit of a grin.

  Kate flushed deeper. “Well, my gardeners, naturally…” She trailed off, unsure of any excuse that would explain her odd behavior to these two. How did she explain to the posh Mr. Evans that she needed to do something with her hands? His opinion of her was not likely getting off to a good start. She looked to Emily for help.

  Emily laughed, the sound strained to Kate’s ear. “You shall never guess what I did on my ride this morning, and I daresay you will be woefully embarrassed to call me your guest when I tell you.”

  “I believe you must tell me now,” Kate said, playing along.

  “I took a fall from my horse in the vicinity of this kind stranger.” She gestured grandly to Mr. Evans.

  “Oh, dear!” Kate rushed to her side. “Are you well? Have you injured yourself?”

  “Kate, I am fine.” Emily laughed, tucking a blonde lock under her hat. “I was fortunate. The fall was light and the landing soft. But I’m afraid my blunder was witnessed, and this gentleman would not hear of me coming home unaccompanied.”

  Mr. Evans gave Emily a kind smile that caused a foolish churn of jealousy in Kate’s midsection. Her breath caught at the surprise of such a feeling—and toward her dearest friend. “Do I take that to mean you require an introduction?” she asked, hoping to ward off her irrational, horrible feelings completely.

  “Yes,” Emily answered. “We have followed the strictures of propriety to the utmost, and I am afraid I must learn my champion’s name if I am to thank him adequately.”

  Kate wanted to laugh. She understood her friend’s jest, for it was apparent both Emily and Mr. Evans had a faint idea of who the other person was, or they would not have ended up at Split Tree Manor. Of course, propriety forbade the gentleman to introduce himself and Kate felt a small victory on the recollection that he had forgone such protocol when meeting her nearly a fortnight before. She would like to think that perhaps it meant that he’d had a special desire to learn who she was, but on second thought he had already known, in a sense, for they had met on that day in the forest ten years prior.

  “Emily, may I introduce Mr. Evans, our neighbor on the south side, just closer than we are to Larkfield.” Emily curtsied prettily as Kate continued. “Mr. Evans, meet Mrs. Nielsen, my dear friend and companion.”

  “The pleasure is mine. Will I have the opportunity to meet Mr. Nielsen by chance?”

  “That would depend on Napoleon,” Emily said ruefully.

  Mr. Evans nodded in understanding. His head tipped as his eyes portrayed sorrow. “Was he recently sent back then?”

  Emily nodded. “I shall be happy when this French nuisance is behind us.” She squared her shoulders as if she was heading into battle herself. “Until then, I shall enjoy the days in this beautiful country with my favorite friend.”

  Mr. Evans turned his stormy eyes upon Kate, and she was lost in the magnetic pull they had over her. “How fortunate our Miss Kingston is to have such devoted friends.”

  “Yes, fortunate indeed,” Kate agreed. The penetration of his gaze did not make her forget her current state of affairs. “Perhaps you would like to come inside, Mr. Evans? I imagine the ordeal you both endured would be greatly improved with a nice, strong cup of tea.”

  “That would be delightful.”

  The ladies left Mr. Evans in the drawing room while they retired upstairs; Emily to change out of her riding habit while Kate slipped into her own room and hurriedly wiped the grime from her face and hands and donned a new, yet identical, gray gown. Upon seeing her mud smeared forehead and cheeks in the looking glass, Kate nearly lost any desire to face Mr. Evans again, but quickly decided that reminding him of her clean face and tidy hair would be more beneficial than hiding away.

  “I can see why you were so eager to see Mr. Evans again after that first meeting,” Emily whispered as they walked down the stairs together. “He is charming and exceedingly handsome. I vow, when I fell from the horse, it appeared as if he was prepared to carry me all the way home, and I, a stranger.”

  Kate swallowed that familiar feeling of jealousy—Emily was married, for heaven’s sake—and grinned at her friend. “I am not surprised. From the first moment I met him I was undone by his charismatic attitude. Not to mention those eyes.”

  “Well, let us see what we can do to ferret out a little more of Mr. Evans’s history, should we not? I, for one, would like to know why such an eligible man is unmarried.”

  They arrived at the parlor door and Kate shot her friend a look that told her to behave. She found Mr. Evans seated by the window, the glow of the windows lighting him from behind, and it took all the strength she possessed to refrain from sighing in happiness.

  11

  Kate

  Never before had Kate worried about the dazzling effect of her smile—or the lack thereof. Nor would she have been able to guess before coming to Split Tree Manor that she would become holed up in her bedroom, seated at her dressing table, and practicing a proper smile in the looking glass. Striking a balance proved difficult. Too large and her uneven teeth were on clear display, yet too small and she appeared as if she was trying to be coy and flirtatious. She could not stomach the idea of being forward or blatant in her attentions to Mr. Evans, but she would also like to show him that she was interested. She practiced with her mouth closed, hiding her teeth completely, but that had the effect of stretching her lips flat.

  It was probably in vain anyway. Mr. Evans had not appeared at church last week, so she was unlikely to see him at the service today. But it couldn’t hurt to be prepared.

  During the tea they had shared a few days prior, Mr. Evans had come up with a wonderful plan to hold a large dinner party and introduce Kate and Emily to the local society. He had told them to expect an invitation shortly and had left Kate in utter suspense, fretting about things that she had previously not cared one wit for, like the degree of her smile.

  Her gaze lowered in the looking glass and rested on the starched collar of her plain gray gown. She fingered a simple black button and cocked her head sideways. Perhaps Emily was right. Her self-imposed mourning period was nearly up. And anyway, acting in mourning did not mean she had to be dowdy and plain. She could acquire new gowns in somber tones and retain a proper semblance of mourning to appease any town members who had known her uncle. She wouldn’t want the society of Larkfield and the surrounding estates to think her selfish or callous.

  With one last attempt at a smile in the looking glass, Kate groaned and made her way downstairs. She passed the closed door beside the foot of the staircase and gave it a wide berth, as usual. Reason demanded she acknowledge that though her uncle had used the room as his study while he was alive, he no longer ruled supreme and could not hurt her anymore. She would not be called into that room ever again, for a scolding or worse. This rational line of thinking did not make Uncle Bartholomew’s domain any easier to bear, however, and she had successfully steered clear of it thus far.

  The ride to church was spent in quiet reflection. Emily was undoubtedly missing her beloved Paul, and Kate found herself wondering what purpose her uncle had last used the carriage for. Upon further investigation, Kate had discovered a small carriage house located off of the main stables holding a traveling coach as well as an open barouche. Both
vehicles were a bit outdated, but in working order by the time Mr. Gibson had gotten through with them. Why he had failed to tell her they were there to begin with was beyond her.

  The vicar gave a sermon that would have been uplifting, Kate was sure, had she been paying attention. As it was, her focus was arrested by the man that walked in five minutes after her and sat three rows before her in his graceful way—Mr. Evans. She watched him sing and imagined she could hear his voice among the worshippers, strong and clear. At the end of the service she turned to Emily to give herself a moment to prepare. It was time. She would lock eyes with Mr. Evans, deliver a smile that told him she was interested without being too forward, and then leave. The responsibility would then be his to pursue.

  Emily led the way out of the pew, and Kate looked up in time to see Mr. Evans vanish into the churchyard. It was easy to escape since she knew no one from the congregation to hold her captive with conversation, and within moments she was at the door thanking the elderly vicar for his lovely sermon. His eyes twinkled as he let her on her way, and Emily turned back quickly once they were out of earshot.

  “What is the hurry for?”

  “I just needed to stretch my legs,” Kate said defensively, glancing around the groups of people until she spotted that sandy hair and lean coat filled out to perfection. She must have looked satisfied for Emily cocked an eyebrow after noticing the object of Kate’s attention.

  “You are smitten.”

  “Maybe I am,” Kate responded, surprising herself. “But is that such a bad thing?” After all, the man had shown every sign of being just as interested in her as she was in him. He’d vowed to look out for her, for heaven’s sake. Was that not a declaration of some sort?

  This could be the beginning of something great. Something considerably more appropriate than her childish infatuation with Lucas Alldridge. She was determined to not let poetry anywhere near her intended beau this time.

  “Perhaps,” Emily said hesitantly. “If he is not smitten back.”

  Kate looked up sharply to see Mr. Evans leading a raven-haired beauty to his phaeton and handing her up. The woman was short and slender, with a perfectly coiffed head of black hair under a stark white bonnet and an eye for Mr. Evans alone. The unfortunate thing was that Mr. Evans seemed to reciprocate the affection. Kate searched his face as he jumped up beside the beauty for any sense of coercion or obligation, but he was either a very good actor or thoroughly enjoying the company. A rock fell into the pit of her stomach and made a home there. She recognized Emily’s hand on her arm in consolation but said nothing, only watched the phaeton disappear down the road.

  Perhaps she would go home and write a verse of poetry after all. He needn’t read it, of course.

  Emily leaned in. “Shall we head home? Alice will want to set out luncheon right away.”

  “Yes, of course,” Kate agreed absently, her hope deflating like a badly baked soufflé.

  “I believe Alice plans to take the afternoon to catch up on correspondence with her sisters.”

  This nudged Kate along, and she gave Emily a rueful smile before tearing her eyes away from the place in the road where the phaeton had disappeared. She glanced up to see the man who had stopped her carriage weeks ago step from the arched doorway of the church.

  They locked eyes, and she noticed in the daylight that his were a striking slate blue.

  Kate swallowed, her throat suddenly dry as sandpaper. For all of the highwayman’s handsome features, he possessed a large and imposing figure. His expression could be described only as fierce, though to say he looked angry would be inaccurate. He nodded once and Kate blushed to find herself staring, but she nodded back slightly.

  His approach was measured and slow, his eyes locked on her as he moved.

  “Who is that man?” Emily asked, leaning close, her voice low.

  The highwayman paused, bending at the waist. “Good day, ladies,” he said. “Did you enjoy the sermon?”

  Something about the remarkable difference between his crazed, highwayman behavior, and this pleasant gentleman struck Kate as humorous, and a wide grin—no doubt larger than the mirror had proved attractive during her practicing—spread over her lips.

  “It was pleasant,” she said, aware of the frank cheerfulness dancing in his eyes.

  “Excellent. I hope future sermons prove just as agreeable.” The highwayman bent in another bow before turning from them and crossing the gravel churchyard to the line of waiting carriages.

  “That was very odd,” Emily said, eyebrows raised. “Do you know his name?”

  “No,” Kate admitted. “Though we had an encounter in Larkfield, and I find him to be an interesting man.”

  “Yes,” Emily said, chuckling. “That was evident.”

  Kate let Emily pull her to their waiting carriage and climbed inside. The highwayman’s vivid, smiling gaze flashed in her mind, before it was overpowered by visions of Mr. Evans and the raven-haired beauty.

  Had she misread him so thoroughly?

  “Tomorrow,” she said to Emily as the carriage pulled onto Split Tree Manor’s lane, “we will go to Larkfield straight away. I am certain the modiste can do something up for me in muted colors. If you are willing to come and give your input, of course.”

  “Yes!” Emily clapped her hands together. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  “For the love of all things,” Emily whispered under her breath. “Do not go with that green for the trim—it will wash you out terribly.”

  Kate picked up the bolt of green that Emily so despised and pushed it to the other side of the counter.

  “Did you not plan to choose dark colors to keep some semblance of mourning?” Emily asked, her pale eyebrows drawn together.

  Kate looked longingly at the light blue satin and pushed it away with the green. She sighed and turned back to the modiste. “I would like to look at your selection of violet if I may.”

  “Certainly.”

  They were led to a section of the store that held every fabric possible in a variety of purple, from lavender to deep violet. It was true that by the time the ordered gowns were made and delivered, the month of mourning Kate had decided upon would be completed. She was not blind to the expectations of society, however, and choosing deep, muted colors would hopefully satisfy even the most critical neighbors.

  They spent the following hour looking through fashion plates and choosing between fabrics and trims for the gowns. The modiste appeared very capable, bustling about with her pad of paper and measuring strip, promising the first of the gowns within the week. Kate only had to hope now that Mr. Evans’s dinner invitation would not come before that, for she would be hard pressed to go among company as the dowdy neighbor now that she had seen the competition for his affections.

  Rounding off their excursion at the bakery, Kate treated her friend to a fresh blueberry muffin and tea.

  “I do miss Alice’s plum cake. Have you considered planting an orchard?” Emily asked after wiping her mouth with a napkin.

  Kate laughed. “Does that not seem excessive for a simple dessert?”

  “That cake is anything but simple! You should be ashamed for calling it so.”

  Chuckling, they left the bakery and headed toward their carriage. “I would rather show you the blackberry bushes,” Kate said. “Though I am afraid they are not in season quite yet. But give them another month or two and we’ll have the juiciest berries you have ever tasted, and Alice will come up with confections that will put that plum cake to shame.”

  “Then I must come back and visit if I miss the ripe season.”

  Kate pulled up short, yanking on Emily’s arm in the process. “Do you plan to leave?”

  “Well, yes,” Emily said as if it was obvious. “When Paul returns, I cannot very well stay here.”

  “I understand that,” Kate said softly. “I suppose I did not think it would be so soon. The sooner the better, naturally; I had just not thought about it.”

  “I know.”
Emily nudged her gently. “When the time comes, I will not leave you without a proper chaperone; do not fear on that account. But do not fault me for wishing Paul was here already.”

  “I could never!” Kate said with a dramatic hand to her heart. “It would be my dearest wish to have him back in England and safe. I simply want two things at the same time when I must only have one.”

  “Then let us enjoy what time we have while praying that it will be short.”

  Kate did her best the following day to copy Emily’s ladylike habits. She stayed in bed as long as she was able. Which, admittedly, was not very long. Then she met with Alice and Mrs. McKinley to handle household affairs while Emily went for her ride. Following that, the ladies sat in the parlor and embroidered or read until lunch, which was followed by short naps, more embroidery, and then changing for dinner.

  After two days of this behavior, she was restless, antsy. Ladylike pursuits were devilishly boring.

  She was pleasantly surprised when she finished breakfast on Thursday to find that a gown of green muslin with lace trim and an ivory embellished bodice had already arrived. Kate set it aside to don an old teaching gown instead, and promptly went out to the garden. The gardeners had already done quite a bit of the weeding but there was still a section to be done before the earth could be tilled and replanted. She retrieved her gloves and set to work, enjoying the feeling of the earth in her fingers and the satisfying pull of a weed from the ground, roots and all.

  The woods on the far side of the property called her attention, and she paused, tracing the outline of the trees with her eyes. Kate’s chest tightened, a heavy feeling settling on her heart. Something did not feel quite right, though she was unable to pinpoint precisely what it could be. Temptation to drop her gardening gloves and walk to the woods nipped at her, but what purpose would it serve? Shaking off the unease, she turned her attention to the weeds. It was merely leftover anxieties from her time here as a child, and she needed to grow up and put aside those irrational woes.