A Forgiving Heart
Page 10
“No, I shall wait for the doctor here. I cannot think he will be much longer, and I would hate to miss him.”
“I can wait here if you would like to…” Peter cleared his throat awkwardly, his cheeks pinking. “And, um, tell the doctor you’d like to speak with him before he leaves.”
Kate felt her neck grow hot. Somehow, she had forgotten again that she was not yet dressed. She stepped away, avoiding Peter’s face. “Actually yes, that would be wonderful. And…”
“Yes?”
“I cannot help but think that perhaps your master would like to be informed.”
Confusion shot across his face. “My…” Peter raised both eyebrows, and Kate had the dreadful feeling in the pit of her stomach that she had somehow made a blunder. Was Peter not in Mr. Evans’s employ after all? Oh, dear. Could he simply be a poor relation?
“I can make sure Martin knows, of course,” Peter said tightly. “And I will send a maid to fetch you as soon as the doctor is finished.” His tone was a clear dismissal, and Kate delivered a brief curtsy as a reflex before turning to her own bedchamber a few doors down. She shut the door behind herself and leaned on it, closing her eyes and willing the last few minutes to be erased from Peter’s mind. How foolish of her to speak of his master to him without any sort of confirmation. She wanted to sink down into the carpet immediately.
Instead, she changed into the clean, violet gown that had been brought over with other fresh clothes the day before. It had ivory ribbon on the hem and under the bosom, with lavender embroidery throughout. It was simple yet pretty and made her feel considerably less dowdy than the dove gray teaching gowns she had been so used to wearing for the last few years.
She washed her face and neck before styling her hair in a simple chignon.
She opened her door at the knock and was slightly disappointed to see Mary on the other side. Of course Peter could not come to her door, but she had hoped that he would, nonetheless. She was anxious to apologize.
She followed Mary downstairs and to the breakfast room where Dr. Styles was just sitting down with a loaded plate. Her appetite was absent, so she chose a chair across from him and waited to hear how Emily fared. Mr. Evans walked in behind her and she gave him a strained smile, but she could do no more than that at present.
“It is hard to say this early,” Dr. Styles said around a mouthful of sausage. “But I have high hopes for Mrs. Nielsen. I believe lots of rest and good, solid meals should see her up and on her feet within days.”
“That is grand news, doctor,” Mr. Evans bellowed before taking his own seat beside Kate.
“When may I take her home?” Kate asked.
“To Split Tree?”
She nodded.
“I will come and check on her again tomorrow morning, but if she is able to get up and move about then I see no reason why she could not sustain such a short carriage ride.” He placed a hand up in surrender. “She may choose to wait longer, for that bump is bound to be the cause of a nasty headache for some time, but the sleep and the broth should help to ease it. And I have left her maid with plenty of headache powders and laudanum. Only time will tell.”
Kate nodded. She faintly recognized Mr. Evans beside her offering to fill a plate, but she shook her head. She could not stomach the idea of breakfast while her conscience was so disheveled.
Standing, she gave a thankful look to the doctor. “Please send me your bill; I am very grateful for all you’ve done.”
He shook his head. “It has already been covered, Miss Kingston. Don’t worry your little head over such things.”
“Has Mrs. McKinley…” Kate shook her head. No, the housekeeper was unlikely to have known she needed to handle the doctor’s fees already.
“Let us say your host here has been very generous,” the doctor said mischievously, offering a wink.
Kate looked to Mr. Evans right away and saw his eyes shift uncomfortably before turning them to her and delivering a handsome smile. She smiled in return and thought belatedly that she had not opened her lips, so they must have been dreadfully stretched across her uneven teeth. Somehow, she did not care.
“I must write to Captain Nielsen right away.”
The men stood and bowed her from the room. She raced upstairs and checked on Emily, only to find her sleeping with Mary beside the bed once more, before going to her own room and beginning a letter to Emily’s husband. She explained the entire situation as best she could— apologizing for the delay but hoping he would be forgiving since she was able to send him news of Emily’s awakening as well—and signed it with a postscript that she would write again if there were any changes. She added a reminder that Emily was expected to make a full and speedy recovery, for good measure.
Blowing on the letter, Kate paced her room. She was uncomfortable. Emily could not be moved yet, but Kate could not stay. Not until she had cleared her conscience. Was that selfish of her? Perhaps Peter wanted nothing to do with her ever again after such a dreadful faux pas. Disappointment snaked its way through her. She had begun to think she was making a friend.
Locating Mary at Emily’s bedside, she sat in the chair beside the maid’s and looked her in the eye. “Have you worked here long, Mary?”
“Going on two years, I am,” Mary nodded proudly.
“And who do you answer to?”
She looked confused at first. “Mrs. Bradley? She’s the housekeeper. Or do you mean the master?”
“Does Peter work here in any capacity?”
Mary reeled back before taking on a thoughtful look. “I suppose he does, Miss. He helps the tenants when they need something fixed. And he spends more time with those horses of his than he does in this house.”
She had been right, then. “Is he not Mr. Evans’s steward, then?”
“Mercy, no!” Mary laughed. “Sir Peter is Mr. Evans’s older brother, Miss.”
Kate could feel the blood drain from her face. “Did you say Sir Peter, Mary?”
“Yes.” Mary’s eyebrows screwed together. “Are you feeling well?”
“No, I don’t believe I am. I think I need to lie down for a minute if you think you have things under control here.”
Mary nodded, and Kate made her escape. She did not know what was more embarrassing: that she had refrained from calling Peter by his proper title, or that she had referred to his younger brother as his master. And what would Martin think of how she had disrespected his brother? He would be appalled, surely.
All of her experiences with Peter thus far flew in and out of her mind as she analyzed each way she had erred. Just this morning she had commanded him to fetch the doctor. She fell onto her bed and closed her eyes. Perhaps if she took a nap then she would wake from this wretched dream.
15
Peter
Peter reined Domino in, entering the stable yard at a canter. He had ridden long and hard to remove the anger that had come over him when he’d realized that Miss Kingston thought he worked for Martin. Of all the crazy things to think… He shook his head again, loosening the irritation that welled up in his mind. He could not be mad at her, for she could not have known better. It was his idiot brother he blamed.
Was Martin really so desperate to be distanced from Peter that he would give the impression that Evanslea was his? Actually, that didn’t surprise him one bit. Martin had acted like he ruled the estate long before Peter had returned from fighting on the Peninsula.
Jumping from his horse, he tossed the reins to a nearby stable hand and began walking briskly back to the house, jerking his riding gloves from his fingers as he went.
“I’d like a bath,” he mentioned to Homer as he entered the house. He took the stairs two at a time and turned sharply toward his bedroom before running straight into a maid.
No. Not a maid. “I apologize, Miss Kingston,” he said, placing a hand above her elbow to steady her. She was dressed in dark violet now, the look of worry over her features so apparent, he was suddenly stricken. “Is Mrs. Nielsen—”
“Perhaps not literally, though?” Peter said. He could not help it, and the small smile he received was worth the bad jest.
“I feel I need to apologize, Sir Peter.”
He cringed. So she had discovered his status, then. He’d left off the title intentionally when he’d met her, irrationally hoping she’d never discover the truth.
“You do not like the title?” she asked, her brow raising slightly.
Was he so easy to read? “I find I quite prefer ‘Captain Evans’ to ‘Sir Peter,’ if I am completely honest.”
Her mouth dropped. “You are a captain?”
“Was,” he corrected.
“So you understand,” she said quietly.
Yes, he understood. Miss Kingston was referring to their conversation earlier about Mrs. Nielsen’s husband.
He nodded.
Miss Kingston brought her fingers to her temples and rubbed them gently. “I feel my list of blunders is steadily increasing.”
“You cannot be faulted for what you did not know.”
She peered up at him, unconvinced. “You are not dreadfully angry with me?”
“Not with you,” he said easily.
Her face lit up briefly before it fell. “You cannot be angry at Mr. Evans—he never said he was master here. I am afraid I made assumptions.”
Peter nodded. There was no sense in discussing Martin.
A hand on his arm stilled him, the touch putting his nerves on high alert. “Can we be friends again, Sir Peter?”
“I wasn’t aware that we were not,” he said truthfully. He wasn’t aware that they were ever friends to begin with, to be completely honest, but that was not something she needed to know. He had been happy previously to gain an agreeable new neighbor. He would take her friendship as a win.
She pulled back her hand self-consciously, and he tried to smile away the awkwardness.
Kate
“Are you in need of anything else?”
Kate looked up into his smile, one she was sure he did not use frequently enough, and thought of all of the kindnesses he had bestowed on her in the last few days. She was suddenly aware that all of the many things she had assumed Mr. Evans had done for her could very well have been Peter.
“Is something troubling you?” he asked.
“I was told the doctor’s bill has been taken care of.”
“That is the last thing that you should worry about at present. You need only to care for your friend and her health.”
“I have taken advantage of your hospitality quite enough,” Kate said kindly but resolutely. “I would find it a great disservice if you do not give me the opportunity to pay my own bills.”
Peter nodded. She felt that he understood, only she could see that he also found it pointless to argue. “I will have my steward send a bill to yours.”
“Actually, have him send it to me. I have yet to acquire a man of business, and I have been handling all of the business items myself thus far.”
She thought Peter looked impressed, but she might only have imagined it. “Are you planning to acquire any help?”
Kate nodded. “Our new butler only just arrived, and I hoped he would go about the business of finding me a steward. I’ve just discovered quite an expanse of land on the north side of my property that I’m told would be perfect for an orchard. But I cannot set any plans in motion until I have fully staffed the house.”
Peter nodded. “The stretch of meadow that lines my western field. I had never thought of orchards before, but I believe you are right. Apple?”
“Plum,” Kate said with a smile. “My cook makes a fantastic plum cake.”
“Quite worth the orchard, I assume?”
“Oh, indeed. Though I miss living beside an apple orchard immensely, I must say.”
“And you cannot do both?”
Kate raised a shoulder in an unladylike shrug. “I had hoped to find a land steward who would help me discover exactly what I can and cannot do.”
Peter nodded, clasping his hands behind his back. He began to step down the corridor toward the stairs, and Kate fell in beside him. “Have you any other developmental plans? I know the previous owner had sheep, but Bartholomew Kingston did not.”
She pulled up short. “The owner before Uncle Bartholomew? That would have been my father.”
Peter shot her a sympathetic glance. “I was quite young when he was master there, but it was my understanding that he had a successful sheep venture going for a few years.”
“I know nothing about my father’s time at Split Tree,” Kate said quietly. “Did you know him?”
“Only vaguely. He met with my father here on occasion, and I knew him in passing, but I was young then—a child.”
Kate was disappointed. Knowing that Uncle Bartholomew owned and ran Split Tree had tainted the estate in her mind. When she had discovered that he’d never really owned it all along but had only acted so in the capacity of her guardian, she’d never fully considered the legacy of her father’s role in the estate, or that he had given it to her. The house, the lands…they were all Kate’s, all along. The concept completely fueled her curiosity. She had always mildly wondered about her parents, but now she found herself yearning to know everything about them and how they had lived in and run Split Tree.
“Would you be able to tell me what you remember?”
“I do not recollect much, but I can share with you what I recall.”
Kate grinned. “That would be marvelous. Only” —she glanced back up the stairs— “I should probably sit with Emily for a good while after I take care of this letter. Mary is likely in need of a break.”
“Perhaps later. I am in no hurry,” Peter supplied.
“Wonderful. Thank you, Peter,” she said. “Oh! I do apologize, Sir Peter. I believe I have already formed a habit.”
“I would consider it an honor if you would address me without that blasted ‘Sir,’” he said, before hurriedly adding, “Excuse my language.”
Kate chuckled. “Only if you call me Kate. And only, perhaps, when we are not in mixed company.” She would hate to give the impression that she and Peter had some sort of agreement.
Peter nodded, and she was grateful he understood. “Now I must post this,” she said, waving the letter that she’d written to Paul.
She walked away from Peter with the express feeling that she was going to learn a great deal from him.
16
Kate
Late the following morning, Kate closed the door to Emily’s room softly, leaving her snoozing friend behind with Mary as she went in search of Peter. Dr. Styles had come and gone and determined that Emily would need to remain abed until she could comfortably walk about the room. Since she had not been able to kick her headache long enough to try such a thing, she had agreed to do her best to sleep as much as possible. Not a difficult task, Kate assumed.
Locating a liveried footman standing sentinel near the bottom of the stairs, Kate asked him where she might find Peter and was directed to the study where she had first met Mr. Evans when she had come inquiring after the purchasing of horses. Peter fit behind the large, oak desk far better than Martin had.
She swallowed that unfair thought. Mr. Evans could not help that he was smaller in stature than his brother.
Peter had not heard her come in, and she watched him, head bent, face earnest as he poured over the open account book on his desk.
“Is this a good time to visit?” Kate asked, stepping further into the room and leaving the door open behind her. She hated to disrupt his concentration, but had he looked up and found her watching him, he’d have thought her odd.
He slid a finger down the page in front of him, holding it in place before glancing up and meeting her gaze. “Of course. Please, come in.” Retrieving a quill from the drawer, Peter dipped it in the inkwell and made a note on his paper
before putting it away and turning his attention on Kate.
She slipped into the chair opposite him, lowering herself onto the soft leather seat and arranging her hands in her lap. “Yesterday was quite distressing. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve sought you out so we might continue our conversation. I would very much like to hear what you recall of my father.”
His expression turned soft. “You might find yourself disappointed in my report. I was very young, and I only remember images of him coming to the house to speak with my father here, actually” —his hands and face lifted, indicating the room— “in this very study.”
Kate glanced around, looking at the room as though fresh light was shining through the window. Her father, such a distant, absent creature in her life, had spent time in this very chair—this very seat, perhaps—in matters as mundane as business or local political chatter. She’d never know what the men had spoken of, only that they had been neighbors. Kate had spent so much time hating Split Tree and the negative connections it held for her regarding her uncle, she had not given proper consideration to the realization that before it was in her uncle’s hands, Split Tree had been her parents’ home. There might even be positive memories of the old house in the very recesses of her mind.
“Are you distressed?” Peter asked, his voice soft.
“No.” Kate shook her head, firmly leveling the man with her gaze. “I did not have a pleasant experience living at Split Tree with my uncle, and I dreaded returning to his house. I suppose I haven’t given credit to the idea that Split Tree was my father’s estate first.”
“And his father’s before that? Split Tree is part of your history far deeper and longer than Bartholomew Kingston’s ownership.” Peter rose, towering over her and the desk as he came around to the front of it and took the seat beside her, where Alice had sat when last they were in this room. “There is very little a child understands when listening to the conversation of adults, except for the way those adults make him feel. I recall your father smiling at me in a way that eased my discomfort, and while that is all I really remember, I think it is enough to note that he was a man of good character.”