Chapter 2
Kate
Kate had resumed her seat in the drawing room with her mother and grandmother after the encounter.
Hours had passed since then, yet a faint thrum of anticipation stirred beneath her calm.
Years of careful training kept her fingers from trembling as she bent over the stubborn rosebud refusing to take shape beneath her needle, but her thoughts returned, again and again, to the sight of James in the hall.
“The blue damask will do nicely for the new curtains, I believe,” her grandmother said, gesturing toward the window hangings. “It will complement the new settee much better than the current furnishings.”
Kate murmured her agreement and kept to her needlework, avoiding further questions.
Curtains were the last thing that mattered today.
In her distraction, she pulled the thread too far, resulting in a puckered rosebud.
It now looked decidedly more like a squashed spider than a flower.
She picked at the thread, already beyond saving, as her stomach tightened.
She nearly abandoned her embroidery, along with all of her family’s expectations.
The room pressed in on her, tight and suffocating.
She ached to escape the stifling restraint.
To scream, to throw something, to race to the open fields beyond the gardens where duty didn’t exist, where freedom and dreams chased each other on a wild wind.
The needle pricked her finger and she inhaled sharply.
A bead of blood welled. She turned her hand, hiding the blood as she wiped it against the fabric.
The sting brought her back to reality. She had no desire to hurt her family or seem ungrateful for all she had been given, so she remained where she was, despite every thought rebelling against what was expected.
Perhaps if she behaved flawlessly now, her parents might be less disappointed when James’s visit did not unfold as they hoped.
Their expectations were nothing new. Since her twelfth year, Kate had understood her parents’ intention that she marry James.
She had overheard hushed conversations, and later, they confirmed it as though it were the most natural thing in the world, like pouring tea or discussing the weather.
As a schoolgirl, she had awaited this day with excitement, hiding a secret fancy for her older brother’s handsome friend.
Her feelings, however, had drastically changed over the years.
After her father had received a letter from James a fortnight ago requesting a meeting to discuss a marriage settlement, she had practiced a measured, dignified speech in front of her mirror.
Ordinarily, she had deferred to her parents’ wishes, but today she was determined to speak her mind, whether it was proper or not.
The tinkle of silver from the tea tray announced the footman’s arrival, a signal that James’s lengthy meeting with her father must be nearing its end.
Giving the speech to James in person would be more difficult than she expected now that she had seen him again.
Those inconvenient feelings she had believed long gone flickered to life with a single glance from those brown eyes.
Though once familiar, they were now mysterious, as though they guarded a thousand secrets.
Was he as reluctant for this union as she was?
She continued to pick at the tangled knot, imagining her mother’s reaction if she simply threw the entire piece into the fire. Her new poetry book lay nearby, still unopened. She resisted the urge to mark its pages. Her mother would worry over smudged fingers in the presence of company.
It was another thing she had learned not to do.
Kate had followed James and Hugh on countless adventures, but when the boys left for Eton, her mother insisted she adopt the comportment of a proper lady.
Proper ladies, it seemed, did not run or climb trees.
They did not skip rocks across the pond, scale stone walls, or fall asleep in the field while clutching a book of poetry.
They were graceful, quiet, and expected to make a suitable match to secure their place in the world.
Each week brought a new rule for whatever Kate was caught doing that her mother disapproved of. Her mother was never unkind, but her strictness revealed a fear that her only daughter would be labeled by society as odd.
Would James care that she often chafed against society’s rigid expectations?
Or would he expect her to outgrow such tendencies?
He had never seemed to mind her singular ways when they were younger, but they were nearer to strangers than friends now.
The idea that her entire future hinged on this arrangement made sitting still feel impossible.
She did not believe her parents would force her to marry, but she longed for the liberty to choose her own path.
And she meant to claim it, beginning today.
She gave up her useless effort to untangle the embroidery thread, hiding the knotted mess in the bottom of her workbasket. The murmur of voices and heavy strides in the corridor alerted Kate that she had little time left to gather herself.
“Lord Brenton,” her mother exclaimed as James entered.
He offered a polite bow to each lady. Kate gathered her wits enough to rise and deliver a curtsy in return, smoothing the imaginary wrinkles on her skirt.
She had no notion how to proceed or what to say.
Unfortunately, her mother did not suffer from the same affliction.
“Please, join us for tea. It has been far too long since you have visited Fairhaven Park, but we are delighted to have you here. After all, you are practically a member of the family.”
Kate’s cheeks warmed. Perhaps her mother simply meant that James was a close friend of the family, but given the purpose of his visit today, the statement alluded to . . . other things.
“Lady Sutherland, it is a pleasure to see you again. It has indeed been far too long. I am grateful for your kind offer, but I have come to see if your daughter would do me the honor of taking a turn about the garden. If that is agreeable, Lady Katherine?”
She almost faltered under the weight of his scrutiny.
She had seen him from a distance when he arrived, but now, standing before her, there was no doubt that the boy of her memory had grown into a man, taller, strikingly handsome, with a defined brow and wavy brown hair.
She pictured him running his hands through it, the way he used to when he was nervous, then noticed the firm line of his jaw and the way his shoulders filled out his coat.
He had certainly not been spending all his time at dinner parties and balls.
He raised an eyebrow, and she blushed at having been caught in her perusal.
“That would be lovely,” she replied, choosing his cravat as the safest place to look.
“I shall go fetch my pelisse.” She hurried past him into the corridor and up the stairs to her chambers.
She could have asked one of the maids to retrieve it for her, but she needed time to collect herself. Perhaps a great deal of it.
Kate took a few calming breaths as she donned her pelisse, bonnet, and gloves.
When she no longer had any excuse to delay, she descended the stairs.
James’s words drifted through the open door, his voice rich enough to carry as he recounted a tale to her mother about a recent dinner party.
From Hugh, she knew that he had traveled extensively and was a frequent guest at many social functions.
Surely they had not kept him so busy that he could not have come to see her.
She twisted the ribbon on her bonnet, unanswered questions pulling at her nerves. She had expected to see him each time his family returned to Brenton Hall, but she had not caught even a fleeting glimpse of him.
No matter. If he had not paid her any mind during their years apart, he certainly did not need to know how often she had thought of him. She straightened and surveyed herself in the gilt-framed mirror.
“Compose yourself, Kate,” she whispered to her reflection. “Brown eyes and broad shoulders are not a reason to lose your resolve.”
The floorboards in the corridor creaked. Kate stopped short. James leaned against the doorframe, clearly fighting a smile that told her with agonizing clarity that he had overheard every word. She glared at him, cheeks warming as she fought to reclaim her dignity.
“Shall we?” He pushed off the doorway and offered his arm, smooth and composed.
The practiced speech she had rehearsed suddenly felt less reliable.
The few minutes apart had done nothing to steady her nerves, yet she would face this.
She was a lady, after all, even if her own reflection seemed to be telling her otherwise.
They moved onto the path that wove through the garden, the faint honey scent of snowdrops in the air.
The wind tugged at her bonnet ribbons. Kate loved this space almost as much as she loved the wild fields beyond.
Her father had commissioned the garden for her mother shortly after their wedding.
It bloomed year-round, even now at the peak of winter.
Neither spoke. The only sounds were the distant chirping of a bird and the crunch of gravel underfoot. She must say something. Anything. “It is a pleasant afternoon despite the wind, is it not? I had begun to fear we might never see the sun again.”
“Come, Kate.” James stopped. His palm covered hers, his thumb shifting faintly against her glove. A shot of awareness ran through her at his touch, “Are we truly going to speak of the weather? We have known each other nearly all our lives.”