Chapter 3 Katherine—Wet and Wild
KATHERINE—WET AND WILD
“You’re safe, little one.” I whisper these words to the frail kitten in my hands. The rain bears down, but I try to protect her in my scarf.
“Katherine? Katherine, where are you?”
That’s my sister, Georgina. She’s stopped hiding.
The arrival of the princess and the king’s top barrister frightened her.
She ran upstairs and probably hid under the bed where our dray driver for Wilcox Coal recovers.
His sons are set to return from military service, and we don’t want him to be alone.
“Katherine. There you are.” She stands ten paces away under a parasol, whose poor shape barely keeps her dry. The ends of her curly, curly hair drip. The expression on her olive-brown countenance says two things: sorry, and I did something.
“Georgie, what did you do?”
“Don’t be mad, but I sent a note to Anya House,” she says. “I told them we were coming.”
I wish she’d stopped with sorry.
“Katherine? Did you hear me? You’re scaring me.” She comes closer and puts the pitiful parasol over the two of us. “You could catch cold and d—”
“Die? Like the father of my child? Jahleel Charles might already be dead. My child is heading to Anya House to see a corpse. She will hate me more.”
“The duke is not dead. Come, let’s go inside, then off to Anya House. You’ve been out here a long time. I thought you went with them, or maybe to the coal office.”
“The coal office? I just lost my daughter, and you think I went to do work?”
When Georgina shrugs, I realize that’s what they all think: that Papa’s company, Wilcox Coal, means more than anything to me. “My daughter’s gone. Lydia will hate me for keeping her away from her father.”
My sister puts an arm around me. “Let’s go inside, and we’ll take care of your new friend.”
Georgina strokes the kitten’s patchy fur, brown and orange and white. “Inside with the both of you. We’ll change and go to Anya House. We must go for Lydia and the duke.”
“Scarlett’s probably there. And my daughter has a new grandmother. They don’t need us. And they will throw me out if Jahleel …”
My sister begins to tear up. “The duke is well. He has to be. He’s too young to die.”
That’s the unfairness of sickness: it afflicts everyone—children, adults, even newborns. “I’m terrible and terrified. How will I live with the pain I’ve caused them?”
“Stop it, Katherine.” Georgina, who has the voice of an angel, sounds like a barking dog. “Just stop.”
Both the kitten and I rear our heads up.
“The duke is strong. You know the Duke of Torrance is a fighter. We have lived in fear of some scandal since you returned from St. Petersburg. It all must stop now.”
She doesn’t know. “Georgie, the duke is fighting the sickness that tormented and killed our mother. There’s no cure.”
Tears flood her face. “No. Not true.” She shakes her head like I’ve lied.
This time, I wish I had. “Georgie, you remember what it did to Mama? She struggled, bled so many veins. Remember how weak she was before …”
My sister wraps me and the kitten in her arms and holds me until we both stop crying.
Hiding under the parasol, I feel Georgina’s understanding.
I confess, “The man I thought I’d divorced after our whirlwind courtship has the blood sickness.
My haste in believing him to be horrid—a man with many mistresses, a man that lies to seduce women—has robbed him of years of knowing Lydia as his daughter.
He may never hear Lydia call him Papa. He won’t see me telling them both how sorry I am. I am sorry, Georgie. I am.”
As I blubber and blather on about how I’ve been a coward and a fool, Georgina spins me around and tows me forward. “Inside with you, Katherine.” Her voice sounds low and forceful like she’s imitating our father. Cesar Wilcox was a formidable man. Always wise, unlike me.
“We will dry off, Katherine. Then, we’ll reason and make a plan about what to do. And we need to start praying that the duke survives. Hopefully, we’ll get a response from Anya House before the hour’s up.”
A response? Hour’s up? “You’re asking permission for us to go see the duke?” I swat at another big droplet that’s rolled down my nose. “We practically live there. And Jahleel has instructed his footman always to let me in, no matter the time.”
“Oh.” Her glare burns through my forehead. “You can depend on his actions now?”
“Yes, I was wrong, Georgie. Please say I told you so. Say you warned me to confess all, that I could’ve fixed everything but kept hesitating.”
Shaking her head, my sister holds me tighter. She lends her voice and hums a hymn to me and the kitty: “Right in front of our house, Katherine. It’s only two steps. Then we are inside the house.”
“Say you warned me, Georgie. Gloat. Everything would have been different if I had listened.”
She pushes on my back. Her fingers thread through my shawl to my damp dress, pressing the cold wetness against my skin. “Katherine, you’re scaring me.”
“If I could, I’d turn back time. I would, Georgie. If I could find a way. I’d take back all the ways that I hurt them.” Then I would’ve stayed, stayed in St. Petersburg like Jahleel, tzar commanded.
“Just a little further.” Georgina tosses the emerald-colored silk umbrella over my head and into the house. “Why keep fighting me?”
“Mama didn’t allow animals in the house. Their fur could make her ill.”
“You’re the mistress here. We, the Wilcox sisters, make the rules.” She pushes. “This is our house. You and the kitten go now.”
Then she shoves.
Wham. I’m inside, but Georgina knocked the breath out of me.
My sister shuts the door. “Besides, I asked Scarlett. Mother was the one who didn’t like pets. If that scrawny thing can comfort you, it’s staying.”
The little kitten snuggles against my chest. Her spotted fur looks like a patched blanket next to my bodice. “Where’s your mama, cat? Doesn’t she have rules for you about being out? What about being respectable?”
“Katherine,” Georgina says, “you can’t take leave of your senses, not now.” She shoves me into the living room near the fireplace. In a blink, she runs upstairs, returns with a blanket, and tosses it onto my shoulders.
The kitten mewls loudly. I stroke her little head. “I think this little thing hurt her leg.” I feel her limb. Though it’s solid, the kitty screeches. I pull her deeper under the blanket. “Maybe a sprain?”
Georgina paces and glares at me. “So you’re going to mother a stray and pretend you’re just the kitty’s aunt?”
She covers her mouth and offers that skittish ready-to-run look.
“Well done,” I say. “You spoke your mind. And Georgie, I deserve the slight. Jahleel may die. I want to close my eyes and remember when everything was perfect … and then it wasn’t.”
“When was that, sister?” Georgina rubs her temples. “When you married the duke? Or when you somehow unmarried him? Or are you saying things were perfect when you wed Tavis Palmers?”
Tavis was Jahleel’s best friend. He and his family told me lies. I believed them. “Tavis nearly destroyed our father’s coal company. When news of this scandal hits the papers … the Palmerses will curse at me. I will be an even bigger disgrace in their eyes.”
My sister nods at this, but then says, “Being the Duchess of Torrance wasn’t important enough, but being a mere viscountess with a gambling husband was a triumph?” She shakes her head. “You gave up being a duchess to be impoverished? Why?”
“There’s more to it, Georgie.”
“Then tell me, Katherine. The duke’s kindness saved Wilcox Coal. It saved us. What has prejudiced you against him so badly?”
There’s no way to respond without making things worse.