Chapter Twenty-Eight
The following morning Katie was puzzling over the letter she’d just received from Doddy. Getting any correspondence from her brother was a miracle. Deciphering it required an even greater miracle.
“Becky?” Katie called out, looking up from the chicken scratch.
“Yes, Your Grace?” her maid said, her voice as cool as it had been for days—ever since Katie had asked her to spread the gossip.
Katie set down the letter and sighed. “Come and sit here.” She patted the settee beside her.
Becky’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What have I done?”
“Just come here,” Katie said with an exasperated eyeroll.
Becky put down the garment and ungraciously stomped over to the settee. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“I meant to tell you last night, but we got home so late I did not have time. I changed my mind about Jasper, so you needn’t treat me as if I were a plague carrier any longer.”
“You mean you aren’t going to see him again? Or—or get your revenge?”
“Correct,” Katie said, amused that Gerrit’s word came so easily to her tongue.
Becky threw her arms around her. “Thank God you came to your senses, Katie!”
Katie laughed. Her arms were trapped against her sides, or she would have returned her friend’s embrace. As it was, she kissed Becky’s cheek and whispered, “I should have listened to you to begin with. Thank you for being the voice of reason.”
Becky released her and sat back. “Will you tell the master now?”
Katie thought about their magical ride home in the moonlight and the evening of lovemaking afterward and hesitated. “I want to… but—”
“You do not want to ruin things between you,” Becky finished.
Katie nodded. “I will tell him once Jasper is gone.”
“Given how possessive His Grace is that is probably for the best,” Becky said with obvious reluctance. “I think you will feel relieved after you confide in him.”
So did Katie. She wanted to tell him right now, but she needed to wait until Jasper was far away from Briarly. She changed the subject. “Can you tell me what this sentence says?” she asked, holding up Doddy’s letter and pointing to the line in question.
Becky squinted at the cramped writing. “He is—that cannot be harm; it must be home.” Her lips moved slightly as she worked out the rest. “There is a termite—no, a tenant—at Queen’s Bower?” She looked up.
“That is what I read, as well,” Katie said. “Although I cannot make out the name he gives.”
“I daresay my mother will mention it in her next letter.”
“Yes. I expect Phoebe will have some news, too.” Her older sister and her husband Paul lived less than five miles away from Doddy.
“Well, it’s good to have somebody in the old place,” Becky said before returning to the dressing room. “Houses aren’t made to sit empty,” she called from the other room.
Katie stared at the letter and tried to imagine somebody else living in the only home she had really ever known.
It was a little painful to think of strangers in Queen’s Bower, although she knew her regret was foolish.
For years Katie had thought she might occupy the house herself one day.
The unmarried aunt who would spoil the half-dozen children Doddy would likely have.
Now she had a different vision of the future—one that brought a tentative smile to her face—and a home of her own.
Katie set Doddy’s confusing missive aside and reached for the other piece of mail she’d received that morning, a rare letter from Hy. They had exchanged several letters since Katie’s marriage, although neither of them was a prolific writer like Phoebe, Selina, or Aurelia.
Hy’s letters were polite and filled with news of her sons and life at Chatham Park. They held no hint of the disappointment she had expressed that grim day Dulverton had come to make his offer of marriage.
Katie had relieved her sister’s pointed words often, especially during the first unhappy weeks of her marriage, when she had wanted, like a grudging child, to write and let Hy know that she was miserable and paying penance for her behavior.
She was exceedingly grateful that she had suppressed that vindictive, embarrassing urge. Everything Hy had said had been right. Who knows what would have become of Katie if Hy had not given her that talk? She’d been angry at Hy for far too long.
She went to her writing desk and took out not one, but two pieces of paper. It was past time she wrote to Hy to apologize for her behavior and, more importantly, to thank her for putting Katie on the path to happiness.
***
Gerrit stole a glance at his wife as their coach rolled down the hill into Lyme Regis.
Whatever had been bothering Kathryn for days seemed to have finally dissipated.
He wished he knew how to ask her what was weighing on her mind, but he had no clue how to even word such an inquiry.
If somebody asked him that question, he would feel they were impinging on his privacy and tell them so directly.
Although, to be honest, Gerrit did not mind when Kathryn asked him personal questions.
Indeed, he was beginning to if not exactly like it, at least recognize it for what it was: her way of getting to know him because he was somebody she valued.
The thought that she wanted him… Well, that was something he tried not to look at too closely.
In any event, the shadows that had darkened her green eyes had lifted and their time together at the dig had been some of the best days of his life.
Her enthusiasm for her new hobby had breathed new life into his own interest and made him realize that it had been far too long since he’d gone fossil hunting just for the joy of it.
At first, he’d wondered if she would grow tired of it. After all, it wasn’t just hard, dirty work, but often a person would dig for days only to discover that significant portions of the find had been destroyed.
But her enthusiasm seemed to be growing, rather than fading. In fact, it had been Kathryn who’d asked if he would like to accompany her today on her visit to Mary Anning’s shop.
“If you do not care to go, I will understand,” she’d said last night in the library when she’d mentioned making a trip into Lyme. “I do not wish to pull you away from the dig—”
“I would like to go with you. Miss Anning is a fascinating woman with a great deal of experience and knowledge about the fossils in this area.” Gerrit pulled a face.
“It is unjust how many of her discoveries have been claimed by others, some of them men I know and once respected before learning they have no compunction about stealing another’s work if that other is a female. ”
Kathryn had given him a look of surprise mingled with approval.
“I am so pleased you feel that way. It quite annoys me whenever Mr. Everett or Mr. Scott diminish her contributions. Miss Cates said the Annings are barely getting by now that Miss Anning’s brother has gone to apprentice for an upholsterer and Mrs. Anning is too ill to assist at the shop.
Miss Cates was one of the young people from town who put in time at the dig. She was a hard-working, careful woman who did a far better job than most of the men Gerrit employed.
“When we are in London next time, I will take you to see Miss Anning’s most famous find,” Gerrit said.
Kathryn had clapped her hands with delight. “I am dying to see it. One of the other workers saw the ic—icky—oh dear,” she’d laughed. “What is it called again?”
“A man named Koenig—who purchased it for the British Museum—has called it an ichthyosaurus.”
“And what does that mean?”
“Fish lizard. What did you want to see in Miss Anning’s shop?”
“I’d thought to buy some of her fossils to give to my sisters and brother.”
“You do not wish to send your own to them?”
“I would like to support Miss Anning.”
“That is very thoughtful of you.”
“I just wish I could do more. She is the one who first got me interested in fossils.”
Yes, because Gerrit had been too bloody stupid to do so. He owed Miss Anning a great deal—very likely his marriage. Or at least the happy version of it.
Perhaps he might contrive some way to help the woman as a thank you.
***
Kathryn was contentedly stitching and re-living their lovely day in Lyme Regis. She was proud of Gerrit, who’d thought of a surprisingly subtle approach to helping poor Miss Anning supplement her income by offering her access to the dig and allowing her to keep anything that Gerrit did not donate.
“Kathryn?”
Katie looked up from the tambour to find Dulverton standing beside the settee.
“I am sorry to interrupt you.”
“The interruption is a welcome one. I quite forget to move,” she said, stretching her neck and setting aside her work.
“You were deep in concentration.” He looked from Katie to the tambour, and his eyes widened. “You are stitching an ammonite.”
Katie smiled. “I am relieved you can recognize it.”
“May I take a closer look?”
“Of course.” She handed him the large tambour.
He held it close to the candles, his pale gaze flickering over it, his expression rapt.
“It is from a sketch I made of that huge—”
“I recognize it,” he said, still not looking away. “It is truly astounding work and incredibly intricate.” He lightly brushed a finger over the threads. “How astonishing there are so many different shades of brown.”
“Actually, I couldn’t find them, so I had to dye my own.”
He looked up. “Indeed? What sort of dye?”
“Tea.”
He blinked. “Tea?”
“I put a dozen hanks of floss into a bowl of tea I’d steeped for a long time and then withdrew one every few minutes as they reached the color I needed. The one that is darkest was in the longest.”
“Ingenious,” he said, his gaze back on the ammonite.
“I never would have thought such realism was possible with needlework.” He paused, his forehead furrowing.
“Although now that I think on the matter there are several tapestries at Spenwood that are quite detailed.” He handed her the tambour. “Fascinating work, Kathryn.”
Katie warmed at his obvious admiration. “Thank you.”
He clasped his hands behind him and rocked back on his heels, looking almost…nervous?
No, surely not!
“Er, did you need something?”
He cleared his throat. “I wondered if you would play me a game of chess.”
Katie’s heart sank. “I do not think that wise.”
“Whyever not?”
She could not blame him for sounding bewildered. But how could she ever explain—
“There is no need to weigh your words with me, Kathryn. Give them to me with the bark still on them.”
She chewed her lip. “I will beat you.”
His eyebrows shot up. “You sound quite confident.”
“I am.”
“And that is somehow a bad thing?”
“You will get angry. People always do.”
Rather than refute her claim—another thing people usually did—he pondered her words.
After a few moments, he said, “Play me one game. If you beat me and I get angry, we will not play another. But if you beat me—or, lo and behold, I beat you—and I do not get angry then we can play another. Until one of us becomes angry.”
“I don’t get angry.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
Katie snorted. “I meant I don’t get angry about chess.”
“Are you so sure?”
“I have never been angry after a chess game.” She paused and then added, “At least not since I was fourteen.” Probably because she had won most of them since then.
“Neither have I,” he said.
Katie stared up into his eerily pale but beautiful eyes and tried to suppress the anxiety blooming in her belly.
Life had been good since she had gone to his room that night.
Better than good. She loved working at the dig and being outside and not worrying about smudges on her hands or dirt on her hem.
She loved the camaraderie at the dig and she adored talking to Dulverton about the curious finds that every day brought.
She liked sitting in companionable silence with him in the library every evening.
And she especially loved their nights together.
She did not want all of that to disappear just because she beat him.
You could always lose.
No, she refused to do that—not again.
Or you could try trusting him.
She inhaled deeply, exhaled, and nodded. “Fine. One game.”