Chapter Eleven #2
Kate stood in the darkened kitchen, thinking she’d be safe there from prying eyes. Meg had gone off to bed, so as to be up early, but Kate had no reason to rise at dawn anymore. She swore softly, angry at herself for sulking.
She should be pleased. The fellow who had claimed to be Wroth turned out to be a scared young man who loved Lucy. No longer did her sister face an uncertain future as a penniless, unmarried mother. Her happiness was assured.
So why did Kate feel as though someone had torn out her heart?
She had never been jealous of Lucy… until now.
And mixed in with envy was desolation, as she realized that Lucy soon would be gone.
Suddenly, the sister who had more often than not seemed a spoiled shrew stood between her and total isolation.
The little household that Kate had struggled to hold together for so long would be split into pieces, with Lucy off to her new life, and Tom leaving, too, perhaps. It was no secret that the coachman had grown quite cozy with Meg, and Kate knew he should make the trip back to London with the cook.
She would have to speak with Grayson about it. Although the marquess was not fond of Tom, he ought to be able to find a place for the man in his stables, so that the coachman could be near the woman who had taken his fancy.
And then she would be well and truly alone.
Tears threatened, and Kate gripped the edge of the worn table as if it were her lifeline.
What if she became ill? She would have to establish some kind of contact with the village, but who there could she talk to?
She could not let it get out that she was here by herself.
“Kate?”
The sound of Tom’s voice made her blink and choke back a sob. She didn’t want him to find her like this, or he would never consider following his ladylove to London. Kate whirled around, glad of the dimness in the kitchen.
“Oh, Tom!” she said. “I was looking for the last bit of that wonderful cherry tart of Meg’s.”
“Sorry, but I finished it off myself,” Tom said, without a bit of remorse. “But let’s have a taste of his lordship’s wine. I’ve a mind to celebrate.” He lit a candle from the smoldering fire and turned to face her.
“Yes, it is wonderful news, isn’t it?” Kate said, forcing a smile. “We all should have toasted Lucy’s happiness. And to think her gentleman was so close, all along.”
“What? Oh, Lucy’s chap. Aye, I’ll have to admit Wroth was a clever one, no doubt about that. I’ve wronged him, Katie.”
Tom’s words so startled her that Kate nearly dropped the bottle. Although Meg had improved Tom’s attitude toward the marquess, Kate had never expected such a turn.
Tom grinned at her shock. “Well, you understand as how I had to watch over my girls, and what did I know about this fellow, except that he was ruthless and dangerous and rich as Croesus?” he asked her with a chuckle.
“Not much to recommend himself, especially when I was thinking he was one of those fancy London lords. But he’s different, Katie.”
Kate’s neck prickled. Why did she get the feeling Tom was not trying so much to convince himself as to persuade her? She poured the wine, then watched him intently over her glass. She had known the old coachman long enough to judge his moods, and she distrusted his sudden change of heart.
“He’s a fine lad. Clever as they come, and he knows how to do the right thing when given a little nudge.” Tom winked at her and drank down his portion. “And he’s not one of those milk-and-water fellows, but a fine, strapping specimen who will sire many sons, I’m guessing.”
Kate blinked at that. She did not care to think of Grayson siring anything on anyone. She swallowed a sip of a delicate vintage such as she had not tasted in a long time.
“He’ll make you a fine husband,” Tom said, slamming down his empty glass.
At the unexpected words, Kate nearly spewed out the drink in her mouth. Swallowing quickly, she coughed before regaining her composure. Even then, a bright surge of something indefinable swept through her that made it difficult to speak. “Husband?”
“Aye. I’ve convinced him to do right by you.”
Kate’s glow of surprise dimmed, chased away by an altogether different sensation, and a coldness settled into the very midst of her being, directly around her heart. “Do right?”
“Aye. I convinced him that being a nobleman and all, and you being a lady, well, that it wouldn’t be right for him to just leave you high and dry.”
If she hadn’t felt so empty, Kate might have been surprised that Tom talked Grayson into anything. But the marquess never behaved as she expected him to, for good or ill. And now, it seemed, he would take her to wife, whether he wanted her or not. The thought made her shiver.
Kate had no illusions about herself. Her worth was in her hands and her mind. She could cook and plant and tally accounts, but she could not flutter a fan or carry a tune.
Although an earl’s daughter, she had never taken her place in the vaunted sphere of the ton. Instead, she had struggled to keep her little family alive, and it had changed her irrevocably. She was ill-suited for anything now but simple country living.
As for her other attributes… Kate knew she was not as lovely and delicate as Lucy and not at all like the kind of sparkling beauties Grayson had waiting for him in London. The thought of them made her gulp down her wine even as she cringed. She would not be an object of pity.
Anger gave her strength, and she put down her glass with a loud thump. “Well, he can take his noble, self-sacrificing offer and go hang!” Kate said, her voice ringing with outrage.
“Now, Katie, don’t get yourself in a taking. This is good news,” Tom said.
“Good for whom?” she asked. “Did you force this on him, so that you would feel free to run off with Meg? Well, I have no intention of holding you here, Thomas Beane, so you can do whatever you like, without feeling responsible for me.”
Despite her best efforts, Kate was nearly shaking with emotion, and she could see Tom was stunned by her reaction.
“Now, Katie, it weren’t like that at all. I thought you’d taken a liking to the man!”
“You must have been imagining things,” she said. “I appreciate Wroth’s efforts on Lucy’s behalf, that is all. And there is no way I am going to let him shackle himself to me when I’m the one who broke into his study and shot him, thanks to Lucy’s tale of woe.”
Unaccustomed anger and humiliation and despair boiled inside Kate until she felt like some foreign mountain ready to erupt. She could not make sense of it all herself, let alone explain it to Tom, who stood gaping at her with a shocked expression.
“Now, Katie, be reasonable—”
Reasonable? Sensible? Suddenly Kate wanted to be none of those things. She wanted to lash out at everything and everyone for disrupting her familiar existence, robbing her of those she cared about, and the final indignity, handing her a sham wedding, while her sister married for love.
“No,” she said, her voice a low, thready sound in the dim kitchen. “I do not want to hear another word about your ludicrous scheme, Tom. Go on to London with Meg, but don’t try to tie me up in a neat little package, like some loose end.”
“Katie—”
At another time, Tom’s mournful tone might have touched her, but not tonight. Kate’s head throbbed painfully, and she focused only upon escape. Stalking past the coachman, she hurried toward the servants’ stair, praying that she did not come upon anyone else, especially Grayson.
After a night spent tossing and turning and twisting her sheets, Kate remained in a foul mood, her cheeks stinging at the thought of Tom forcing the marquess to marry her.
Her first inclination was to hide in her room all day, feigning illness, but she had never been one to ignore a problem, so she finally put in an appearance, determined to show nothing of her turmoil.
It was afternoon by the time she arrived in the dining hall, but the remains of a breakfast still stood on the sideboard, and Kate picked at the food desultorily.
Obviously, Meg had no need of her in the kitchens.
Perhaps today she could coax Badcock into helping her clean some of the first-floor rooms.
Although Grayson’s valet, he seemed more than willing to help out wherever necessary.
And Kate had no intention of seeking Tom out, only to hear him harp upon her threatened reputation.
She nearly snorted at the ridiculous notion.
When matters of daily survival took precedence, she had ceased to care about such intangibles.
She was just rising from the table when a girl in a starched apron came in. “Can I get you anything more, my lady?” she asked, with a pretty bob of her head.
Kate stared for a moment before catching herself. “Who are you?” she asked in surprise.
The girl smiled. “I’m Dora, my lady, the new housemaid. His lordship sent me up from London, and I never seen such countryside before.”
The new housemaid? Kate felt a fresh surge of outrage at the high-handed marquess. She opened her mouth to speak, but shut it again, unwilling to loose her anger on the girl.
“No, thank you… Dora,” Kate said, pasting a smile on her face. She walked to the doorway and watched absently while the housemaid cleared the table. Obviously, the girl was here to clean, so instead of working inside, Kate decided to tackle the gardens, while the weather held.
An old shed held most of the implements she required, but one look at the flower beds told her she would need a shovel to remove some of the bigger weeds.
With a sigh, she went round to the stables for one, halting suddenly at the sight of a stall freshly filled with straw.
A glance into the nearby pasture told her that the only two horses they owned were happily dozing in the field.