Chapter 16
Sixteen
“Kitty? Norman?”
The sound of the heavy church doors swinging open had sent a lingering ripple of alarm through his frame. Jane’s voice followed, high and strained.
He turned first. He always turned first, instinctively protective, trained to absorb the impact of discovery.
Kitty, to her credit, only stepped a pace away from him, her hands still calmly folded before her, though her eyes darted to Jane with a spark of guilt.
“I can explain,” Kitty said, though her voice was softer than usual. Not pleading. Simply present.
“This is highly improper,” Jane said, her cheeks flushed. “Alone, in a church, without a chaperone—do you not realize how this might look?”
Norman bowed his head. “It was my fault. Entirely. I asked Kitty to remain and speak with me. It will not happen again.”
He did not see the way Kitty’s face shifted, but he felt it—something closing between them like a door shut gently but firmly.
Jane stared at them both, flustered. “Speak with you? About what?”
Norman straightened. His voice, when it came, was measured. “I have been contemplating organizing a play for the second week of the engagement party. I thought it might provide some entertainment—some collaborative amusement. I wanted Kitty’s opinion on which work would be most fitting.”
But Kitty shook her head. “I should go.” She did not wait for anyone to protest. “Forgive me.”
Without another glance in his direction, she turned and swept down the aisle, her footfalls quick and quiet against the stone. Norman watched her go, his heart hammering as though she’d taken something essential with her.
Jane gave him a long, measured look. “She seemed… upset.”
“She is not,” he said. “Merely tired. It’s been a long afternoon.”
Richard raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
Norman cleared his throat. “We were discussing a play. For the engagement celebrations. I’ve narrowed it to three choices: The Merchant of Venice, She Stoops to Conquer, and The Rivals.”
Jane frowned slightly, still half-turned toward the door Kitty had exited through. “That seems… harmless enough.”
“It is,” Norman assured her. “Entirely harmless. We were merely talking.”
Richard stepped forward, hands in his pockets, his expression unreadable. “And yet she fled as though she’d just confessed to high treason.”
Norman forced a small laugh. “She’s dramatic. You know Kitty.”
“Indeed,” Richard said quietly. “We do.”
Jane tilted her head. “You seem… flustered, Norman. You’re never flustered.”
“I’m not,” he said, too quickly again.
The silence that followed stretched taut between them, the kind that pressed down with expectation. Jane’s brows drew together. Richard studied him as if waiting for a better lie. Or a better truth.
Finally, Norman exhaled. “I overstepped. Spoke too plainly. Kitty took it to heart.”
“To heart?” Jane echoed.
“She misunderstood me.”
Jane looked as though she wanted to ask what, precisely, had been misunderstood, but she relented. Barely.
“Well,” she said, glancing at Richard, “I suppose a play is a harmless distraction.”
“I believe so,” Norman said, grateful for the lifeline.
Richard gave a slow, knowing smile. “Then perhaps I’ll volunteer for Shylock. Since you seem so intent on misdirection.”
Norman blinked.
“I only mean,” Richard continued with faux innocence, “that you might make a better Bassanio. Or rather… Antonio.” He glanced toward the door where Kitty had gone. “The melancholic man who gives everything away for love.”
Norman gave him a withering look, but it lacked teeth.
Jane rolled her eyes. “Don’t tease.”
“I wasn’t teasing,” Richard said. “Not entirely.”
And just like that, the moment passed—swept away in humor and politeness. But Norman remained still, eyes fixed on the doorway, where Kitty had vanished.
Norman strode back toward the house, his jaw tight, and his breath shallow.
The breeze had picked up, sharp and insistent as it pulled at his coat—an unwelcome echo of the turbulence within him.
He took the stairs two at a time and entered through the east door, his boots echoing against the parquet floor.
She had left. She had truly left. Walked away from him without a glance.
He moved through the hallway with quiet urgency, glancing into the drawing room, the library, the side parlor—each one empty, echoing with quiet domestic life but none of it hers. No rustle of her skirts, no scent of her perfume, no careless laugh thrown over her shoulder.
He rounded the corner toward the music room and nearly collided with Eleanor, who stood before a sun-drenched window, leafing halfheartedly through a book she clearly wasn’t reading.
“Oh,” she said, startled. “You look as though you’ve misplaced a limb.”
He exhaled sharply. “I was looking for Kitty.”
“Ah.” She closed the book and tucked it beneath her arm. “Well, she’s not in here.”
“I gathered.” He raked a hand through his hair, then sighed. “I owe you an apology, Eleanor. I haven’t spent any time with you since everyone arrived. I promised you I would help make introductions—hell, I promised to help you find a husband.”
Eleanor tilted her head, her eyes kind. “And I never asked you to do that.”
“You didn’t have to. I’m your brother. It is my duty.”
She gave a short laugh. “I don’t wish to find a husband at your engagement party, Norman.”
He blinked. “You don’t?”
“No,” she said firmly. “I want to find love. Something natural. Or dramatic, if the world is feeling generous. Like you and Kitty.”
His brow furrowed. “We’re not—Kitty and I—whatever you think it is, it isn’t that.”
“Isn’t it?”
“She’s impossible,” he said, almost at once. “She’s maddening. She changes from moment to moment. One second she’s warm, the next she’s all ice and fire and mischief. I never know what she’s thinking. I never know what I’m thinking when I’m near her.”
Eleanor leaned against the wall, smiling faintly. “Sounds like love to me.”
Norman gave a dry, incredulous laugh. “If it is, it’s a thoroughly inconvenient variety.”
“I don’t think love is supposed to be convenient,” Eleanor replied. “I think it’s supposed to be the kind of thing that unravels you a little. That makes you feel foolish, and lost, and brave, all at once.”
He turned away, staring out of the tall window behind her. “Well, then I’m well on my way to complete idiocy.”
“You’re not an idiot,” she said gently. “Just in love. Which is nearly the same thing. Now come on…the rehearsal is about to start.”
Eleanor grabbed his arm and led him toward the drawing room.