Chapter 1 Kitty
Seek him that maketh the seven stars and Orion, and turneth the shadow of death into the morning, and maketh the day dark with night: that calleth for the waters of the sea, and poureth them out upon the face of the earth: The Lord is his name.
I stood outside Grandfather’s study and inhaled a shaky breath.
The winter sun slanted low through the mullioned windows, casting a watery light across ledgers and maps.
The man known as the Iron Colonel sat tall behind his desk, his shoulders still broad from years of service, his dark coat cut to military precision.
Time had silvered his hair at the temples and carved stern lines at the corners of his eyes, yet there was no mistaking the strength in his bearing.
His presence filled the room like a command.
I smoothed my skirts and at last stepped inside, determined to ask him to finally allow me a trip to London to see my brother. Perhaps even experience a season, although I was far more interested in visiting museums and bluestocking salons.
He did not rise when I entered, only lifted his head from the page, quill poised above the ledger.
“What is it, Katherine?” His voice carried the weight of impatience, a sound I knew too well.
“I have a request, Grandfather.” My words felt fragile. “Might I be allowed a season in London this spring? I am nearly eight and ten. I should love to attend the museums and lectures. Lady Ashford said I could call, perhaps even meet her friends—”
The quill scraped hard across the page. “How did you ever secure the attention of this Lady Ashford? As for attending a lecture, I won’t have you indulge in such wild fancies.”
I dared not confess the entire truth. Two years ago, I had read her treatise in The Times regarding social issues, and Edward had been so kind to hunt down her address.
For well over a year, Lady Ashford and I had corresponded regularly about all matters pertaining to science, literature, and my love of astronomy.
I groaned inwardly though I pressed on with a bright smile. “Surely it would not disgrace us. My studies harm no one. The stars—”
He glared at me. “You will not speak of stars to me. A Grenville’s duty is not to chase the cosmos.”
I fell silent, and my eyes wandered to his desk. Two envelopes rested at his elbow, the wax seals stamped deep. For one heartbeat I glimpsed a crest, curved and regal, before his hand swept them away.
Letters from India.
My breath quickened at the thought of hearing from family.
Once, at five and ten, I had managed to sneak out a missive to the nearest inn where post was delivered.
But only once. Somehow word of the letter reached his ears before it left the inn; no doubt a servant eager to curry favor carried tales of my insubordination.
After that, Grandfather made certain not a single servant would deliver a letter to India on my behalf.
I wrote my mother each month regardless, storing every missive in a box hidden beneath my bed.
A diary of sorts, intended only for her.
I tipped forward to see his papers better. “May I read your letters? Is that one from the palace at Hyderabad? I have seen that seal before.”
His chair scraped back. “Your entire family most certainly died of diphtheria, Katherine. Why must I keep explaining how I saved you and Edward from the same fate?” His gaze hardened, the words struck like daggers. “Trouble me no further. I have work to do.”
The desk drawer shut with a decisive thud, swallowing the letters whole.
But the seal . . .
The wax bore an oval impression with strokes sweeping upward and around in patterns I half remembered, flowing like vines across stone. Though I could not read the words, the shape of them stirred a buried memory from my past, as if I had once heard those syllables whispered in prayer.
I lowered in an awkward curtsy, my throat tight with questions unasked, and then withdrew from the study. Yet the vision of those foreign seals haunted me as I crossed the corridor.
If my mother and family were truly gone, why did he guard those letters as though they held the breath of the dead?
Breakfast at Seven Oakes had never tasted so bitter.
I ignored the plate of cold toast in front of me as my two guardians plotted out my future with nary a thought for my opinion.
If anything, my request to go to London seemed to ignite Grandfather’s opposition to my studies and my volunteering at the local girls’ school run by Miss Tippens, where I assisted occasionally, offering what I could of astronomy.
“A season has its place,” he said, folding his napkin with brisk precision. “But the time has come for my grandchildren to step into their proper roles.”
“I agree,” Aunt Clarice replied from her end of the table. “Your studies are far too consuming as of late, Katherine. It is most unladylike.”
I winced at the poke against my fascination for astronomy. Nor did I wish to remind Aunt and Grandfather that the stars remained my only link to my mother, who had often stood on the terrace in the evening, pointing out constellations to me.
How ironic that I was kept secluded within this country manor, forced to fill my days reading every book I could find, while my beloved Edward frittered away his studies at Cambridge, going so far as to earn a formal written rebuke from the university.
I hadn’t the stamina to argue with Aunt this morning, especially about my desperate need to leave Seven Oakes.
She had always hated books of any nature, cringing at the stash of romantic literature stacked under my bed.
“An heiress has no need to teach or gallivant with children of an inferior station,” Grandfather added.
“I cannot stay within this manor for the rest of my life,” I answered. “I am old enough for more beyond the countryside.”
Perhaps even a return to India . . .
He studied me for a long moment before clearing his throat. “With regard to a London visit, I have very good news that arrived this morning.”
Ah, I would learn of the two letters Grandfather had shoved into his desk!
“You will marry before the summer ends.”
I froze. Aunt Clarice gasped, while Grandfather removed a slip of paper from his coat. After nudging the letter in my direction, he waited as I picked it up with shaking fingers and unfolded the paper.
It was not the note I had hoped to read. No evidence of Hyderabad marked its surface.
His smile stretched tight when my gaze met his, yet the faint warmth did nothing to ease my nervousness.
“I want only the best for my family. I am most pleased with this development. So it would stand that you need not fret over experiencing a season after all.”
The precise handwriting brought a well of acid bubbling up inside me. Impending marriage . . . Sebastian Sinclair . . . to arrive in London within six weeks . . . Perhaps longer, depending on the ship and the weather.
Numb, I set the paper down.
“No need to look so concerned,” Grandfather said as he stabbed at his poached egg, sending it into quivers.
“Lord Sinclair and I have planned this marriage for you since the day you were born. I had hoped for Hugh, the eldest Sinclair, but he married another and then died in a most unfortunate incident. Now it is Sebastian who brings two indigo plantations and all the vast estates tied to the Sinclair name. We cannot refuse such an alliance between our two distinguished families.”
Sebastian Sinclair.
Not him. Anyone but him.
My aunt frowned. “But marriage is unthinkable if she does not have a proper wardrobe! I must take Kitty to my favorite modistes.”
Grandfather scooped up a jiggling bit of yolk. “I have no doubt you will arrange an excellent trousseau for Katherine when we arrive in London. Surely you can find a local seamstress in the meantime.”
London. At long last, I would be free of this country confine, but at what cost?
My aunt’s voice dimmed while a memory captured my attention, faint but stubborn—the image of a chubby-cheeked boy sneering at me.
He had sat beside me at Grandfather’s table years ago, the young heir from India, complaining of England’s bland fare as though the cook had personally insulted him.
“You’ll get used to it,” I’d said primly. It had burned me that he acted as though he knew more about my homeland than I did.
“I shan’t. India is the only place worth living.”
“Then why did you leave it?” I had challenged.
His grin had been quick and wicked. “To meet you, apparently.”
Then he had tugged one of my curls.
Before I could stop myself, my palm met his cheek with a crack that silenced the table. He’d gaped—then, to my astonishment, laughed.
I shook off the memory and lifted my chin. “I shall do no such thing. I’d sooner wed the stuffed peacock from your trophy wall. He would at least preen less than the Sinclair I remember.”
“Shocking insolence,” Aunt Clarice declared with round eyes. “Imagine refusing the Sinclair family!”
Grandfather arched a grizzled eyebrow at my show of defiance. “You will not find a better match in all of London or all the continent. Sebastian will eventually sit on the board of directors of the East India Company. You cannot discount power like that, my girl. Real power.”
I refused to be deterred by their reactions. “Why can I not find another match, one just as suitable in rank? Perhaps your Sebastian will also feel differently when he crosses onto the English shore and takes a look at me.”
“He will be pleased with you, I’m certain,” Grandfather countered as he studied me. “You appear very much like your father, and for that I am grateful.”
My fists balled as rage simmered through me. It was true I took after the auburn-haired James Grenville while my brother resembled our beautiful mother. We were treated very differently by Grandfather because of it.