Chapter 12 Kitty
I wish to say that I have learned to know some of the greatest minds of my time, and to appreciate them as they deserve.
CAROLINE HERSCHEL
A week later, my dearest friend stood in the hallway of our London townhome and looped her arms about my neck while I tried to contain my shock and joy.
The days since my visit to the Herschels had passed slowly.
Lord Chudley had gone to Surrey on business, and the rest of us had fallen into a dull domestic rhythm.
Freddy and I hugged like two long-lost sisters, giggling while the butler tiptoed away with silent steps.
She pulled back long enough to blink away happy tears.
“Tell me the truth. Grandfather says you will not marry that dreadful farmer, Mr. Merriweather,” I cried as I clasped her shoulders, taking in her navy pelisse and matching bonnet.
She shook her head, as if too overwhelmed to speak.
“It would seem that he wants a sturdier wife to raise his children. But truthfully, he soon discovered my dowry was far smaller than Father had led him to believe and decided on a different match with a young widow. How grateful I am for your grandfather’s invitation to join you. ”
I squeezed her icy hand within mine. “Thank heavens. You did not need to be saddled with so many children, Fredericka.”
She dashed away the wetness of her eyes with her thumb. “Ah, Kitty. Who will marry me if I cannot even garner the attention of an older gentleman? I am truly hopeless.”
“A graying gentleman with a paunchy waistcoat and a set of stained wooden teeth, I must remind you,” I retorted, my ire completely roused in defense of my friend. “The loss is entirely his, rest assured.”
Soft footsteps sounded from the drawing room, and there stood my irascible brother, his hair more disheveled than ever, as well as his fashionable cravat tugged loose at the collar. My friend and my brother stared at each other.
“Edward,” she finally croaked.
“Fredericka,” he answered, sounding equally gravelly.
I couldn’t help but wonder how much he’d heard of our conversation while remaining tucked within the safety of the drawing room.
My friend’s cheeks reddened as she pulled the strings of her bonnet loose. “Are you enjoying the London season?”
“Hardly,” Edward quipped, his piercing gaze still pinned on her.
I frowned, truly taking in his appearance. “Do you have a bruise on your cheek? What on earth have you been doing this past week, darting in and out of the house like a thief in the night?”
Both Fredericka and I inched closer to him. He stepped back.
After clearing his throat, he raised a hand to force us to keep our distance. “It’s nothing. I’ve taken Sebastian to Angelo’s fencing studio. The men often prove unruly.”
“Don’t draw blood,” I said. “I’m uncertain Grandfather will approve of you manhandling our esteemed guest.”
“Believe me, Kit, the man can handle himself. He is a champion fencer, a prodigy, having toured Europe to study with the best teachers.”
I couldn’t imagine the skill Edward described. Occasionally, he had tried to show me the art of fencing. I proved terrible at it and he swore to hide his sabres to keep mankind safe from my clumsiness.
“You fenced just yesterday?” I asked, confused, since I had encountered so little of him this past week, leaving me and Aunt to entertain Sebastian.
Edward didn’t answer but brushed past us before pausing and turning around. “It’s good to see you again, Fredericka. I very much enjoyed the book you mailed. I would be happy to return it to you.”
“No, please. It was a gift,” Fredericka replied. “I wish you to keep it.”
I had the distinct impression that neither of them noticed me in the slightest.
He inclined his head once in her direction and swiftly headed toward the library, leaving the two of us alone in the hall.
She glanced at me, her lashes somewhat darkened from tears.
My kindhearted friend, who assumed no man would ever want her . . .
I would berate Edward later for his ridiculous formality around her. After all, we had grown up with each other, running wild in the countryside when Aunt wasn’t looking.
Fredericka smoothed the front of her dress with trembling hands. “I am grateful for the colonel’s generosity to let me accompany you for the season. It will feel almost like old times at Seven Oakes.”
“I am grateful too,” I told her as I linked arms with her.
“But don’t for a moment get snookered into Grandfather’s plans.
He thinks himself clever and intends for me to behave through and through now that you are here to demonstrate the proper way of a lady.
Let me show you to your room. We’ll talk privately there and strategize our stay in London. ”
“Oh, Kitty—” Laughter bubbled from her. “I couldn’t rein you in no matter how hard I tried. Besides, you’ve a wedding to plan. I’m here no doubt to be your best maid.”
Goose pimples flared across my skin as we climbed the stairs to the second floor. Marriage to Sebastian Sinclair loomed ever nearer.
“Kitty—” She stopped mid-step on the thick carpet, pulling me back. “You are getting married? At least one of us will find our happiness, yes?”
“Come,” I said. “Not here. I promise to tell you everything.”
Freddy’s guest bedroom stood next to mine. Farther down the hall, Grandfather and Edward kept rooms, and Sebastian had been given the largest and best of the guest rooms at the end of the hall, which barely gave me space to think with his constant presence pulling at my attention.
Once inside her room, I shut the door. Blue walls and lace curtains brightened the space. A cheerful fireplace flanked by petite chairs offered a private spot for conversation.
“You brought trunks, didn’t you?” I frowned, studying her gown, which bore evidence of carriage travel from the sheer number of wrinkles.
“Oh yes. Your servants said they would bring it shortly, but I must confess that my gowns will appear so out of date compared to your wardrobe.”
“And your maid?” I asked.
Fredericka ducked her head. “It appears I may be adventurous after all. I traveled alone by coach.”
Horror at my friend’s announcement rendered me speechless.
“I will share what I have,” I finally pronounced before ringing for tea. “I’m certain Aunt will love having another young woman to dress. But be warned, her taste in colors runs bland. All whites and frosted pinks.”
Freddy removed her hat and set it on the vanity, her gaze traveling over the four-poster bed and the furniture smelling of linseed oil.
“A lovely room. I do so love blue.” How wistful she sounded. “Did I tell you that Father has decided we must move to Bath in the fall?”
I motioned for her to sit across from me. “No, and I can’t imagine losing you again, now to Bath.”
“You will never lose me, Kitty. Tell me the truth. You didn’t answer my question regarding your marriage. Is Colonel Grenville misguided in assuming you will marry Mr. Sinclair?”
“Sebastian and I have an agreement.” Only when her expression sharpened did I realize my mistake in using his Christian name. It made our relationship sound so much more intimate than it really was.
My friend said nothing, but a frown appeared between her brows.
“You see, our grandfathers agreed to join our families—years ago because of some heroic action on the battlefield. Now you tell me—should someone force two grandchildren to marry because of some old deed years ago, no matter how noble?”
“Well, no . . .” she agreed slowly.
I exhaled. Freddy would understand my dilemma.
“Although it sounds rather romantic,” she added with a twinkle in her eyes. “Two children fated for each other. Now that is a plot for your romance books.”
I waved aside her ridiculous suggestion. “No one can tell Grandfather anything once his mind is made up. In fact, he tried to arrange an engagement dinner but Sebastian—er, Mr. Sinclair—persuaded him to leave such an announcement until the end of the season.”
“I see,” she answered as she folded her arms across her chest. “But you will have to pretend in order to keep your charade. This is not the dear friend I grew up with, the very girl who prized being forthright.”
Now it was my turn to blush. “What else would you have me do?”
“Tell your grandfather no.”
“No?”
“Yes. Stop engaging in these elaborate schemes to subvert him. You and I are both of the age where we should have some say in our lives.”
I sank back against my chair, shocked. How very much like Edward my friend sounded.
She smiled. “Oh, I know, I know. I told you a very different story many months ago. I said I would marry Mr. Merriweather and that I would trust God.”
“You also mentioned you had no options,” I reminded her.
She nodded. “I have yet to determine my options.
But I see now that in my eagerness to bring my parents some measure of peace, I might have resigned myself to a terrible marriage.
I fear I mistook compliance for obedience and wisdom, as if yielding to circumstance alone fulfilled His will.
But does it, Kitty? Are we called to obey men—or God?
“Mr. Merriweather could not handle a wife without enough coin to sweeten the deal,” she added. “Yet even in this, I see the hand of Providence. I can trust Him—not only in the doors He opens, but in those He closes as well.”
Could I trust God to chart my path? Was it wrong to give Him a nudge in the direction I wanted?
“I do hope you’ll make a match here,” I told her. “Surely there are more attractive men than sheep farmers who will catch your eye.”
She flushed again, and I sensed it had nothing to do with the heat from the fireplace.
I was determined to thank Grandfather for his intervention in bringing my friend to London. I could only pray Edward would see the treasure right in front of him.