Chapter 25 Kitty
Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.
I did not see Sebastian at all during the next day. When I went to Edward’s bedside, he motioned for me to take a seat next to him.
“Kit, I must tell you something.”
After smoothing my gown, I nodded and sank into the chair.
“When a man stares at death, certain truths are made evident. I was wrong not to trust others. You tried to tell me that not everyone is a lout, reminding me of . . .” His voice trailed as he twisted the counterpane beneath his fingers. “Fredericka. Her kindness toward us. Her loyalty.”
I sniffled. “Stop, Edward. Fredericka is the only gem we’ve encountered.
And Miss Herschel. Regardless, I’ve been unbearably na?ve.
Lady Ashford will not receive me at her literary salon.
Nor will I ever step foot in an opera house again.
You were right to warn me of the dangers outside of Seven Oakes.
I thought London might prove different. But it is ugly here.
Pitch dark, in fact. You experienced Eton and Cambridge.
I experienced the ton. They are all hypocrites of the worst sort. ”
“They are not all hypocrites. Today, Mr. Sinclair is with Mr. Wilberforce, delivering my notes in order to deflect attention from you and me. Now, tell me, Kit, what kind of man would do such a thing—even if he and I do not see eye to eye on the Company?”
Sebastian helping my brother? Something in my chest jolted alive. What cost would he pay when the news traveled to his directors or his grandfather?
Edward reached for my hand and squeezed it.
“You are likely right about the shallowness of the ton. Wasn’t it you who reminded me it would be a shame if we let the ugliness of the world taint us so much that we could no longer value the beauty in front of us?
I was so consumed with righting every wrong that had occurred to me .
. . to you . . . that I did not see what mattered most.”
To my surprise, he stopped speaking, his gaze trained on the door. I turned to see Freddy standing in the doorway, her expression muted.
“Kit, would you excuse me for a moment? I must speak with Freddy.” He sounded pained as he tried to rise and failed.
At once, I stood, my pulse humming since the Edward before me no longer carried a smirk.
“Please, Freddy . . .” he said. “Don’t go.”
So much more emotion lay within that plea. I was torn between chaperoning and leaving them to their privacy, and finally settled by taking Fredericka’s place by the door while she filled my spot in the chair.
My dear friend burst into tears, and Edward looked as though he would have taken her in his arms at that moment. Instead, he reached for her hand and raised it to his lips to press a lingering kiss against her knuckles.
“Shh. Freddy. Promise me you will never leave.”
Unable to avoid dinner altogether, I joined Freddy in the dining room with the colonel and Aunt. She cast me a fearful glance. Had Edward spoken to the colonel regarding his intentions toward my friend?
If so, Grandfather gave no indication.
I had not seen Sebastian the entire day, yet Edward’s confidence in him lingered with me.
Sebastian Sinclair—heir to an immense fortune, a man who had been raised among the East India Company’s highest ranks—had delivered papers on my brother’s behalf that may implicate the organization I despised—in order to keep us safe.
Dare I hope that I could trust him? Other than Freddy and Edward, I had been let down by so many.
During the meal, Aunt peppered us with the latest gossip. Sebastian made no appearance.
Grandfather refused to look at me—which brought a sliver of relief. No further talk of marriage dates. Of Edward’s injury. He ate with a fierceness, slurping his soup loudly while Aunt murmured about her day to Freddy.
“I suppose we will leave London earlier than usual,” Aunt said in a plaintive tone.
The Iron Colonel grunted.
“I shall need to pack.”
“We leave by the end of the week,” he answered firmly, keeping his attention fixed on the white soup, a concoction of almonds, chicken stock, and cream.
“But Edward?” Aunt protested.
“He will convalesce here very well without us, and a physician may visit occasionally. I see no reason to prolong our stay.”
He leveled me a scathing look. “And I daresay you two will pack light. I won’t be bothered with transporting fripperies.”
This was a glimpse into my cruel future . . . my very long future, a prisoner of Seven Oakes, banished to a lonely tower with likely no telescope to occupy my oppressive thoughts.
Could I really return to that estate, where the wind howled against the stones and rattled the windows?
Could I bear seeing the man who wished I had never been born day after day?
Panic clawed its way up my throat as my spoon slipped from my grasp, dropping onto the snowy tablecloth.
Later that evening, one of the servants informed me that Sebastian had retreated to his room and begun packing his things. Freddy had gone to visit with Edward and no doubt pass on the news of Grandfather’s latest edict.
The townhome lay in oppressive silence as I paced back and forth in the massive library. The fire in the grate had burned low.
I faced a momentous decision as I debated my bleak future if I stayed in England.
I would not go back to Seven Oakes. I could no longer endure the isolation of the countryside, no matter how brilliant the night sky.
Nor could I stand to remain in London, where every base fortune hunter would use me while the brightest of society rejected me.
What, then, do you wish for me to do? I pleaded with God. Why would He not give me a sign as He had for Gideon with the fleece?
The sound of heels descending the stairwell brought my attention to the open door.
Sebastian stood just outside the doorway, his posture rigid. There was exhaustion in the line of his shoulders, a heaviness in the way he carried himself.
For a moment, I could not speak.
To my relief, he entered the library, as if drawn by an invisible string.
He had offered to help me find my mother.
As my situation indicated, he proved my only reasonable path.
Not Lord Chudley, nor Lady Ashford’s bluestocking society.
Not even Caroline Herschel offered a practical solution out of my darkness.
My brother would take me under his wing.
But Grandfather would likely cut off his inheritance if Edward sheltered me and offered freedom.
I couldn’t force my brother into such a predicament—especially if he now admitted his love for Freddy.
They would need a home and an income of their own.
Besides, India waited, ever alluring—promising answers to questions I had long fretted over during the midnight hours.
Was marriage to Sebastian the path I ought to take?
I had spent so long assuming the worst of Sebastian Sinclair. Believing him selfish, calculating, determined to have his way at any cost. I had feared I was only a means to an end—another piece of his inheritance to be secured. But . . .
I had grown to love him as well.
For once, words fled me as he stood before me and I considered how to accept his earlier proposal.
My fingers trembled slightly as I reached for him, the movement unthinking, unbidden.
I felt the warmth of his hand beneath mine, the solid strength of his arm. Slowly, my touch drifted higher, my fingers tracing lightly over his sleeve, then resting against the center of his chest.
His heart pounded beneath my palm.
A breath shuddered through him, and his mouth parted, as if he, too, had no defense against whatever was happening between us.
“Sebastian Sinclair,” I said, my voice barely more than air.
“You are a singular gentleman, and I am grateful for how you’ve helped Edward.
How kind you’ve been. You’ve proven yourself far more than I ever imagined.
I have been so quick to misjudge you, and yet .
. . you are one of the few who have stood by me. ”
For once, he had no ready quip, no teasing remark. He lifted a hand and cupped my face, his thumb grazing the curve of my cheekbone with aching tenderness. I did not pull away.
“Take me with you to India,” I blurted.
The words seemed to hang between us, suspended in the hush of the library. His eyes widened, searching my face as though he scarcely believed what I had said.
My heart thudded, yet once spoken, the words could not be taken back.
I thought of how he had stood before my grandfather the night before, shielding me without hesitation.
How he had shown mercy where others offered none.
How he had looked at me not with censure or ridicule, but with something so tender.
“I meant what I said the other night, Kitty. I do love you,” he said at last, his voice husky.
The fire crackled low, and for a breathless moment we stood on the edge of something vast and terrifying, neither of us stepping back. His nearness was enough to make my knees weaken.
My hand slid from his chest to his sleeve, gripping it as though to anchor myself. I had been so certain of my independence, so determined to resist. Yet here I was, unable to deny what my heart had already chosen.
“I will marry you, Sebastian Sinclair,” I said. The words tumbled out in a rush, yet once spoken they settled over me with astonishing clarity.
His eyes closed briefly, as if in prayer, and when they opened again, the firelight caught them in brilliant reflection. He leaned his brow to mine, breathing me in, holding himself taut as though one more word might undo all restraint.
And for the first time in years, I felt the heavy yoke of fear shift. Not gone, but lifted enough for hope to seep in and chase away some of the gloom inside of me.