Chapter Seven
The green countryside gave way to more and more settlements as Kitty half-listened to Lady Sampson talk about her son David and his wife, who were expecting their second child.
Though the physician was beginning to suspect twins.
A fact that only reminded Kitty of the people they’d just left in Hampshire.
Returning to London held no appeal, but she was grateful to leave Whickfield behind.
Or one of its residents, at least. The rest of her stay had been absolutely lovely. If too short.
Their original itinerary had called for leaving Arbor Hill on the Monday after the picnic.
But they’d returned home from Aston Lodge to find a letter from Lord Sampson.
He had received a dinner invitation for Monday evening from a potential political ally.
Though he could attend without his wife, everyone knew it would be better if she attended.
So their plans changed, and they left the morning after the ill-fated picnic.
It was now late Saturday afternoon, and Kitty found herself only a short time from facing her mother again. Which felt only marginally more appealing than turning around and facing Oliver Linfield.
Two full days since their argument at Arbor Hill, her anger still simmered beneath the surface.
Yes, he had apologized. But then he’d turned around and accused her of being two-faced.
Did he not realize that nearly everyone wore a mask of some sort to protect themselves from society?
He himself had been totally different in the circulating library as compared to the dinner at Arbor Hill.
Which brought her to the second reason for her anger.
Kitty had enjoyed their time in the circulating library.
She could not remember having such a pleasant conversation with a gentleman since her father passed away when she was eighteen.
He had asked her questions, as well as answered her own.
It had been a true discussion, and not a lecture or an attempt to show his superior intelligence.
At the time, Kitty had envied her friend’s good fortune in marrying a man who would treat a young woman as an intellectual equal. She craved more of such conversations. A lifetime of them. Which left her angry with herself, as well as Oliver Linfield.
Kitty would not, could not, develop a tendre for a man she could not trust. And Oliver Linfield had proved himself just as duplicitous as he had accused her of being.
And if the rumors of his finances held any truth, she could not trust his motives if he were to try befriending her.
No, leaving Hampshire was for the best. Even if it meant returning to London.
“I hope you enjoyed your respite from Town,” Lady Sampson spoke as the carriage turned onto a familiar road in London.
Kitty turned from the window and faced her gracious hostess. “I don’t know how I can ever thank you for asking me to join you.”
The baroness waved her hand dismissively. “It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. I thoroughly enjoyed getting to know you better, and I look forward to your company in the future.”
“As do I, my lady,” Kitty replied as they pulled up in front of the familiar four-story building.
The front door opened, and both footmen stepped out. The one walked to the back of the carriage to retrieve Kitty’s trunk, while the other handed her down.
After bidding farewell to Lady Sampson, Kitty walked up her front steps and paused before going through the door.
She was not sure what to expect. Was her mother angry with her for fleeing to the countryside?
Had she arranged for more introductions with unappealing gentlemen? There was only one way to find out.
Within moments of stepping into the front entrance, her mother ran out of the drawing room and pulled Kitty into a firm embrace. “You are home!”
Kitty stood frozen, not sure how to react to the unexpected display of affection.
Mrs. Childs released Kitty and took a step back. “Well, when will he arrive?”
Her mind racing, looking for an explanation, Kitty slowly asked, “When will who arrive?”
Her mother’s face broke into a grin so wide that Kitty momentarily wondered if her cheeks hurt. “Why, Mr. Linfield, of course.”
Kitty blinked twice as her mother’s words sank in. Finally, she asked, “Mr. Oliver Linfield?”
“The very one!”
Priscilla Childs was well-known for her erratic behavior.
And yet, Kitty had never been so confused in her entire life.
Was her mother even aware that Kitty had interacted with Oliver Linfield since their introduction?
She thought through the two letters she’d sent from Arbor Hill.
The first was a simple note letting her mother know they’d arrived safely.
The second was primarily about tea at the vicarage.
Kitty was not even sure if she’d mentioned Arabella’s name, or if she’d simply referred to her as “the vicar’s wife.
” She was absolutely certain she’d not mentioned the vicar’s brother.
“Is there a reason you expect Mr. Linfield to visit us in London?” Kitty could not for the life of her think of one. The man was likely happily ensconced in his library in Hampshire, grateful to be rid of her.
The smile on her mother’s face had not decreased in the slightest. “To ask for my blessing. Why else?”
“Your…blessing?” Kitty choked out the word.
“I received a letter from Mrs. Brewton just this morning about your interlude at the picnic.” Her mother waggled her eyebrows in a most nauseating fashion. “I assumed that Mr. Linfield would follow close behind to settle your engagement.”
Her mother continued to babble about wedding plans and how proud she was that Kitty had made good use of her time in Hampshire. When she started in on Oliver Linfield being the nephew of an earl, Kitty finally snapped. “Mother!”
“Yes?” Her voice still sounded pleased.
Kitty did her best to keep her voice calm. “I am not engaged to Oliver Linfield, or anyone else.”
The faintest signs of uncertainty flitted across her mother’s face, and then they were gone. “But of course you are. I was just telling Lady Fitchett all about it at Mrs. Craughton’s house this afternoon.”
Afraid she was about to be sick, Kitty bolted up the stairs and down the corridor to her bedchamber.
When her maid, Polly, found her a few minutes later, she was sprawled on the bed, staring at the canopy above.
There was no possible way that the story of her “engagement” was not halfway across London by now.
At the rate her mother’s friends gossiped, it would be in Edinburgh and Paris before long.
“Can I get you anything, miss?” Polly asked in a soft voice.
Kitty replied without turning her head. “Something light to eat. Whatever is in the kitchen.” She paused and then added. “And then you can help me ready for bed.”
It was not later than four in the afternoon, but Kitty wanted nothing more than to crawl under her covers and emerge sometime around her twenty-seventh birthday.
Oliver flew across the back meadows of Warner Grange.
The estate of his newer brother-in-law provided the finest ground for running a horse anywhere in the neighborhood.
Flat, straight, and with few obstacles that could put a horse or its rider in danger.
He had run countless races across the meadows over the years.
But today he was not racing another rider, only his own thoughts.
He had arrived at Arbor Hil—hat in hand—the day after the picnic, ready to apologize to Catherine Childs.
Only to have the housekeeper inform him that Lady Sampson and her guest had left the neighborhood a few hours earlier.
When he returned to Blackthorne Park, his mother had a note explaining their premature departure.
According to the baroness, the reasons had nothing to do with him.
But he could not help but wonder if they really did.
At the very least, his abominable behavior must have made the decision to leave that much easier.
But there was nothing he could do about it now.
Miss Childs was in London, and had been for several days.
When Oliver arrived back at his own stables, he jumped off his mount and handed the reins to a waiting groom. But instead of walking directly into the stables, the lad spoke. “I’m supposed to tell you that her ladyship was wanting to see you as soon as you get back.”
That was odd. His mother had never sent for him in such a manner. “Thank you, Sam. I’ll go in directly.”
As soon as he stepped into the front entrance of Blackthorne Park, a footman was waiting to receive his gloves and hat. Before Oliver could even greet the liveried servant, he spoke. “Her ladyship is waiting for you in her east sitting room.”
Though the renovations were nowhere near done, his mother had taken to spending part of each day in her new sitting room.
She claimed she wished to get a feel for the space before she made any further decisions on furnishings and decor.
As far as Oliver was concerned, she could take all the time in the world.
The longer she took renovating her new rooms, the longer he had before concocting a new excuse for staying right where he was.
Oliver took two steps at a time, wondering what on earth could be so urgent. Had something happened to one of his sisters? Or Tim? That seemed unlikely. The stable hands knew where he had gone riding. If there had been a genuine emergency, someone would have come to fetch him.
He stepped through the open door of the sitting room to find his mother sitting in a wingback chair, her back and shoulders ramrod straight and her face unreadable. The twins knew they were in trouble as children when their mother took on what they had dubbed her “daughter of an earl” expression.
He approached slowly, as if attempting not to startle a wild animal. “Good morning, Mother. You wished to see me?”