Chapter Thirteen
Thank you, Hodges,” Kate said as the butler opened the door to admit her. “I’m sorry to have kept you up waiting so late.”
Hodges’ mustache twitched with amusement. “I’m long accustomed to it, Miss Littlefield,” he said. “Truth to tell, I had expected you to be much later.”
“Probably I would have been,” Kate said as she entered the foyer and stripped off her gloves to cram them within her already overstuffed reticule, “except that I’m still not accustomed to city hours.
I was near to nodding off on my feet, and Lord and Lady Crewe were kind enough to convey me home again.
How does the aristocracy do this, night after night? ”
“Practice, I’m certain,” Hodges said dryly.
“And after the Season, most of the nobility will retire to their countryside estates, where they will keep more regular hours.” With a gesture of one hand, he indicated the drawing room door, which had been left ajar.
“Your mother has come down,” he said. “Shall I bring you some tea?”
“Thank you, Hodges. That would be lovely,” Kate said as she drifted toward the drawing room.
Bracing one hand upon the door jamb, she peeked within.
The fire was lit, but burned low—as if it had been fed just enough to keep the light to a minimum for eyes still too sensitive to bear much of it.
In a large, comfortable chair near the window, there was a figure curled up beneath a blanket.
“Mama?” Kate inquired softly. “Are you feeling any better?”
“Katie?” came the drowsy response as the figure stirred. “You’re back so early?”
“It’s well past midnight, Mama,” Kate said as she tiptoed within the room. “Your head?”
“It still aches. You know what the rain does to me, dear,” Mama said as she settled her hands upon the arm of her chair and pulled herself upright. “But I wanted to wait up for you nonetheless. Here, stand near the fire so I can see you better.”
“I’m a bit worse for the wear,” Kate said, though she dutifully crossed the floor to reach the corona of light that encircled the fireplace. “After so many hours, these hairpins have made my head ache terribly.”
“You look just lovely,” Mama crooned as she pushed herself up from her chair and crossed the room herself to embrace Kate. “I do wish I could have been down to see you off.”
“Only see me off?” Kate asked as she settled into the embrace and gave a sigh of relief as her mother began to gently pluck the pins free of her hair. “Mama, you’re meant to be chaperoning me.”
“Yes,” Mama sighed. “But I’ll admit the late nights are wearing upon me.
Lady Crewe is a perfectly acceptable chaperone.
And besides,” she added with a mischievous little wrinkle of her nose, “you’re still young, Katie—you ought to be allowed to enjoy yourself a little.
To be around friends your own age, instead of dancing attendance upon me. ”
“I’m twenty-seven, Mama,” Kate laughed as she pulled away and turned to let Mama tug the remaining pins from her hair. “And I like having you around.”
“Still,” Mama said, “if our circumstances had been different, you would have been married by now. Perhaps I’d be a grandmother already.”
“Married!” Kate blurted out. “Mama—”
“And just look at you now.” Mama squeezed her shoulders gently.
“Your father would have been so pleased and so proud. I am ever so grateful to Lord Elliot for this opportunity for you to see just a bit more of the world. To make new friends, and to have gained a social circle beyond just our sheep and your poor old mother. Even if you choose to come back to the countryside—”
Kate startled at this, turning to glance over her shoulder, brow furrowed in confusion. “Why would I not come back?” she asked.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Mama said softly as she plucked the last pin from Kate’s hair. “Perhaps I sense something of a change in you already. And the world does have its ways of subverting our expectations. Who knows what might happen? You could find yourself falling in love.”
Falling in love. What a mad proposition! “I’m not here for that,” she said as she cast her gaze back toward the banking fire. Amidst the curling flames, the embers glowed in a soft, gentle rhythm. Like the beating of a heart—or perhaps the steps of a waltz. “I’m here to help Elliot find love.”
“Two birds, one stone,” Mama said laconically. “Who is to say you couldn’t achieve both?”
A clatter of china and a hacking cough disturbed the quiet. Hodges had slipped into the room with the tea tray, but a sudden coughing fit had resulted in a less-than-subtle delivery. “Your tea, ladies,” he managed to say gruffly, tugging at his cravat as if it had begun to strangle him.
“My goodness, Hodges,” Kate said. “Are you quite well?”
“Fine. Just fine,” the poor man squeaked, though he had developed a twitchy, fidgety look, his cheeks flushing a ruddy hue.
Kate reached for the teapot. “Let me pour you a cup of tea at least—”
“No need; no need.” He waved her away, still coughing into the cup of his hand as he attempted a bow and began to back toward the door. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Yes, of course. Good evening, Hodges.” Kate strove to keep the frown from her face that wanted to settle there. The man had done nothing wrong, after all, but somehow he had just looked…guilty. “How very odd.”
“As you said, it’s past midnight,” Mama said, as she settled once more into the chair she had vacated.
“Probably he wants only to find his bed. But if he hasn’t recovered from his cough in the morning, I have got an excellent recipe for a tonic.
Pour me a cup, won’t you, Katie? And tell me about your first ball. Did you dance?”
“Yes, a little,” Kate said as she poured. “Not every dance. But a few reels. A quadrille.”
“A waltz?”
“Yes; with Elliot.” Kate found a chair of her own and smoothed out her skirts as she sat.
“And I didn’t even step on his toes.” Strangely, it hadn’t even been difficult.
That faux waltz out in the garden had done the trick; she had found the rhythm of the dance at last, when she hadn’t managed it in all the days they had practiced.
The simple act of standing on his feet and feeling the steps through him had done it.
Mama selected a lump of sugar with the tongs and dropped it into her tea. “Was there…anyone you would dance with again?”
Elliot. Kate felt a strange heat climbing into her cheeks at the intrusive thought. “I’m not certain,” she said as she sipped her tea. “I didn’t feel—they weren’t—”
She wouldn’t have wanted to waltz in the moonlight with them.
The thought struck not her head, but her heart.
Like a forceful blow from a sharp-tipped weapon, driving deeper by the second and carving out a brutal wound.
Her heart ached with a fierce and quiet pain, the sort of pain that could only be borne in silence, in the wretched camouflage of a smile.
The sort of pain that could only be weathered because there was no simple cure for it.
Oh, no. Oh, no.
“Kate, your teacup!”
The warning came too late. Kate gave a ragged little gasp as hot tea poured from her tilted teacup into her lap, soaking through the delicate silk of her skirt and the petticoats beneath.
“Oh—oh, how clumsy of me,” she said as she leapt to her feet to set her cup aside and snatched up a napkin to blot at the wet stain left behind.
“Have you burned yourself?” Mama asked, worry in her voice.
“No, no. Just embarrassed myself.” At least now she had a ready excuse for her scarlet cheeks.
“The tea wasn’t so hot as that, Mama,” Kate said, the words coming so quickly it was as if they tripped over one another on their way out.
Drat. Probably she’d stained the skirt irreparably.
Kate swallowed back a sigh as she tossed down the napkin once more.
“I’m sorry, Mama, I’m just beyond exhausted.
Would you mind terribly if I went up to bed? ”
“Not at all, dear,” Mama said, her voice thick with confusion. “We’ll speak more in the morning, then?”
“Of course,” Kate said, pausing to buss a kiss to Mama’s cheek on her way to the door.
Hopefully, by the time morning came, she would have had enough time to invent answers to whichever questions Mama might have—as well enough time and rest to convince herself that the answers which had sprung immediately to mind were only fanciful concoctions of an overtired brain.
∞∞∞
Elliot tapped his fingertips against the surface of the table, only too aware of the intense, awkward silence that had persisted well beyond Richard’s arrival at their club.
A silence Richard made no effort of his own to break, instead choosing to let Elliot wriggle through it like a fish caught upon a hook.
Several days had passed since the ball, and Rebecca had made it plain enough at their last meeting that she was nurturing something of a grudge against him for the worry he had put her through over Kate’s reputation.
And Richard, devoted husband that he was, had cast his lot in with his wife, positioning himself firmly upon her side of this petty squabble and carrying her grudges for her.
Happily, whatever lingering annoyance which Rebecca harbored toward him had not extended itself to Kate. The two women—and Kate’s mother—had gone on a number of daytime outings since. Outings on which Elliot had not been invited, much to his chagrin.
But perhaps Rebecca’s rather frosty attitude had finally begun to thaw.
Richard had elected, at last, to accept Elliot’s invitation to join him at their club.
Now Elliot had only to find out how deeply ran their current of irritation.
A task which would have to be managed with finesse, with subtlety, with no small amount of delicacy…
“I was thinking the theatre tomorrow evening,” Elliot blurted out. Blast.
“Were you?” Richard asked dryly, with the sardonic lift of one dark brow.