Chapter Twenty Four
The day had dawned dreary, and Kate had dragged herself down to breakfast after a mostly sleepless night without much enthusiasm for the task.
The cheval glass in her room had revealed a wretched and haggard appearance.
The perfect curls of evening last had become knotted and tangled from a night spent tossing and turning.
Her eyes were red, swollen, and bloodshot, with circles so dark beneath them that they looked bruised.
She looked a fright, and felt it besides.
Mama would certainly think her to be ill. Perhaps even at death’s very door.
The dining room was empty when she arrived, but Mrs. Norris was quick to enter from the kitchen with a plate of fresh pastries, which she set upon the table alongside a selection of other breakfast dishes.
“Poor dear,” Mrs. Norris clucked kindly as she beheld Kate’s rather bedraggled appearance. “I’ll fetch you a pot of tea. You look as though you could use it.”
Yes, she certainly could. The tea, at least, had a prayer of staying down, though she doubted that much of the rest would do the same.
Nevertheless, Mrs. Norris had gone to a great deal of effort to prepare a proper breakfast, and pretending to have enjoyed it was the least Kate could do.
“Has Mama been down?” Kate asked as she selected a pastry to place upon her plate and set about tearing it into bite-sized pieces with her fingers.
“She took a light breakfast in her room,” Mrs. Norris replied. “Said she had a bit of the headache. The weather, you know, dear.”
Through the window, the murky grey clouds roiled above the rooftops with the threat of rain hanging heavy within them. Probably Mama would be abed for several more hours still, if indeed she felt well enough to rise today at all.
It would make the day a rather lonely one, but it would also grant Kate a blessed few hours at least to pull herself into some sort of order, and to invent some manner of excuse which would necessitate a swift return to the countryside.
London had lost all its luster in one single evening, in one fell swoop.
She had cried her heart out evening last, and it hadn’t been enough. It still felt as though there was an unspent sob held back, caught behind her ribs. But at least in the midst of venting the grief that felt too large for one heart, one body, to contain, she had reached a conclusion.
It was time to go back home. Back to Northampton, where she belonged.
She had, after all, done exactly what Elliot had asked of her and identified to him the lady most likely to win his heart.
But she didn’t have to stay here to witness it.
She didn’t have to stay and watch their courtship unfold across the remainder of the Season.
And she certainly didn’t intend to sit quietly while Elliot stumbled through some manner of apology that she neither wanted nor needed.
Some things, she thought, were best left unsaid.
Forever, lest the humiliation of it all kill her where she sat.
In time the painful memory would fade. In time, she would build up a wall around her damaged heart, and perhaps that inevitable future he’d dreamed up for himself would be robbed of its ability to wound further.
In time, perhaps their friendship could return to what it once had been. A portion of it, at least.
She forced a smile to her face as Mrs. Norris returned with the teapot she’d offered, though by the sympathetic look the woman had given her, she did not think it had been particularly convincing.
Cradling her cup of tea in both hands in an effort to warm her cold fingers, she took a bracing sip—and paused, as the sound of conversation from the foyer drifted to her ears.
“Is he all right? Shall I summon a doctor?” Hodges’ voice, which dripped with concern.
“I am a doctor,” came the dry reply. “And he’s well enough. Can’t you hear him snoring?”
“Yes, of course,” Hodges answered, though a note of perplexity lingered. “Forgive me. I simply never imagined he’d stay there all night. Shall I have him brought in?”
“God, no.” A dismissive snort. “Whatever my rogue of a brother has done to find himself banished from the house, I have no doubt but that he’s earned it.
Let him stay where he is. If he’s of a mind, he can return to his own lodgings when he wakes.
” The sound of footsteps approaching the dining room. “Has Mrs. Norris got a pot of tea on?”
“Breakfast was served not ten minutes ago,” Hodges replied.
“Breakfast? Well. I thought I’d count myself lucky enough to help myself to a piece of toast or two, as Devon is not presently in town.
But breakfast—” The words fell into a flat silence as the footsteps stopped at the doorway, and Kate found herself face-to-face with Andrew Holbrook, the middle of the three brothers.
The same golden blond hair as Elliot’s, though it had gone far past a fashionable length.
His jaw was squarer, his eyes an icy blue rather than the honeyed brown of either of his brothers.
His thick gold brows leapt toward his hairline at the sight of her, and just as quickly descended once again to knit in confusion.
“Kate?” he asked. “Whatever are you doing here?”
From behind him, Hodges cleared his throat. “Miss Littlefield and her mother are invited guests of His Grace for the Season,” he said.
“Ah,” Andrew said, and stalked toward the table to pull out a chair. “I suppose breakfast is for your benefit, then. I don’t suppose you would mind if I were to help myself to a bit of it, would you? Mrs. Norris does damn fine pastries.”
Kate shook her head, retreating behind the rim of her teacup.
“It’s just me this morning,” she said. “There’s far too much to eat on my own.
” Though by the way he piled sausages, scoops of egg, and pastries besides upon his plate, she thought he stood a fair chance of demolishing most of it himself. “You came just for breakfast?”
Andrew averted his gaze to his plate, his fingers clenching upon his fork.
“My housekeeper deserted me two days ago,” he said.
“I haven’t had a decent meal since. But I’ve an appointment on this side of town this morning, and I thought I’d nip in beforehand and see if Mrs. Norris had got anything for me.
” He did seem rather ravenous, as he polished off a pastry in only three bites.
“Now,” he said, as he reached for another.
“Perhaps you would like to tell me how you came to be in London, and why I was obliged to step over Elliot on my way in the door?”
It had been years since Kate had last seen Andrew, since his profession kept him largely in London. She had forgotten, somehow, how very blunt he could be.
Kate hid herself once more behind her tea cup, taking small, calming sips to soothe her throat, which had suddenly gone dry and scratchy. “Elliot asked me to help him choose a wife,” she said. “Surely you’ve heard that the duke set the whole of London society upon him? It’s been in all the papers.”
“Don’t much read the papers,” he said. “Haven’t got the time for it at present.” That vivid blue gaze sharpened upon her. “And Elliot would be sleeping on the front steps because…?”
“You’d have to ask him.”
Andrew gave a huff of disapproval. “I’d only ask Elliot anything if I happened to be in the mood for theatrics. He should have been an actor, he’s got such a damned flair for drama. But you,” he said, as he carved off a bite of sausage. “You’ve always been reasonable. Sensible. Grounded.”
She didn’t feel very grounded. She felt uprooted. Perhaps it had begun the very moment they’d arrived in London; a slow-increasing tilt that had plucked her roots straight from the firm soil in which they had always been entrenched. Perhaps she would collapse entirely before much longer.
“So,” Andrew said, “since I’d much prefer a straight answer, I’m asking you.”
Without thought, Kate swept all the ruined bits of her pastry to one side of the plate, forming them into a neat pile. “Is it really so much to ask to be allowed to enjoy my breakfast in peace?”
“Probably it wouldn’t be,” he said dryly, “if you were enjoying it, which you plainly are not. In fact, you don’t look as if you’ve enjoyed much just recently. You look like hell, Kate, and that’s the damned truth.”
Her fork dropped to her plate with a magnificent clatter as a flash of fury swept over her. “You’d look like hell, too, if you’d had the sort of night I did!”
Silence descended in a deafening wave. Andrew had reeled backward against his chair as if the screech Kate had issued might as well have been a fist she had flung out at him. His brows shot up once more, disappearing beneath the shaggy fringe of his bangs.
She had shouted at him—the duke’s brother—in his family home.
At a table that was far more his than ever it could be hers.
While enjoying his family’s hospitality.
And though she had long enjoyed a level of familiarity with Elliot that had certainly involved the occasional bit of shouting when it had been deserved, not only had Andrew not deserved it, but they had never been so close as to excuse that.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and that unspent sob lurched up her throat and out between the fingers with which she tried to stifle it. “I’m so very sorry, I—I don’t know what’s come over me.”
“The hell you don’t,” Andrew snorted, and he crammed one hand into his coat pocket to fish out a handkerchief. “Here,” he said, dangling it across the table to her. “Can’t abide tears.”