Chapter 4
Kate
Afootman loaded Kate’s trunks as she enjoyed the brisk air before facing the cramped carriage ride to London.
Despite her mother’s disappointment that there would be no immediate wedding, both her parents had been surprisingly supportive of Kate’s decision to court James before agreeing to marriage.
She fiddled with the drawstrings of her reticule as James approached along the drive atop a tall black stallion, riding with the ease of a man accustomed to hard riding and long days in the saddle.
When he caught her watching him, she turned away, pretending to be captivated by the thicket of trees beyond the drive.
Confident, unhurried steps approached from behind, and even if she had not seen him arrive, she would know it was James. His presence reached her, warm and quiet, before the sound of his voice. He was far too close for her peace of mind, and it troubled her how easily he could unbalance her.
A shadow fell across her as his breath brushed her ear. “Those trees are rather fascinating, aren’t they?”
It was impossible to think clearly with him standing just behind her. “I find them interesting,” she said, her tone light. “And far less provoking than other things one might observe.” She gave him a pointed look over her shoulder.
“Interesting, are they? You used to say the same thing about the fencing lessons I took with Hugh,” he said, facing her now. “If memory serves, you didn’t miss a single match.”
James folded his arms across his chest, waiting. His teasing was familiar, but his smile was strained.
“I can assure you, it was only idle curiosity about the sport that compelled my attendance,” she said airily. “Though I was often so bored that I nearly fell asleep.” She feigned a small yawn.
“Is that so?” His head cocked to the side. “Then my memory must be playing tricks on me, because I recall a young lady who leaned forward with interest while watching my bouts, but never did the same with Hugh’s.”
He’d noticed? That was . . . terribly inconvenient. She lifted her chin, unwilling to let him have the last word. “You imagine a great deal.”
“Lately, yes.” He drew the words out, low and deliberate. She forgot to breathe.
Footsteps on the gravel behind them broke the moment.
James moved back at the sight of her parents approaching, making the intimate distance they had just shared all too obvious.
He offered her his arm, and as they walked toward the carriage, he leaned down, the scent of worn leather and something decidedly masculine filling the air.
“Perhaps Hugh and I should have a rematch while we are in London. I am curious to see if I can still hold your attention.”
They reached the carriage before she could respond, and Kate hoped he could not see her flush.
James assisted her into the carriage, deft and sure.
She folded her hands in her lap to still them.
The echo of his touch lingered along her fingers.
Through the window, she watched him mount his horse and scan the road ahead.
It was for the best that James rode on horseback with her father. With Mother and the two ladies’ maids filling the carriage, there was no room beside her in any case and no chance of private conversation. Not that she wanted one.
Sitting near him in the confined space would not aid her attempts to keep her childhood infatuation in the past precisely where it belonged.
She needed to concentrate on everything that lay ahead.
Had she made the right decision in asking James for a courtship instead of refusing him outright?
A flicker of doubt stirred and would not be quieted.
As the carriage rumbled down the drive and onto the main road, Kate pulled her new volume of poetry from her reticule.
Her plan to spend the journey annotating the newest addition to her collection quickly proved a futile endeavor, however.
Instead, she spent the better part of the trip unsuccessfully diverting her mother from wedding gowns and guest lists.
Watching the barren countryside blur past the window while her mother chatted on, Kate reflected on how much had changed since her first Season.
Mourning for her grandfather and a subsequent lingering illness had kept her away from Town for two years.
Her parents remained unconcerned because her future had long been assumed.
For Kate, the dresses and dinner parties that had once excited her no longer held the same allure.
Now, weightier concerns crowded her mind, leaving little room for worries over an out-of-fashion gown or a misstep in a dance.
By the time the fading daylight gave way to evening and the carriage wheels finally clattered over cobblestone streets, Kate was thoroughly exhausted.
She placed the unopened book back in her reticule and closed it with finality.
The thick London air, filled with heavy smoke and fog, perfectly reflected her sour mood as they pulled up to their town house on Brook Street.
She was the first one to descend from the carriage and excused herself from dinner, claiming a headache.
All she wanted was a moment to herself, away from the disquiet surrounding every interaction with James.
A place where no one would mention the word wedding.
After a day of rest following their arrival, she rose early, eager not to waste another hour now that she was in Town. Her fingers tapped out a rhythm on her leg as Tess pinned her hair in a simple yet elegant arrangement to match her lavender day dress.
She made her way to the morning room, knowing her father would be there and grateful that her mother was certain to sleep late.
Kate had no wish to spend her day repeating conversations from the carriage.
Guilt at lying to her parents—to everyone—pressed in, sharper now that she was closer to the work she had come here to do.
Her father lowered his newspaper as she entered. “Good morning, Kate. I trust you are fully recovered from the journey?”
“Yes, remarkably so.” She moved to the sideboard, selecting a few honey cakes and some toast with marmalade before taking a seat near him at the table.
Her father smiled, knowing how much she disliked close quarters, and slid his copy of The Morning Post to her before picking up the missive in front of him. This had been their morning tradition long enough that she no longer needed to ask. She was grateful he did not question why she wanted it.
She scanned the columns with practiced indifference, finding comfort in the familiar, acrid scent of newsprint and the smudges of ink it left behind on her hands.
A shipping notice at the bottom of the advertisements caught her eye.
Its wording was slightly off, but after a quick study, she found it was simply an ordinary notice.
Disappointment pricked, and she forced herself to turn the page.
No matter. She did not give up so easily.
She found the poetry section and scanned for the seemingly innocent words that had haunted the column of late: oak and snake.
A standard reader would glance right past them, but to Kate, the irregular phrasing practically shouted from the page.
These messages had appeared harmless at first but had grown increasingly insistent, their tone darkening with every new print.
Each message was more urgent than the last, as if a storm were gathering.
Someone was submitting them. Someone in London. And for the first time, she was close enough to follow the trail.
A crunch told her she had gripped her toast so hard the remaining slice had been reduced to a pile of crumbs. Brushing her hands on her napkin, she turned to the window. The clouds were beginning to part, promising a break from the constant rain.
She bade farewell to her father before he left to attend to his parliamentary duties and then hurried to change into a walking dress.
With a maid at her side, no one could question the propriety of her early morning walk to Hyde Park.
As most of society was still abed, it would be the ideal place to clear her thoughts.
She and Tess skirted around a puddle in the path, and she pulled her pelisse tight around her as they walked farther into the park.
A few acquaintances passed by with greetings, but she did not slow down long enough to talk to them.
Kate did not want to answer their questions.
She was aware that society gossip often speculated why the daughter of a marquess was yet unwed at the age of one and twenty.
Many assumed that she was simply waiting for James, and perhaps that had once been true.
But now she had other reasons for delaying marriage, to James or any other man.
She had involved herself in something no proper lady would ever do. Marriage would likely mean giving up the part of her life that she had chosen for herself, the part that made her feel alive.
She was not afraid of love, but she would not give her heart to a man until she knew he could be trusted not to confine her, diminish her, or shape her into something smaller than she was.
Despite her lingering attraction to him, James was no exception, and she could not let her feelings for him deepen.
She would not risk a broken heart. She doubted he would accept her double life, and she would need every day of the five weeks they had agreed upon to decipher the real Lord Brenton.
Allowing him to call her Kate had been unwise, perhaps, but she had not been able to resist the quiet thrill of hearing her name on his lips.
It felt like a thread connecting what they had once been with what they might become.
Calling him James would be different. That level of familiarity felt too much like an invitation, one she was not ready to give him yet.