Destined to Last (5 page)

Kate didn’t want to dwell on the knowledge she
had
experienced a moment of irrational discontent at the idea of Mr. Hunter being friends with Lizzy. And that the discontent had nothing to do with the notion that a gentleman was not supposed to count a member of staff amongst his friends.

A silly rule, to Kate’s mind, but that unusual opinion stemmed from having been reared in the company of several outspoken and unusually democratic women. Had Mr. Hunter been also? Was that why he was so polite to Lizzy? He needn’t have been raised by women, of course. Men were just as capable of being democratic as women.

Lost in her thoughts, and absently tapping her finger against her skirts to the beat of a lovely violin concerto that had begun in her mind once they were inside, she followed Lizzy toward the front of the house.

Whatever Mr. Hunter’s political and social leanings, she still didn’t trust him. Because respectful to Lizzy or not, tousled hair or not, he was still a man of too much polish and charm who took pleasure in discomforting her. And if she didn’t trust him, then she shouldn’t trust her curiosity with him, nor her reaction to his dark gaze and…

The concerto faltered, slowing in tempo. Something hard nudged her hip, and she looked down just in time to see a vase go toppling from a side table she’d just bumped into. She reached for it with both hands, but it was Lizzy who caught it.

“Oh, dear,” Kate whispered as Lizzy calmly replaced the vase. “Oh, thank you, Lizzy.”

“Nothing to it.”

“There would have been a great deal to it if it had broken and Mother caught wind.” After a year of extensive deportment lessons had failed to curb the worst of Kate’s clumsiness, Lady Thurston had given up any hope that her only daughter might display the grace the only daughter of a countess really ought. But that wouldn’t stop her from lecturing over a host’s broken vase.

“I do wish Lord Brentworth would keep his windows open,” Kate sighed.

“So you can hear the waves?” Lizzy guessed. She was one of the few people who knew of the music that sometimes danced about in Kate’s head, and the only other person who knew of the sea’s ability to silence it. Given Lizzy’s loose tongue, it was something of a mystery as to how she’d managed to keep the secret for more than ten years.

Kate nodded and sighed as they resumed their walk down the hall.

Lizzy brushed at a bit of dust on her apron. “Well, we can keep the windows ajar in your room, anyway. And mine, as it’s connected. That should help—”

“You needn’t keep yours open unless you want them open, Lizzy.”

“I don’t mind.”

“It isn’t a matter of minding. It’s a matter of what you would prefer.”

“I’d prefer you not knock anything over in either of our rooms,” Lizzy said dryly.

Kate liked to think she would have come up with a very clever retort to that comment, but before she was given the opportunity to try, they reached the end of the hall leading to the foyer. The front door was open, and though a maid was blocking Kate’s view of whoever was on the other side, she caught the sound of a familiar and very unwelcome highpitched titter.

Oh, no.

She and Lizzy stopped in their tracks. The maid shifted and Kate saw a flash of elaborately coiffed blonde hair.

Oh,
no.

The maid stepped aside and admitted one Miss Mary Jane Willory.

Kate felt her jaw fall open at the sight.
“Oh, no.”

Next to her, Lizzy made a small noise in the back of her throat. If Kate hadn’t known better, she would have sworn it was a growl.

Though she would feel a little ashamed for it later, instinct made her grab Lizzy’s arm and drag her back into the hall, out of sight of the front door.

Mouth pressed into a grim line, she stared around the corner at the petite young woman turned out in an insufferably tidy gown of white. Kate scowled at the woman and the gown.
Her
lavender traveling gown had been wrinkled from hem to neck and sporting several large stains by the time she’d arrived at Pallton House. Not exactly the most pressing issue at present, but annoying nonetheless.

Miss Willory moved aside to allow an elderly woman through the door behind her. Her chaperone, Kate imagined. A widowed aunt or distant spinster cousin or some other poor soul marked for punishment. Which was, again, not the most pressing issue.

She shook her head in bafflement. “What on earth is Miss Willory doing here?”

And why on earth did Miss Willory look so delighted about it? The woman was still tittering. Miss Willory was not the sort of young lady who tittered with delight to be attending Lord Brentworth’s house party, unless…Unless there was someone in attendance she very much wished to see.

Oh, Kate
dearly
hoped that someone wished to see her back. And that the someone was Baron Comrie from Edinburough. How much more pleasant would life be were Miss
Willory to become Lady Comrie and spend the remainder of her days comfortably tucked away in Scotland. Kate had a difficult time imagining Miss Willory
wanting
to be tucked away in Scotland, but the woman did want wealth and a title, and after six seasons searching for them, and with people beginning to smirk a bit at her advancing age, she might just be—if Kate was very lucky—desperate enough to seize them from an unsuspecting Scotsman. Or maybe not, Kate mused, maybe she’d come with the hopes of luring the handsome young Mr. Potsbottom into her web and…No, no, Mr. Potsbottom had pockets to let, and if the rumors were true, the Willory family’s extravagant tastes had put them in their own financial straits. Miss Willory was in search of a fortune. It must be the baron.

Lizzy plucked at her sleeve. “Lady Kate?”

Kate craned her neck to watch as Miss Willory imperiously ordered the staff to take special care with her trunks. “What is it?”

“We can’t stand here all day.”

Kate turned her head. “Do
you
want to go out there?”

“I’d rather eat slugs. A bucketful. But your mother is expecting you for tea.” With her head poking over Kate’s left shoulder, Lizzy pointed at a door on the other side of Miss Willory. “In that parlor.”

Kate swallowed a groan. “Is there another way in, do you suppose?”

“Through the window.”

“I’d like to retain some pride, thank you.”

“Bit late, if you ask me.”

Kate grimaced. “I suppose we can’t dally here forever.”

“Dallying,” Lizzy repeated. “Is that what we’re doing?”

No, they were hiding, but Kate didn’t feel like admitting to that out loud. It wasn’t that she was afraid of Miss Willory, not in the least. But spending time in the woman’s company was, in fact, very much like eating slugs. Unlikely to cause
harm, but unpleasant enough to justify taking extensive measures to avoid the experience.

Kate watched as Miss Willory and her chaperone were ushered into the parlor.
Blast
, there went any hope that the woman would retire to her room after her long journey. And stay there for the duration of the party.

To her complete shock, Mr. Hunter’s dark head quite suddenly peered over her right shoulder. “What are we looking at?”

K
ate jumped and spun around at the sound of Mr. Hunter’s voice. In retrospect, it might have been a better choice to stay as she’d been, peering around the corner of the hall, because jumping and spinning only resulted in her catching Lizzy in the side with her elbow, and then coming to a stop with the hard wall at her back and Mr. Hunter’s hard form not three inches from her nose. She
knew
his form was hard, because she’d caught him in the belly with her
other
elbow in the spinning process, and he hadn’t emitted so much as a grunt.

Her heart leapt up to lodge in her throat. The air backed up in her lungs. And both reactions, she assured herself, were from the surprise—they hadn’t a thing to do with his nearness. She blinked at his cravat for a second before slowly lifting her eyes to meet his.

The blighter had the nerve to grin down at her. “Startled you again, did I?”

Finding her breath once more, she wedged her arm between
them, placed the flat of her hand against his chest—his decidedly hard chest—and pushed him back a step.

“How long have you been standing here?” she demanded for the second time in less than a half hour.

He continued to grin. “Just long enough to wonder how long the two of you have been standing
there.
”

“We’ve not…”

“Three minutes, at least,” Lizzy supplied, rubbing at her ribs where Kate had elbowed her.

Kate swallowed a groan, along with the apology she’d been about to offer. “You really
are
incapable of keeping anything to yourself.”

Lizzy shrugged, clearly unrepentant. “I can if it’s asked of me.”

“What were you watching for the last three minutes?” Mr. Hunter inquired.

“Nothing.” Kate threw a hard look at Lizzy before continuing. “It really isn’t anything you need concern yourself over. I thought you were inspecting Mr. Abott’s mare.”

“Never said I’d inspect the mare, only said I’d look at it, which I have,” Hunter replied easily. “And I’m not quite so concerned by what you and Lizzy have been watching as I am intrigued.” He leaned a little to glance around the corner. “Was there a spot of mischief happening before I came along? A lover’s spat? An assignation?”

“An assignation?” she repeated, a bubble of laughter forming in her throat. “In the foyer?”

“It would certainly merit three minutes of staring.”

“We were not staring for three minutes.” At least two of them had been reserved for contemplation.

“It was closer to four, really,” Lizzy said with a sly smile for Kate. “You’ve still not asked me.”

“Lizzy,” Kate ground out, “would you please be so kind as to keep our business to yourself?”

“Certainly, though I don’t see why it need be secret.”

“Neither do I,” Mr. Hunter remarked.

“It’s not a secret, it’s…Oh, never mind.” She pushed at a lock of hair that had come loose when Mr. Hunter had startled her. “Lizzy, Mother’s waiting.”

Lizzy pulled a face. “Must I go?”

Kate hesitated, torn between desiring Lizzy’s reassuring presence in the parlor, and wanting Lizzy’s comfort. The latter won out fairly quickly, but she let the silence drag out a few extra seconds in retribution for Lizzy’s loose tongue. “If you’d rather not, I’m sure I can manage it on my own. Although—”

“Excellent. I’ll just be in my room, then.”

Kate sighed as Lizzy made a rapid escape down the hall. “So much for loyalty in the face of adversity.”

“You could have insisted she come,” Hunter pointed out.

“No reason for the both of us to be miserable,” she grumbled.

He bent his head to catch her eye. “What’s changed since I left you on the lawn?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, noticing for the first time that he’d smoothed the flyaway locks of his hair. She wondered if the man was vain, or just very neat.

“You were happy enough to go in for tea when I saw you last,” he explained. “What’s changed?”

She shook her head. “Nothing that warrants the waste of three perfectly good minutes.” She positively refused to admit it might have been closer to four.

He offered his arm and a reassuring smile. “Whatever it is, we’ll brave it together.”

She looked at his arm, then him. She couldn’t find a trace of arrogance in his dark eyes, nor teasing in his tone. “Are you offering to be my friend, Mr. Hunter?”

His expression didn’t change, but unless she was much mistaken, his voice softened a little. “Would you like me to be?”

Yes.

Kate bit back the instinctual reply. The man was too arrogant by half all ready. No reason to go adding to his vanity with instantaneous agreement simply because she was curious. And given the fractious nature of their encounters thus far, it might serve her well to think the offer through a bit before accepting. It might serve her
very
well if he knew she was thinking the offer through before accepting.

“Lady Kate?”

She held up a single finger and bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “A moment.”

He
was
clever and witty, both points in his favor. Whit seemed to think highly of him, which helped. Furthermore, he’d been willing to speak with her of rakes and debauchers and matters of business. He’d danced with Miss Heins, and he treated Lizzy with respect.

“Right.” She nodded once. “Yes. I would, I think.”

He dropped the arm she’d been rather surprised to see he was still holding up. “You needed that long to decide?”

She decided, in the interest of friendship, to hide her amusement at his disgruntled tone. “It really isn’t a decision one should make in haste.”

“It generally isn’t one that requires extensive deliberation either,” he said dryly.

“I found this to be an exceptional case.”

A spark of humor entered his dark eyes and he offered up his arm once more. “A man can do worse than be exceptional. If you’ve made up your mind, then?”

Kate didn’t square her shoulders before entering the parlor, but only because there was a chance Mr. Hunter would notice and comment. She did, however, immediately scan the room for a chair that would put the greatest possible distance between herself and Miss Willory. With that accomplished, she none too subtly attempted to steer Mr. Hunter in that direction.
A futile effort, as it turned out. Miss Willory was out of her seat and coming toward them, false smile in place, before Kate had taken more than two steps into the room.

“Lady Kate! Mr. Hunter! How marvelous to see you both.”

Even with her mother, that relentless champion of etiquette, looking on, Kate couldn’t manage a more polite greeting than a tight smile and a simple, “Miss Willory.”

Next to her, Hunter made a noise that sounded suspiciously like, “Ah.”

Miss Willory made a show of taking Kate’s free arm and pulling her away from Mr. Hunter. “Lady Kate, I’m so relieved to finally see you arrive for tea. Your mother was just saying that you’d been expected for some time. I was growing worried you’d met with a mishap.”

“I’m quite well, Miss Willory, thank you. I trust your journey was uneventful?”

There, that should please her mother. Or maybe not, Kate thought after a moment’s reflection. The dowager Lady Thurston wasn’t fond of Miss Willory either.

“Exceedingly,” Miss Willory replied with a dramatic sigh. “I vow, I nearly perished from boredom.”

“I am sorry to hear it.” She carefully pulled her arm free as they passed a small settee and she bent to place a kiss on her mother’s upturned cheek. “Afternoon, Mother. I’m sorry I’m late.”

Lady Thurston returned the gesture. She was a small woman with soft gray hair, cheerful rosy cheeks, gentle blue eyes, and a backbone constructed entirely of iron. “Quite all right, dear. Did you enjoy your stroll on the beach?”

“I did, very much. I—”

“You went to the beach?” Miss Willory cried. Her voice came out shy of hysterical, but not shy enough. Every head in the room turned in their direction. “You went
alone
?”

And so it begins, Kate thought, with a sigh. “Yes. I—”

“But what if you had fallen in?”

“I imagine I would have climbed back out again.” She’d been strolling on the beach, for pity’s sake, not sailing deep waters.

“But you might have drowned—”

“In a few inches of water?”

“Certainly the beach is safe enough for
most
, but
you
might have hit your head as you tumbled in, or tangled yourself in your skirts, or—”

“Miss Willory,” Lady Thurston cut in coolly. “Your concern is
noted.
” She let that word hang between them, countess to ambitious commoner, for a heartbeat before daintily reaching for her cup. “But it might be better served by allowing Kate to take her seat and drink her tea.”

“Of course,” Miss Willory fairly cooed. “How thoughtless of me. You
must
sit down and rest, dear. You can tell us all about your little adventure, and—”

“I’m afraid I promised to take my tea with Mr. Hunter,” Kate cut in. He’d told her to save him a seat, anyway, and that very nearly qualified as the same thing. She turned and gestured to where he was standing on the far side of the room, his hands clasped behind his back and a smile playing on his lips as he watched the exchange.

Miss Willory sniffed and smoothed her skirts. “You may suit yourself, of course.”

Kate felt a moment’s guilt at leaving her mother to deal with Miss Willory alone, but the excuse to leave had been made almost involuntarily. And there was nothing to be done about it now. Everyone in the room expected her to sit with Mr. Hunter. Conscious of being watched, Kate very carefully made her way across the room. If she stumbled, she would never forgive herself.

Mr. Hunter was still smiling when she arrived. “Should I be flattered you thought of me first,” he asked quietly as he led her to a seating arrangement by the window, “or worried how easily that lie tripped off your tongue?”

“Flattered,” she told him. “And it wasn’t a lie. It was an assumption. You asked me to save you a seat. Naturally, I assumed you wished to sit next to me.”

“Mostly I was afraid I’d be the only one left without a place to sit. Awkward for a man to stand about in a parlor, dainty little cup in his hand.”

“Oh, look,” one of the ladies suddenly exclaimed, pointing out the window to where a rider was coming up the drive. “It’s Lord Martin, isn’t it?”

“Come to see his father, the dear boy,” someone else commented.

“Come to see a certain lady is more likely the case,” someone else said softly.

Kate pretended not to hear, just as she pretended not to see several heads once again turn in her direction, and just as she pretended not to feel a small pang of disappointment as the rider drew close enough for her to be certain that it was indeed Lord Martin. It was silly of her to be disappointed. She’d known he might come, and he hadn’t done anything to make her uncomfortable in his presence…not lately.

Kate glanced at Miss Willory. Had
she
known Lord Martin would attend? It would certainly go a long way toward explaining her visit. An earl’s only son was a far better catch than a Scottish baron, provided the earl was wealthy and not too stingy in his allowance, or too sturdy in health, or unlikely to allow the match, or…perhaps it wasn’t Lord Martin.

She took one more look at the newcomer as he climbed down from his horse. He certainly was handsome—tall and fair-haired with soulful blue eyes, an aquiline nose, and the narrow waist and wide shoulders all the dandies strove for. She’d been disappointed to discover on the occasion of their first waltz that he obtained that appearance by the use of padding. The result of which was that his shoulders felt—as Mirabelle had once put it—rather squishy.

With a small smile at the memory, she turned away from the window to find Mr. Hunter watching her, his expression unreadable.

“Particular friend of yours?” he asked.

“I’ve known him most of my life.” She glanced back at Lord Martin as he carefully smoothed his blonde hair. “But no, he’s not a particular friend.”

“Kate, dear, look who arrived not two hours ago. You remember Mr. Laury, do you not?”

Kate turned her head at the sound of her mother’s voice. Lady Thurston stood before them with a tall, thin, and rather nervous looking young man at her side. He had light brown hair and intense, dark green eyes hidden behind spectacles.

“Yes, of course.” She’d spoken with Mr. Laury only a handful of times and just briefly on each occasion. But those short exchanges had been more than enough for her to discover Mr. Laury, although a very polite gentleman, had markedly little talent for conversation. He fidgeted, blushed, appeared to have difficulty forming whole sentences, and always cut the conversation short.

Kate wondered what her mother meant bringing him over in such an obvious fashion. Lady Thurston made no secret of her desire to see her only daughter wed, but she was generally much more subtle in her efforts. And the maneuver had clearly made poor Mr. Laury uncomfortable. The man was sweating a bit about the hairline.

As introductions and greetings were made, and Mr. Laury took a seat next to Mr. Hunter, Kate couldn’t help noting the difference between the two men. In contrast to Mr. Hunter’s large frame and confident bearing, Mr. Laury looked rather like a frightened schoolboy.

Lady Thurston took her own seat and gave Kate a pointed look. “Mr. Laury has just returned from an extended stay in Stockholm. He was fortunate enough to attend one of Baroness Cederström’s salons.”

“Oh.” Kate scooted forward in her chair. That put her mother’s maneuverings in a whole new light. Christina Cederström was an artist and composer who had managed to obtain considerable recognition for her work. “I’m a great admirer of hers. I should dearly love to attend one of her salons. What was it like?”

Mr. Laury cleared his throat, twice. “Quite nice. Quite nice.”

“I imagine it was.” She imagined “nice” was a pitiful understatement. The woman was an honorary member of the Royal Swedish Academy of Arts and the Académie des Beaux-Arts in France. While such success was not entirely unheard of, neither was it commonplace. Certainly not for a woman. In Kate’s opinion, meeting the baroness would be the experience of a lifetime. “Were any of her musical pieces played?”