Follow the Heart (25 page)

The cavernous space surrounded them and soared above. Christopher spent most of the time with his head tilted back, marveling at the feat of engineering he had the privilege of witnessing.

“The building was designed in segments,” Paxton explained, “each based on the structure of a
Victoria amazonia
—a water lily.”

“The design is not what we are here to discuss.” One of the committeemen stepped forward, arms crossed. “You still have not proven to us that the structure is sound, that the vibrations from the noise of thousands of people will not cause the glass to shatter.”

“Ah, yes. Just so. Follow me, please.”

Christopher trailed along behind, still fascinated with the idea of being a tadpole in a pond looking up at the underside of a lily pad.

A shouted command brought his attention back down to ground level. The soldiers came out of formation and climbed the nearest stairs, half to the north gallery and half to the south gallery. Standing in the middle of the transept, Christopher had a clear view of the balconies that looked down over the main floor on both sides of the building.

The soldiers stomped along the upper walkways, talking, shouting, laughing as they went. The noise grew and echoed. They banged the butts of their rifles against the iron railings and supports. After several minutes of this, when not a vibration was to be seen or felt in the structure, their commander shouted more commands. On each side, the soldiers fell into formation and began marching, their feet banging against the wooden floorboards as hard as possible. Even the syncopated thrumming of so many boots falling together could not get the glass and iron to tremble.

Christopher raised his hands to applaud when the commander called his soldiers to a halt, but no one else seemed willing to give Paxton such an accolade, so he dropped his hands.

Paxton turned to face the committee, triumph gleaming from his smile. Grudgingly, they admitted his demonstration to be a success, and many excused themselves to return to their other duties in town.

Prior to leaving, three of the men invited Christopher to visit their offices before he returned to Oxford. His heart, still pounding from the excitement of the demonstration, threatened to leap from his chest.

Exiting the Crystal Palace, Christopher walked backward, shielding his eyes from the misty rain. Even with water dripping down the panes of glass, no other building could be more beautiful.

Reluctant to leave, he climbed up into the hackney cab and continued to look at the marvel until the coach turned onto the road and trees blocked the view.

“Congratulations.” Andrew wiped his face with a large muslin handkerchief. “I heard two of the men ask you to call on them about the possibility of a position.”

“Three.” He told Andrew the names. “What do you know of them?”

The rest of the drive back to Sir Anthony’s house in the West End was spent with Andrew telling Christopher everything he knew about the men and the railways in which they held interest.

If Christopher could get a good position with one of them, perhaps that would be enough for him to be able to secure the attentions of a wealthy young woman—and her father’s approval for them to marry. The men he met today might even have daughters in need of husbands. If he impressed their fathers with his hard work and intelligence, he might be allowed to marry one of their daughters.

Nora’s golden-brown eyes and demure smile flashed through his mind, but he brushed the image aside. No matter how much he wanted to see if his future happiness lay with the Buchanans’ governess, he must and would do whatever necessary to protect his sister and family. And the first step would be securing employment as soon as possible.

C
HAPTER
E
IGHTEEN

N
ora breathed deeply of the early spring air. The desire to spread her arms and spin around like a top, the way she’d done as a child, overwhelmed the dignity of being a twenty-six-year-old spinster. So she allowed herself two full turns—but only after looking around to make certain no one would witness it. She had two glorious hours to call her own while Florie took her riding lesson, and she intended to spend all of the time outside chasing the rays of sunshine that managed to break through the clouds every so often.

Whenever she heard voices, she diverted her path, wishing to avoid a reprimand from Miss Buchanan for being seen by their guests. Even though the rumors of Nora’s desire to seduce Sir Anthony into marrying her had died down after almost five years and no shocking engagement announcement, Edith Buchanan still seemed to consider the gossip a possibility and vented her spleen on Nora every time the opportunity presented itself. So Nora had learned not to give her the opportunity.

She hoped the gardeners would not mind the flowers she picked along the way. They would brighten up the schoolroom and bring the reminder of the afternoon inside to linger a while longer once she and Florie returned to lessons.

Checking the broach watch—a gift from Mrs. Timperleigh when Nora left for Wakesdown—she sighed and returned to the house. She needed time to find a container for the flowers and to change her shoes.

Just inside the orangery door, she used the boot scraper to get as much of the mud from her boots as she could. Noises from inside made her stop, setting her foot softly on the stone floor. Recognizing Miss Buchanan’s voice, Nora’s skin tingled in alarm. Though no one else in the family minded if she came and went through the main entrances, Miss Buchanan would have her fired if she knew Nora had entered through the orangery rather than the kitchens.

She was about to sneak out again when a male voice gave her pause. Not Sir Anthony, but he sounded familiar. As quietly as she could, Nora edged through the orangery to one of the windows looking into the conservatory.

Lord Thynne stood near the sitting area in center of the room, arms folded across his chest. His frown drew his mouth into a tight line, and his brows hooded his pale eyes. Thankfully, Miss Buchanan had her back to the window. But Nora could hear her clearly. And what she heard made her stomach twist and chest burn with the desire to contradict the black-haired beauty.

Instead, she sneaked out of the orangery and broke into a trot around the house to reenter through the kitchens. Three maids looked at her through the windows between hallway and laundry room. The pretty blonde one came to the door.

“Miss Woodriff? What ails you?”

“Athena—oh, I am so happy to see you. Where is Miss Dearing?” Nora held on to the maid’s forearm so she could concentrate on catching her breath.

Athena’s eyes grew wide. “She’s in her room. Why? What has happened? It isn’t her brother, is it?”

“No, no nothing like that. Just something I need to tell her. Something that . . . oh, never mind. What room is she in?”

Athena told her how to get to Kate’s suite. “Are you certain everything is all right? Should I take up tea or compresses?”

“No. No. But you might want to check in on Miss Dearing in half an hour to see if she needs anything.” Pressing her hand to the stitch in her side, Nora gulped a few breaths, then hurried up the back stairs to the family wing of the house. She counted doors and stopped in front of the fifth. After another pause to catch her breath, she knocked.

“Come in.”

Nora entered a bedroom larger than the schoolroom. She supposed it was fitting that the room chosen for Kate Dearing would be one in which the walls and furniture were covered with flowers. But Nora found it overwhelming and blinked a few times against the visual onslaught.

“Nora, what brings you to my room?” Kate stood from the small writing table, quill pen still in hand.

“I am sorry to interrupt you, but I just heard something that I thought you needed to know.” Nora’s lungs fought against her corset’s confinement, and she concentrated on trying to regulate her breathing.

“Please, sit down.” Kate indicated the second wooden chair at the table. She poured a glass of water from the pitcher beside her bed and handed it to Nora. “You look completely done in.”

Nora sipped the water, then set the glass aside. “I was down in the orangery moments ago, and I overheard Miss Buchanan talking with Lord Thynne.”

Kate slowly sank onto her chair.

“My mother would tan me if she knew I was carrying secrets, but you are the first person in a long time who has been friendly to me, and I want to return the favor.” She took another sip of water. “Miss Buchanan told Lord Thynne that you are . . . that you and Christopher are . . .” She squirmed at the memory of how Edith phrased it. “She told him you are poor relations come to marry money, and that he should be cautious lest he be caught unawares and end up losing his fortune to . . . a money-grubber and her family.” Nora rushed out the last bit, as if speed could make it less insulting.

“I see.” Kate ran her fingertips along the edge of the stationery she’d been writing on. “And what did Lord Thynne say in reply?”

“He said nothing, but he looked quite upset.” Nora reached across the table and covered Kate’s hand with hers. “I am terribly sorry to tell you this, but I thought you should know so you might be prepared.”

Kate nodded, not looking up. “Are you very disappointed in me, Nora?”

That was what had her so concerned? The idea that
Nora
might be upset by hearing about the Dearings’ financial status? “Miss Dearing . . . Kate . . . I have known about your family’s situation from before the time you arrived. Miss Florie told me everything.”

Kate looked up, moisture glittering in her eyes. “But you do not find me ridiculous for putting on airs and trying to act like a member of an aristocratic family rather than being honest and revealing myself as someone with fewer prospects and less education than you?”

A wave of homesickness for her family took Nora by surprise. She wanted to protect Kate the way she’d always tried to protect her younger siblings. “From our conversations, I cannot believe that the female seminary you attended was not just as good or better than Mrs. Timperleigh’s. As far as prospects”—she cocked her head and gave Kate a tentative smile—“I have written Mrs. Timperleigh about you and the botany lessons you have been giving Miss Florie. I believe that if you do not find a husband, Mrs. Timperleigh would consider hiring you as a teacher.”

Kate folded the finished letter and tucked it into the writing box along with the one to Maud and the girls she’d put aside when Nora left a little while ago.

“Miss Dearing?” Athena hovered in the doorway.

“Am I late for tea?” Kate turned to look at the painted porcelain clock on the mantel. No, only four o’clock. She turned back to Athena.

“No, ma’am. I just wanted . . . I saw Miss Woodriff downstairs earlier, and she said I should check on you.”

Bless Nora for her kind heart, and Athena for worrying about her. “As you can see, I am quite well, thank you.”

“Is there anything I can bring you, miss?” Athena stopped ringing her hands and smoothed them down her apron.

“No. But I have changed my mind about what I want to wear to dinner tonight.”

Athena joined her in the dressing room, and the maid touched the lace hanging from the sleeve of the yellow silk gown that had been set out for the evening. When Miss Bainbridge pulled it out of the trunk, she’d laughed at the aghast expression on Kate’s face, explaining that Edith had ordered it made. In addition to the jabot of red silk roses dripping down the bodice of the gown, each of the four flounces of the skirt featured rows of the silk flowers at the hem.

Bypassing the gaudy creation, Kate rummaged through the hanging dresses and pulled out the silk with the lace overlay, along with its evening bodice. “I will wear this tonight, rather than make a spectacle of myself in that.”

Athena’s pursed lips twisted to the side. “But . . . it’s too plain. It looks almost like a mourning gown, with the purple under black lace.”

“I know. But this is what I want to wear. Take that one”—she waved toward the yellow monstrosity—“and get rid of it. Keep it if you like, sell it—or sneak it into Edith’s dressing room.”

Laughing, Athena disappeared with the gown. She reappeared moments later to make Kate presentable for tea. She eradicated the few loose strands of hair that had escaped the sweep back to the cluster of rolled curls pinned to the back of Kate’s head. They’d go through this process again in another couple of hours, after Athena helped Kate into the dinner gown.

Kate sighed. If she married money, this would be her life—teas and dinners, house parties and seasons in London, hairdressing and changing clothes. The future stretched out in front of her in a long, boring succession of activities she found irksome.

Once assured that Kate’s hair would not fall loose in the next thirty minutes, Athena curtsied her exit. Kate returned to her desk and dashed off a note to Christopher, telling him of Edith’s treachery and wishing him well in his appointments with the men he’d met at the Crystal Palace.

At five, she reluctantly went downstairs to join the others for tea. But when she arrived, the female guests sat in the room, a sense of forlorn abandonment hanging about them.