Follow the Heart (29 page)

“I know I do.” Kate sighed and wiped excess moisture from the corners of her eyes. “I will eventually write to him. But . . . I can’t bring myself to do it yet.” She looked up at Christopher, blue eyes imploring. “I’m not ready to forgive him yet, or to ask his forgiveness for what I said.”

So she couldn’t see how her pain affected him, Christopher pulled his sister into his arms and kissed the top of her head before pressing his cheek there. “I will write to Father and tell him of Lord Thynne’s intention to propose. By the time the letter reaches him, I imagine your betrothal will be official.” Christopher had also exchanged heated, accusatory words with their parent. But he would do as his sister asked—and he would explain to their father exactly what Kate was sacrificing to pay for his mistake.

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY

K
ate had never needed to escape as badly as she did now, knowing Stephen planned to propose marriage to her at any time. She rode to the train station with Christopher Tuesday morning, but rather than returning to Wakesdown immediately, she asked the driver to take her around Oxford.

The university was beautiful beyond her imagining, as was the Thames, which ran through town. This would not be an unpleasant place to live the rest of her life, would it?

On the way back to the country road leading to Wakesdown, the driver took her down the narrow street containing Caddy Bainbridge’s seamstress shop. If Kate were a viscountess, she could patronize people like Miss Bainbridge, helping their businesses grow and flourish, just like her flowers back home.

And she imagined Stephen would allow her to have any kind of garden she desired.

She would start with a well-manicured, orderly elliptical.

Pressing her thumb and forefinger to the inside corners of her eyes, Kate stopped that line of thinking. Stephen Brightwell would give her everything she wanted . . . except for the racing heart and shortness of breath that afflicted her every time she thought about Andrew Lawton.

As soon as she entered the house, the butler handed Kate a note.

Miss Dearing,

I have ridden to Greymere this morning while you were seeing your brother off at the train. I will likely not return until dinner. Until then—

S.

Kate crumpled the paper in relief and hurried upstairs to change into her walking boots. The gusty breezes were a bit chilly, and a solid canopy of gray hid the sky, but she needed to get outside and walk. For the past two weeks, she had not been able to set foot outside the house without Stephen at her side and Athena or one of the other maids trailing along behind as a chaperone, so she had not been able to fully enjoy the earliest of the buds and blooms.

She didn’t think about where she would go, but simply started walking. She stopped only when she reached a very familiar place.

The dirt over the hole where the shrub had been dug up no longer looked freshly turned, but it would be weeks yet before it was warm enough for the grass to reclaim the spot.

At the sound of footsteps behind her, she groaned, then turned around with a plastered-on smile. But the person who stood behind her wasn’t Stephen.

“Andrew.”

He shifted the rolls of paper in his arms. “Kate.”

Oh, how she wanted to rush to him, to throw her arms around his neck and kiss him until she could think of nothing else. “Was your journey to London successful?”

“It was. I have no doubt you enjoyed the guests and the dinners and . . . other activities.” His voice sounded as strained as hers felt, and the skin over his square jaw twitched.

“I did. Though I was not able to get out and walk as much as I wanted.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “Andrew, I wish—”

“I understand that you especially enjoyed Lord Thynne’s company while I was gone.” There was that twitch in his cheeks again.

She rested her left arm across her abdomen and propped her right hand on her waist. “As there was no one else who wished to be with me, yes, I spent time in his company.”

Andrew’s lower jaw moved as if his tongue wrestled with the words he wanted to say. “How could you do it? How could you move on to the next man as if nothing happened between us? Did what we shared in the folly mean nothing to you?”

Apparently honesty won over civility. “But we agreed—”

“I know we agreed.” His voice deepened into a gruff growl, his words becoming more clipped and angry. “But that does not change my feelings for you.”

Despite the thrilling tingle running up the back of her neck, Kate held firm to her decision. “Andrew, do you have any family?”

“My father died when I was a small child, my mother when I was twelve.” His jaw tightened and cheeks pulled taut, hiding his dimples.

“Then there is no way you can understand the choice I am faced with. I must secure my family’s future by marrying a man with money.”

“By this time tomorrow, Christopher will have employment.”

“And it will no doubt pay him a wage that would be enough for him to live on. But not a family of seven. Not in a house large enough to hold all of us.”

Andrew’s expression squinted into repugnance. “Please show me the respect of honesty. I think I deserve at least that much.”

Stung by the accusatory tone, Kate took a step back. “What are you talking about?”

“You’re afraid.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“You’re afraid to marry someone like me, a working man, because it would mean you would have to give up all of this—a big house, servants to do your bidding, carriages and jewels and seamstresses. You would have to keep house, cook and clean, save money instead of spending it. And you would be shunned from society.” The tubes of paper in his arms bent and folded at the pressure he exerted on them. “You use your family as an excuse, as a shield to hide behind so that you do not have to give up the luxuries you live for.”

Heat prickled up and down Kate’s body, and her breathing quickened. “And you are one of the most selfish men I have ever known. If you had any family, you would understand the meaning of love—the meaning of sacrifice. But you live only for yourself, for your own pleasure, doing what you will without having to take anyone else into consideration. In fact, you are so selfish that you are angry with me for finding someone who admires me, who is willing to take care of my family, simply because you wanted me to sit here for two weeks pining for you instead of doing what was necessary to ensure the security of those I love.”

She marched past him, but whirled a few feet down the path. “You have a lot to learn about what it means to love someone, Andrew Lawton.”

With every ounce of poise she could scrape together, Kate returned to her room. She locked the door before sinking onto the bed, burying her face in her pillow, and weeping until her broken heart had no more tears to release.

Andrew threw himself into his work over the next ten days, grabbing a spade and digging alongside the undergardeners and the day laborers hired on to help with construction and planting. His goal was to work so hard all day that he fell into a deep sleep as soon as he put his head on the pillow at night.

It didn’t work, though. No matter how much he exhausted himself physically, as soon as he closed his eyes at night, he could see Kate’s hurt expression, hear her voice, see her lithe figure.

Then he would picture her in church—not the small Wakesdown parish but the large, elegant cathedral in Oxford—standing at the altar, marrying Lord Thynne.

And then he would get out of the bed and spend the majority of the night pacing, calling himself every word he could think of for fool. A selfish, angry fool.

The Buchanans were to hold another ball, their farewell to their houseguests and to the country. For next week, they were to leave for London.

The only good thing about Kate’s removal to London was that Andrew would no longer have to try to avoid her in the gardens where he, once or twice, had watched her from behind the foliage of a hedgerow or flowering tree or bush.

His pride tried to keep him from drawing the plans he’d promised Lord Thynne. If the viscount found them acceptable and hired him, how would he be able to work at Greymere when Kate was mistress there? But he could not pass up the opportunity for a job as lucrative as this might be.

A note arrived from Lord Thynne to set a time to view the plans, which spurred Andrew to finish them. On the day the viscount chose, Andrew entered the house through the kitchens, rather than taking the shorter route through the orangery and conservatory lest he risk seeing Kate. Outside Sir Anthony’s study, Andrew straightened his waistcoat and neck cloth, then knocked.

“Come in,” Sir Anthony called.

The baronet cleared the papers he and Lord Thynne had been looking at and invited Andrew to spread his plans out on the desk. Then he headed toward the study door.

“Will you not stay, Sir Anthony?” Lord Thynne suggested. “I value your opinion and experience.”

Andrew almost sighed in relief when Sir Anthony returned to the desk. Lord Thynne’s thinly veiled comments back in Andrew’s cottage had left him with no doubt the viscount knew of his attraction toward Kate. With her uncle in the room, Andrew doubted Thynne would mention it again. And the baronet’s presence would help keep Andrew from accidentally admitting that most of the designs had been done with Kate’s pleasure and preferences in mind, not Lord Thynne’s.

Two hours later, Andrew rolled up the annotated plans so he could finalize them, and Lord Thynne promised to have a contract drawn up by his solicitor—with agreement on both sides that it would not be signed until Andrew completed his work at Wakesdown to Sir Anthony’s satisfaction.

“When we next meet,” Lord Thynne said, “I would like for Miss Dearing to be present.”

Andrew felt as if someone had slammed him across the stomach with a shovel.

“As she is to be Lady Thynne, I want her opinion on the design before I make a final decision.” Thynne’s pale eyes stared unflinchingly at Andrew.

Andrew clearly understood both the command and the threat in the look—he was to stay away from Kate or risk his career being ruined. “Very good, my lord.” Andrew inclined his head and left the study with as much dignity as he could muster.

The rest of the day did not go well. A letter arrived from Christopher, detailing how a landscape architect was desperately needed by the railway company and suggesting Andrew contact Baron Wolverton about it. But not even that could brighten Andrew’s mood.

He’d planted his garden. Now he must tend what grew from it.

For someone very nearly engaged to a viscount, Kate Dearing did not act like a happy bride-to-be.

Nora watched her friend from the doorway into the orangery—the place they’d agreed to meet each afternoon so Kate could pass Christopher’s letters to her. When she didn’t think anyone was watching her, Kate allowed her true emotions to show. And those emotions hung about her in a melancholic cloak. She strolled the aisles formed by the tables and larger planters, occasionally stopping to smell a flower or to run her finger along a feathery or spiky edge of a leaf or petal. And she almost always ended up standing longest beside the purple asters.

Enough was enough. Nora cleared her throat and strode forward. Kate knew Nora’s biggest secret; it was time for Nora to know Kate’s.

Nora strode into the room, pretending more confidence than she possessed.

Kate’s demeanor changed as soon as she heard Nora’s footfalls. Her mouth curved up in a welcoming smile, and her eyes softened. She pulled a letter from her pocket. “I never knew my brother to be such an excellent correspondent. You bring out the best in him.”

Nora brushed aside her own pleasure. Taking the letter, she tucked it under the cuff of her left sleeve to be read in the privacy of her room later. “Kate, I am concerned about you.”

The pretense at surprise almost came across as genuine. “Why, whatever do you mean?” Kate started pulling the petals off an aster bloom.

“I’ve seen you when you think no one is watching. I know that you are unhappy. I would like to know why. I wish you felt you could confide in me.”