Follow the Heart (5 page)

Athena approached the bed and pointed to a long, narrow strip of tapestry cloth with a gold silk tassel hanging from the end. “From now on, you just give this a yank and I’ll know when you’re up and ready for your breakfast.”

“Ready for my . . . ?” Kate’s gaze followed the maid back to the table in front of an enormous paned window.

Athena turned. “Do you want to have it in bed or sitting here?”

Except for when she was too ill to move, Kate had never been indulged with taking breakfast in bed. In fact, she had rarely taken breakfast alone in her room in her night clothes rather than downstairs with the rest of the family. “I’ll sit at the table, thank you.” She reached for the dressing gown draped across the foot of the bed and pulled it on before sliding off the high bed. Shivering, she slipped her feet into the bed shoes Ada, the middle of her three younger half sisters, had embroidered for her Christmas present.

“I’ve stoked the fire, miss, so it should be toasty here soon enough.” Athena indicated the chair closest to the hearth that surrounded a fireplace so large, Kate’s entire bedstead at home would have fit into it.

Everything about Wakesdown Manor seemed oversized. And Kate had never felt more insignificant in her life.

She choked down the food without tasting it as Athena bustled about the room, making the bed, adding more wood to the sluggish fire, and straightening the toiletries Kate had left scattered on the vanity last night as she’d pulled them out of her valise in the search for her sleeping gown.

“Shall I unpack your trunk for you, Miss Dearing?” Athena stood at the end of the bed, hands folded at her waist—though the position of inactivity seemed unfamiliar to her.

“No, I—” Kate closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
When in Rome . . .
“Yes, Athena, I would appreciate that.”

Athena seemed pleased by Kate’s change of heart—and to have something to busy her hands with.

“How long have you worked here, Athena?” Kate leaned against the oval cushion on the back of the chair and sipped the dark tea. She preferred coffee in the morning, but this tea was almost as strong.

“Me, miss? I started here as a between maid when I was thirteen.” Athena pulled one of Kate’s gowns out of the tissue paper layered between them and shook it out.

“A between maid?”

“Working either in the kitchens or house as needed. Then a parlor maid, and now a chambermaid. Though, with you here, now I’m acting as a lady’s maid. That’s rising pretty smartly through the ranks in ten years, my ma would say.” Athena spread the dress on the freshly made bed and reached for another.

“Do your parents live nearby?”

Athena had a soft, tinkling laugh that made Kate feel close to laughing for the first time in days—no, weeks. “Oh, no, miss. Ma’s a lady’s maid for a countess over in Ipswich. My pa’s the butler for a viscount in Norwich.”

Kate poured another cup of tea, frowning. “Is everyone in your family a—” She couldn’t bring herself to say
servant
, feeling the word would somehow devalue Athena and her family.

“In service? Oh, aye, miss. Me, and my two brothers as well. Ma and Pa used to work in the same house—that’s how they managed to marry and have the three of us. But then the old baron died, and the heir sent all of his uncle’s servants away so he could bring in his own people. We all had to take work wherever we could.”

Kate had so many more questions, but asking how much the maid earned and how hard it was to get a position in a large household like this would probably be better kept for another day—once she’d gotten to know Athena better and knew if she could trust her to keep her confidences. For, if worse came to worst, Kate could always try to find work.

“This one should do quite nicely.” Athena held up a dark purple afternoon gown. “Yes, I believe you will look quite fine in it when receiving callers, miss.”

Kate dragged her mind out of the mire of worry about her family’s financial problems. “Callers?”

“Yes. There’s many hereabouts who will want to come by and see the newly arrived Americans. And though Miss Buchanan will turn most of them away, there may be one or two she will want to see, so you’d best be prepared.”

After a quick sojourn behind the dressing screen with a washcloth and the basin of water Athena had heated beside the fire, Kate allowed herself to be corseted and dressed by a young woman who was, in Kate’s estimation, better off than Kate herself. At least Athena knew what her future held—and that she had a way of earning her own living. Marrying money was a much riskier prospect.

After being layered into her undergarments, Kate sat at the vanity and tried to feign interest as Athena chattered about her family and their places of service while she brushed, twirled, and pinned Kate’s hair.

“Beautiful hair you have, miss. The color of copper.” Athena smoothed the wings that swept down to cover the tops of Kate’s ears before pulling up again into the cluster of ringlets she’d arranged at the back of Kate’s head.

“Thank you, Athena.” The hairstyle was much fancier than the braids Kate usually wore pinned in a thick coil between her crown and nape. But, again, she reminded herself that things were done differently here.

Athena helped her into the gown, remarking on the exquisite lace collar, the fine stitching of the gathers of the full skirt, and the beautiful slope of Kate’s shoulders, emphasized by the dropped seams of the bell sleeves. Kate adjusted the chiffon undersleeves so the cuffs hit the base of her hand.

“You look right pretty, miss.” Athena turned her toward the freestanding mirror near the dressing screen.

Kate tried to judge herself objectively, but turned away from the mirror with the lingering impression of a very plain girl trying too hard to look beautiful.

“It looks to be a pretty day today—sun’s out and last week’s snow is gone. Perhaps after calls, you might want to take a walk in the gardens.” Athena picked up the dresses from the bed, draping one after the other over her long, slim arm.

“The gardens?” Kate’s heart lifted. Yes, outside, in nature. That was where she would find solace, comfort, and peace. “I think that would be lovely.”

“Then I’ll have your coat and winter boots ready for you, miss.” Athena headed toward the door with Kate’s wardrobe wrapped in her arms. “I’ll take these downstairs now to be pressed.”

“Thank you again, Athena.” She followed the maid toward the door.

“No need to thank me, miss.” Athena opened the door and started down the hallway, then paused and turned back toward Kate. “If you’ll take the main stairs down that way”—she pointed the opposite direction from where she’d been headed—“you’ll find yourself in the entry hall. The drawing room is directly opposite the foot of the stairs. That’s where you’ll find Miss Buchanan.”

“Thank you, Athena.”

Athena grinned and shook her head but didn’t tell Kate not to thank her this time.

Not wanting to draw attention to herself, Kate stayed on the soft toes of her shoes, to keep the clack of the heels from echoing down the wide stone staircase. At the bottom of the stairs, the entry hall ceiling soared above her and the room spread out, looking twice as large as it had in the shadowy candlelight last night.

Kate stopped in the center of the hall and drew a deep breath—as deep as she could with how tight Athena had pulled her corset. She closed her eyes and pictured herself in her garden in the middle of the spring bloom. Calm crept in like ivy and wrapped around the worries and fears that had taken root the last six weeks. She wasn’t certain what her future held, only that she would never find a husband if she continued on in the withdrawn and sulking manner she’d exhibited since learning of the family’s financial ruin.

Raising her chin and forcing herself to smile, she crossed to the double doorway directly opposite the foot of the stairs.

The drawing room reminded Kate of the enormous lobby of the hotel in New York where she, Christopher, and Father had stayed the night before boarding the ship. She clung to the thin vines of calmness and continued into the room, with only a small hesitation in her gait.

The two black-haired young ladies she’d met last night sat in the seating cluster near one of the two fireplaces in the room, along with two women in bonnets and shawls.

“And here is our cousin, Miss Dearing.” Miss Buchanan’s voice rose above the soft din of conversation.

Kate stopped when the two visitors turned to gape at her. She curtsied and folded her hands at her waist, proud of herself for not wringing them.

Miss Buchanan made the introduction of the two women—one the wife of an important local squire and the other the wife of a dean at the university in Oxford. Kate repeated their names to herself as she took the empty chair beside her cousin. Panic overtook her. She’d committed her cousins’ names to memory in preparation, but now faced with two of them, she couldn’t remember what name went with which cousin. She could call the older of the two “Miss Buchanan,” but what was the middle sister’s name? Perhaps one of the guests would say it before Kate would have to betray her biggest social weakness.

During the voyage over, Kate had prepared herself for the rapid-fire questions that now came her way. Who was her family? What was life like in Philadelphia? Did they still have trouble with the Indians? Had she known what a train was before arriving in England? Had she ever seen a modern city like Liverpool or Oxford before? Did she think she’d ever be able to return to so primitive a place as Philadelphia once she had experienced life in Oxford?

“I did not get to see much of the city last night, as it was very late when the train arrived.” Kate ran a finger down a deep fold in her soft wool skirt. “I understand that it is much smaller than Philadelphia, so it might take me some time to get used to living in more of a rural setting.”

From the way the squire’s wife’s lips disappeared, she did not like to think of Oxford as rural. Kate hid her amusement. She would be cautious and not shame her cousins by insulting Oxford . . . or England. But she would not sit here and let anyone belittle her beloved Philadelphia by assuming it was primitive.

The two visitors turned their attention back to the Buchanan sisters—effectively ignoring Kate, which she much preferred.

She stood when the two visitors took their leave. As soon as they disappeared through the wide doorway, the middle Buchanan sister took hold of Kate’s arm.

Kate’s heart pounded, but she steeled herself for the coming reprimand and vowed she would not betray any emotion other than remorse.

“Rural?” A furtive smile brought a sparkle to the young woman’s pale blue eyes. “Well met, Cousin Katharine. I would not have sat there so long as you did and listened to those women insult my homeland that way. They know Philadelphia is not out in the middle of the wilderness—as we all do.”

The middle sister—oh, what was her name?—flinched when the elder cleared her throat. Kate turned in time to see the withering glare Miss Buchanan gave her sister.

The sister dipped her head and slunk back to the sofa, where she picked up her embroidery without a further word.

“While I understand no one wants to hear ill spoken of their home, unfortunately, those two women hold sway with a great many others in their social circle—low though it may be—and we do not want them spreading the word that you are impertinent.” Miss Buchanan glanced at her sister. “Do we, Dorcas?”

“No, Edith, we don’t.”

The tension in Kate’s shoulders eased. “I do apologize, Miss Buchanan—Miss Dorcas. I meant no harm. I would never want to do anything that would—oh, this is terrible.”

Edith adjusted the fire screen and then picked up a book from the small table beside her chair. “Do not worry about today’s interview, Katharine. You will have many more opportunities to establish that you are not an impertinent, uncivilized American.”

Even though several years older than Edith, Kate suddenly felt like an eighteen-year-old debutante once again, and vowed to keep her opinions to herself. Desperate to rectify her error—and to chip away at the ice hanging in the air between them—she searched her mind for a neutral topic of conversation. “I do not believe I have yet told you that we met your former governess on the voyage from New York.”

Edith looked up from the pages she flipped through too fast to have been reading them. “Which governess? I had five before my fifteenth year.”

As soon as her cousin asked, the woman’s name slipped from Kate’s mind. Something that started with an H. Maybe a J? “She . . . she said she had care of you until you were three years old.”

“Ah. Miss Chatman. She left us to marry a merchant. Name of Headington, or some such. I believe my father has maintained contact with her over the years.” And with that, Edith returned her attention to the book she wasn’t reading.

Kate tried to engage Dorcas in conversation, but the young woman, just home from finishing school, seemed leery of opening her mouth in her sister’s presence. So Kate sighed and explored the room while they waited for another visitor.

During the next two calls, Kate kept her opinions and wit to herself, offering no more than general information and pleasant nothings to add to the conversation.

After the final callers left, Dorcas and Edith excused themselves. Kate returned to her room for her cloak, bonnet, and stout boots and escaped to the beckoning sunlight outside. The only door she knew of was the front. The footman who opened it for her bowed, but not before she glimpsed the curiosity in his eyes.

The gardens would most likely be behind the house. And just walking around the house proved a great task. Finally, she found a gap in the tall shrub row she’d been following and entered the garden. The gravel path split to go around a fallow fountain, and Kate took the right fork.

The footpath led her into a setting that reminded her of Fairmount Park in Philadelphia, though this park had the misfortune of too much attention from shears and clippers.

Farther down the path, Kate saw something that made her forget the last few hours. A gloriously overgrown boxwood bush, bright green against the winter browns surrounding it, lay on its side, ignominiously uprooted.