Julia London (13 page)

Kate said nothing, merely nodded.

The next day, she awoke feeling old and used up. But she forced herself out of bed and to wash and comb her hair, as today was the final meeting of the Ladies Auxiliary before the Southbridge Charity Auction Ball, their main event each year. Kate had little heart for it but forced herself to dress in a bright yellow day gown, hoping it might cheer her.

She left for the church early, to be away from Papa’s prying eyes.

The ladies began to trickle in shortly before noon. Was it her imagination, or did some of them greet her a little coolly? None of them offered to help her set the table where they would gather, but then again, Kate reminded herself, they rarely did. She was imagining things. Mrs. Biddlesly was an old woman who had several bats in her belfry. No one else believed she was a strumpet.

So Kate went about her business alone, scarcely hearing the ladies’ chatter and trying to ignore any whispering, even when it seemed so loud as to be deafening to her.

Mrs. Forsythe and Miss Forsythe were the last to arrive, and Kate smiled as they walked in the door, called her greeting. Mrs. Forsythe did not seem to hear her, even though Kate was only a few feet away.

It was Miss Forsythe who garnered everyone’s attention, however, with the news apparently making the rounds of the
ton.
News Kate had not heard.

“Ah, there she is, the belle of the ball!” Lady Bristol cried happily. “Now don’t be coy, Miss Forsythe, but tell us, will you, if you are considering his offer?”

Miss Forsythe blushed prettily and looked demurely at her mother.

“Lady Bristol, we mustn’t speak of any offer, as one has not yet been made,” Mrs. Forsythe said, but a smile was playing at the corners of her thin lips.

“Honestly, Mrs. Forsythe!” Lady Cheevers scolded her. “You are among friends here! We
know
no offer has been made, for certainly you would have crowed it like a rooster the moment you walked through the door!”

That remark prompted a laugh from the other ladies, and even Mrs. Forsythe laughed a little.

“It’s all about the town,” Lady Cheevers cheerfully continued. “It is a matter of when, not
if,
” she said authoritatively. “A man in his position would not allow it to go so far as this if it weren’t true.”

“Oh dear, I can’t be so sure as
that,
” Miss Forsythe said nervously, and the ladies rushed to assure her that a rumor of this magnitude would not have been repeated were it not true.

Kate’s heart began to pound. She recalled Darien saying that there was some speculation that he would offer for a debutante, and had dismissed it as if it were ridiculous. Why should she doubt him? But after a few more minutes of the ladies gushing over Miss Forsythe, Kate cleared her throat and interjected shakily, “I beg your pardon, but I’ve not heard. . . . Who is it that seeks your hand, Miss Forsythe?”

Lady Cheevers and Mrs. Forsythe glared at her. The other ladies looked around the room. One might have thought she’d just announced she was having an illicit affair with the archbishop.

“I can’t say as anyone seeks my hand, really,” Miss Forsythe said kindly. “It’s all a bit of speculation. But I suppose there are a
few
signs that would indicate—”

“A
few
signs?” Lady Bristol cackled. “My dear Miss Forsythe, a gentleman does not seek your particular company in a public park, or at a public church meeting, or certainly not at a public ball, and then tend to you as carefully as he did when you fainted, if it’s merely speculation. The viscount intends very well to offer for you!”

“Not to mention the things he has said to her,” Mrs. Forsythe said proudly. “Privately, that is.”

A viscount. Now Kate’s heart was in her throat. She managed a smile for Miss Forsythe, who was looking at her curiously. Kate nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “How wonderful for you, Miss Forsythe,” she managed to say. “Pray tell, which fortunate gentleman holds you in such high esteem?”

Miss Forsythe gave her a strange, ugly little smile, and said, “Have you truly not heard, Mrs. Becket? It’s been remarked for a fortnight now. It’s Lord Montgomery.”

It felt as if the ground buckled beneath her feet. Kate reached for a chair and slid into it while she tried to keep smiling and tried to keep from sobbing or gasping or crying out to the heavens. “How marvelous for him,” she said unevenly. “He’d have quite a catch, were he to offer.”

“Yes,” Miss Forsythe said, taking a step toward her. “Wouldn’t he?” But then she whirled around to the other ladies. “I mean to say, it would be marvelous if he truly esteemed me in that way.”

Once again, they all hastened to assure her that he did, and that his imminent offer would certainly come at the Southbridge Charity Auction Ball. One of them vowed that Lady Southbridge had said, in fact, that she had it on very good authority that was precisely where he intended to make his offer, in grand fashion, just as they used to do in the olden days.

How Kate managed to endure that luncheon was quite beyond her comprehension. She could not look at the fair Miss Forsythe and not see that it was true. Of
course
he would offer for her—it made perfect sense. The girl came with a respectable dowry, was properly credentialed in the eyes of the
ton,
was the perfect wife in every way for a man of his stature. She was a vicar’s poor widow. And when he’d said he should always keep her near, he meant something entirely different than a legitimate offer of marriage.

How pathetically foolish she had been to believe otherwise! He’d wanted beneath her skirts, that was all! He’d seen a widow and had acted upon his male instincts, just as Lord Connery hoped to do. And even though she could believe that Montgomery did indeed esteem her in some way, it was clear to her that he’d never intended to have more than what she had so freely given him, and more the bloody fool that made her, for she was not a young miss. She understood the way of men and women, yet had chosen to believe her silly, childish fantasies!

Her bloody heart felt as if it had been crushed to tiny pieces.

 

 

At the end of the Ladies Auxiliary meeting, Emily watched Mrs. Becket clear the cake plates. She moved lethargically, as if she had been dealt a tremendous blow. It was strange, Emily thought, as she gathered her gloves and reticule, that it did not bring her the pleasure she had imagined. It seemed as if the woman had been mortally wounded, and she imagined how the vicar might find her Sunday morning, sprawled in the church’s kitchen, an arrow through her heart, the very life bled out of her.

The image was so strong that as she walked down the street, lost in thought, her mother mistook her silence for fretting, and put her arm around Emily, drawing her in close to her side. “You mustn’t fret, Daughter,” she whispered reassuringly. “Lady Cheevers is quite right. The rumor never would have carried so far if there were not some truth to it. It was obvious to all in attendance at the May Day Ball that he held you in highest esteem. Lady Southbridge said he looked after you quite lovingly.”

Only because she had told Lady Southbridge that he had.

“Now when your father returns from the country, he’ll pay a call to Montgomery and determine what he’s about.”

A knot formed in her belly; Emily looked down at her feet.

“There, now,” her mother said again. “Your father is quite adept at this sort of thing. I’d wager by the time he leaves Lord Montgomery’s study, his lordship will wonder why he waited so long to make an offer for the fair Emily Forsythe, mark me.”

Unless, of course, his esteem of her had been manufactured and planted in her mother’s head, just as it had been deviously planted in every feminine head among the
ton.

But then again, Emily thought brightly, perhaps the gems of gossip she had left behind in all those drawing rooms might somehow work together to convince Lord Montgomery that he did, in fact, esteem her as he ought. Perhaps, when her father called, he’d be begin to see it, and if not, her father would help him to see it. She imagined Montgomery imagining her walking through a field of flowers, a garland in her hair, and resisting the urge to run to wherever she might be at that moment.

She lifted her head, smiled at her mother.

“Ah, there’s my darling! The world is a much brighter place when you smile, Emily. I am quite certain that Lord Montgomery noticed it instantly the night you came out. I recall that he watched you very closely the entire evening of your debut,” she said, and seemed firmly convinced of it.

Perhaps, then, Emily thought as she marched alongside her mother, her plan wasn’t so very far-flung after all. Perhaps she had only aided the inevitable.

By the time Sunday morning rolled around, Darien was feeling a bit frantic. He’d not been successful at seeing Kate since the day of the picnic. His calls to her house were rebuffed by her father, who said she was, alternately, ill, indisposed, then ill, then indisposed.

He could not begin to understand why she might be avoiding him. The afternoon they had spent in the old boathouse had been the most blissful of all his days on this earth, and he was at a loss to understand how she couldn’t feel at least a bit of that, too.

Naturally, he imagined all manner of things—she regretted their lovemaking (but what living, breathing adult could regret that fantastic experience?); she had been found out by her father (but the chap seemed rather cheerful, all in all); or that she was truly ill (but she had been the picture of health).

Nothing made sense.

One thing Darien knew in all certainty—she’d not miss church services, and that morning, he donned his finest clothes and strode to church quite early. So early, in fact, he arrived before the vicar.

As the other parishioners began to arrive, he stood on the church steps, watching closely for Kate, greeting friends and acquaintances rather gruffly so that he’d not be engaged in some lengthy conversation and miss her slipping by.

His best friend, Freddie, found his behavior insupportable. “I’m not in the habit of remarking on your bad manners, my lord,” he said with a sniff, “but that was the prime minister you just cut.”

“I have no doubt that the prime minister will recover from any perceived slights,” Darien said, scanning the crowd.

“What in the devil has you so wrought?” Freddie demanded. “I’ve not seen you this way in all the years we’ve known each other!”

Darien said nothing but managed more of a smile for the Forsythes as they climbed the church steps toward him.

Freddie followed the direction of his smile and laughed. “Aha! I should have known that the rumors are true, eh, Montgomery? You’ve set your heart on a female, have you?”

“W-what?” Darien stammered and jerked his gaze to Freddie; his first awful thought that Freddie somehow knew about Kate. “What did you say?”

Freddie laughed again and clapped him soundly on the shoulder. “You needn’t be coy with me, my friend. You are, after all, quite human, and therefore, it stands to reason that even
you,
a confirmed and steadfast bachelor, might find happiness with a budding debutante. I daresay you’ve chosen one of the comelier ones. Dear God, there were some frightfully ugly ones in this year’s crop, but I’ve quite admired this one myself.”

It took a moment for Darien to understand what Freddie was saying, then found it incredulous that his oldest and dearest friend could possibly believe that a man of his years and experience would be smitten by a mere child such as Miss Forsythe.

“My lord!” Mr. Forsythe called.

Darien forced himself to turn and greet the Forsythes cordially, and as he did so, he couldn’t help but look long and hard at Miss Forsythe. He supposed she was pleasant enough, but she could not have been more than seventeen, perhaps eighteen years of age. She blushed furiously when he looked at her, and clasped her hands tightly together while her beaming mother proudly looked on, and her father herded the family inside.