Anne Barbour (18 page)

“You mean that set you bought in Canterbury right after you got out of the hospital? You can’t be serious! You look like an underprivileged footman in that outfit. Besides, it probably doesn’t fit anymore. You’ve filled out some in the last couple of weeks.”

David sighed in defeat and watched gloomily as his friend and his half brother wrangled over breeches, pantaloons, shirts, handkerchiefs, and cravats.

In a few moments, his thoughts, as they had for the past two days, shifted back to his verbal attack on Kate. He should be pleased with himself, he thought grimly. He had accomplished his goal of setting Kate apart from him permanently. Oh, she had disputed his confession, but her demeanor when she hastened from the room had indicated her deep disturbance at his revelations. A little reflection on her part, he was sure, would serve to disabuse her of any remnants of her affection.

But, God, how he missed her already. Without her laughter and their shared confidences, the day was just so many hours to get through before he could lose himself again in the oblivion of sleep. How was he to get through the rest of his life? To be sure, she would not live at Westerly indefinitely. She would marry—probably within a year or two, once she achieved her majority and moved into her own establishment in London. Then, surely, he would be free of his desire for her.

He looked up suddenly, and with coating material draped across his shoulders, and a tailor busy at him with chalk and pins, David realized that he would never be free of Kate Millbank because he was hopelessly, irretrievably, and permanently in love with her.

For a moment, he simply stood in appalled silence, oblivious to the murmuring of the tailor, and the increasingly fractious stream of advice issuing from his two counselors. How could he have been so stupid as to let this happen? How could he have been such a fool that he did not realize the inevitability of loving her? During all the years of his absence from Westerly, he had thought of Kate as a little sister. He had blindly assumed that he would continue doing so. Though, he should have known the moment he felt his heart catch as she descended the stairs that first evening, dressed in that clinging silk gown, her hair a glorious blaze in the candlelight.

He contemplated the emptiness of the years ahead of him. Years of mouthing friendly commonplaces to her. Years of longing to put his lips against the brightness of that hair and on the curved softness of her lips. A wayward notion flickered in his brain for an instant. Was there a chance that in time Kate might cease to think of him as friend and confidante—that she might come to think of him as...? You fool, he thought savagely, and the idea died aborning.

Why should Kate, who undoubtedly could have any man who brightened her eye, choose him, an impecunious peer with a debt-ridden estate? More importantly, how could she possibly think of an alliance with the man responsible for her brother’s death?

There was also the all-too-real possibility that she had already given her heart to Lawrence. He could feel his insides curl at the idea. She had assured him she had no interest in his half brother, yet look at the way she had hurled herself in a protective frenzy over Lawrence’s prostrate body the other day after that painful confrontation in the stable yard. He winced at the memory of the hurt her seemingly instinctive gesture had contributed to the anguish inflicted by Lawrence’s jibes.

Added to these stark ruminations was the underlying conviction that Kate was bound to interpret any lover-like behavior on his part as the act of the veriest fortune hunter. Their relationship had been long and close, but it had never been comprised of more than strong friendship. Now, suddenly, he had a pressing need for cash. Would Kate not see his abrupt about-face to ardent suitor as more than coincidence? His lips curled in self-disgust.

“But, really, David. Nothing out of the way here.”

With a start, David turned his attention to Lucius. “What?” he asked blankly.

“The handkerchiefs. Nothing to disapprove of here, old man. The linen is quite fine, and very reasonable. I have ordered your crest embroidered in the corner. That is, of course de rigueur.”

David waved his hand impatiently and began divesting himself of the length of superfine being pinned into place, to the agitated squeakings of Mr. Dilson, the tailor.

Lucius, incorrectly inferring from David’s expression that his leg must be paining him, indicated to the tailor that the session was at an end.

“No, never mind,” he said. “We have pretty much concluded our business. Anyway,” he added, taking his watch from his pocket, “we must be on our way. It’s time to join the ladies for lunch.”

Lawrence, after a last, wistful gaze at the primrose satin, picked up hat, cane, and gloves preparatory to leaving the tailor’s shop. Crawford lounged behind him, and with a sigh, David followed.

Ah, yes, he thought, the ladies.

Chapter Thirteen

The group gathered around the luncheon table, with two exceptions, chatted amiably of the morning’s accomplishments. While Cilia burbled happily to Crawford of her purchases, and Aunt Fred exclaimed in satisfaction over her acquisition of several skeins of the most exquisitely colored wools, Kate surreptitiously watched David push cold beef and salad around his plate in silent, endless circles.

“And what,” Regina exclaimed brightly, “have you children in mind for the rest of the day?”

At this, David looked up. “I thought we would be returning to Westerly,” he said. “I have much to do there.”

“But no!” cried her ladyship prettily. “Since we have made the trip into town, it would be a shame not to make the most of it.” She turned to Lucius. “Would you not like to see more of the sights of Bath, now that we are here?”

“Yes, indeed, I would,” exclaimed Lucius stoutly, ignoring David’s minatory stare. “I don’t suppose the place has changed all that much since I was a boy, but still, I barely remember it.”

“Splendid!” Regina beamed. “Then a tour is definitely in order. Cilia, would you be amenable to acting as guide? Kate will go with you, of course, and I know Lawrence will be delighted to accompany you.”

Lawrence’s face did not indicate delight or anything close to it. He had resumed his familiar expression of sulky boredom, and he opened his mouth to protest his mother’s dictum. As usual, it took only one steely glance to silence him.

“Well,” said David grudgingly. “I suppose I could look in on Smollett, while you’re all busy. If he’s in his office, I have some matters to discuss with him.”

“Au contraire,
my lad.” Lucius spoke in a voice not to be brooked. “Today has been officially declared a holiday by your stepmama, and it would be rude to gainsay her.”

Staring at him, Regina nodded in wary acknowledgment, and Lucius continued. “So, we shall all make the tour. May we start at the Pump Room? I daresay you will find the waters of benefit, David—to your disposition if nothing else.”

David flushed, but said nothing more, and shortly the entire party, minus Aunt Fred who had announced her intention of immersing herself in the library book she had procured at Godwin’s along with her writing paper, sallied forth in the direction of Great Pultney Bridge and the town center.

It was not long before David realized he was actually enjoying himself. He took a nostalgic pleasure in strolling about the Pump Room, relaxing in the muted chatter that surrounded him and noting that the valetudinarians who raised cups of the steaming mineral water in shaking hands, were apparently the same as those he had encountered on his last visit, over six years ago. Unthinking, he shot an amused glance at Kate and surprised an answering twinkle in her eyes. Hastily, he turned his attention to his own cup.

The Cross Bath and the Hot Bath were next on the agenda, along with the nearby Colonnades. A few streets away, Kate pointed out a recently discovered Roman site that had come to light during the construction of new buildings. The group then made their way to the Guildhall, where Lucius exclaimed in suitably awed accents at the Banqueting Hall. The Abbey, Regina had saved for last, determined that in its cloistered shadows, Cilia should at last have the eligible Mr. Pelham to herself. So busy was she in her machinations that she neglected to instruct Lawrence as to a like strategy with Kate. When she looked around, both her sons had disappeared no doubt into some low ale shop, she raged inwardly. And where were Kate and David? She peered into the dimly lit depths of the cathedral, but they, too had vanished. Muttering a distinctly unladylike epithet under her breath, she began to search for them.

In another part of the church, Kate slipped into a small chapel near the sanctuary. Noting gratefully that it was empty, she sank into one of the pews, closed her eyes, and gave herself up to reflection. So unpleasant were her ruminations, however, that she was almost relieved when she heard footsteps approaching. Suddenly, she knew, even before she opened her eyes, who had come to interrupt her solitude.

David, entering the little chapel, was immediately aware that he was not alone there. He started, peering at the figure who sat in the shadows.

“I beg your pardon,” he began, as he moved to retreat. Then ... “Kate?”

Kate rose from her seat. “Yes, it is I, David. No, I’ll leave. You have expended enough effort in avoiding me.”

“Kate!” David repeated, this time in a voice ragged with anguish. He stood squarely in the entrance to the chapel, and Kate waited, eyes downcast, for him to move aside. He did not do so, but remained like a sinner frozen in stained glass, gazing at a vision of Heaven denied.

Kate, her own voice catching, laughed softly. “I’ve always loved the name of this chapel—The Prior Birde Chantry. A place for singing named after a prior called Birde.”

There was no answering smile in David’s eyes, but, taking her hand, he led her back to where she had been seated.

“You’re right, my dear, I have been avoiding you. Foolish of me, I know, but after our—conversation the other night, I simply don’t know what to say to you.”

“Perhaps you think it is I who should be avoiding you?”

“Well—yes. Knowing what you know about me, now ...”

“And what is it I know about you?” Kate held her breath.

David’s answer came in a rush of bitterness. “Do you wish to punish me further by making me repeat it all? Knowing that my cowardice killed your brother, of course.”

Kate took another deep breath and uttered a silent prayer before speaking in a steady voice. “Yes, I do believe you have acted the coward.”

David whitened, but before he could respond she spoke again. “Not on the night Philip was killed, but since then. I believe that deep down you know you would not have acted so, but you are afraid to trust in yourself. You have heaped punishment and abuse upon your head until now you have begun to wallow in it.”

Kate watched as David, gazing at her with eyes like stones, tensed as though ready to turn away. She grasped his sleeve.

“Please, David. I do not say these things to wound you. Nor did I express my belief in you the other night in order to excuse you. Good God, did you think I was just spouting sympathetic nonsense? Philip was my brother! I loved him more than anyone else in the world. If I thought that you were in any way responsible, I would never have anything to do with you again.”

David held her gaze, but said nothing, and Kate continued softly. “I only want to help, my dearest friend.”

At this, he stiffened and pulled away from her.

“You have no right,” he growled.

As soon as he uttered the words, David would have given all he possessed to have them back. Stricken, Kate took a step backward, and he knew he could have said nothing that would have given her more pain. Unconsciously, he raised a hand toward her.

A rush of footsteps suddenly bore down on them.

“Here you are, you naughty children!” Regina’s lips were smiling, but her eyes spit fire. “Why ever have you hidden yourselves away here? It is growing quite late. Lawrence and Crawford are outside, and Cilia and Mr. Pelham await us as well. Come now, we mustn’t keep everyone standing about.”

As she spoke, she interposed herself between Kate and David, and began urging them out of the little chapel. David cast one last desperate glance at Kate, but she had averted her eyes and turned to walk down the church aisle behind Regina.

It seemed to Kate that the ride home from Bath lasted an eternity. At David’s urging, the gentlemen rode ahead of the carriage, and he was nowhere to be seen when the ladies arrived at Westerly. Pleading a headache, Kate fled to the sanctuary of her room, where she sank into her favorite faded armchair. She curled into a ball of misery and, as the room faded into darkness, she pondered mournfully on the day’s events.

“You have no right.”

The words reverberated in her heart, slashing and splintering, until she felt as though she must be bleeding inside. Why had he spoken so to her? Despite the changes his long absence from Westerly had wrought in him, she had believed him to be her friend. She could have sworn that their relationship was more than that of distant cousins—that his affection for her, and hers for him, had warmed him and helped him through the last few difficult weeks. But, he could not have more clearly indicated that she had no real place in his life.

What was she to do now? To be sure, Westerly was large enough so that its inhabitants, with only a small effort, could avoid meeting each other in its multitude of wings and passages. Thus, she and David could coexist for years, she supposed, without any meaningful contact.

No. She couldn’t bear that. For so long she had yearned for his return to Westerly. Now that he was here, she knew she would find it impossible to share his home on such a basis. She would reach her majority in less than a year, and she would be mistress of her own destiny. She would flee Westerly and move to London where she would do nothing but go to parties and balls. Or perhaps she would set up an establishment in Brighton. She had always loved the sea, and Brighton was so very fashionable. She would lead a life gay to dissipation. She would never think of David Merritt again. He could wallow in his guilt for the rest of his life; it didn’t matter one whit to her.