One Tempting Proposal (23 page)

“And if you didn't wish Ponsonby to marry another woman, you should have married him yourself.”

Ponsonby? How had the conversation become about him and not her sister?

“I haven't a care who the man marries. He's too old for me, and he's certainly too old for Harriet.” Especially when she'd already given her heart to someone else.

“She's agreed to the match, Katherine. There is nothing left to debate.”

If Hattie had a character flaw, it was that she was too malleable and eager to please. She never wished to disappoint anyone, least of all their father. Whatever he'd said to convince her, it wouldn't have taken much.

Kitty's chest burned and the stinging pain traveled up, pressing behind her eyes, but she ground her teeth. She'd determined long ago never to let her father see her cry.

“What of Mr. Treadwell? Has she spoken to him of this decision?” She didn't let the tears fall, but she hated the quaver in her voice.

“I've invited him to meet with me tomorrow. I'll break the news on her behalf.”

So he'd take everything from Hattie. Her choices and her opportunity to part with Oliver on her own terms. To Kitty, that seemed the worst of it. Hattie deserved her own ending with Mr. Treadwell. She must have the opportunity to explain her choice or at least choose her last words to him. Why burden an eighteen year old with regrets that might last a lifetime?

Then again, perhaps if Hattie was forced to break off with Oliver face-­to-­face, she'd come to her senses and realize their father's wishes for her future did not match her own. At least she would have that choice.

“Then you should let Hattie come to the museum with me.”

Her father instantly began shaking his head in refusal, almost before she'd finished her sentence.

“Her absence will be noted, and when all is said and done, some may think it cowardly that she did not face Mr. Treadwell one last time.”

“Nonsense.” He moved back around to settle himself in his desk chair, straightening his necktie before reaching for a cigar from his humidor. His relaxed air told Kitty that he considered the battle won.

“I'll be marrying a man who considers Treadwell his brother. Wrexford won't take kindly to seeing his friend snubbed.”

A humming ring sounded in her ears and tension ran through her body as she gripped handfuls of her skirt below the edge of her father's high desk, where he could not see. She wanted a true engagement with Sebastian, but it would mean another battle with her father, especially if Lady Naughton could prove he was Archie's father.

But the matter of Hattie's happiness came first.

“Papa, please allow Hattie to accompany me today.”

“Go then. And take your sister with you.” He waved her away through the pungent smoke of his cigar. “Don't imagine you'll change her mind, Katherine. Unlike you, Harriet wants to do what's best for her future and this family.”

Stand up and go
. The temptation to stay and defend herself, to turn this conversation into an argument, as so many of theirs had been, battled with her impulse to get out while she could.

But more than winning an inch of ground with her father, she wanted to see Sebastian. She needed to tell him the truth of her feelings so they could end their feigned engagement and put away the pretense between them.

This time she wouldn't doubt. This time she would not run away.

And yet she'd never have contrived an engagement with Sebastian if not for the goal of securing Hattie's happiness with Mr. Treadwell. What if her father won? How could she grasp her own happy ending and leave Hattie to marry Ponsonby?

 

Chapter Twenty-Three

“I
T SEEMS SIL
LY
for us not to speak to each other for the entire journey.” Kitty leaned over to get a glimpse of the cluster of carriages blocking their way. It was as if all of London decided to take advantage of the unseasonably warm weather. “Judging by traffic, we'll be in this carriage awhile.”

“We should have walked.” Hattie wouldn't look at her as she said the words. She sat in the farthest edge of seat opposite her, arms firmly clasped across her chest.

“Shall we send the carriage back and get out? I do enjoy walking.”

“It's too late now.” Hattie's voice had the petulant tone of a young woman determined to be displeased with any suggestion.

Kitty had rarely argued with her middle sister. Violet could be a whirlwind of changing emotions, but Hattie had always been too agreeable. She'd never give an opponent a chance to argue before capitulating herself.

“Papa says you don't intend to marry Mr. Treadwell.”

Hattie turned a momentary glare her way, and Kitty considered it a victory. If Hattie truly wished to marry Oliver, she would have to defy their father. Kitty would support her sister's choice every step of the way, but in the end, Hattie would have to be the one to stand up to their father, and she'd need that kind of inner fire to do it.

“I suspect he did not say it in that way at all.”

No. He hadn't made it about Hattie's choice, more about her agreement with his.

“He said you've agreed to marry Lord Ponsonby.”

Hattie winced. It was a fleeting tightening of the smooth skin around her eyes, but Kitty caught it. Seeing even that flash of pain in her sister's face hardened Kitty's resolve to prevent her sister's marriage to a man three times her age.

“Is that what you want, Hattie?”

At first it seemed she'd only be treated to more silence. Hattie tucked herself further into the corner and pressed her mouth tight and flat. Kitty closed her eyes and waited, imagining her love for her sister stretching out like a vine attempting to find a bit of sun.

“You ask me the question as if my wishes are all that matter. What I want. What I wish. What of our father's expectations?”

Kitty opened her eyes to find Hattie glowering at her, eyes glassy as if she might burst into tears at any moment.

“Hattie, love, Papa isn't the one who has to marry Lord Ponsonby. I'm more concerned with your wishes than his.”

“Lord Ponsonby is a fine man. He is kind, and he possesses wealth and status.” Hattie's youthful voice echoed off the interior of the carriage, but Kitty imagined the words coming out of their father's mouth.

“And if you'd married him, I wouldn't have to.” And there were father's exact words. He hadn't just persuaded her. It seemed he'd converted her completely.

Hattie's tears finally started trickling down her cheeks and Kitty gathered up the skirts of her gown and managed to maneuver from her side of the carriage onto the seat next to her sister. When she reached for her, Hattie stiffened but finally melted in her arms, sagging against her and weeping in earnest.

Each little moan of misery, each hiccupping sniffle tore at Kitty, but she let her sister cry her fill, rubbing soothing circles over her back and shoulders. The initial wave of sobbing subsided and she whispered against Hattie's hair, the same shade and texture as her own.

“Neither of us wants to marry Ponsonby. And neither of us must marry the man.”

She'd expected the words to bring her sister comfort, to reassure Hattie that Kitty would join her in defying their father on this point, but Hattie pushed her away.

“You don't understand, Kitty. You never have.”

“Understand what?” She wanted Hattie to have her say, to find her voice and make her own choices.

“Papa wants what's best for us. For all of us, and yet you've spent your whole life defying him. It's no wonder he's hardest on you. You've never obeyed him or sought to please him.”

All the tenderness she'd felt for her sister while comforting her, the ache in her chest at the notion of Hattie promising herself to a man she did not love—­it all receded with the bite of Hattie's accusations.

Years of disappointing her father, years of twisting herself in knots to be the heir he'd always wished for, and then a fine young lady who would make him proud. Hattie dismissed all of it in a single breath.

“I obeyed him. I idolized him.”

Hattie choked out a dismissive laugh.

“You defied him for four seasons!” They'd never been adversaries, and Kitty hated the bitterness in Hattie's tone. “Don't you see that you ruined my season by still being out yourself? You should have been married years ago, but you insisted on having your way. Thank goodness Wrexford offered for you. I feared you might ruin Violet's first season too.”

“Hattie, stop.” The shouted words echoed in the confines of the small space and Hattie's mouth hung open. “This isn't you. You've never said a cruel word to me in your life.” Or least she hadn't until this miserable carriage ride.

“I can't defy him.” Her sister bowed her head, her voice weak and broken. “He's given me everything I own.” She lifted an arm and tugged with the opposite hand at the cuff of her gown. “Every stitch of clothing, the food I eat. He provides all that I have.”

Seeing Hattie struggle to find a dry patch on her handkerchief, Kitty produced one from the pocket of her own skirt. She waited for her sister to dab at her eyes and then reached up to embrace her again.

“When you marry, your husband will be the one to provide your home and clothes. Perhaps you'll feel as beholden to him as you do to Papa. Do you really want that man to be William Ponsonby?”

“H
OW LONG SHOULD
we wait?” Pippa managed to withhold the question for longer than Seb expected, but the anxiety in her voice mirrored his own.

“I'm sure they'll appear soon.” He'd been standing outside the museum with Ollie and Pippa for the better part of half an hour.

At first his sister didn't seem to mind the wait. Having hidden a little pocket-­sized book in her skirt, she simply found an obliging bit of building to lean on and read. But then Ollie attempted to engage her in conversation, which seemed to work well until he said something that amused her enough to cause a burst of hearty laughter. She indulged her pleasure for only a moment before turning to glare at him and stepping away, as if she resented how much she enjoyed his company.

“Do you think they've forgotten us and found a ­couple of worthier gentlemen to marry?” No matter the circumstances, Ollie found it easy to jest.

Seb didn't offer an answer. He spotted the grand Clayborne Clarence carriage rattling along behind nimbler hansom cabs. Before either he or Ollie could make their way down the steps to assist the ladies, Kat and Harriet emerged, wearing nearly identical day dresses covered in ruffles and layers, and matching frowns.

He stepped forward to greet Kat, and she offered him a shaky smile but only met his gaze a moment before turning to glance at her sister and Ollie.

Following her gaze, he found the two greeting each other with their usual cordiality, if a bit less exuberance.

“Kat, let's find a place to talk while the others explore the gallery.”

Eyes locked on her sister's face, Kat didn't turn to look at him when she answered. “I think our little group should stay together this afternoon.” Finally she glanced up at him. “But, yes, we should find time to speak to one another privately.”

She spoke without any particular warmth, as if they were mere acquaintances or friends and nothing more. But he wasn't content with nothing more. They were lovers and he could no longer imagine the days of his life unfolding without Kat as the brightest, best part of each one.

“Why don't we all take a late luncheon at Wrexford House after the gallery?” The housekeeper wouldn't be pleased and the cook might become apoplectic at the prospect of an impromptu meal with guests, but he needed to speak to Kat and settle matters between them.

As they proceeded into the first room of paintings, its rich hunter green walls soothed his eyes and set off each piece of art. He counseled himself to be patient, to tell her about Archie when they were in a less public setting. Any questions about their evening together would need to wait.

She clasped his arm as they followed the others, and he managed to hold his tongue by focusing on the pleasure of her touch, the sweetness of her scent.

“Lily of the valley?”

“What? Oh, yes, I suppose it is.” She'd never answered a query about her perfume with so little enthusiasm, and she didn't appear to take interest in a single painting. All of her energy seemed reserved for watching her sister's actions, and occasionally observing Pippa or Ollie.

Seb detected nothing amiss in their behavior. Ollie and Harriet walked arm in arm, remarking on various paintings they stopped to ponder, and Pippa followed a few steps behind. Pippa's occasional long glances at the ­couple were subtle enough. He didn't think anyone observing them would notice. Not even Kat.

He stopped in front of a painting of a family. The portrait was posed with the sitters staring out at the viewer, but the artist had captured the playful vibrant qualities of each. Seb could sense the children's eagerness to move and parental pride in the eyes of the husband and wife. The contentment of the scene kindled a wistful pang, a shallow ache in his chest.

Good grief, he was becoming a sentimental fool. For years he'd forced the notion of marriage and children from his mind. Focusing on his work, his studies—­endeavors at which he knew he could succeed—­had been easier than healing his heart.

And now, because of the woman at his side, he looked at a painting of a merry family and could envision the same for himself. With Kat. Only with Kat could he imagine such a fate.

“The matter you asked me about yesterday,” he began. “I have an answer now.”

He had to clasp her arm tighter to get her attention.

“The matter? Oh, that matter. What
is
the answer?” For the first time today he caught her notice, a look of interest and concern shadowing her features.

“The allegation is untrue.” The same lightness he'd felt after Miss Perkins's visit lifted in his chest now.

“How can you be sure?” He'd expected to see his relief reflected in Kat's eyes, but she seemed more dubious than pleased.

“I obtained a document that would be difficult to refute. Ironically, it's a matter of simple mathematics.”

“He's too young.” She'd turned her eyes to the happy family portrait before them and spoke in a near whisper. “I thought as much when I saw him in the park.”

“By at least two years.”

“That is good news, for everyone concerned.”

Alecia wouldn't agree. But for Archie's sake and Naughton's, and for his future, it was the best outcome. But he'd expected more than Kat's tepid reaction. He frowned and turned so she might not see his frustration, but there was no need. Her eyes still trailed her sister's every move.

After tolerating a long silence between them, Seb stopped before the next painting, a rather bland landscape, but Kat tugged at their clasped arms as if she preferred to continue on. Harriet and Oliver were so far ahead, they'd almost turned a corner into the next room.

“Should I guess or can I convince you to tell me?” Seb tried to keep his frustration from his tone.

“Tell you what?”

“You've never been this hawkish about chaperoning your sister.”

She finally turned and looked at him, almost as if seeing him for the first time. Her eyes and mouth softened, and she moved her hand to caress his arm where he held her. He thought she might grin and dipped his head to watch her mouth. He expected to see her lips curve up, but they began to tremble and turned down at the edges the moment he heard Harriet cry out, “No! I can't explain. Please don't ask me to.”

Kat yanked her arm from his and rushed forward. By the time he reached her, she stood embracing a tearful Harriet while Ollie lingered nearby twisting his hands and looking miserable. Pippa waited off to the side, looking equally distressed.

Seb pushed in between Ollie and Kat and her sister.

“Are you unwell, Lady Harriet?”

Kat turned and whispered to him. “Might we have a moment, just Hattie and I?”

Seb nodded and reached out both arms to herd Ollie and his sister forward. Ollie continued to look back, as attentive to Harriet's movements as Kat had been, but he allowed himself to be led into the next gallery filled with sculptures.

None of them asked Ollie for an explanation of the lady's behavior. By his bewildered expression, it was clear he knew as little as they did.

“She wouldn't let me hold her hand.” Ollie looked up at Seb as if he might have answers. “She allowed me take her arm, but balked the moment I reached for her hand.”

Kat's distraction. Hattie's chilly behavior. None of it made sense.

Finally he saw her usher Harriet over to stand near Pippa, and then approached.

She glanced at Ollie before turning her back on him.

“Shall we proceed to Wrexford House for that luncheon you offered?” she asked pleasantly, as if the distress of Harriet's outburst hadn't rippled out to charge the air between them.

When he hesitated, she clasped his hand and he felt her tremble. He wanted to hold her, comfort her, fix whatever had gone so wrong this afternoon.

“Please, Sebastian. She needs a chance to speak with Oliver.”

And he needed to speak with Kat. But Ollie's interest in Harriet had led him to her in the first place. Whatever rift existed between the pair, he was as eager as she to see it mended.