The Bishop's Daughter (10 page)

She risked one indignant glance at him and was startled to note he appeared as ill at ease as she. Perhaps more so. She tried to remember she had resolved to harden her heart against this man, keep him at a distance. But it touched something deep inside her to see Harry, so strong, so self-assured, looking humbled like an outcast in the very church his ancestors had built.

She nudged his arm. With a mute gesture, she offered to share her prayer book. He flashed a grateful smile that tugged at her heart, although she blushed more deeply when he removed the book from her grasp and gently returned it to her, right side up.

With Harry's sun-bronzed features bent so close to her own, it put an end to any prospect of her deriving benefit from the vicar's sermon. She caught but one word in ten, her gaze straying to the way Harry's dark lashes shadowed his eyes, the sweet, sensitive curve of his mouth, the square, wholly masculine line of his jaw. She felt her pulse quicken. Would she ever be able to study Harry's face again without being drawn to his lips, the memory of his kiss?

Kate flushed with shame, scandalized by the direction she had allowed her thoughts to take—and in church of all places! When the last amen sounded, she echoed it with relief, feeling the need to put some distance between herself and Harry.

Harry stepped back to allow her to pass by him into the aisle. She was aware of his low-murmured greeting to her mother and grandmother, but Kate kept walking, following the other parishioners crowding toward the door.

Only when she had stepped out into the sunlight of the churchyard did she pause to take a steadying breath. She knew Harry would be hard on her heels, and she turned over in her mind the speeches she had lain awake half the night rehearsing.

My lord, I must insist that we be no more than mere acquaintances. It will be the better for both of us.

Kate nodded. That had a noble ring to it, kind but firm. My lord . . . she repeated to herself again, certain that Harry would be joining her at any moment.

But as she glanced back to the church doors, she saw that Harry had been cut off from her by a sea of people. The squire was clapping him on the back and roaring out that St. Benedict's had not known such excitement since the invasion of the Roundhead army. Others, mostly ladies, Kate noted with a frown, were wringing Harry's hand and exclaiming over him.

Of course Kate had always been aware how attractive Harry was, so handsome in the raffish way most women adored, his smile so winning. But not until that moment did she realize that ever since the night he had crashed into her garden, she was accustomed to his attention being fixed solely upon her.

Not that she was in the least jealous. No, how absurd, she thought, nearly ruining the toe of her sandal by digging it into the dirt. She didn't even have the right to be jealous, having so thoroughly thrust Harry out of her life. And in fact—she crushed several blades of grass beneath her foot—she was relieved Harry was too preoccupied to rush to her side.

Turning her back upon him, she stalked up the steps of the church portico to where Reverend Thorpe lingered. The poor man looked a little forlorn, being accustomed after the service to have most of his flock gathered about him.

"Today's sermon was most enlightening," Kate said, wincing a little at this polite lie, unable to recall one word of the discourse.

"Thank you," the vicar said, "You are most kind, Miss Towers—"

He was interrupted by Julia bustling up to join them, in time to hear these last remarks. "The sermon would have gone much better without the disturbance," she said, her lovely face marred by a peevish expression. "Whatever possessed Lytton to come here this morning?"

As Julia asked the question, her eyes seemed to bore into Kate. Kate felt her color heighten.

"He likely came to pray," Kate said, struggling to keep the acid tones out of her own voice. "Surely there is nothing so remarkable in that."

"For Lytton, it would be," Julia said flatly.

Reverend Thorpe hastened to interpose. "I was most gratified that Lord Harry came. It seems our cousin has taken heed of my admonishments at last."

Julia shot her brother such a look, Kate half feared she meant to call the vicar a fool. But she merely grated, "You are much too good, Adolphus."

Kate had always thought so herself, that the vicar was virtuous to the point of being a little priggish. But she had been much ashamed of herself for harboring such an unbecoming opinion. As a bishop's daughter, she should have taken more pleasure in the worthy Mr. Thorpe's company. Yet she felt nothing but dismay when Julia extended an invitation for her to dine at the parsonage.

"We could spend a nice quiet afternoon together, just you, I, and Adolphus—"

"Oh, thank you," Kate said, but made haste to stammer out her excuses. She had so many pressing duties, with her grandmama arrived but yesterday. Her mother would be wanting her. Indeed she should have not kept Mama standing about in the heat even this long. Murmuring her farewells, Kate bolted back down the steps. She all but blundered into the squire's hoydenish daughter, Becky.

"Isn't it grand, Miss Towers, having Lord Harry back?" the girl cried happily. "He's such a great gun."

Kate resisted the impulse to glance to where Harry was surrounded by an admiring throng. "It is most pleasant," she agreed with Becky. "But I doubt your mama would care to hear you use such unladylike expressions."

Becky ignored the reproof. The lively redhead had a knack for hearing only what she wished. She chattered on, "Lord Harry looks ever so smart today. I am glad for he appeared terribly blue-deviled yesterday when he realized his friend must be dead."

"I beg your pardon?" Kate asked.

"His friend, Charles Masters. You know, the one his lordship lent his sword to during the battle. That's why everyone thought Lord Harry had been killed, and here the poor fellow himself knew nothing about it."

"What—" Kate began hoarsely. She forced Becky to go through the entire story over again, not an easy task for the girl expected herself to be immediately understood even though she never related any tale in logical sequence.

By the time Becky sauntered off to greet another acquaintance, Kate had pieced enough of the facts together to feel herself go pale. So Harry had not been responsible for the rumor of his own death. He had been as much a victim of the grievous error as anyone else.

And to think how horridly she had treated him . . . Kate pressed one hand to her cheek. But why hadn't Harry told her the truth at once? He tried to. You wouldn't listen, her merciless conscience replied.

She should go to Harry, apologize to him at once. But if Kate had one failing, her Papa had often admonished her, it was her pride. The bishop had always been understanding because he bore the same sin himself. It was most difficult to admit when one had been wrong.

She stole a glance toward Harry. He had managed to escape the flock of females but had fallen into the squire's clutches. Gresham was obviously badgering his lordship about selling those hunters. Harry was laughing but firmly shaking his head.

Kate flushed with shame. Overcome with remorse, she felt she could not face Harry at that moment. Quickening her steps, she hastened to where her mother already waited by the gig drawn up in the lane by their sole male servant, John.

To her dismay, Kate discovered that a problem had arisen regarding their transportation. Her grandmother, who had come to church on her own after some mysterious errand, had imperiously dismissed her coach back to the stables.

Lady Dane raised strenuous objections to riding crushed between Kate and her mother in the gig. "Far too crowded for three on a hot day," her ladyship declared.

Kate offered to walk. She truly did not mind, it being her favorite form of exercise, but Lady Dane also objected to that.

"Your mother would never want you walking in this heat. Would you, Maisie?"

"Well, I—" Mrs. Towers began.

"That settles it." To Kate's horror, Lady Dane turned about and snapped, "Lytton!"

"Oh, no, Grandmama, pray don't," Kate faltered, guessing Lady Dane's intent. She hoped Harry might not have heard. But she did not know how it was—Lady Dane never actually raised her voice, yet it had such carrying power.

Across the churchyard, Harry's head snapped up eagerly. Bowing, he managed to escape Gresham, even the squire forced to give way before a summons from Lady Dane.

In several quick strides, Harry crossed over to the gig. Kate averted her face, scarcely knowing where to look. Although Harry addressed her grandmother, Kate sensed his eyes were upon her.

"My lady?"

"I cannot abide being crowded upon such a hot day. Perhaps you would be so obliging as to fetch Kate home, my lord."

"With pleasure."

"No, I must not impose," Kate said. "That is I must call upon . . . upon Mrs. Huddleston. I promised to bring her a recipe for our housekeeper's honey syrup. Little Tom has developed the most distressing cough."

"Then Lytton may take you there as well," Lady Dane said, disposing of his lordship as though he operated a hackney cab. Kate half turned to her mother for support, but she knew it would not be the least use expecting the gentle Mrs. Towers to resist Lady Dane's ruthless maneuvers.

In her flustered state, Kate was never quite certain how she got there, but she found herself being handed up into Lord Harry's curricle. At least, she noted with some relief, he was not driving the high-perch phaeton that Harry knew made her nervous.

It was not until Harry leaped up beside her to take the reins that Kate realized his lordship had somehow dispensed with his groom. If she had not known better, it would almost seem as though Lady Dane and his lordship were linked in a conspiracy to get her alone with Lord Harry. Kate dismissed the notion at once as being foolish, born out of the butterflies that seemed to have taken up residence inside her.

Harry whipped up his team, setting the chestnuts with their flowing manes into motion. The reins looped about his gloved hands with an easy grace, Harry expertly maneuvered his vehicle past the press of other carriages and wagons exiting from the churchyard.

A silence that seemed heavier than the still summer air settled over them as Harry sent the team into a smart trot down the dusty lane. Harry cleared his throat.

"Er—cracking good sermon we had this morning."

"Yes," Kate said faintly. She removed her fan from her reticule, applying it with more vigor than was necessary.

"I always did like that tale about the prodigal son returning. How everyone forgave him no matter how wicked he had been."

Kate knew this was a perfect opening for her to beg his pardon. She glanced down at her clenched hands, her throat tightening.

Harry startled her by suddenly drawing rein, bringing the horses to a dead halt. A large oak spread its shade over the road, protecting them somewhat from the scorching sun. A mournful-looking cow peered at them over a fence.

"Kate." Harry turned to her. She could not bring herself to look at him. "I am sorry . . . about this morning, I mean."

He was apologizing to her? Kate's remorse deepened until she felt ready to sink.

"I never intended to interrupt the service."

"You don't have to beg pardon for coming to church, my lord," Kate said. "I thought it was wonderful—"

"No, it wasn't," Harry replied glumly. He started to reach for her hand, barely checking the movement. "I can't deceive you about motives. I only came because of you, because of wanting to see you, hoping you might think better of me. Perhaps you might even like to have me there beside you."

The constriction in Kate's throat tightened so she could hardly breathe. It occurred to her that she had indeed liked having Harry there, too much. As the bishop's daughter, she knew she ought to tell him the only reason for attending church should be his own soul, but she found herself too deeply touched to think that he had altered the pattern of a lifetime simply for her sake.

Swallowing her pride at last, she said in a low voice, "It is I who should apologize to you, my lord. I heard how the report of your death came about, that it was none of your doing."

"Well! That's a great relief." Harry heaved a cheerful sigh. "Though there's nothing for you to be sorry about."

"All those terrible names I called you!"

"Oh, I am sure I deserved them for something or other." Harry peered down at her, hating the distress he saw gathering in her eyes. Plague take it, he would rather he had done what she had wrongly accused him of, than see Kate looking so wretched with guilt.

"But—but you were wounded," she faltered.

 "Only a trifle."

"And I hit you. So hard."

"True. You have a most impressive bunch of fives. But I really need to teach you not to lead with your right."

Kate's conscience appeared too stern to allow even one smile to escape her.

"If you are feeling that guilty," Harry said, leaning his face closer, "You may kiss me and make it feel better. Then I shall be only too happy to turn the other cheek."

Kate shrank back. She wasn't feeling that stricken with remorse. "It was partly your fault, my lord," she said, biting down upon her lip. "Why did you not write to tell anyone what had become of you?"