The Bishop's Daughter (14 page)

"Harry sold his hunters?" Kate cried, aghast.

"What utter nonsense," Julia broke in, abandoning her pose of disdainful disinterest. "Lytton prizes his precious beasts above rubies. Never would he part with them."

"That is where you are quite out, Miss Thorpe," Miss Lethbridge said, flushing with triumph. "For not an hour since, I saw the squire's groom leading those horses through the village. Paid a wicked high price for them, the squire did. I cannot imagine what Mrs. Gresham will say to him." She added slyly, "Though I am surprised that any of this is news to you, Miss Thorpe. You being his lordship's cousin and so thick with him as you are forever telling everyone."

Julia sucked in her breath with a sharp hiss. Turning a cold shoulder upon Miss Lethbridge, she said to Kate, "If you are quite finished here, Kate, I should like to go."

"Yes, I am ready," Kate said, although she wanted nothing more than to remain and ply Miss Lethbridge with a dozen more questions, even with Julia's critical gaze fixed upon her. But it was obvious the shopkeeper had already told her all she knew about Harry.

But why would Harry sell off his most prized possessions? Harry had never given a fig for the consequence of his title, his vast estates, or acquiring great riches. But his horses! Kate had seen him care as tenderly for their well-being as a father would his babes. She could not imagine what dire circumstances would have induced Harry to part with them.

So unsettled was she by these tidings that Kate ended by purchasing the ugly brown cloth, though she hardly realized what she did. She quit the shop with a worried frown creasing her brow, all but forgetting Julia's presence.

Miss Thorpe was quick to remind her. "That insufferable gossiping creature," Julia said as soon as they had gained the street outside. "But there! She is typical of the incivility and lack of gentility to be found in this wretched village. I am only astonished that you should have encouraged her, Kathryn."

"I only wanted to know—" Ruefully, Kate bit down upon her lip, for once feeling far too disturbed to be guarded in Miss Thorpe's presence. "Julia, why do you think Harry has sold his horses?"

"Heaven only knows. Lytton is forever in some sort of scrape."

Kate found this reply far from reassuring.

"I am far more concerned about you, Kathryn," Julia continued.

"Me? Why?"

"You display a most unseemly interest in Lytton's doings.  You have not been so foolish as to fall in love with my cousin, I hope?"

Kate glanced quickly away, willing her color not to rise. "Of course not."

"I am glad to hear it. Lytton is a sad rake, you know."

"He is not!"

Julia's eyebrows rose. With great effort, Kate lowered her voice. "That is, I know Lord Harry can be a shocking flirt, but there is such a kindness in him. He would never set out to break any lady's heart."

"He is my cousin, and I believe I know him far better than you," Julia began angrily and then checked herself. She forced a smile to her lips, "But, my dear Kathryn, let us not fall into a quarrel over him. It is far more attention than Lytton deserves, I promise you. It is only the heat that is making us both so cross and—" Julia broke off with a look of extreme annoyance. "I have left my parasol in that wretched woman's shop. If I do not retrieve it at once, I would not put it beyond her to sell it to her next customer."

Julia clearly expected Kate to return with her, but Kate made no move to do so. After muttering in vexed tones that she would catch up to Kate, Julia strode back toward Miss Lethbridge's. Kate had to suppress a strong urge to bolt along the lane and escape Julia's oppressive presence. She was growing weary of Miss Thorpe's sharp tongue, her repeated attacks upon Harry.

It seemed to Kate that she displayed little cousinly regard for his lordship, rather callously dismissing Miss Lethbridge's speculations that something was gravely amiss with Harry. Could the shopkeeper be right in her surmise about the severity of Harry's wound? It would be just like him to conceal such a thing from everyone.

Paying little heed where she walked, Kate strained to remember every detail of her outing with Harry the previous Sunday, every expression upon his face. Never had he seemed more hale and yet upon further recollection had his movements seemed not quite so quick as usual? And yes, Kate was certain that she recalled him turning away when he had lifted her down from the curricle. To conceal a grimace of pain perhaps?

With such alarming thoughts chasing through her mind, Kate did not realize she had wandered too far out into the lane until she was alerted by the thunder of hooves, a blast of a horn. Blowing upon his yard of tin, a coachman was urging the afternoon stage toward the inn yard of the Arundel Arms.

The team of four sweating horses was bearing down upon her. Kate froze in momentary panic. Her heart leapt into her throat, but before she could make a move, she felt strong arms dragging her to safety.

Kate spun about colliding with the hard wall of Harry's chest as the stage rattled past. His arms banded about her, crushing her so tightly she could feel his heart thudding as hard as her own. He swore at her.

"Damn it, Kate. What on earth did you think you were doing?"

She shook her head, unable to answer him at first. She had no notion whence Harry had sprung, only feeling grateful that he was there, even if he did huskily call her "a little fool" and hold her far too close.

For a moment all Kate could do was lean weakly against him, soothed by the comforting feel of his arms about her. But as her fright subsided, she became all too conscious of her position, being embraced by Harry for all the village to see.

Drawing in a steadying breath, she pulled away from him, gazing up at his face. All thoughts of her own near calamity fled, her mind returning to the worries that had so troubled her earlier.

She scrutinized his features more earnestly than she had ever done before. He looked haggard, deep lines of exhaustion carved about his eyes, stealing away the smile from his lips. She feared it was owing to far more than his recent concern for her safety.

"Are you all right, my lord?" she asked.

Harry's grim expression vanished. For a second he appeared nonplussed and then he broke into his familiar irrepressible grin.

"Am I all right?" he laughed. "The woman nearly flings herself beneath a coach and then asks if I am all right?"

"I mean . . . are you quite well?"

"Well enough, although I would be a dashed sight better if you did not choose to wander about in the midst of the road. What the devil possessed you, Kate?"

"I fear I was woolgathering."

Harry arched one brow wickedly. "Daydreaming about me?"

"It so happens that I was. . . ." Kate started to confess and stopped, feeling foolish. She was not about to admit to Harry how she had permitted her imagination to run away with her. For it was patently obvious she had done so. Harry might bear an appearance of fatigue, but his swift rescue of her and a quick perusal of his hard muscular frame demonstrated there was nothing in the least amiss with his body. She longed to simply ask Harry about the hunters, but how could she do so without revealing she had been gossiping about him with Miss Lethbridge?

"I was admiring the bonnet in the window across the way and not watching where I was going,” she finished lamely. “I but came into the village to do a little shopping."

"For your bride clothes, I hope." Roguish lights danced in Harry's green eyes as he caught her hand, brushing a kiss against her fingertips.

Kate tried to summon a reproving frown, but could not quite manage it. Even that fleeting contact of Harry's lips sent a breathless, tingling kind of rush through her.

"It isn't Sunday anymore," he reminded her. The rogue's light vanished, the warmth in his eyes becoming more intense. "Will you marry me, Kate?"

"No. Oh, Harry, please." She made a weak protest as he upturned her hand and placed a not so chaste kiss upon her wrist, the heated contact seeming to sear her flesh.

"My lord, you mustn't," Kate cried, attempting to disengage her hand, casting a flustered glance about her. Her distress must have been evident enough for Harry released her at once.

"I am sorry, Kate," he said. "I had no intentions of trying to make love to you in the middle of the road. It is only that you cannot imagine how much I have been missing you these past few days."

So where have you been, she wanted to demand. But to do so would be to admit how much she had been missing him.

Kate fussed with her bonnet, straightening it, attempting to regain her composure. "And what brings you to the village this afternoon, my lord?"

"Well, besides keeping damsels from straying beneath coach wheels, I have come to meet an old friend."

Kate saw no sign of a mount or Harry's curricle. Dear heavens! Had he sold all his horses?

"You came on foot?" she asked.

Harry looked rather surprised. "Of course not. I rode Ramses."

Kate sighed with relief, which only caused Harry's expression of puzzlement to deepen.

"I left Ramses at the stable over at the inn where I was to meet Folly," he explained. "But the dratted fellow is never on time."

"Folly?"

"Yes, have you never met him? He lives not far from Chillingsworth and I am sure— Ah, well, never mind, I shall introduce you, for here he comes at last."

Turning, Harry raised his arm and proceeded to hail the driver of a gig who was tooling into the village at a spanking pace. He was on the point of sweeping past, but at Harry's call, the gentleman sharply drew rein. Kate stepped back to avoid the spray of dust, waving her hand before her eyes.

"Folly, you idiot," Harry choked.

It took Kate's vision a moment to clear before she could make out the form of Harry's friend. Her first impression was of a dapper young man wearing a curly brimmed beaver, his clothing protected by a riding cloak with a multiplicity of capes. He was, Kate supposed, what she had heard vulgarly referred to as a 'buck of the first stare.'

It was only when Harry began to perform the introductions and the man swept the hat from his glossy waves, that Kate obtained a clear view of an amiable and familiar countenance. She stiffened with the recognition.

"The Honorable Samuel Ffolliot," Harry was saying. "And this is—"

"Mr. Ffolliot and I have met before," Kate said in clipped tones.

"I daresay not," Mr. Ffolliot replied jovially. "Not likely I should forget such a pretty lady."

"It was at the episcopal palace in Chillingsworth. My father was the late bishop of that diocese."

Mr. Ffolliot regarded her with polite bewilderment, his wide innocent eyes appealing to Harry for enlightenment, but Harry was obviously equally at a loss.

A hard knot formed in Kate's throat. To think that this fool did not even remember the incident that had nigh broken her father's heart.

"It was upon the occasion that your pistol shot shattered the stained glass in the Blessed Lady chapel."

"Oh, Lord!" Kate thought she heard Harry mutter under his breath, but she was too caught up in the painful remembrance to take much heed. She could still see her father's shoulders bent with grief as he stood surveying the colorful shards that had once been a magnificent representation of the Madonna and child, one of the few examples of fourteenth century stained glass to have survived both the ravages of Henry the Eighth and later, the Puritan army.

Mr. Ffolliot scratched his head, then a hint of guilt stained his cheeks. "Oh, yes, now that you mention it, I do remember something of the sort." He offered Kate a deprecating smile "But truly, I meant no harm. I suppose I must have been fox— er that is, I was having a little trouble with my vision that day—and it was only a wager."

Kate set her face into grim lines, offering him no hope of pardon, so he appealed to Harry. "I did pay to have the window replaced—with some nice new glass, you know, which I am sure would have been much better than that old stuff that had to have been there for ages."

"Four centuries to be exact," Kate said tersely.

Mr. Ffolliot beamed. "There! That is just what I meant—"

"Oh, do be quiet, Folly." Harry grimaced, casting an uneasy glance at Kate. "What's done is done. There is hardly anything to be gained by raking over old coals."

Her entire frame rigid with reproach, Kate did not agree with him. Such wanton destruction as Mr. Ffolliot had caused could not be so easily forgiven or forgotten. What gave her more pain than anything else was to discover that Harry could be friends with such a man.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the three of them, only to be broken as Julia at last came down the lane seeking Kate. Never had Harry shown such relief to see his cousin.

Vaulting up beside Mr. Ffolliot, he strongly suggested that the ladies be left to pursue their shopping, his haste to get Samuel away quite evident. With a final tip of his hat to Kate and Julia, Mr. Ffolliot started up his mare, heading toward the inn yard.

Kate turned away immediately, ignoring the rather anxious smile that Harry offered her in parting. Julia fell into step beside her.

"I am sorry that I took so long, Kathryn," she said. "But that foolish woman had already put my parasol in a 'safe place' and then the creature could not recollect what she had done with it. But I daresay Lytton and his friend kept you agreeably entertained?"