The Bishop's Daughter (25 page)

"Are you all right, miss?" Mollie asked, peering closely at Kate. "Will you be wanting your breakfast now? There is none of the kidney left, but I believe Cook has some kippers—"

Kate took a deep gulp. "Just a little weak tea, please."

Motioning Mollie to remove the congealing dishes from her sight, Kate leaned up against the oak banister. She could not quite face the prospect of mounting the stairs again, so she retired to the parlor. They would not be likely to have any callers at this hour and, in any event, Kate never intended to receive anyone for the rest of her life.

Within the parlor, she drew the drapes across the bow window, shutting out as much of the sun as she could. Not only was the funereal gloom more soothing to her eyes, but it cast Papa's portrait into shadows, preventing the bishop's stern gaze from glaring down upon her disgrace.

Mollie bustled in and settled a tray near where Kate collapsed onto the settee. After much ruthless rattling of the teaspoons and the cup and saucer, the girl finally left Kate to sip her tea in merciful silence. The brew fortified her somewhat, but she could do nothing to dispel the overwhelming burden of shame weighing down upon her.

When Kate heard a muffled sound that told her of an arrival in the hall beyond, she shrank down against the cushions. In her current state, she was uncertain she could even confront her own mama and grandmother.

But the rumble of voices that followed sent a shaft of uneasiness through her. That did not sound like Mama.

Mollie poked her head in the door and announced with a pert grin. "Beg pardon, miss. What should I do? Lord Lytton is here, and he threatens to cut off my cap ribbons if I don't—"

"No!" Kate bolted to her feet, her cup and saucer clattering to the carpet. "Send him away! Tell him I am sick, dead, gone on a long voyage."

"Perhaps you had best tell me yourself." Harry squeezed past Mollie, regarding Kate with a quizzical gleam in his eye. He had obviously taken great pains with his appearance, looking almost irritatingly handsome and full of vigor in his crisp, navy frock coat and whipcord breeches.

He thrust the highly interested Mollie out of the parlor and closed the door. Kate spun away from him, one hand fluttering with dismay to the disheveled curls tumbling about her shoulders, the other clutching at the neckline of her wrapper.

"My lord, you can see I am in no fit state to entertain visitors."

"You look as lovely as always, although more pale than I could wish." She heard the tread of his boots as he stepped beside her, stroking back her hair.

Even that featherlight touch caused her to tremble.

"My poor darling." Harry's voice rumbled sympathy close to her ear. "You must have had a very devil of a night. You ought to be taking something more than tea. Believe me, I have had . . . er . . . a little experience in these matters."

"Oh, Harry, please! Please just go away." Her voice broke and she retreated toward the window, burying her face in her hands.

"Kate!" He followed her. Placing his hands upon her shoulders, he tried to bring her about. She twisted away from him sinking down upon the windowseat. But there was no escape. With tender persistence, he hunkered down before her, gently forcing down her hands, gathering them into the strength of his own.

Tears gathered in her eyes, one escaping to trickle past her nose. "Please," she whispered. "Don't look at me. I am so ashamed."

He caught the tear, one rough fingertip brushing it aside. "Kate, dearest, you've naught to be ashamed of."

"Indeed I have. My behavior yesterday—"

"It was no fault of yours."

"M-my conduct was dreadful, and the fête was r-ruined."

"It was nothing of the kind. We still contrived to hold the supper after I had sent you home. I told everyone you had been taken ill, and, hang it all, Kate! Don't cry." He intercepted another tear. "You know I can endure anything but that."

But now that she had begun, Kate could not check the flow, though the release of the emotion brought no comfort, only increasing the pounding tempo in her head.

Harry squeezed her hands. "Devil take that villain Erwin," he muttered. "Damned if I don't call him out for this."

His words sparked a bitter anger in Kate, as unexpected as it was unreasoning. She wrenched her hands away. "Aye, isn't that just a man's solution to everything. Blow a hole in someone, and that will mend matters at once."

Harry frowned and straightened slowly to his feet. "What would you have me do, Kate?"

"There's nothing you can do." Leaping up, she brushed past him, swiping at her eyes. "The damage is quite done."

"You might be interested to know that I discovered who purloined that invitation and posted it. It was your good friend, Julia Thorpe."

Kate started only a little to hear her worst suspicions confirmed. "What odds does that make? It was your friends who put the gin in the lemonade and . . . and you promised you would not let them do anything to spoil the fête."

Her voice sounded childishly petulant and, deep in her heart, Kate knew she was being unfair. But her head ached so abominably, she wanted to scream.

"I did my best, Kate," Harry said. She heard him sigh as though gathering the ends of his patience.

He approached again, making one more effort to ease her into his embrace. She backed away, and his arms dropped to his sides, a hint of exasperation in his voice. "You are making far too great a piece of work over all this, Kate. No one else is taking it so seriously, I warrant you."

He could not have said anything less calculated to soothe her. She was miserable, about to perish from humiliation, and no one regarded it seriously?

Harry plunged on, making bad worse. "By the end of the day, the squire was laughing over the affair and even Adolphus was most understanding."

"That is all very well for them," Kate said. "But I assure you my father would not have been amused. It might be thought tolerable for a squire's wife to become drunk on gin, but . . . but—"

"But you are a bishop's daughter," Harry finished bitterly. "I fear I had allowed myself to forget that."

"So did I! Every time I am with you, I end up in the most improper—" She broke off clutching her head, which felt ready to burst. "Please, can you not just leave me alone?"

A heavy silence ensued and then Harry said softly, "Yes, I rather think that it would be better if I did."

There was no rancor in his tones. He sounded so subdued that, despite her own agony, Kate glanced up at him. He looked neither angry nor even irritated, those expressive green eyes frighteningly empty. The powerful set of his shoulders slumped as in defeat.

As he moved toward the door, Kate whispered, "Harry." If he heard her, he pretended otherwise. He bade her farewell, his parting adieu brief, sad, and heartbreakingly final.

Then he was gone.

Kate kept to her room for the rest of the day. By the next afternoon, she continued to send down her excuses, declining to join Mrs. Towers and Lady Dane for luncheon.

The meal was a simple one, consisting mostly of cold meats and fruit. Mrs. Towers picked at a few grapes. Although she had not fared as badly as Kate from the lemonade episode, she bore little appetite, being consumed by worry about her daughter.

Yet she put on a placid front, unwilling to admit as much to Lady Dane. That formidable dame was far too quick to criticize her precious Kate. At the opposite end of the linen tablecloth, her ladyship tapped her fork irritably against the crystal.

"How long is this nonsense going to continue?" she said presently.

"What nonsense is that, Mother Towers?"

"You know full well what I mean—this sorry business of Kate hiding out in her room."

"The child has been ill."

"Humph! Just the same as that Thorpe chit has been ill?"

Mrs. Towers winced. Lady Dane's acid comment referred to the visit the vicar had paid earlier that morning. Reverend Thorpe had come by to convey Julia's farewell to Kate. It seemed Miss Thorpe was journeying up north to stay with an elderly aunt in Scotland, ‘for reasons of Julia's health.’

"Running away—that is what Julia Thorpe is doing," Lady Dane continued, slamming her fork down. "I would have hoped that a granddaughter of mine would have more bottom than that."

"So Kate does. She will come out when she is ready," Mrs. Towers said, although she was not sure herself. What a cruel contrast it was. Kate had been so sunny and smiling the morning of the fête. It seemed Lady Dane's interference might have done some good after all. Mrs. Towers had been certain that her daughter's most unusual courtship with Lord Lytton was about to be brought to a happy conclusion. Then that disaster in the tent! Mrs. Towers had wracked her mind ever since wondering if there was something she could have done to prevent it. If only she had not been so quick to agree with Kate about the lemonade.

These tormenting reflections were interrupted by Lady Dane. With a mighty scowl, she said, "I hope you have noticed that Lytton has not been back since we saw him ride off so hurriedly yesterday morn. I have had no chance to speak with him, but it is my belief that foolish child has sent him away again."

She flung her napkin down, scraping her chair back. Leaning on her cane, she rose, the familiar martial light coming to her eye. "I can see it is more than time I shook some sense into Kathryn."

Mrs. Towers believed that the last thing Kate needed was more of her grandmother's bullying. "I wish you would not."

As Lady Dane ignored her, stalking toward the door, Mrs. Towers hastened to intercept her. Although she trembled a little, she planted herself in front of her ladyship.

"I thought I had made my feelings clear to you before—"

"So you did, Maisie. You said a good many disagreeable things in your state of intoxication. However I realize you were not yourself, so I am disposed to pardon you."

"I was not that drunk."

Mrs. Towers's admission seemed to crack through the room with all the force of a thunderclap. Lady Dane was stunned into a rare moment of silence. Mrs. Towers's courage almost failed her, but she realized she had already passed the point of no return.

"I do not think your meddling has always done Kate good, my lady. And I forbid any more of it."

This last she said so quietly, Lady Dane had to bend slightly to catch it. As she drew herself up stiffly, Mrs. Towers half expected to be struck aside by her ladyship's cane.

"And what pray tell do you intend to do?" Lady Dane demanded. "Allow the girl to remain closeted in her room until the end of her days?"

"No. I intend to speak to Kate myself."

An amused expression crossed Lady Dane's features, like a mighty eagle hearing a sparrow offering to take over the task of seeking out prey.

"Then I suggest you get about it before Kate takes to wearing hair shirts as well." Her ladyship stalked to the door and opened it for Mrs. Towers. Lady Dane, of course, did not smirk, but the expression on her face was akin to it.

Mrs. Towers had little choice but to accept the challenge. Gathering up her dignity, she rustled past. With Lady Dane's fierce gaze upon her, she mounted the stairs to the second floor, her heart fluttering with trepidation. She had never borne any influence with Kate before. What on earth was she going to say to her daughter now?

At her timid knock upon the bedchamber door, Kate's lackluster voice bade her enter. She stepped inside the chamber to discover Kate seated upon a low stool by the fireside. She was bent industriously over a tambour frame, although Mrs. Towers had a strong suspicion the embroidery had only been snatched up with her entrance.

Kate glanced up, her appearance neat and trim, but her wan smile and the hollows beneath her eyes were enough to break Mrs. Towers's heart. "Mama! I thought you would be taking your nap."

"Not this afternoon, dear." Mrs. Towers closed the door behind her. "I came to see how you were feeling.”

"A little better," Kate said with forced cheerfulness. She ducked her head, concentrating on her needle. Mrs. Towers noted that the delicate stitching had not progressed much from when she had last seen the work in Kate's hand. Gently, she removed the frame from her daughter's grasp.

"I think it is time you got out a little."

Kate flinched with dismay. "Oh, no, truly, Mama. You must not worry about me."

It was the old evasion, but this time Mrs. Towers knew she could not accept it. She caught Kate's face between her hands so that she could look into her troubled eyes.

"Worrying is a mother's prerogative, Kathryn. Now tell me what is wrong."

"Nothing." Kate gave an overbright smile.

"I don't believe you," Mrs. Towers said. "The day of the fête I expected Lord Harry to ask permission to pay his addresses."

"Harry would never have thought of anything like that and c-certainly not now that I—" Her eyes filled with tears and suddenly she cupped Mrs. Towers's hand, holding it to her cheek. "Oh, Mama, I am s-so unhappy, I just want to die."

She broke down completely, weeping. Mrs. Towers plunked down upon the carpet, her skirts billowing about her, gathering Kate into her arms as though she had been all of six years old.