Chapter Twenty-three
The neckline of Kate’s dusky pink day dress rubbed against her skin. She scratched at it as Mr Smythe told her all about his family’s latest investment. It wasn’t that she didn’t find wheat production interesting… well, actually that was exactly it. It was hard to concentrate on what the man was saying when the topic was not as compelling as the man clearly believed. Perhaps if he had asked her one question about herself before his eternal monologue, she may have been able to concentrate better, but as it was, she could not.
The afternoon had seen a steady flow of visitors at Glanmore House—male ones, who were supposedly interested in her and not, as Emily kept reassuring her, the vastly ridiculous dowry. Most were men who were wealthy in their own right and who seemed to find her an interesting prospect, perhaps because of her lofty connection with the duke or maybe because she was new but not young like a debutante fresh out of the schoolroom. It was almost impossible to believe that having existed in the shadows for such a long time, she was supposed to stand in the light and be paraded around like a prize mare at a cattle fayre.
After the first gentleman caller, the men had all blurred into one, an awful realisation she would keep to herself. At first she had tried to keep track, but very few of them asked her questions about herself. Alexander Wright had attended but had proven himself to be rather churlish once he had realised he had heavy competition. If she had been interested in him as a potential husband, his display of childish petulance would have put her off.
Not one of them made her heart race in the way Edward did. It was hard to keep at bay the niggling thought that if she were a governess, barely any of these men would acknowledge her presence in a room. Those who would have noticed her in her previous role were not the type of men she would want to encourage. She said as much to Emily during a quieter moment.
‘Try not to overthink this,’ the countess replied. ‘Some of the men might be full of their own self-worth, but they are here because they are interested in you; that is a heady compliment. Enjoy the moment. Not all of us get to experience it.’
‘I do not mean to sound ungrateful,’ she rushed to reassure Emily.
‘I know and I understand what you are saying. Even if not a single man today takes your fancy, then this time is still not a waste. It might help you decide what you do want and, in years to come, you can remember the time when the men of the Ton were at your feet.’
‘I would not go that far.’
Emily smiled softly, reaching for her cup of tea. ‘Perhaps not, but have you not found it even a little bit enjoyable?’
‘I think I would like it better if the men showed more interest in getting to know me, but for the most part, they ask a fewquestions about where my father was a vicar before moving on to talk about themselves.’
‘But has it helped you think about what sort of man you would like? Perhaps someone serious but kind? Or a man who has proven himself as someone who cares for young children.’ Emily was looking at her strangely, but Kate had not met a single man like that during the long afternoon.
‘I am afraid it has made me think I do not want to get married at all.’ She had been mulling this thought around in her head for a while now and as the afternoon had passed, it had only become stronger.
‘Oh.’ Emily slumped in her chair, before straightening. ‘Well, that is a shame, but there are more men to come; perhaps one of them will change your mind.’
Kate doubted it. Although she could not clearly remember each individual man she had spoken to this afternoon, she had the impression that not one of them would welcome the idea of being wed to someone who did not want to be a Society wife. Even after thinking about it for a long time, she still wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted for her future, but these weeks at Glanmore House had shown her that she did not enjoy being idle. She missed being around children and watching them grow and learn. It was perhaps unfair of her to judge without asking, but she was under the impression that each man who had visited her would expect her to produce babies and then hand them over to someone else to raise. It would kill her to live in this way. No, she needed a better plan for her life; she just had to decide on what it would be. There was no time to discuss it with Emily, however, as Sutton announced a Mr Philpot and the whole rigmarole started again.
Chapter Twenty-four
Edward pulled off his cravat and tossed it onto a chair, glancing at it once before picking it up, folding it neatly and placing it in a drawer. Unbuttoning the top of his shirt, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He expected to see a ravaged face, lips that snarled and a frown so deeply carved into his forehead that it was a permanent fixture. Instead, he saw his normal features looking back at him, eyes rimmed with darkness from lack of sleep, lips marginally downturned but not so a stranger would notice. Looking at him, you would not know he had lived through his own personal hell over the last week.
He cared for Kate more than he’d realised. In the two months she had been living with them, he’d grown used to the way his heart picked up whenever he caught a glimpse of her. He’d almost become accustomed to the way they might share a smile at something Charlotte did or an amused grimace whenever Freddie and Emily became too much with their mutual devotion. He’d held himself back from making more of it, of trying to make her his, because he had believed, truly and utterly, that heshould not take advantage of her while she lived in his house. Now it appeared, he had left it too late.
Flowers were crammed into every corner of Glanmore House. Every time he came across a new arrangement, it was like being slapped in the face, the fanciful petals a reminder that he could have started courting her when they first met or at the very least begun a light flirtation. Now he existed in a state of near constant panic that she might meet someone she liked better than him. Not as difficult a feat as he would have previously believed; his jealousy was making him a bore. When she smiled at him in some shared joke, his envious heart would not allow him to respond properly. He’d managed one compliment on the first day of the torrent of flowers but nothing since.
During the evening meal they had all just suffered through, he’d been grumpy and aloof. At least he’d managed to apologise for his behaviour and put it down to tiredness. The way his eyes looked, his lack of sleep was obviously not a lie. Knowing he had behaved like an idiotic buffoon over the meal would mean tonight would be no better. Until he could think of a resolution to his desire for Kate, he was destined to endure endless wakeful nights.
A light knock at his door broke him from his reverie.
He stared blankly at the door, wondering if he had imagined the sound. He had sent his valet away, so it was unlikely he was returning. Besides, the man would not knock. Neither would Christopher, the only one of his brothers who might think to invade his privacy. That only left one person but surely… The tap came again.
He strode towards the door, pulling it open before the person could think twice and leave.
Still dressed in the gown she had worn to the family dinner, Kate smiled shyly at him. Without asking what she was doing, he pulled the door open wider and stepped to the side to let her in.
He gestured to a settee that ran along the wall of the sitting room he used whenever his family became too much. He realised he had not spent much time in here since Kate had come to live with them, preferring to be in the Blue Lounge in case she happened to join them. ‘Please take a seat,’ he said as if this were a tea party he’d invited her to and not his private suite at a time that was long since past appropriate.
Her dress rustled as she made her way across the room, the sound incongruously loud in the stillness.
‘You are very tidy,’ she said as she sat down. ‘Either that or you do not own very much.’
He took in the surroundings, trying to see it from her point of view. It was true that there was nothing on display: no books or newspapers, no writing utensils or personal mementoes. He had those things, but they were put away, each in their own place.
‘If things are left all over the place, it is tantamount to spiders running all across my skin. I do not care for it.’
She adjusted the cuff of her short sleeve, drawing his attention to the soft skin of her upper arm. ‘That does not sound pleasant.’
