“I wanted her to grow big and strong,” Flora lisped. “And grand.” She smiled at the notion. “She was so little when I found her.”
“I see.” Esme swung her legs out from under the covers, wincing as her bare feet made contact with the wooden floorboards. Back home at Wolvesley, her bedchamber was laid with thick rugs and her lady’s maid would have put out goatskin slippers ready for her.
Here, she must fend for herself.
“Can you pass me my shawl?”
The child obliged, dragging the finely spun garment across the floor and then perching up on the bed beside her. Esme had no sooner pulled the shawl over her shoulders than Flora unceremoniously dumped the cat onto her lap.
“She likes you.” Flora was delighted.
“Does she?” Esme looked dubiously down at the small creature, who had begun to knead her night rail with sharp claws. “Ouch,” she exclaimed.
Flora giggled. “She only does that to people she likes.”
Esme fought an instinctive urge to tip the cat off her knees. She thought of her fine silken gowns and the damage this creature would wreak upon them. Then she looked down at her niece—with her shining golden hair and neatly tied travelling cloak—and knew that she could not refuse her.
Flora stroked the cat’s jet-black fur. “Felicity does not like many people. Only Mama and Papa and me.”
“Not Jonah?” Esme flung out, more in hope than expectation.
“Felicity likes Uncle Jonah. But Uncle Jonah says she disturbs his writing.”
“I see.” Resigned to her fate, Esme joined Flora in stroking the cat’s smooth fur and was gratified when Felicity arched her back in pleasure.
“Will you take care of her for me?” Flora tipped her head upwards and Esme saw glassy tears reflected in the candlelight.
“Of course I will.” She circled one arm around the little girl’s shoulders and drew her closer. “I will take the very best care of her. Until the day you return. Then, you and Felicity will have both grown bigger and stronger.” The cat now rubbed its cheek against Esme’s fingers, purring loudly.
“Do you think she might forget me?” Flora rested her head on Esme’s arm, and Esme’s heart turned over.
“Most certainly not. Cats have very long memories,” she invented quickly.
Mayhap they did? Esme had very little experience of the matter. Back home at Wolvesley, cats were kept only in the barns, helping to keep them free of vermin.
But this particular creature seemed to possess both intelligence and personality. It sat primly on Esme’s knee, looking up at her as if claiming her.
“Do not worry about us, Flora. Felicity and I will be just fine.”
Flora bit down on her lip. “Can I take her now? Just until we get into the carriage?”
“Of course.”
Flora scooped up her cat and walked toward the door.
“Thank you, Aunt Esme.”
“You’re welcome.”
Flora closed the door behind her and Esme sighed.
The care of one small cat was a small price to pay for the chance to stay here, just as she had wished.
A triumph she owed to the mysterious warrior from Callum’s past. He had showed neither charm nor manners in the great hall, but his acceptance of her request had granted her a reprieve. More time away from Wolvesley, to wait for Crispin’s arrival.
More time to consider your options, her mind whispered traitorously in her ear.
Grimacing, Esme paced over to the window and moved aside the oilcloth. The darkness of night had morphed into the milky light of dawn, allowing her to make out the shape of a carriage and pair waiting by the front door. Behind it was a cart, half-filled with luggage. Voices floated up from the courtyard and a dog barked with excitement. A lone figure barreled through the front door holding an enormous trunk against his chest.
