Somehow, she felt far more at home at Westwick Heights than at Cathcart House. Even though Emily’s father was the younger brother of the Earl of Rennington, and now the heir to the title and estates, and even though the whole family was indubitably aristocratic, there was an ease and friendliness about them that was most agreeable to a rather lonely girl. If she had to be part of a large family, she mused to herself sometimes on the walks up or down the hill, she had far sooner be part of the relaxed Athertons than suffering the supercilious Aveline, or Aunt Cathcart’s constant worries about appearances, and the possible humiliation that might result if it became known that Katherine was the daughter of a mill owner.
The Athertons were not even perturbed by her father’s occupation. Mr Atherton came into the parlour one day, a folded newspaper in his hand.
“Miss Parish, I noticed this piece in one of the Manchester newspapers. It will interest you, I believe.”
Surprised, she took the newspaper from him and read where he indicated. It was about Branton! At first, it merely described the opening of a new, modern mill, but then—
“Longfarley!” she cried. Her father’s mill!
“You know it, then?”
“Oh, yes, for it is—” She clamped one hand over her mouth, recalling that she was not supposed to mention such things. Then, she slowly said, “I am glad to hear that it has reopened. There were many workers laid off when… when it closed.”
“Last year,” Mr Atherton said gently. “Just before Christmas, so the newspaper says. Is that correct?”
Wordlessly, she nodded, feeling tears pricking, and hoping she would not disgrace herself by crying openly. Not in front of the earl’s brother. How embarrassing that would be!
“Do you know the new owner? This… Mr Ridwell?”
She nodded again. “He has other mills. Cragforth is his biggest, but Longfarley is bigger… it has the very latest type of— Oh, I beg your pardon, sir. This is of no interest to you.”
“On the contrary, Miss Parish. I deduce this is…wasyour father’s mill, which was lost after he died? Then I am very glad to hear that it has reopened and given employment to so many men. There is much in the article about the significant improvements to the manufacture of beam engines that make this particular mill of such interest to our men of industry.”
She read the article avidly, and although her father’s name was not mentioned anywhere, and all the praise instead went to Mr Ridwell for his forward thinking in the new mill, she knew the credit was all to her father.
When she left that day, Mr Atherton emerged from his study to push into her hand a folded paper — the article, cut from the newspaper.
But a few days later, Katherine’s old and new lives clashed in a most unexpected fashion.
***
“ButKent,youwouldnot have me imprisoned here, would you?” Olivia wheedled as they sat at breakfast. “I have to escape, and with Mama gone, who better to escort me than my own brother?”
“You escaped only yesterday, as I recall, and with my escort,” Kent said but without heat, for when Olivia had set her mind on something, she was quite unstoppable. Besides, with Walter gone to London and Eustace busy about his own affairs, Kent was the only one left. He sipped his coffee and watched her marshal her arguments.
In truth, he felt sorry for his youngest sister. She was eighteen now, an age at which both Josie and Izzy had made their come-outs in town, but the Dowager Countess’s lingering illness had sunk poor Olivia’s chance of a season this year. Yet Grandmama still clung to life, and now Nicholson’s deceit had ruined Olivia’s future even more. With her pretty face and lively nature, not to mention a substantial dowry, she would still make a good match, but as an illegitimate daughter of an earl, her possibilities were reduced. Not for her the marriage to a peer or future peer, as both Josie and Izzy had achieved. The best she could hope for was a country gentleman of means, and that would be such a waste. So he was not unwilling to squire her about.
“Oh, pooh, yesterday was only Aunt Jane. That hardly counts.”
“And the Strongs, and the Franklyns the day before. Who else would you call upon?”
“The Cathcarts.”
“Really? Mama is not keen on Mrs Cathcart.”
“Lord, no, she is quiteencroaching, and the daughters are just as bad, but their cook makes the most delicious cherry cake… so moist and sticky! And she does not fuss if one has a second or third slice, the way Aunt Jane does.‘So sweet and bad for the digestion’,”she added in a passable imitation of her aunt’s voice. “‘Do have a dry biscuit, dear, and wrap yourself in this horrid scratchy shawl, and at all costs keep away from the nasty draughty windows.’Her drawing room is always so overpoweringly hot.”
Kent chuckled. “Aunt Jane means well, and she has good reason, for she was very sick when she first came here, Mother said, and is still prone to illness. Naturally, she is concerned for the health of others. But by all means let us sample the Cathcarts’ cherry cake, if you wish. Cathcart keeps an excellent cellar, so at least I will be offered something more interesting than tea. But I depend upon you to rescue me if Miss Cathcart sidles up to me batting her eyelashes.”
Olivia giggled. “She is such a flirt! Very well, we need not stay long.”
“Only three slices of cherry cake, then,” he murmured.
“Hmm, shall we say four?”
He laughed and rang the bell to order the carriage.
The Cathcarts were at home, and although the ladies were sitting in the small parlour just off the hall, the drawing room was hastily opened up for the distinguished visitors from the castle. A footman was still wrestling with shutters when Mrs Cathcart led Olivia in, while the daughters clustered around Kent, smiling hopefully up at him.
