“Of course I meant it. Will you marry me, Katy? I have not much to offer you, but—”
“Hush,” she said again. “I will marry you, but I have not much to offer you, either. We shall have to budget carefully.”
The door opened again, to admit another familiar face.
“James! You here too?”
“There you are, Cousin Kate, and… well, you are in safe hands, I see. Yes, yes, do not glare at me, Atherton, but we need to be ready when this impostor returns. Has Atherton told you, Kate? About the newspaper cutting?”
Katherine blushed, and it was Kent who chuckled and said, “We have been too pleasurably engaged to discuss that. Cathcart, will you see that Katy’s maid sets about packing, and ensure there are carriages enough ready for us in… shall we say, two hours? Then we shall await this fellow’s return.”
“I shall arrange everything.” And so saying, James disappeared, leaving Katherine alone with Kent once more.
She sighed. “Kent, will you marry me soon? I am tired of bouncing around from one house to another. All I want now is a home of my own, with you. I want you never to leave me.”
Her voice wobbled alarmingly, but he pulled her close, and kissed her forehead so softly she barely felt the touch of his lips. “It would be the greatest privilege of my life to take care of you always, Katy, my love. My wonderful Katy, who is turning me into an honest, upright citizen. One day, I may even be worthy of you, my dearest.”
“I love you so much it hurts,” she whispered.
“I know what you mean,” he whispered back. “It is just the same for me, too. But we are together now. We will always be together, my darling love.”
***
Kenthadarrangedthelittle parlour carefully. Katy and Daisy sat on either side of the fire, Kent was at the table pretending to read a newspaper, while James prowled restlessly around the room. But eventually there were footsteps outside, the door opened and there he was. The man pretending to be Harold Parish.
He was rather a handsome fellow, that was Kent’s first thought. The right age, the fair colouring, the blue eyes, just as described in the newspaper. Kent had shown the cutting to Katy, and she had exclaimed in horror at the amount of detail it revealed about her family.
“No wonder we were all taken in,” she murmured.
Now she watched him calmly, having accepted that he was a complete stranger who had tried to help himself to her money. And if that had failed, perhaps he would have tried something worse. Kent had wished to spare her the most sordid of the possibilities, but she guessed much of it. A hasty marriage would have given him full access to her fortune.
The impostor was smiling as he entered, but seeing James Cathcart and Kent there, the smile slipped a little. “Visitors? I wasn’t aware you had any acquaintance in York, sister dear.”
“Allow me to introduce them to you. This is my future husband, Mr Kent Atherton, son of the Earl of Rennington, and my cousin, Mr James Cathcart. I am afraid I cannot introduce you in return, for I have not the least idea who you are.”
The smile was entirely gone now, replaced with a nervous wariness. “Why, sister, how can you say so? Gentlemen, I’m Harold Parish.”
“I think not,” Kent said, smiling. He produced the newspaper cutting and laid it on the table. “I believe you read this and decided to take advantage of an innocent young lady by relieving her of her money.”
“Nonsense! We’re going to set up house and—”
“So why are you asking attorneys to help you claim my trust fund?” Katy said sweetly.
“I’m your brother! I’m entitled to it… half of it, anyway.”
“If you were truly Miss Parish’s brother,” Kent said, “you would go to Branton and find someone who remembers you and can vouch for you. But you have avoided Branton, have you not? Very smart of you, because your little scheme would be uncovered instantly. I think you—”
With shocking suddenness, the man bolted for the door, where he found the solid form of James Cathcart blocking his way.
“What shall we do with him?” Cathcart said, holding the struggling man easily. “Break his legs?”
The man squeaked, and the carefully modulated accent vanished. “It weren’t my idea, honest! It were me cousin made me do it.”
“The fellow masquerading as your valet?” Cathcart said. “He is already locked up in the cellar. Cousin Kate, you may decide this miscreant’s future. Broken legs or the magistrate?”
“Not the broken legs,” she said. “Violence should be a last resort, James.”
“Pity,” he said. “The magistrate, then. He will be transported, at least, I should think.”
