The members of thetonreturned from wherever they had shuffled off to, once again surrounding the floor. None of the scandalized gasps or horrified exclamations that should have characterized the scene arrived, instead approving rumblings surrounded us.
Michael and Katherine abandoned all pretense of dancing, instead his hand slipped to the buttons lining her spine, working first one then the next open.
She turned to face me, allowing my brother free range of her back. Her dress was only pressed to her form by the forearm pinning it to her chest.
She met my gaze, and in a hauntingly, throaty, seductive tone she spoke, “You thought I was here for you? As if I could ever be yours. I’m here for the real viscount.”
* * *
I awoke with a choked gasp.My bedding and clothing soaked with sweat. I managed to haul myself toward the chamber pot before retching pitifully. The exercise proved futile, and I resorted to spitting the bile. I raked clammy hands through damp hair, trying to regulate my breathing.
Between shaky inhales I tried to recall the last time I dreamt of Michael.
It was clearly Tom’s fault, his insistence on maintaining a relationship with the man seeped into my unconscious mind.
Miss Summers, too—it was all due to that conversation with Tom.
There was no need to think further on the matter. I rinsed my mouth with the water glass I kept by my bedside before lying back down.
Unfortunately, the images from my dream refuse to abate. Every time I closed my eyes they returned. The images alternated between sensuous silk-wrapped curves, glowing pale skin, amused blue-green eyes, and Michael’s infuriating smirk.
It was little more than a quarter of an hour before I determined that sleep would be impossible.
I made a half-hearted attempt to dress, throwing on a shirt and breeches, before heading down to the study. Once there, I lit several candles before pulling out the letters from my solicitor once more.
Perhaps this time I could make sense of his reports since I would certainly not be getting further rest.
I had replaced the solicitor that Michael worked with three years ago for one who was much more amiable. Unfortunately, I was still forced to use the steward that Michael hired. There were no other reputable options in Kent, though I searched far and wide.
The man, Matthews, was brusque to the point of rudeness. He also had no interest in solving any tenant disputes and instead sent them to me for management.
I could hardly account for it. Certainly, Michael never handled these matters. My brother seemed fond of hiring boorish, and impertinent workers. I preferred to work with affable, good-humored folk whenever possible.
In my less charitable moments, I suspected that my brother encouraged them to make my life as difficult as possible when I took over.
The sheer volume of correspondence, creditors, and complaints I received was enough to drive anyone to madness.
Such was the case at the present. Matthews sent word of a tenant disagreement over some well or other with the neighboring landowner. How should I be expected to know to whom the well rightly belongs and who should pay the other for its usage? Should they not work that out amongst themselves?
Michael would never have been involved in such matters. Even if he did not instruct Matthews to send me complaints that he could easily have solved himself, I was positive he chose not to resolve these trivial issues and left them for me to handle.
I could feel the tension building behind my brow, threatening a megrim to rival Mother’s.
Fortunately, the sun was beginning to brush the clouds. Fresh air and exercise might do me some good. Eagerly, I returned to my room and rang for Stevens to help me dress for riding.
At length, I was able to set off at a brisk pace free from the worries of my study.
Seven
SUTTON MANOR, LONDON – NOVEMBER 20, 1812
KATE
The invitations dried up quickly.Even Aunt Prudence, society darling, could not garner invitations for her unfortunate, clumsy niece. Before, invitations were addressed to both of us, now they were pointedly only addressed to her. It seemed that one unfortunate moment in a ballroom was enough to ensure I was ostracized.
The worst of it was that part of me felt nothing but relief, the part of me I would never reveal to my aunt or to Jules. Neither of them could ever understand. They were born to be a part of this world. I was born to the life of a country vicar’s wife or perhaps the wife of a solicitor.
Embroidery, French, and dancing were of no use when the crops were flooding. None of those accomplishments would comfort a parishioner after a stillbirth. Were I to succeed in convincing a gentleman I possessed all the necessary skills for a society wife, he would surely be nothing but disappointed in under a year. My only hope was for Aunt Prudence to tire of me and return me to Lincolnshire where I belonged. There I could be of some help to Mother and Father with their flock. Or, perhaps act as an exceedingly unqualified governess to my sister’s numerous offspring.
