“I still don’t like him,” I insisted.
“No one could deserve Katie,” she agreed, remaining pressed into my shoulder.
“Certainly not.”
“No one could deserve you either.”
“I know, I’m a treasure.”
“I take it back, let thebeau mondehave you,” she said, pulling away. She wiped her eyes quickly but there was a suspicious damp spot on my shirt.
“Well, I was going to suggest that I begin to visit twice a year, rather than the once. But if you’ve washed your hands of me, I suppose I’ll have to see if Davina’s family will have me.”
“I suppose you may visit twice,” she said, feigning nonchalance.
“What if I brought Katie and little Henry?”
“What about Hugh?”
“He can remain in town.”
“That seems a fine plan.”
“Are we all right then?”
“Yes, you’ll have to forgive me,” she insisted, then settled on the bench beside the door, patting the space beside her. “In fact, consider it payback for the way you treated Sydney when he was courting me.”
I sat beside her with a humph. “He deserved everything Katie and I threw at him and more.”
“I’ll never agree to that.”
Seventeen
EARNSHAW RESIDENCE—APRIL 11, 1817
DAVINA
I workedon the onions with false confidence, feeling tears perk. My showing was an utter failure and Kit’s sister was outside surely convincing him to orchestrate an annulment. I didn’t like to fail at anything, certainly not something so simple as onion cutting. My tears weren’t because I was still rattled from Kit’s overwhelming presence and the subsequent vacuum of his absence—they weren’t.
Suddenly, I felt a warm body by my side. “Oh, dear. Onions get to me as well,” Mrs. Summers said. “I keep a damp rag nearby and that seems to help some.” She set one on the board beside me.
Through the open window in front of me, I caught bits and pieces of the argument occurring outside. It seemed the only thing they could agree on was that I was incompetent.
“Don’t mind those two. They’ve been spoiling for a fight since their pa died.”
My gaze slipped to hers, the same warm wood shade of Kit’s. “I am so sorry for your loss, Mrs. Summers.”
“Rose, please. Or Mum, if you prefer.”
“Rose,” I settled on, unable to voice the other option.
“Thank you for that. And for what you’ve done for my Kit.”
“I haven’t?—”
“Nonsense,” she interrupted. “I’ve been so worried over him, in town all alone. And the earldom… Every time someone uses the title, he’s reminded his father is gone. But today… Well, he looks at you the way Teddy looked at me.”
The onions were troubling me again, tears welling unbidden. The knowledge that this kind woman would be devastated when she learned the truth, or whatever story we landed on, had no effect on me at all. Even though I knew she would fret over Kit even more, and she would be right to do so. It was that sentiment that brought the next question out of me. “Can you teach me to make the stew?”
