“She has volunteered. There are a few noblemen who have come from the surrounding area. They would like to kiss Kate, and pay handsomely for it,” Emily said, patting his arm as if she’d been doing just that for many years.
“The duchess has a husband,” he pointed out.
“But she is the Duchess of Raven, it is expected of her. Besides, it is only a peck on the cheek, and all money this year goes to educating the children of Crunston Cliff.”
Jealousy was the only word for what Rory was feeling. He did not want strange men kissing Kate, even on the cheek for a good cause. It was that simple.
“Will you stay and share Christmas Day and the wedding with us tomorrow, Rory?” Emily asked.
“Ahh, of course,” he said when his sisters looked up at him. “I think you need to have a rest, Rose.” She looked ready to burst and had dark smudges beneath her eyes which suggested she’d not slept well. He saw a seat up ahead and made for it. Lowering her into it, he said, “I shall return shortly.”
Rory had taken two steps away from his sisters when something stopped him. Turning, he looked at Emily and Rose. “It is… very nice to spend time with you both.”
“And spending time with you has brought us joy also, brother,” Rose said.
He walked away then with emotion choking him. He had to acknowledge, at least to himself, that leaving here would be difficult now.
“Hello.” A young girl stepped into his path. She looked excited about something. “I am Isabella.”
“Hello, Isabella.” Rory bowed.
“You’re my uncle Rory.”
“Am I?”
“My father is your brother. He’s a duke.”
“Well then, I believe you are right.”
“Come, I’m going to take Kate some fudge, as she is in the kissing booth and she told me it’s quite hard work, so she’ll want nourishment.”
A hand slipped into his before he could stop it and pulled more emotion out of him. How was he to combat this? This onslaught of feeling. He didn’t need to belong anywhere… did he?
Chapter Twelve
“Is your arm sore?” Isabella asked him.
“No, it aches sometimes but is much better, thank you.”
“I’m sorry it hurts. I cut my finger once and cried. Did you cry?”
“Yes, but I’d rather you didn’t tell anyone that.”
She snuffled. “I like secrets.”
“I bet.”
“There are not many in a family as large as ours.”
“I can imagine.”
She chatted as they walked and gave him names for people she knew as they passed, and then there she was. Kate Sinclair with her beautiful eyes.
“That’s Mrs. Radcliff. She’s been in the kissing booth for many years, Papa told me. He thinks she’s close to one hundred years old now.”
Looking at the other booths, he found the Duchess of Raven and another… presumably Mrs. Radcliff.
The woman’s face looked like a worn leather boot. Winkles from forehead to chin, and he’d lay good odds on her having no teeth in that mouth, as it seemed to fold in on itself. Her shoulders were stooped, and around them lay a thick shawl.
