Chapter Twenty
In the afternoonof the third day, tired and desperately unhappy, Kate arrived at the castle. With two footmen riding shotgun, the trip proved uneventful, despite Hove’s fears. At the sign of the warm stone edifice, memories assailed her. She had left here with so much hope and now returned defeated.
The carriage entered the cobbled courtyard, and a footman jumped down to assist her. James hurried to welcome her, closely followed by Felix, who jumped up at her with a joyful bark.
James bowed. “Lady St. Malin. We received no word of your coming.”
“No. I’m remiss, James.” Kate returned his warm smile. “It was a hasty decision. I found myself in need of rest and fresh air. London is exciting, but it does drain one.”
“We have plenty of fresh air here, my lady,” he said with a grin.
“Send the coach back to London tomorrow. I have no need of it, but his lordship may.” She wondered as she said it if she would ever return to London.
“It shall be done, my lady.”
In her old chamber, Kate removed her hat and perched on the window seat. Although it was autumn and cool, the grass remained green along the shore, the sky a clear, cloudless blue. All the colors seemed brighter here. After the gray skies of London, it looked like heaven. She listened to the slap of the waves on the shore and wished she was able to enjoy it with a light heart. Gulls soared above the waves, their mournful cry echoing her feelings. The sea’s briny smell wafted in on the breeze, and tears gathered at the back of her throat.
A knock came at the door.
“Come in.” Kate quickly wiped her eyes.
“My lady?”
“Rebecca. I’m pleased you’re still in service here.”
Two footmen followed her in, carrying the trunk. They bowed and left.
“Shall I attend to the gowns before they crease, my lady?”
“Yes, please.” Too tired to move, Kate sagged in a chair watching the girl’s brisk movements. She dreaded being alone with her thoughts.
James knocked at the door. “Do you wish a tray brought up, my lady?”
“No. I’ll have it in the library, thank you, James.”
“I’ll have a fire going in a trice and alert Cook. Mrs. Beacham will want to prepare one of your favorite meals.”
Kate swallowed. “Thank you, James.”
From the long library windows, shadows slanted across the meadows in the setting sun. A branch of a maple tree, it’s leaves a fiery crimson, scratched against the leaded panes. Kate sat down on the sofa, patting the cushion next to her. Felix jumped up and settled beside her. She fed him half a ham sandwich which was gone with a snap of his jaws.
While stroking the dog’s silky head, she thought back to when she’d first met Robert, standing with an arm resting on the mantel, one long leg crossed over the other. With the advantage of some distance between them, it became clearer why it had all gone so wrong. She’d made mistakes she admitted. But might he not have forgiven her? She’d tried so hard to be the graceful wife he wanted. She bit back a sob, and Felix licked her hand.
Robert had approved of how she dressed, he’d said so on the way back from Bath. And she couldn’t fault his generosity. She’d never had to ask for money, or trinkets, or beg him to take her anywhere she wanted to go, despite him often being tired from handling his affairs. He’d never complained about her behavior in society, either, although she’d erred badly on more than one occasion.
Yet, he hadn’t loved her. She’d been prepared to turn herself inside out to please him, but if he wanted a tall, fair, and slender beauty like Lady Arabella Elphinstone or Millicent Borrowdale, she could never be that. She was too short and rounded, her hair more brown than fair. And her behavior, for she was seldom submissive, would not have pleased him. She lowered her chin and gazed at the fire. No sense in wishing for the impossible.
Another thought crept in. Might she have expected Robert to be more like her father? Papa had been an orator, and keen to express his feelings. Robert was a man of few words. People were different, did it really matter?
Might she have been entirely unreasonable to wish for a husband to act like a romantic knight of old? The picture of Robert standing beneath her window serenading her, brought a reluctant grin to her lips. But he’d fought for her honor, which at the time she’d failed to appreciate. But after Southmore’s disgraceful treatment of her at Vauxhall, she was grateful.
That night, Kate slept deeply, but woke unrefreshed. She’d dreamed that Robert came to take her in his arms. It weighed heavily on her heart to find herself alone. During the morning, she wandered the shore accompanied by Felix, adding a few pieces of driftwood to her collection and wondering where life would lead her. Did an unbearably lonely future await her? Surely Robert would not leave things this way. He would come to some decision and need to discuss it with her. This thought only served to make her more nervous. She knew little about legal matters but knew divorce was difficult to obtain. Didn’t Lord Brown have to appeal to parliament for a divorce? And nonconsummation was not grounds to obtain it.
Kate returned to her chamber and began fashioning a new piece of driftwood. Her busy hands soothed and distracted her. But would her sad heart ever accept the inevitable?
*
In the phaeton,with his groom beside him on the box seat, Robert rested a boot on the footrest and tooled his horses along the country road. The phaeton was not as well sprung as the St. Malin coach, and he’d been forced to stop more often to change or rest the horses. It was no good trying to hurry things along. He must be patient, but patience was not something inherent in his nature. And even his newfound maturity didn’t seem to help—he smiled sourly, Charlesworth would always rub him the wrong way.
