“Hattie.” Margaret took her hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Are you all right?”
Was she? She didn’t know anymore.
Margaret peeked under the wide brim of Hattie’s bonnet and her face fell. “Oh, my dear girl. Walk with me and tell me about it.”
They turned down a path that led toward the house, and she opened her mouth to pour her heart out to the sister she loved and trusted more than anyone else in the world but then closed it again without a word passing her lips.
Her thoughts were all tangled in her head. How could she explain that even though so many years had elapsed since that magical summer she and Cass had spent underneath the low branches of the beech tree, he still haunted her thoughts?
It was absurd, ridiculous that so brief a friendship still had the power to overset her, and yet…
And yet, here they were.
How could she ever explain it to Margaret in a way that made sense? How could she speak of him when the mere thought of him made her chest tight and tears sting her eyes? If she ventured a single word about Cass right now, she’d burst into tears.
It wasn’t that Margaret would laugh at her. Her sister would never do something so cruel, but her heart was tender today, bruised and battered, and she’d never felt more useless in her life.
Cass seemed to be determined to ruin himself, and there wasn’t anything she could do to stop it. If she could only talk to him, perhaps she could shake some sense into him, but he was in London, and she was stuck here in Kent.
Although was she truly stuck? Shecouldgo to London, but if she did, what would she say to him? How could she make Cass listen to her? He’d cared for her friendship once, yes. She had no doubt of that, but it had been years ago, and if she scandal sheets were to be believed, the man he’d become was nothing like the boy he’d once been.
But could she ever forgive herself if she didn’t try?
“Hattie?” Margaret laid a hand on her sleeve, bringing them both to a halt on the pathway and gazed at her with anxious blue eyes. “Are you unwell? You look strange.”
“I’m very well, I assure you. I was just wondering if…”
Did she dare? She wasn’t brave, not like Sarah, but the thing was, even if Cass was no longerherfriend, she was stillhis.
“Yes? Wondering what?”
She sucked in a deep breath and leapt over the precipice. “The Royal Horticultural Society is doing a series of lectures over the next few weeks. I thought…well, I thought perhaps I might attend.”
Margaret blinked. “But the Royal Horticultural Society is inLondon.”
“Yes, I’m aware of that.” Despite her misery, a laugh fell from her lips. “That’s why some people call it The RoyalLondonHorticultural Society.”
“No one calls it that. I believe you’re thinking of the London Royal Hospital. Or the London Royal Opera House. Or the London Royal Ballet, or?—”
“Yes, never mind. Sir Joseph Banks is meant to deliver a lecture this year, and the man is eighty years old if he’s a day. If we don’t hear him this time, we may never have another chance.”
Margaret frowned. “Since when are you so enamored of Sir Joseph Banks? This is terribly sudden, Hattie.”
“It’s not, really. I’ve been thinking of going for some time now.” It was a bald-faced lie, and her cheeks heated with shame, but she managed to hold Margaret’s gaze.
“Johnathan and Emmeline won’t like it.” Margaret hesitated, then added, “If they find out.”
“They won’t find out. We’ll be there and then back again before they return from Oxfordshire.” Johnathan and Emmeline had gone to Hawke’s Run to spend time with Emmeline’s sister Helena and Helena’s husband Adrian until Helena was delivered of her second child.
“Let me make sure I understand you, Hattie. You’re saying you want to go to London?”
Margaret’s eyebrows had risen into her hairline, as well they might. Hattie had never shown the least inclination to ventureinto London before this. She’d always been happy to remain in Kent with her flowers and her sisters to keep her company.
But Kent would be here waiting for her when she returned.
“Yes. I want to go to London, but how is the thing to be managed?” They’d have to go without a chaperone, and they couldn’t stay at the townhouse in Grosvenor Street without Johnathan finding out about it.
“A bit tricky, isn’t it, especially this close to the start of the season.” Margaret tapped her lip, thinking, then gave a decisive nod. “There’s only one lady in England who can see it done properly.”
“Who?”
Margaret’s lips curved in a grin. “Lady Fosberry, of course.”
