“I am trying to protect him from gossip,” headded. “It may be futile. But I want the world to know I am not ashamed of him.”
Pangborne nodded once. He paused a moment, reflecting. “Well, if he can tolerate your company for the duration of a house party, bring him grouse hunting at my estate in Kent in August.” Pangborne sounded amused. “And... if he is unable to accompany you, just bring yourself.”
Kirke couldn’t speak for a moment. He endured a tiny pang of warm gratitude. “Thank you for the invitation. I hope we can join you.”
And thus, little by little, his life, long held as jealously close to his vest as a hand of cards that could make or destroy his fortune, unfolded a bit more.
He left Pangborne and made for his favorite retreat spot, the pair of ugly lions flanking a bench in the park near the Commons, between which he could sit and glower and breathe in London in peace for a time before he dove back into the fray.
Ten feet away from his favorite bench he stopped abruptly.
It was already occupied.
By a woman.
And as comprehension settled in, his knees nearly gave way beneath him.
He found himself reluctant to move forward. Because if she was a hallucination, he didn’t want it to ever end.
Finally, one cautious step at a time, he paced toward her. Slowly. To prolong the journey. To tease out the sweet miracle of it.
He stopped a few feet before her.
Her blue bonnet ribbons fluttered in the breeze while they regarded each other in a silence born of perfect, dumbfounding joy.
“I have looked behind every fern and every green thing I’ve seen for the last month,” he said finally, quietly. “And every last one of them broke my heart, Catherine, because you weren’t there.”
She smiled tremulously. “I apologize if I’ll be intruding on your meeting.” She gestured to the lions.
He said nothing for a moment.
“Did you want to hear me breathing?”
She stared at him, and he could see her eyes welling with tears.
“Yes.” The word was in shreds.
“I should think you’d be able to hear my heart beating right now, too.”
She gave a soft little laugh. “I would stand but...” Her voice was faint. “I fear I do not trust my knees to hold me.”
“May I sit down?” he asked gently.
She nodded.
He lowered himself next to her, carefully, at a discreet distance. “Please tell me you didn’t come to London alone?”
She shook her head. “My aunt and I are staying with Lady Wisterberg. They are off gallivanting and won’t be home until later this evening. She thinks I am having a leisurely day of reading.”
He smiled slightly. “Your father—is he—”
“My father is well. He is still tired, but happy enough. He was glad to have me back.”
“Very, very good.” He paused at length. “And you?” he said tenderly. “Are you well?”
It was a long moment before she replied.
She swallowed. “I came to tell you something, Dominic. I thought I could do it. I am not as good at speaking as you are. I fear I am too nervous.”
