After a day of rest following their arrival, she rose early, eager not to waste another hour now that she was in Town. Her fingers tapped out a rhythm on her leg as Tess pinned her hair in a simple yet elegant arrangement to match her lavender day dress.
She made her way to the morning room, knowing her father would be there and grateful that her mother was certain to sleep late. Kate had no wish to spend her day repeating conversations from the carriage. Guilt at lying to her parents—to everyone—pressed in, sharper now that she was closer to the work she had come here to do.
Her father lowered his newspaper as she entered. “Good morning, Kate. I trust you are fully recovered from the journey?”
“Yes, remarkably so.” She moved to the sideboard, selecting a few honey cakes and some toast with marmalade before taking a seat near him at the table.
Her father smiled, knowing how much she disliked close quarters, and slid his copy ofThe Morning Postto her before picking up the missive in front of him. This had been their morning tradition long enough that she no longer needed to ask. She was grateful he did not question why she wanted it.
She scanned the columns with practiced indifference, finding comfort in the familiar, acrid scent of newsprint and the smudges of ink it left behind on her hands. A shipping notice at the bottom of the advertisements caught her eye. Its wording was slightly off, but after a quick study, she found it was simply an ordinary notice. Disappointment pricked, and she forced herself to turn the page. No matter. She did not give up so easily.
She found the poetry section and scanned for the seemingly innocent words that had haunted the column of late:oakandsnake. A standard reader would glance right past them, but to Kate, the irregular phrasing practically shouted from the page. These messages had appeared harmless at first but had grown increasingly insistent, their tone darkening with every new print. Each message was more urgent than the last, as if a storm were gathering.
Someone was submitting them. Someone in London. And for the first time, she was close enough to follow the trail.
A crunch told her she had gripped her toast so hard the remaining slice had been reduced to a pile of crumbs. Brushing her hands on her napkin, she turned to the window. The clouds were beginning to part, promising a break from the constant rain.
She bade farewell to her father before he left to attend to his parliamentary duties and then hurried to change into a walking dress. With a maid at her side, no one could question the propriety of her early morning walk to Hyde Park. As most of society was still abed, it would be the ideal place to clear her thoughts.
She and Tess skirted around a puddle in the path, and she pulled her pelisse tight around her as they walked farther into the park. A few acquaintances passed by with greetings, but she did not slow down long enough to talk to them. Kate did not want to answer their questions. She was aware that society gossip often speculated why the daughter of a marquess was yet unwed at the age of one and twenty. Many assumed that she was simply waiting for James, and perhaps that had once been true. But now she had other reasons for delaying marriage, to James or any other man.
She had involved herself in something no proper lady would ever do. Marriage would likely mean giving up the part of her life that she had chosen for herself, the part that made her feel alive.
She was not afraid of love, but she would not give her heart to a man until she knew he could be trusted not to confine her, diminish her, or shape her into something smaller than she was. Despite her lingering attraction to him, James was no exception, and she could not let her feelings for him deepen. She would not risk a broken heart. She doubted he would accept her double life, and she would need every day of the five weeks they had agreed upon to decipher the real Lord Brenton.
Allowing him to call her Kate had been unwise, perhaps, but she had not been able to resist the quiet thrill of hearing her name on his lips. It felt like a thread connecting what they had once been with what they might become. Calling him James would be different. That level of familiarity felt too much like an invitation, one she was not ready to give him yet.
Her thoughts tumbled endlessly around each other until a slight ache in her feet forced her to turn back toward the town house. Within a few paces, gentle raindrops landed on her hair and spotted the pavement around them. The air smelled fresh and inviting, but her mother would fuss if she arrived home wet.
“Come, Tess, let’s hurry,” Kate said, quickening her pace.
They entered the house to a commotion of servants scurrying this way and that in the front hall. Even the butler’s brow was furrowed in worry as he took Kate’s damp bonnet from her.
“What has happened, Dixon?” Kate asked breathlessly.
“I beg your pardon, Lady Katherine. I fear Lord Hugh has met with an unfortunate accident. He had a fall from his horse.”
“Lord Hugh? Did you receive a letter?”
“He is upstairs, my lady.”
Without waiting for more answers, she hurried up the stairs. Her walking dress tangled around her legs, hindering her franticclimb. She spied her mother, eyes rimmed with tears, exiting her brother’s bedchamber. “Mother, how is Hugh? Is he well?”
Her mother wrapped her in a gentle hug, then leaned back to wipe her tears with a handkerchief. “He is injured badly and in pain, but he is awake and speaking. That is a good sign.” Her mother attempted a watery smile. “That absurd boy insists he will be well enough to ride tomorrow, so at least he has not lost his sense of humor.” She clasped Kate’s hand, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “Do go sit with him until the doctor arrives, will you? And make sure he does not try to get out of bed. Doctor Fitzroy is on his way, and I must change my dress before he arrives. A servant has been sent to Westminster. Your father may be in committee and not easily reached, but I am certain he will come as soon as he is able.”
Kate kissed her mother’s cheek. “Of course, Mother.” They hugged once more before her mother disappeared down the corridor. When Kate entered Hugh’s bedchamber, heavy curtains had already been drawn, muting the London gray. A warm fire crackled in the hearth, but it did little to ease her worry at the sight of her older brother. He was lying utterly still, a low groan escaping his lips. A gash marked his temple, and his entire torso was wrapped in white linen. His discarded clothes lay in a heap by the bedside table, and she turned away from the sight of bloodied bandages. He blinked awake.
“Oh, come now, Kate,” Hugh muttered. “Why the long face? Do I look that terrible?”
She managed to smile despite the unshed tears on her lashes. Moving to his side, she squeezed his outstretched hand and pushed all of her worries to the back of her mind. Hugh would hate it if she made a fuss.
“You look considerably better than the time you fell out of that apple tree. You howled so dreadfully every time Nurse tried to apply ointment to your scratches.”
Hugh chuckled at the memory until a moan escaped him. “Do not make me laugh, Kate. It hurts abominably.”
“I am relieved that you are alive and whole. When Dixon told me you had an accident, I feared the worst. What happened? We did not expect to see you until tomorrow.” She sat in the chair beside his bed, reaching out to give him a reassuring touch on his arm.
Hugh clenched his fist. “I was a complete novice and let myself get thrown.” He shifted on the bed, wincing as he settled against the pillows. “Thankfully, George was with me. He did his best to bind my wounds and hired a gig from a nearby inn to bring me home.”
