Her mother continued to babble about wedding plans and how proud she was that Kitty had made good use of her time in Hampshire. When she started in on Oliver Linfield being the nephew of an earl, Kitty finally snapped. “Mother!”
“Yes?” Her voice still sounded pleased.
Kitty did her best to keep her voice calm. “I am not engaged to Oliver Linfield, or anyone else.”
The faintest signs of uncertainty flitted across her mother’s face, and then they were gone. “But of course you are. I was just telling Lady Fitchett all about it at Mrs. Craughton’s house this afternoon.”
Afraid she was about to be sick, Kitty bolted up the stairs and down the corridor to her bedchamber. When her maid, Polly, found her afew minutes later, she was sprawled on the bed, staring at the canopy above. There was no possible way that the story of her “engagement” was not halfway across London by now. At the rate her mother’s friends gossiped, it would be in Edinburgh and Paris before long.
“Can I get you anything, miss?” Polly asked in a soft voice.
Kitty replied without turning her head. “Something light to eat. Whatever is in the kitchen.” She paused and then added. “And then you can help me ready for bed.”
It was not later than four in the afternoon, but Kitty wanted nothing more than to crawl under her covers and emerge sometime around her twenty-seventh birthday.
Oliver flew across the back meadows of Warner Grange. The estate of his newer brother-in-law provided the finest ground for running a horse anywhere in the neighborhood. Flat, straight, and with few obstacles that could put a horse or its rider in danger. He had run countless races across the meadows over the years. But today he was not racing another rider, only his own thoughts.
He had arrived at Arbor Hil—hat in hand—the day after the picnic, ready to apologize to Catherine Childs. Only to have the housekeeper inform him that Lady Sampson and her guest had left the neighborhood a few hours earlier. When he returned to Blackthorne Park, his mother had a note explaining their premature departure.
According to the baroness, the reasons had nothing to do with him. But he could not help but wonder if they reallydid. At the very least, his abominable behavior must have made the decision to leave that much easier. But there was nothing he could do about it now. Miss Childs was in London, and had been for several days.
When Oliver arrived back at his own stables, he jumped off his mount and handed the reins to a waiting groom. But instead of walking directly into the stables, the lad spoke. “I’m supposed to tell you that her ladyship was wanting to see you as soon as you get back.”
That was odd. His mother had never sent for him in such a manner. “Thank you, Sam. I’ll go in directly.”
As soon as he stepped into the front entrance of Blackthorne Park, a footman was waiting to receive his gloves and hat. Before Oliver could even greet the liveried servant, he spoke. “Her ladyship is waiting for you in her east sitting room.”
Though the renovations were nowhere near done, his mother had taken to spending part of each day in her new sitting room. She claimed she wished to get a feel for the space before she made any further decisions on furnishings and decor. As far as Oliver was concerned, she could take all the time in the world. The longer she took renovating her new rooms, the longer he had before concocting a new excuse for staying right where he was.
Oliver took two steps at a time, wondering what on earth could be so urgent. Had something happened to one of his sisters? Or Tim? That seemed unlikely. The stable hands knew where he had gone riding. If there had been a genuine emergency, someone would have come to fetch him.
He stepped through the open door of the sitting room to find his mother sitting in a wingback chair, her back and shoulders ramrod straight and her face unreadable. The twins knew they were in troubleas children when their mother took on what they had dubbed her “daughter of an earl” expression.
He approached slowly, as if attempting not to startle a wild animal. “Good morning, Mother. You wished to see me?”
“I received the most interesting letter while you were out.” She spoke in a perfectly polite tone that brought to mind Catherine Childs in her society mask.
“Oh?” Oliver attempted to sound calm, but something told him a powder keg was about to explode. “From anyone I know?”
“Your aunt has written to congratulate me on the engagement of my son.”
Oliver dropped onto the settee behind him. That was not possible. Tim was already married, and he was certainly not engaged to be married. After a dozen fast-paced heartbeats, he found his voice. “Do you have a third son of whom I am unaware?”
“Just the two,” his mother confirmed. “And apparently the elder is set to marry Miss Catherine Childs.”
Somehow Oliver had known what his mother would say, but he still could not believe it. “I have neither seen nor spoken to the woman since Sarah’s picnic.” It had been almost a week. The fact she’d taken up an almost constant presence in his thoughts was another matter altogether.
“You did have a rather interesting exchange near the gardens that day.” Her voice remained calm, but he could hear the underlying suggestion.
“An argument in full view of two dozen people is hardly a romantic interlude, Mother.” Accusing him of being ill-mannered would be understandable and totally deserved. But assuming any affection in their actions made little sense. No one could read his mind.
“None of us could hear what was said, and you were standing rather close,” his mother noted. “With the right imagination…” she trailed off, but he knew what she meant.
Oliver stood and began pacing across the room. “I need to speak to Tim.” His brother had a talent for getting out of scrapes. And into them. He would know what to do.
“I’ve already sent for him.”
As if summoned, his identical twin stepped into the room. “I understand there is someone here in need of ecclesiastical guidance.”
