Page 3 of The Subtle Craft of Courting Kate

“Yes, and they do it well. It’s so bloody pastoral out here in the countryside,” he said, planting his hands upon his hips as he gazed out into the distance, taking in the lambs cavorting over the hill, the mist that clung to the pastures dissipating in the sunny warmth of the new dawn, and the peachy sunrise still lingering over the horizon. “I always miss it when I’m in London.”

“Do you? Then why go to London for the Season at all, if you’ve no desire to take part in it?”

“Cake,” he said decisively, with a firm nod.

“Cake?”

“Cake. Lady Havisham’s cook does the finest cake I’ve ever had the privilege of tasting. Something with cinnamon, I think,” he said as he reached down to pull off the lone boot that would otherwise render his gait awkward. “I’ve yet to get the recipe out of the woman, but I remain ever hopeful.”

Kate let out a surprised bark of laughter at last, and the abashed grin that clung to the corners of Elliot’s mouth widened. Sometimes, she thought he said outrageous things only to make her laugh. “You will have to take a wife eventually,” she said as she meandered toward the sheep grazing in the field. “You’re not getting any younger.”

“I beg your pardon,” Elliot sniffed, with a haughty lift of his chin. “Devon has got to marry. I can go about as I please indefinitely. I’m not even the spare, you know, Katie, so there isn’t the least need for me to go about the business of producing heirs to carry on the family name.” He lifted his long, elegant fingers and rubbed at his chin, his brows drawing as he fell into step beside her, his boot tucked beneath one arm. “But Devon has put me in a hell of a bind at the moment. I do have to go back to London, as I’ve nowhere else to go at the moment.”

“Nowhere except your London lodgings,” she said crisply, her voice faintly sardonic. “Poor Elliot indeed. What a dreadful life you lead.”

He reached out and tugged her plait, just as he had hundreds of times when they had been children. “Don’t mock, Kate. It has been dreadful of late. I had to escape London in a hurry, or else find myself the victim of some matrimonial trap or another. I might not be in line to inherit, but I’ve still got a healthy fortune of my own even without Devon’s allowance, and the Holbrooks enjoy considerable social status.” He heaved a disconsolate sigh. “I haven’t had a decent cake in weeks.”

“What, not even Lady Havisham’s?”

“She’s got two daughters of marriageable age,” he said mournfully. “I couldn’t risk it. Even I don’t know what I might do for the promise of more of that cake. I might well have ended up married.”

Kate snickered beneath her breath and asked, “Are you so weak-willed as that?” But it needn’t have been a question, really. Elliot’s sweet tooth was legendary.

“When it comes to truly excellent cake? There are no lows to which I will not stoop.” Another massive sigh wrenched itself from his lungs, and he raked both hands through his hair, wincing as he pulled at the tangles and bits of grass lodged therein. “It’s a rather long ride back from London,” he said. “I had plenty of time to think.”

“Oh, dear. That hardly bodes well.”

Elliot slanted her a harassed glance, the corner of his mouth tilting up in a wry grin. “Promise me you’ll hear me out. That you won’t refuse out of hand.”

Kate’s steps stuttered, and she braced herself with the tip of the crook as she paused. Shading her eyes against the sun with one hand, she squinted up at Elliot in rank suspicion. “Refuse what, exactly?”

“Well…”

“Elliot.”

Elliot heaved a sigh, tipped his head back, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I came to the determination that there is simply no getting around it,” he said. “I have got to go back to London, and, if Devon has his way—which, as you know, he generally does—I’ll be married before the end of the Season. And if I must be married, well, then, I desperately need help.”

“Help?” Kate repeated, thoroughly confused. “My help?”

“Of course, your help.” Elliot sighed, and turned that pleading gaze to her. A puppy’s sad, plaintive eyes, begging shamelessly. “Katie,” he said, “I need you to come to London with me. To find me a wife.”

Chapter Two

Kate blinked, her dark eyes swimming with confusion. “What do you mean, to find you a wife?”

“Exactly that,” Elliot said. “Clearly, Katie, I cannot be trusted to manage the task on my own. Without your guidance, I might well find myself standing at the altar just for the price of a bit of cake.” He made a pacifying gesture with his hands. “It would be just for the Season, you understand. Two months at most.”

Her mouth dropped open, like a landed fish gasping for breath. “Two months! Elliot—”

“Kate, I truly am desperate. You don’t know what it’s been like. And I thought—well, wouldn’t you like to see London for yourself?”

“Have you gone completely mad? I can’t go to London. What would people say? I’m not a lady!”

“Not by title, perhaps. But you are a gentleman’s daughter.” The daughter of a vicar, a learned man, a country gentleman. Even if she now occupied a small cottage with her widowed mother as a tenant upon the Longthorpe estate.

“I raise sheep, Elliot!” Kate gave a wild wave of her shepherd’s crook, as if to drive the point home. “I spin yarn and dry herbs. I bake, and I do the washing and mending. I’ve never been to the opera or the theatre, and I’ve never worn a ball gown—”

“But you do know how to dance.”