Page 5 of The Subtle Craft of Courting Kate

Had they ever had the means, Mama meant to say, Kate supposed. But they hadn’t. The small annuity that Papa had left for Mama paid out four percent per annum, and without Kate’s small flock of sheep and the wool they produced, it would have ceased to support them years ago.

“Your father would have wanted a Season for you,” Mama said, lowering her eyes to her folded hands. “He loved it here, loved ministering to his flock. But he wanted a bigger world for you, Katie. He would have wanted more for you than to be mired here, tending sheep.”

“Mama, I love the countryside.” That much, at least, was true. Even if she had never had the opportunity to leave it, she loved the fresh, clean air, the rolling hills, the wide stretch of the unimpeded sky.

“You might love London, too,” Mama said. “If you had only had the opportunity to see it.” She used the cuff of her sleeve to dash away a stray tear from her eye. “Of course, the circumstances are…somewhat unusual.”

Kate pursed her lips against the snicker that wanted to emerge. “Say rather unbelievable.”

“Yes, well, that is Lord Elliot, isn’t it?” Mama gave a watery smile. “Still, I cannot help but feel a certain gratitude toward him. Wild scheme or no, you deserve a bit of a respite. A holiday of sorts, no? A chance to live out a life few are privileged enough to lead, even if it is only temporary.”

“Two months, Mama. That’s quite a holiday.”

“Only for us, my dear. Besides, you’ve hung upon Lord Elliot’s stories of London for years, now. Wouldn’t you enjoy the chance to see it for yourself?”

It was true that she had always enjoyed the stories that Elliot had regaled her with of his time in London, loved the scandals and the gossip and the glamor he’d imparted. But she had never labored beneath the delusion that she would have been welcomed among his set, in the glittering world of the Ton. Just the thought of it provoked a nameless anxiety, and her hands curled into the fabric of her skirts as her palms began to sweat with the advent of unease.

Would they smell the sheep on her, Elliot’s high-society friends? He could—as he’d said—outfit her like a lady, but that wouldn’t turn her into one. He was, in truth, Lord Elliot Holbrook, even if they had never stood on such ceremony due to their long-standing friendship. Father might have been a gentleman, an esteemed member of the clergy, but it had been so long since their circumstances had been anything even approximating genteel.

“Are you quite all right, dear? You look as if you’re about to cast up your accounts.”

Kate swallowed down the bile that had coated her throat and made an effort to force a shade of a smile to her face. “I’m well enough,” she said. “It is only—oh, Mama, what if I make a cake of myself?”

“I can’t imagine Lord Elliot would let you,” Mama said, with a faint wrinkle of her brow. “And besides, with his penchant for devilry, you’ll look positively angelic by comparison.”

“Mama.”

“Oh, come, dear, you know it’s the truth.” Mama adjusted her spectacles upon the bridge of her nose, swallowing back a laugh. “Lord Elliot is a fine man, but he has got the remarkable tendency to thumb his nose at propriety when it suits him.”

“Such as dragging me to London to find him a wife?” Kate suggested wryly.

“Well, there is that,” Mama acknowledged. “But a man has got a right to choose a wife in his own way.”

“Devon thinks otherwise.”

“Ah, well—His Grace has always been a bit of a managing sort,” Mama said. “Such a stern boy, even as a child. I swear I never saw the like.” She reached out one hand and laid it over Kate’s. “At least I can be certain that Lord Elliot will have a care for your reputation. But you’ll have the time of your life in London, just you see. No one deserves a bit of fun more than you.”

That was that, then, Kate supposed. They were bound for London.

Chapter Three

Oh, good,” Elliot said, as he hopped out of the carriage which had rolled up before the small cottage the Littlefields occupied. “The dresses have arrived.”

“Only this morning,” Kate said, a hint of disgruntlement playing about her mouth and scrawled between the pinch of her dark brows. It had been something of a surprise to have so many new things arrive with such alacrity. “However did you manage it so swiftly?”

Elliot coughed into his fist. “The village seamstress had a few ready-made things that will do well enough for travel. I had to guess at the measurements, but I’d wager I wasn’t too far off.” A rake of his gloved hand through his windswept gold hair. “Of course, there isn’t a lot of call for silk or satin out here in the countryside, so your formal attire will have to be obtained in London—but I know of a modiste who happens to be both suitably discreet and well-versed in the latest fashions.” He gave a gesture of his hand to signal the footman to begin loading Kate and her mother’s trunks. “We’ll allude to some mishap with your luggage, if necessary,” he said, “until both of you have got serviceable wardrobes made up.”

“Both of us?” Mrs. Littlefield’s brows raised toward her hairline.

“Of course,” Elliot said. “I can hardly let you go about London in anything but the height of fashion. You’re to be chaperoning Katie; you must have a proper wardrobe.” He hastened to hand Kate into the carriage; a bit of gentlemanly nonsense that served to remind her that he was, in point of fact, a gentleman.

It had been an easy enough thing to forget most days, since she still carried the vivid memories of being children together and of shoving—and being shoved—into convenient mud puddles, or tumbling together down the massive hill that rode up the western part of the land toward Longthorpe Manor. Or, in more recent years, of plucking him out of fields and setting him to rights once again.

She wondered absently, as she settled onto the plush seat of the carriage, whether London knew an entirely different side of Elliot than she did. Whether he was a different sort of person altogether within its boundaries. Whether she, too, would meet that version of him.

Mama slid in beside her, smoothing at the soft muslin of her new traveling dress as she did, her fingers savoring the texture of it. They’d had a new dress each only last year—an unusual indulgence—but already the fabric had begun to pill and the threads to pull. New traveling dresses were a luxury beyond what their meager budget could manage.

Especially given that Kate had never been more than five miles away from her home in the whole of her life.