Page 41 of Mail-Order Viscountess

“Then we’ll go somewhere else.” Clara’s voice took on that determined edge—the stubborn streak that ran through both of them, inherited from a father too weak to use it properly. “We’ll leave Montana Territory entirely. Travel on to California or Oregon or⁠—”

California. Where Thomas planned to go. She shoved that thought aside.

“With what money?” The question came out too sharp, so she softened her tone. “The stage fare to Butte already took most of what we had. And we’d need funds to establish ourselves wherever we went. To rent a room, buy supplies, eat while I built up a client base.”

Clara’s face crumpled. “So we’re trapped.”

The word landed between them like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples through everything Kate had been trying not to think about since Hartwell rode away.

Trapped. Just like they’d been in Columbia, only now the cage was made of circumstance rather than their stepmother’s machinations. And the key to escape—Kate’s skill with a needle, her ability to support them both—had been snatched away before she could even use it.

Clara straightened, her eyes brightening. “You know what could be a solution for us…” Her voice carried a note Kate couldn’t quite identify—not hope exactly, but something close to it.

“What?” Even as she said the word, she braced for whatever Clara might suggest.

“You could marry Mr. Balfour. Thomas.” Clara said his name like she’d been practicing it. “That would solve everything.”

Her middle dropped. “Clara⁠—”

“No, listen.” Her sister shifted to face her fully, tucking one leg beneath her on the bed. “He’s the one who was with you in the cave. If anyone’s reputation is damaged, his would be too. And marriage would restore both your honors.”

“That’s not how it works.” Kate set her bowl down before she could drop it. “Men don’t suffer the same consequences women do. You know that.”

“Maybe not in Columbia. But this is Montana Territory.” The excitement in Clara’s voice rose with each word. “Things are different here. And the Balfours seem like good people—people who care about doing right.”

Kate’s throat tightened.

The memory of Thomas in the firelight, his voice raw as he confessed about Charles and the grizzly… The way his arm had tightened around her waist when she’d told him about her stepmother’s meanness…

But then the careful distance he’d maintained all day, as though he too was trying to pretend those hours hadn’t happened…

“He doesn’t want to marry me. He made that clear from the beginning. He’s planning to leave for California.”

“Plans change.” Clara reached for Kate’s hand. “And even if he doesn’t love you now, there’s no way he can keep from it when he gets to know you.”

She couldn’t help a small smile at her sister’s innocence. Clara believed the best in people, no matter how many times life showed her otherwise. Yet her words lodged in Kate’s throat like broken glass.

Love. As if that had anything to do with their situation. As if Thomas Balfour would look at her—prickly, defensive, undesirable Kate McKinney—and see something worth loving.

“This isn’t a fairy tale, Clara.” She pulled her hand free and stood, anything to get distance from her sister’s hopeful expression. “Marriage should be built on more than just solving a scandal.”

“But you like him.” Clara’s voice carried quiet certainty. “I can see it in the way you won’t look at me when you talk about him.”

Heat flooded Kate’s face. “That’s absurd.”

“Is it?” Clara rose too, moving to stand beside her at the window. Their reflections ghosted in the dark glass—two sisters who’d protected each other their whole lives, now facing a choice neither of them wanted to make. “Kate, you’ve spent years watching over me. Let someone take care of you for once.”

The tenderness in her sister’s voice made Kate’s chest ache. “Thomas Balfour doesn’t want to take care of me. He wants to escape to California and build a life that has nothing to do with family expectations or⁠—”

“Or what?” Clara pressed. “Kate, what are you so afraid of?”

Everything.

The word was too honest to speak aloud. She was afraid of wanting something she couldn’t have. Afraid of trusting someone who would leave. Afraid of the way her chest had tightened when Thomas called her extraordinary, like some long-dead part of her had woken at his words and refused to go back to sleep.

“I’m afraid of making another mistake.” The truth scraped her throat raw. “Of choosing wrong and dragging you down with me. We should never have come here.”

“You’ve never dragged me anywhere I didn’t want to go.” Clara rested a hand on her shoulder, the touch stronger than usual. “And this isn’t just about me anymore. It’s about you too. About what you need.”