Prologue
London, April 1818
The scarlet carriage belonging to the Earl of Farnsworth pulled up at the residence of Viscount Newell, and the groom leaped to open the door and put down the steps. The butler, who had been warned to watch for the earl’s arrival, opened the door as the earl approached. His eyes widened at the earl’s smile, and he could not restrain a shiver. He had never seen the earl pleased before. It was not a pleasant sight.
Still smiling, Farnsworth paused for a moment before the somewhat dingy mirror in the hall to examine himself. He was not an ugly man. Taken individually, his features were not unpleasing, except for the strange redness of his nose. He was well set up, his clothes needing no padding or other tailor’s tricks. He always wore gloves, and few could know this was to cover a persistent sore. His hair was his own, and though it had become patchy, it was still brown with no gray showing. His eyes, also brown, were reasonably clear. It would, he thought, be difficult to fault his appearance.
Newell came into the hall to greet him, looking like a man who has not yet recovered from the previous night’s debauch. He rubbed the back of his hand across his mouth and nodded a greeting to Farnsworth without actually speaking.
“And where is your sister? Is she not ready for our little outing?”
Newell shrugged and looked away. “She’s locked herself into her room and won’t come out.”
Farnsworth froze. The smile faded. “And why would she do that?” he asked icily.
Newell shrugged again, without looking at Farnsworth.
The earl spoke with exaggerated patience. “Newell, do not tell me you were so foolish as to tell your sister about our arrangement.”
Newell flushed. “I didn’t tell her. I…” He pursed his mouth and looked away. “It’s not my fault. She was in the library last night and overheard us.”
“She overheard us.” Farnsworth’s voice was flat. “Would I be correct in concluding that she took some exception to our agreement?”
Newell said nothing. He simply stood there, head turned aside, looking both mulish and sulky.
Farnsworth spun away from the viscount, looked off at some sight he alone could see, a muscle in his jaw twitching. After a moment, he turned back. “I should have known better than to leave anything in the hands of an idiot like you. Now, what should have been a pleasant little excursion will, of necessity, turn into an ugly scene.”
Newell said nothing.
But then, thought Farnsworth, what could the idiot say? “Have you at least the key to her room?”
Newell shook his head. “She has it in there with her. I’ve told her she has to come out, but she won’t answer when I talk to her.” He sounded resentful.
Farnsworth made a sound that seemed half-disgusted and half-amused. “Well then, order your largest footman to break down the door. I am afraid I do not intend to wait for your efforts at persuasion to have effect.”
The largest footman, who was also the only footman, did not set about the task he was ordered to perform with any enthusiasm. He had not been paid in the past two quarters for the ordinary footman duties he performed. He could not really see why he should be expected to do something that was clearly out of the usual run of footman duties. However, one look from Farnsworth was enough to persuade him to make an effort.
It was not a painless effort. Though the footman was large, the door was sturdy, and when he ran at it, he bounced right off. That he tried three more times, with equal lack of success, was a tribute to the power of Farnsworth’s glare. He was standing there rubbing his shoulder and wondering which would shatter first, wood or bone, when the housemaid appeared.
She had been drawn by curiosity, wondering what the thuds and grunts portended. The butler, who had been peering around the corner of the corridor, trusting that he was too old to be asked to help, whispered to her what was afoot, or rather, ashoulder.
Now, the housemaid had nothing against Miss Russell, the viscount’s sister, but she had nothing for her either. On the other hand, she did have a bit of a soft spot for the footman, so she tweaked the butler’s sleeve and whispered in his ear. He looked at her in surprise, and she nodded vigorously.
The butler approached the viscount and cleared his throat. When he had Newell’s attention, he said, “Excuse me, my lord, but this young person reminds me that the keys in this house are interchangeable.”
Newell looked at him blankly.
Farnsworth barked a laugh. “That means, my dear Newell, that any key in the house will open any lock in the house. So if you can produce a key, any key, we can bring this farce to an end.”
Newell flushed. “Fetch a key.”
While the butler hurried off to do just that, the other two servants backed quietly away and vanished around the corner. Once he had produced the key, the butler prepared to do the same, but Farnsworth waved him to unlock the door. He did so and stepped aside.
Farnsworth stepped in, followed more slowly by Newell. Both were prepared for a storm of fury. Neither was expecting an empty room. Farnsworth was the first to recover his equilibrium, and strolled around the room, using his cane to peer behind curtains and into the armoire in a fair imitation of indifference. It was he who noticed the letter propped up on the writing table.
It was folded and sealed, with only “Humphrey” written across it. Who but Katherine could have left it? Farnsworth had no hesitation about opening it. Then he laughed. It was not a pleasant sound.
“Your sister does not appear to hold either of us in great esteem,” he said, with apparent casualness. “She calls you a ‘pusillanimous pander’ and says you are welcome to starve in the gutter for all she cares, and she would rather die than be sold to a ‘disgusting, diseased degenerate’. That would be me, I presume. She is a trifle overfond of alliteration, but one cannot fault her characterizations. How well she knows us both.” He turned to Newell with a look of barely controlled fury. “You bungling fool.”
Newell looked appalled. “She would rather die? My God, has she killed herself?”
“Do not be an idiot. You will notice that there are no clothes in this room, with the exception of that rather tawdry thing you dressed her in to display her at the opera. She has obviously packed her bag and run away. Now, you will need to retrieve her.”
“How the devil am I supposed to do that? I don’t know where she went.”
Farnsworth looked at him.
Newell blustered, “Well, I don’t. How could I know?”
Farnsworth sighed the sigh of an intelligent man forced to deal with fools. “Does she have any friends in London? Does she know anyone in London?”
Newell shook his head. “She’s only been here a few weeks and never met anyone except friends of mine here, and she don’t like them any more than she likes you.”
Farnsworth gave him an impatient look. “Does she have any friends anywhere? She is twenty years old, after all. She must have known people before you brought her here.”
“Well, I suppose she has friends back in Yorkshire. Leastways there were people there with her at our mother’s funeral.” Farnsworth looked at Newell, and got a shrug in reply. “I don’t know where else she’d go. She’s lived there all her life, so she won’t know anyone anyplace else.”
“Then you will be taking a trip to Yorkshire to retrieve my property, won’t you?”
“But she’s run away. She’s not going to want to come back, and if she’s with friends…”
“That is your problem. You will have to deal with it. We both know you have no other way to pay what you owe me.” Newell opened his mouth to protest, but Farnsworth glared at him. “You will leave at once and let me know of your success immediately on your return. You really do not want to disappoint me.”
The click of his footsteps on the marble of the stairs and hall was the only sound in the house as Farnsworth departed.
Newell felt sick. How the hell was he supposed to get to Yorkshire without any money? He needed a drink.
###
A few miles south of London a farmer’s wagon was heading for home, the load of cheeses having been delivered. The aging cart horse plodded along slowly but steadily. On the back of the wagon, munching on apples, sat the farmer’s son, a cheerful boy of about ten, and a young woman to whom the farmer had given a ride. A few strands of blond hair peeked out from beneath her bonnet, a somewhat battered thing, devoid of decoration. The farmer had at first thought her too delicate, too fragile for the Yorkshire farm girl she claimed to be, but her sturdy brown dress and cloak, and the boots on her feet, to say nothing of her roughened hands, all looked familiar with hard work.
She tilted her head back to feel the warmth of the springtime sun and took a deep breath of the fresh air. Her eyes closed and the corners of her mouth tipped up in a faint smile.
Miss Katherine Russell had escaped.
Chapter One
Sussex
Katherine Russell, known to those who loved her as Kate, was awakened from a deep sleep by the sun streaming through the window. She lay there in frozen stillness, her eyes wide with panic. Where was she? This was not her home, nor was it her brother’s house. Once the silence in the room had assured her that she was alone, she cautiously lifted her head to look around. The room was unfamiliar and it was—she stopped to stare in surprise. Yes, the room was unfamiliar. But it was not threatening. It was actually pretty. How remarkable. There were chintz curtains with a pattern of pink flowers on both the bed and the windows. There was a fireplace with a cheerful fire in it to take the chill off the spring morning. And the sheets on her bed were soft and lavender-scented.
The panic began to ease and her heart started slowing down to a normal beat.
She was in her aunt’s house in Lewes, that was it. She had reached sanctuary. Frances Darling had not just given her shelter last night when she knocked on the door, close to exhaustion, but had welcomed her. For the first time since her mother’s death, Kate had felt safe. The determination—or desperation—that had carried her here from London eased under that welcome and she had tumbled into bed barely aware of her surroundings.
Now she was aware. Someone must have unpacked her bag and pressed her blue dress, because it was laid over the chair, along with a clean shift, stays and stockings. Her half boots had even been cleaned and polished. Sitting on the hearth by the fire was a pitcher of water, still warm for her washing.
Feeling embarrassed—she did not want her aunt to think her lazy—she dressed hurriedly, pinned the pocket with the necklace under her skirt, and ran down the stairs.
As she reached the hall, she was startled by a knock on the door. The sound froze her for a moment and panic returned. He could not possibly have found her so soon, could he? Then she realized it had been a courteous knock, not a demanding hammering. She stiffened her shoulders and opened the door, but then she stood frozen once more, unable to speak.
In front of her was a man, the most spectacular man she had ever seen. He looked like an angel, a warrior angel, with a fierce, proud face, though he was probably only a farmer. His coat was well cut but loose enough for ease of movement and so too loose for fashion, and his boots boasted more mud than polish.
He was tall, much taller than she. Her head barely came up to his chin. If she looked straight ahead, she would be staring at his cravat. That was not where she wanted to look, however. She wanted to look at his face, his wonderful face. How could it be so beautiful and so masculine at the same time? His hair was dark, almost black, and fell neatly into place with no fashionable curls. His chin was strong without being obtrusive, his nose was classical without being hawkish, his mouth was well shaped without being voluptuous, and his eyes were a clear, brilliant blue, sheltered by unfairly long lashes and sharply arched brows. His face was, perhaps, a trifle too long and narrow for perfection, which somehow made it even more attractive. With its stern expression, it was the face of a hero, a Lancelot come to rescue Guinevere or Hector determined to defend doomed Troy.
“Run along, girl, and fetch your mistress,” he said, walking into the hall without so much as a glance at her.
Girl? Kate thought, coming to herself. Girl? He thinks I am a servant? She drew herself up and said icily, “I will see if my aunt is at home. Who shall I say is calling?”
That drew his attention. He stopped abruptly and turned to stare at her. And continued to stare.
There was a muffled snort, and she realized there was a second man, who had been standing just behind the first one. She should have noticed him since he was even taller and broader than the first man, but he was not as beautiful despite his golden curls. At the moment, he appeared to be greatly amused, while the first man continued to stare. It was the second who spoke. “I do beg your pardon.” He seemed to be having difficulty restraining his laughter. “This gentleman is Peter Alexander Joseph Bancroft, Duke of Ashleigh, and I am Thomas Wortham, Earl of Merton. We have come to call on Mrs. Darling, if she will receive us.”
Kate was reasonably certain that her jaw did not drop. Instead, she dropped a stiff curtsey. “Duke, Lord Merton, if you would be so good as to wait, I will see if my aunt is at home.” Opening a door at random, she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that it was a drawing room. She ushered them in, gracefully, she hoped, and then managed to leave at a ladylike pace when all she wanted to do was run. Aristocrats, a duke and an earl no less, she thought, panic rising again. They must not be allowed to discover who she was. No matter how wondrous, how heroic the duke looked, he was not a hero, not for her. More likely an enemy. No member of the nobility could be anything but danger.
###
Once she had departed, Merton no longer bothered to restrain himself but collapsed in laughter. “Ashleigh, your face was priceless. What a blow! There is someone around Lewes who does not know you by sight.”
Ashleigh, who was still staring after the girl, recalled himself. “And apparently, someone I offended,” he said with an effort at carelessness. “Prickly little creature, isn’t she? But if she goes around dressed like a servant girl, she can hardly be surprised when people mistake her for one.” Or a sprite. A forest nymph, with those green eyes and that flaxen hair.
Merton was still smiling. “And if you go around dressed like a farmer, you can hardly be surprised…”
Ashleigh raised a hand. “Pax. I understand your point. But in fairness to me, I had not known that Mrs. Darling had a niece, no less that said niece was staying here.”
“And a decidedly pretty niece at that.”
Pretty? What an insipid word. “Merton, remember that you are a married man.”
Merton’s smile broadened. “And I have no wish to forget it, but I have not grown blind. Nor have you. I saw you staring at her.”
Ashleigh gave a shrug. “Very well. She is indeed pretty, though far too thin.” No, she is not pretty. She is enchanting. And not thin so much as ethereal. Would she vanish on the breeze if I tried to catch hold of her?
“Mmmm. One might even call her beautiful.” Merton grinned at his friend. “Although some might consider her too thin.”
“One might also remember that she is Mrs. Darling’s niece,” Ashleigh replied austerely. That was something he needed to remember himself. Fanciful thoughts about nymphs were not for a man in his position with his responsibilities.
###
Mrs. Darling came bustling in, hands outstretched, with a delighted smile on her face. She was a small woman, no taller than Kate, still slim, her hair more blond than gray for all her fifty years, and dressed in a flattering morning dress of cream muslin with lacy ruffles surrounding her neck and a frivolous scrap of lace on her head. “Ashleigh!” she said. “You have not been here this age! How goes everything at Kelswick? Is Lady Talmadge well?”
“Indeed, she is,” said Ashleigh, taking her hands in his, “and sends her greetings.”
“And you, Tom? I should say, Merton,” said Mrs. Darling. “How goes it with Lady Merton?”
“No, please,” he laughed, “in this house, let me ever be Tom.” He bent over to kiss her cheek. “And Miranda is in blooming health, driving my steward mad with plans for a new drainage system for the village.”
Slipping in quietly behind her aunt, who had insisted that it would only raise curiosity if she did not return, Kate examined the visitors. The earl looked almost embarrassed by his happiness though the duke looked a bit wistful.
“Do not pretend you object. As I recall, drainage in the village was one of your concerns in the first place.” Mrs. Darling still smiled, and then realized that her visitors were looking behind her. “What am I thinking!” She took Kate’s hand to lead her forward. “Your Grace, my lord, may I present my niece, Kate, who has come to stay with me.”
Kate curtseyed once more, just deep enough to be proper, and said, “Your Grace, my lord.”
Ashleigh and Merton bowed a bit lower than was absolutely necessary. “We encountered your niece at the door,” said Ashleigh, “and I fear I insulted her by taking her for a servant. I do apologize.”
“Not at all,” said Kate, holding herself stiffly. “But I fear I must have insulted you as well, taking you for a farmer.” She could only hope that they had failed to notice her calling him “Duke” at the door. That familiarity would be far too much presumption on the part of a mere connection of Mrs. Darling.
Ashleigh looked as if he could not decide whether he should consider this remark amusing or impertinent. Merton had no difficulty and laughed again. “Indeed, Miss Darling, Ashleigh was deeply offended. You must know that no matter how fondly he remembers our being Peter and Tom in this house when we were boys, outside, he is dreadfully high in the instep. He expects forelocks to be pulled on every side.”
“Merton, you are an ass,” said Ashleigh mildly. “Miss Darling, will you be staying long?”
She started a bit at the name—should she answer to Miss Darling? But when she looked at her aunt, Mrs. Darling gave an approving nod, so she said, “So long as my aunt permits.”
“And that will be forever,” said Mrs. Darling, giving her niece’s hand a squeeze. She turned to Ashleigh and explained, “My niece is now an orphan. Since we, neither of us, have any other family to rely on, she will naturally make her home with me. To my great delight.”
“I am, indeed, glad that you will have company,” said Ashleigh. “I have worried about you, living all alone here since Andrew’s death. But I have come to ask a favor of you, of both of you now. I know it is short notice, but will you join us for dinner this evening? I will send the carriage to bring you, of course, and to take you home.”
Mrs. Darling smiled. “Such an invitation can hardly be considered a favor. What is the rest of it?”
Ashleigh looked rueful. “The favor part of it is that the Wiltons decided to descend on us, and my sister beseeches me to dilute the company as much as possible. Merton has promised to bring his wife and I hope to snare Mr. Chantry and Dr. Goddard as well.”
“Poor Alice! Of course we will come and protect her from her unwanted suitor,” said Mrs. Darling.
Merton turned to Kate with a smile. “It is all Ashleigh’s fault, Miss Darling. Since Lady Wilton is his aunt, he is too polite to tell her that she is not welcome. In addition, he insists on the same high level of courtesy from his sister, so she has found it difficult to be cold enough to convince young Wilton—or rather, not-so-young Wilton—that his suit is unwanted.”
“And you, my lord?” asked Kate with an answering smile. It was impossible to not smile at Merton. “Are you also so bound by courtesy that you are unable to protect yourself?”
“Not at all,” he replied. “That is why Ashleigh takes me about with him. He does not protect himself, so I must do it for him. Thus, all the blame falls on me, and he is universally acclaimed as a model of civility.”
“Yet you are unable to prevent the descent of unwanted guests,” said Kate. “I do not see that you offer much in the way of protection.”
“He offers none at all.” Ashleigh seemed irritated. “I simply invite him to join me for amusement, rather as kings of old kept their fools.”
“One duty of those fools was to tell the king unpleasant truths that the courtiers hesitated to speak, was it not?” said Kate, turning to the duke. “Is that Lord Merton’s task as well?”
“Oh, nicely turned, Miss Darling.” Merton smiled broadly. “Well, Ashleigh, is that my task? Or do you receive enough lectures from Lady Wilton?”
Ashleigh stiffened and seemed to cloak himself in formality. Mrs. Darling came to the rescue. “Lady Wilton often feels obliged to lecture one and all about the demands of their station,” she told Kate, and then turned back to Ashleigh. “We shall be honored to dine at Kelswick and will do our best to deflect some of her slings and arrows.”
The duke nodded to the two women. “Mrs. Darling, Miss Darling. The carriage will be here at six, if that is acceptable. And now we must be on our way.” He frowned at Merton before he turned to leave, and Merton followed, still smiling.
As they left, Kate began to worry. She had not expected to meet anyone, not before she had a chance to explain to her aunt what had happened to her, why she had come, and she had no idea how she should have behaved with these visitors. Almost certainly, she had been too forward. They were aristocrats, so if they found out who she was, they could be expected to side with her brother and Farnsworth. She should have been meek and unnoticeable. She should never have followed her aunt into this room. She should have pretended she was the servant they took her for when they first arrived. She certainly shouldn’t have spoken as she did. Stupid, stupid!
How was she going to hide if she couldn’t control her tongue?
Mrs. Darling was smiling at her. “Come sit down, my dear, so we can talk. You must tell me what has brought you here in such a state.” When she rang a bell, a maid promptly appeared, and Mrs. Darling requested tea and buns. Then she smiled at her niece. “Cook made some delicious raisin buns this morning. I have always found it simpler to deal with difficulties when they are accompanied by something sweet. And you have not even had breakfast, so we will indulge ourselves first.”
Indulge themselves they did, thought Kate. The maid—her name was Molly, Kate discovered—brought in a silver tray with a silver tea service. The cups and plates were of the finest china, almost translucent, painted with tiny flowers and bordered with gilt. And the room, Kate realized, was most elegantly appointed, boasting a ceiling festooned with plaster garlands, walls covered with painted paper, and a suite of gilded furniture upholstered in silk.
She remembered that when she arrived the night before she thought, at first, that she had come to the wrong house. Hawthorne Cottage was a large stone house of—was it three stories or four? And it was set in extensive grounds, a small park, really. With servants. Not just a maid of all work, but a cook and a parlor maid and who knew what else. Nothing like the tiny cottage she had pictured when Mama read her sister’s letters to her back in Yorkshire.
What was worse, her aunt was obviously on easy terms with a duke and an earl. How could that be? “They came here as children?” she wondered, and then realized she had spoken out loud.
“Yes, they were inseparable, those two. They were either at Schotten Hall—Tom’s grandfather’s home—or here, tagging along after Andrew.” Mrs. Darling shook her head. “Whenever his parents were in residence, Kelswick was not a safe place for a child.”
Kate suddenly realized that her aunt must be rich. Would she think Kate had come here because of that? She couldn’t let Aunt Frances think she had come to sponge on her. She couldn’t.
She was still trying to deal with that problem when her aunt began to speak. “Now, my dear, I know from your mother’s letters over the years that neither your father nor your brother took any care of you, that they had gambled away virtually everything, and from your presence here, I conclude that your visit to London was not a success. But why ever did you not write to me? I would have come to fetch you and you could have traveled in comfort and safety.”
“There was no time.” Kate shook her head. As soon as she thought of her brother, the slimy toad, anger and disgust began waging a battle in her stomach. Her hands were clenched tightly in her lap, and she stared at them, determined to keep her voice calm and unemotional. “It seems that when my brother decided to take me to London with him, it was not to share his home or even to be his housekeeper. He intended to use me as payment for his debts. Three days ago, I overheard him making that precise arrangement with the Earl of Farnsworth. He owed the earl £10,000, but the earl agreed to take me instead. He was to pick me up—pick me up like a parcel—the next day. Oh God!” She lost control of her voice. “Aunt Franny, he wanted to make me a whore. My own brother!” She flung her head back and held her eyes closed until the hot fury had been controlled and she could speak calmly again. “I had to leave at once, so I slipped out of the house before dawn.”
As the tale unfolded, the color had been draining from Mrs. Darling’s face and her hand reached out to Kate, who spoke with militant determination. “I will not let them make me a whore. I will not!”
“Of course not.” The older woman pulled her niece into an embrace and hugged her fiercely. “My poor child—I never thought—I thought perhaps you were being pushed into a marriage you did not want or had been separated from a sweetheart back in Yorkshire. How could your brother—even your father would never—and to think I was going to scold you for putting yourself in danger by traveling alone!”
“When I set out, I was so angry, I didn’t even think of danger.” Kate sat back and allowed herself a small smile. “I could hardly imagine that anything ahead of me could be worse than what was behind. My only fear was that Farnsworth might come after me.”
“Is that likely?”
Kate took a deep breath and let it out slowly while she thought. “I don’t really know. It is possible.” She considered what she had seen of him and could not prevent a shiver. “Yes, it is quite possible. He is not a man who will accept being thwarted. It’s hard to say what he might do. He… he frightens me, and I do not like being frightened.”
“He cannot have any legal claim on you.”
Kate suddenly felt old, much older than her aunt. “Farnsworth is an earl. He cannot imagine that anyone has the right to refuse him what he wants. Should I appeal to a magistrate? I am not of age so, legally, I am under my brother’s control. If he says that Farnsworth may have me, who is there to object?”
“Of course. It is so long since I have been subject to the arrogance of such men that I forget. What is just, what is right—none of that matters.” Mrs. Darling shook her head sadly. Then she stiffened her back and spoke briskly. “Now, let us be practical. I don’t know what the law might be, but your brother cannot exercise any rights over you if he cannot find you. So we must make sure he doesn’t find you. Will he think to look for you here?”
“I doubt it.” Kate shook her head. “Humphrey never lived with us while I was growing up. Did you know that? He was always with our father. So I can’t be sure what he knows. But I think it unlikely he knows your name or even of your existence, and I am sure he does not know your direction.”
“Let us see, then. For the time being—at least until you are of age—when will that be?”
“Not until next January.”
“Until next January, then, we will be careful. Your mother was the only member of my family to keep in touch with me after I was disowned for marrying Andrew, so even if your brother thinks to go to Locksley Hall, no one there will know where to find me. And now, Ashleigh and Merton have solved a problem for us by assuming that you are Andrew’s niece. If people think of you as Miss Darling, they will not identify you as Miss Russell, Viscount Newell’s sister. But we will have to be careful in the future. Let me think.”
She tapped her cheek as she considered the possibilities. “Yes, if anyone asks, we’ll say you are the daughter of one of Andrew’s cousins who married the daughter of a country gentleman. That will explain why you have the accent and manners of a lady.” She smiled suddenly. “People laugh at cits who ape the manners of their betters, but I can tell you from experience that it is every bit as difficult for one who has been raised as a lady to pass herself off as a cit!”
“Aunt Frances…” Kate felt her throat tighten with gratitude and tried to smile. “Thank you.”
“Oh pish.” The older woman blushed as she smiled. “And you must call me Aunt Franny, for Franny is what my Andrew called me.”
A bump against her leg reminded Kate what she was carrying. “Do wait, Aunt,” she called as she reached into her skirt to retrieve the pocket. “I must show you what I have.” She pulled out a blue velvet bag, laid it on the tea table and untied it carefully to display a pearl necklace—a double strand of large, perfectly matched pearls.
Aunt Franny looked at it in amazement, and reached out a hand to let the pearls run through her fingers. “I know this necklace. These are my mother’s pearls. How…?”
“Her father—your father—sent them to Mama shortly before he died. Then, when she grew ill, she told me to keep them hidden so my brother would not find them.”
“A sorry but doubtless necessary precaution.” The older woman smiled sadly at her niece. “I expect our father intended this as an apology for having insisted that Mary marry your father. He was not a deliberately cruel man, you know, just a bit blind in some ways. He never saw beyond your father’s title, never saw the kind of man he was until it was too late. Just as he never saw Andrew’s worth.”
“He could have helped us.” Kate did not even try to hide the bitterness. “Mama was his daughter, and we were living in poverty.”
Franny gave her niece a sharp look. “Did he know that? I never suspected it was as bad as it seems to have been, and if she did not wish to confide in me, she would have been too proud to ask for help from him. And then, I doubt he could have given her anything that would not have been taken by Newell and tossed on the gambling table. My father would not have been able to prevent that. No one could. The pearls—am I correct in thinking that he sent those after your father’s death?” At Kate’s nod, she continued, “Well, at any rate, you now have a dowry when you choose to marry.”
“No, not a dowry. A livelihood.”
Her aunt frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I am hoping that they can be sold for enough to give me a start. Perhaps I could buy a cottage with enough land to raise vegetables and keep some chickens. Or I could start a school and earn some money that way. Or I could work in a shop until I learn enough about the business and then start a shop myself.”
“Why ever would you want to do such a thing?” Franny looked thoroughly shocked. “You are the daughter of a viscount. You would be ruined.”
“Being the sister of a viscount has come close enough to ruining me. Earning my own living would make me safe. If I am not dependent on anyone, I will not be at anyone’s mercy.”
“But why would you not want to marry? Marriage is by far the safest haven for a woman, I assure you.”
Kate lifted her brows. “Was it safe for my mother?”
Franny shook her head dismissively. “I am not talking about a marriage like that, to a man who cares for nothing but his own pleasures. But a marriage where there is respect, where there is trust, where there is love—that is something entirely different.”
“Marriage to a man I can trust? I doubt I will ever find such a man, but if I do, perhaps I will consider marriage.”
A smile flickered across Franny’s face. “As long as you would not refuse it if such a match presented itself. But you will not be forced into marriage. I can promise you that much. And as for the other, well, there is no need to do anything yet. You are more than welcome here, and you may make your home with me permanently if you wish.”
Kate shook her head. “I know I have come here and thrown myself on your charity, but I will not presume on it.”
“Stuff and nonsense. There is no question of charity. You are my niece, and my Andrew left me more than well provided for.”
“But truly, Aunt Franny, I cannot allow you to support me.”
“Do not be foolish, child. You heard the duke—I have been in need of company, of a companion. You will be doing me a favor by staying with me.” She gave her niece an impish smile. “Now, let us put those pearls of yours in the safe—and yes, I do have a safe. Your treasures can keep mine company.”
Kate shook her head. At the moment, she desperately needed the sanctuary her aunt offered—she was not foolish enough to pretend otherwise—but she could not live on her aunt’s charity forever. For the time being, she had to remain hidden. But sooner or later, she would have to find some way to support herself.
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