Wyndcross (The Families 0f Dorset Book 1) Read online

  Sir Lewis dropped Kate’s wrist and looked at her as if to verify the man’s claims.

  She raised her brows at him in a similarly challenging gesture. She was more than happy to disregard that she had never promised the stranger a dance.

  The gentleman shifted his eyes to Kate, the challenging glint gone. He wore a soft smile as he offered her his arm. She smiled at him gratefully, made a quick, icy apology to Sir Lewis, and walked away on the arm of her deliverer.

  She looked up at his profile beside her. The man’s expression was unreadable, and he looked straight ahead as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

  Kate drew in a deep breath, feeling her cheeks cool.

  “Thank you,” she said. Her brow creased. “Or my apologies. I’m not sure which is appropriate, to be honest.”

  He looked down at her with an amused tilt to his mouth. “Why should you assume either is necessary?”

  “Well,” she said matter-of-factly, “either you recognized my discomfort and intervened, perjuring yourself in the process, I might add; or,” she shrugged, “you have mistaken me for a lady who had indeed promised you a dance, in which case I apologize for the misunderstanding and simply feel grateful that it occurred.”

  His smile grew. “I only did what I wish someone would do for me whenever I find myself in Sir Lewis's company.”

  A laugh escaped Kate. “I will endeavor to return the favor if I ever see you in his presence.”

  “The prospect of being in his company suddenly becomes more enticing,” he said.

  She glanced at him. Was he flirting with her?

  But he was looking toward the dance floor where a set was forming.

  “Shall we?” he said, motioning to the dancers.

  Kate hesitated. She couldn’t deny that the prospect of dancing with him was appealing. But they hadn’t even been properly introduced.

  “You realize,” he said, watching her hesitation, “that if you refuse, I will have doubly perjured myself tonight. And you will bear some responsibility for the second instance.”

  How did he manage to look so censuring and playful at the same time? Kate suppressed a smile and shot a glance in the direction of Sir Lewis. His eyes were on them. She found that she was gripping the gentleman’s arm harder than was merited and loosened her hold.

  “How could I possibly refuse after such a compelling argument?” she said, looking up at him with a smile.

  They took their places among the set on the dance floor for a lively country dance. She had danced with gentlemen after only a brief introduction, but never had she danced with one whose name she didn’t know. The knowledge that they were complicit in defying etiquette brought a shade of pink to Kate’s cheeks which had nothing to do with the heat of the room. There was something exhilarating about it all.

  Her partner was skilled but droll in his dancing, and Kate found that her cheeks began to ache from smiling and laughing. There was hardly time for conversing amongst the energetic movements of the dance, and yet Kate felt carefree with her anonymous partner. His hand was light yet sure, and she felt a thrill each time the dance required them to stand shoulder to shoulder or join hands.

  Before she knew it, though, the set had ended, and they were bowing to one another.

  He offered her his arm, his breathless grin matching her own. “Where shall I convey you, madam? Back to Sir Lewis?”

  “By all means,” she said with a threatening lift to her eyebrows, “if you wish my specter to haunt you the rest of your days.”

  He threw his head back in a chuckle. “That prospect is not nearly as horrifying as you seem to think it.”

  “Well before you convey me to my aunt—" she emphasized the word and indicated Fanny whose back was turned as she conversed with Charlotte Thorpe "—perhaps I should at least know your name?”

  He drew back with a scandalized expression. “When we haven’t even been properly introduced? What an appalling suggestion.” A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth for a moment, and he continued walking her toward Fanny.

  She pulled back on his arm, preventing their progress. “Perhaps it is. But we can hardly ask someone to introduce us after they have seen us dance together. Besides, what if someone should inquire from me after you?”

  He clucked his tongue, shaking his head. “What a dilemma for you.”

  “For me? Why only for me?”

  “You have no way to know my name,” he replied.

  “Nor do you know mine,” she countered.

  “Ah.” He raised a brow enigmatically. “But I will discover it, all the same.”

  He pulled her gently along toward Fanny who was still too occupied with Mrs. Thorpe and two other women to remark their presence.

  The gentleman shot Kate a half-smile as he bowed, then leaned in and whispered, “My name is William.”

  And then he walked away.

  Kate watched the gentleman stride off, feeling both frustrated and captivated.

  “Miss Matcham?”

  The voice, full of excitement and surprise, broke in on her thoughts.

  She turned around to face the owner of the unfamiliar voice. A young woman stared at her with round eyes and a large grin.

  Kate hadn’t any idea who she was, though there was something familiar about her. With flaxen hair, rosy cheeks, and large blue eyes brought out by the lace-covered powder blue gown she wore, it was a face Kate was sure she would have remembered.

  Her bewilderment must have been apparent, because the young woman laughed.

  “It’s me, silly! Clara. Surely you can’t have forgotten?”

  Confusion morphed into recognition and astonishment, and Kate’s face lit up with a large smile. “Clara Crofte? But of course!”

  The two embraced quickly, and a strong aroma of lavender met Kate’s nose. Clara pulled away, holding Kate out at arms’ length, a hand on each shoulder. “You are quite as grown up as I am,” she said. “More so, I suppose, since you are older. And so very lovely. When I asked Mary Thorpe who you were, she said, ‘Why, that’s Miss Kate Matcham,’ and I couldn’t believe it. So of course I had to come to you immediately.”

  “I’m very grateful you did,” Kate replied. “Indeed, I am in shock to be talking to you. I’ve often wondered about you and your family this past decade and more, and here you are in front of me after so many years. How is your family?”

  “They are well, thank you. My mother is here with me tonight, though last I saw her, she was walking with Lady Carville.” She scanned the room, looking for her mother. “I don’t see her at the moment, and unfortunately, we cannot stay much longer. My mother is under orders from the doctor not to be to bed too late. May we call upon you tomorrow, though?”

  “Yes,” Kate said with enthusiasm. “Please do. I’m staying with my aunt, Lady Hammond, in Berkeley Square. We would be delighted to receive you.”

  Clara beamed. “Wonderful!” She glanced away and then put a hand on Kate’s arm, her eyes still fixed on whatever had caught her attention. “Oh, I’m afraid you must excuse me. I see Lord Cartwright thinks I have forgotten that I promised him this dance,"— she shot him a coy glance —"but I shall see you tomorrow.” She embraced Kate again, and, with a suppressed squeal of delight, left to favor Lord Cartwright with a cotillion.

  Kate turned back toward Fanny with a dazed expression, excusing herself as she bumped into one of Fanny’s friends.

  “Good heavens, Kate,” said Fanny, “you nearly knocked over poor Mrs. Orritt. So unlike you!” Her words censured Kate, but they also contained a hint of curiosity. Fanny was always quick to perceive when someone was full of news.

  “Now, your ladyship,” said Mr. Walmsley, with a kind smile at Kate. “I’m sure she didn’t intend to knock Mrs. Orritt over, did you?” He paused, and then added as an afterthought, “Though, even if she had intended it, I can’t say I’d have blamed her. The last time I was invited for dinner, I’m devilish sure she had the wine watered down.”


  Fanny waved an impatient hand at Walmsley, dismissing his hypothesis and looking expectantly at Kate.

  “I’m sorry,” said Kate. “I’m only distracted with surprise. Do you know who I just spoke with, Fanny?”

  Fanny looked exasperated. “Well, really, Kate. With half of London here tonight, how am I to guess which one person you spoke to?”

  Kate threw off her preoccupation with a shake of her head and a laugh. “Of course you could never guess. It was Clara Crofte.”

  Fanny looked none the wiser, staring blankly at Kate, who was obliged to provide more information. Once Fanny made the connection, Kate informed her aunt of the Croftes’ plans to call the next day.

  “Oh no!” said Fanny with a look of dismay. “Surely you didn’t tell them they could call tomorrow? I’ve been promised to Lady Carville for a sennight.”

  “I had entirely forgotten.” Kate apologized, looking deflated before perking back up. “Well, if you aren’t opposed to it, I could receive them on my own?”

  Fanny readily assented to the plan.

  “Oh, Fanny!” Kate sat up straight in her chair. “I must ask you—” she scanned the room “—to tell me who a particular gentleman is.” She blinked rapidly. The man was nowhere to be seen.

  “Who?” Fanny said, her curiosity piqued. She followed her niece’s eyes around the room.

  Kate’s brows drew together. “I don’t see him anywhere. Perhaps he left.” She went up on her toes for a better view of all the ball guests. He was tall enough that it shouldn’t have been difficult to find him.

  “His name is William,” said Kate, still surveying the crowd.

  Fanny scoffed. “He and half the men in this room, I imagine.”

  Kate plopped down in the nearest chair, disappointed. The charm and novelty of London had long since worn off for her, but her encounter with William had made her feel lively again for the first time in longer than she could remember. How would she ever discover his identity?

  2

  When Kate arose the next morning, it was with a full mind. She had been too busy at the ball and then too fatigued afterward to apply herself to all that had happened.

  Between the letter from her mother, her troubling exchange with Sir Lewis, her intriguing interaction with the mysterious William, and the surprise of seeing Clara Crofte, she didn’t know how to feel.

  Fanny would be anxious to convey all the gossip she had acquired over the course of the night, but she never rose until well into the morning after a late night. She was promised to Lady Carville for the early afternoon, so it was unlikely that Kate would have the opportunity to talk with her before dinnertime.

  She walked into the library and inhaled, smiling at the scent of dust and books, and settled into her favorite worn, wingback chair in the library, hoping to give her mind a respite. She had only read three pages when she was interrupted by one of the footmen.

  “You have a visitor, ma’am. One Mr. Simon Hartley. I’ve shown him into the morning room.”

  “Oh, thank you, Griffyn.” Kate looked at the clock. It was early for visitors, but Simon Hartley wasn’t just any visitor.

  When she entered the morning room, she saw Simon standing at the far wall opposite the door, hat in his hands.

  No matter how many times she told him not to stand on ceremony with her and Fanny, Kate always found him the same way when he visited: standing stiffly as he awaited her invitation to sit.

  He looked even more rigid than usual. She could tell that he had something particular to say to her.

  “We looked in vain for you at the ball last night,” Kate said as she shut the door.

  “Yes,” Simon answered, his lips forming the same straight line they always did. Smiles were as rare for Simon as they were common for Kate. “My mother didn’t wish me to attend.”

  Kate smiled wryly, motioning for him to take a seat. “Still convinced that I have designs upon you?”

  Simon grimaced as he sat on the edge of the seat. “I’m afraid so. She is sending me to Weymouth for a fortnight.”

  Kate sighed, sinking into the sofa resignedly. “To your aunt, I presume? The one who doesn’t enjoy good health?”

  Simon nodded, and she couldn’t resist a smile. “Or rather the aunt who enjoys not enjoying good health. Well, we shall miss you here. I will do my best to help your mother understand that you are in no danger of being kidnapped and swept off to Gretna Green by me.”

  As the niece of Mrs. Hartley’s archenemy, Kate had never been a likely favorite of hers. Circumstances had combined, though, to ensure her place in the woman’s black books.

  When the first dance of Kate’s first Season arrived, she had been overlooked by all the eligible gentlemen in favor of debutantes with fortune or better connections. She had faced the mortifying prospect of sitting out her first dance when Simon had arrived on the scene, asking Fanny for an introduction and leading Kate to the dance floor.

  It was only as she came to know him better that Kate understood how uncharacteristic Simon’s kind action had been. It had entailed two activities he never engaged in: disobeying his mother’s express orders, and dancing.

  “What will you do when the Season ends?” Simon asked. “Does Lady Hammond plan to stay in London? Or will you return to your mother and stepfather in Birmingham?”

  Kate blew out a puff of air. “Fanny will go to Brighton, and I will likely join her to avoid Birmingham for as long as I can—until she and Walmsley marry, I suppose. I must decide on some path, though. I am as good as on the shelf already.”

  She pursed her lips as she thought of all the points she had working against her in making a good match. “Having a mill owner with questionable ethics as a stepfather has been every bit the obstacle to marriage that I anticipated it would be. Your mother isn’t the only one who assumes that my only goal is to climb the social ladder.” She thought of Sir Lewis, and her jaw tightened.

  “Anyone who knows you wouldn’t believe such a thing,” Simon said flatly. “If you can’t find it in you to have Lady Hammond continue as your chaperone, perhaps you could find a new one—some spinster in need of companionship?”

  Kate laughed aloud. “A spinster in need of companionship! You seem to be foretelling my own future.” She rubbed the embroidered white flowers on her muslin dress. “In any case, I cannot afford another Season.”

  Simon pursed his lips. “Can your stepfather not provide you with the means to stay in London another Season?”

  Kate’s wry smile appeared again. “Between my pride and my stepfather’s selfishness, it is impossible. He sees me as an obligation— a waste of his money. And even if he would give me the money, I couldn’t bring myself to take it. I would rather work for my keep than accept it from him.”

  “Your pride doesn’t serve you,” said Simon, shaking his head. “You can’t survive without money.”

  “I know.” She sighed then shook her head. “But if you could see how he treats us—my sisters and me—I think you would understand. I never visit but what he laments the expense of bringing me home and the fortune he feels he has squandered on my education. Do you know what he said to me on my last visit?”

  Simon shook his head.

  “He said that it’s as good as highway robbery to charge for the education of a woman—that it’s throwing good money after bad.” She breathed in and closed her eyes, exhaling quickly. “I promised myself that I would free both him and me from my being beholden to him as soon as I could. And that is still my plan.”

  It was a plan she had done little toward accomplishing. She found that she had only changed benefactors once she left the seminary. Fanny was good-natured enough not to view her niece as a burdensome charge, but in some ways this fact made Kate feel all the more guilty. Being so good-natured, Fanny would likely allow Kate to trespass on her charity indefinitely.

  Kate was determined not to let it be so.

  Simon was silent, reflecting on her words.

  “I suppos
e I have one more option,” Kate said, almost to herself, “though it’s one I can’t even bear to think on.” She shuddered then looked up at Simon. “Sir Lewis sought me out last night.”

  “He usually does, does he not?” Simon said, brushing off a spot of dust on his sleeve.

  “Yes,” Kate said, hesitating before she continued. “But last night he offered—” she tilted her head “—offered is perhaps too generous a word. Assumed? Yes, he assumed that I would become his mistress.”

  Simon’s brows snapped together. “Surely not! Even such a rake as Sir Lewis wouldn’t be so brazen.”

  Kate shrugged. “He is precisely that brazen and abominable. But perhaps that existence would be preferable in many ways to one where I have to work for my own support?” She recoiled even as she said it. It didn’t bear considering.

  “Miss Matcham,” said Simon, shaking his head.

  Kate raised her brows at him. He would insist on addressing her formally, even though she insisted on calling him Simon when they weren’t in company.

  “You had much better marry me than ally yourself with Sir Lewis.” He cleared his throat and scooted even further toward the edge of the chair. “I have been thinking on the subject for some time now.”

  Kate laughed. “As if I would saddle you with the likes of me! Even such a kind soul as yourself would strangle me within the week. I’m sure I wouldn’t blame you. And let us not even think on what your mother would say to a marriage between us. I shudder at the thought.”

  “My mother would come around in time,” he said. “I am in earnest, Miss Matcham. I am not romantically attached to anyone—Indeed, I don’t believe I am the type of person to form romantic attachments. You are not attached to anyone. You must marry. I must marry.” He shook his head as he raised up his shoulders. “It is a sensible option.”

  Simon was always concerned with doing the sensible thing. Kate stared at him, her eyes glazing over.

  He was her dear friend, but she had no desire to marry him. In fact, she had little desire to marry at all. But necessity required it. And while time was not something she had in abundance before a decision about her future must be made, she couldn’t steel herself to make a decision. Not yet.