"If you continue to stare at the sun, Miss Katharine, you'll go as blind as old Mrs. Rutherford's cat," said Mrs. Moon.
"I am sensible enough not to stare at the sun," said Katharine irritably, blinking. "And did Mrs. Rutherford not die in January? Not that I am interested in that family."
"Nor should you be," Mrs. Moon said sagely, "but that Elspeth Rutherford was a neighbor and had her hands full raising Delphina. She was a wild thing, poor girl."
Katharine frowned. "Do you think her poor because she died so young or because she did not live to become a countess? Surely, not even she could have guessed her husband would have ascended to the title, for he was far enough down the line."
"I think her poor because she was incapable of happiness and resented joy in others."
"That is rather pithy, Mrs. Moon. Perhaps you would like to join our Octagon Salon?"
"Hush," said Mrs. Moon. "I have other kettles of fish to fry."
"Like sharing gossip in town?"
"Perhaps," Mrs. Moon said slyly and narrowed her eyes. "I shall never forgive what Edward Danforth did to you; please do not doubt it. But I am not above hearing news of him."
"What have you heard?" asked Katharine, too quickly.
"Why, he is to return to Cloverhill in the next week. Mrs. Rutherford's cottage now belongs to his daughter, and he comes to inspect the child's inheritance."
Katharine felt physically ill, knowing she might face him again. It was foolish and cowardly of her, for eight long and painful years had passed. Her friends had done much to disabuse her of any embarrassment. She was no longer a girl and now lived a fruitful, stimulating life.
And yet, there it was.
"He is an earl now, and the Rutherford cottage would scarcely do service to his stable boy. He will have a look and be gone again before the dust is off his boots. I am sure we will not meet again, and we would not recognize each other if we did." Katharine again leaned against the stone wall, drawing strength from its heat and the very fact that it was hers alone, and Edward could not breach her sanctuary.
But, of course, he probably had no desire to breach her sanctuary or anything else.
"Of course you would recognize him, Miss." Mrs. Moon drew in a deep breath. "It is not for me to know what went on between you, but a love such as yours leaves an imprint on memory. You would know him the minute he walks into a room."
Katharine had no idea what wellspring of experience her housekeeper drew upon, but the thought was unsettling.
"You know a great deal on the subject," she said.
"There are some things we know not by experience but by good sense," Mrs. Moon said, thoughtfully. "Nor do I know about the nature of love by reading a book. I know it by reading you."
EDWARD DANFORTH, THE EARL of Penfield, felt as if he'd never left the seaside community to which he now returned. The houses remained surrounded by sweet-smelling gardens, and the sea air, blowing briskly over Cloverhill's rocky peninsula, still brought with it the scent of adventure and excitement.
Here was where he spent his boyhood and where he became a man, in the long summer seasons during which his invalid mother sought a cure in the salty waters, and his father leased a modest estate for them. It was paradise to a young boy, who learned to swim alongside his older brother and fish with the local sailors.
But there were other distractions, which gradually became more interesting than fish. The community welcomed his family to Cloverdale, and while the ladies sat in the shade engaged in needlework and conversation, and the men gathered to enjoy a few games of cards, the children were often sent off to entertain themselves.
Edward was not sure when he realized Katharine Wharton was no longer a pesky little girl who showed him fossils she found along the shore and had become a beautiful woman. But it might have been the day he looked up from the pages of a book and noticed her eyes were the same color as the sea and her hair had loosened from its plaits. She returned his interested gaze and said he ought to close his mouth or a bird would fly in.
Instead, he leaned across the table and kissed her on her lips.
Their lives would always have been an adventure, through every joy and sorrow. This was nearly theirs, but for his own stupidity. He, who had already considered himself worldly and mature at twenty, acted impulsively, without a grain of good sense.
He hesitated a moment, thinking he'd walked too far, and then recognized the weathered cottage where Delphina once lived with her aunt. He had only entered it once, but what he did within changed his destiny. Now it was shuttered and the garden overgrown with wild roses, a trifling inheritance for the daughter of an earl.
He heard the white cat before he saw it and recalled there were always small creatures about the house. Perhaps the others ran off when the old lady died or were brought to new homes. When the cat raised her face and sniffed, he saw she was blind. And so perhaps she stayed where she was safe and, apparently, well fed.
Edward knew what it was to be blind, or, at least, unable to see what was apparent to others. He paid a bitter price for that and, even worse, made others suffer as well.
But he was back in Cloverhill, and the house was his. And he supposed the cat was his as well.
He sat on the stone wall, and the cat promptly jumped onto his lap, possibly the only resident of Cloverhill happy to greet him.
But he reminded himself that he was here for Pearl. And she was all that mattered.
THE TUESDAY MEETING OF the Octagon Salon was not at all successful, having more the lethargic spirit of a summer afternoon than a fresh spring day. Deirdre seemed most concerned with her costume for an upcoming ball, and Estella hardly spoke at all. Portia and Katharine reflected briefly on the cool weather. In less than an hour's time, Deirdre ended their misery by announcing that she had some errands to accomplish, and Portia and Estella followed her down the steps.
Katharine thumbed some pages until her reverie was interrupted by the sound of footsteps. She looked around the room, wondering who had forgotten what.
"Miss Katharine," Mrs. Moon said breathlessly. "You have a visitor."
Edward Danforth stepped into the room, behind her.
She did not faint. Nor did she cry out or sob or throw something. She did not do any of the things she long imagined, including commenting on how the years had not been kind to him.
In fact, they had been very kind.
He had changed in eight years, but he was even more handsome and certainly more distinguished. The somewhat gangly boy she remembered, possessed of raw strength, had matured into a man to be reckoned with. But there was sadness in his eyes, a loss of exuberance in his manners.
"Katharine."
She ignored the catch in his voice, and did not answer at once.
"My lord," she said, ignoring his familiarity. "Welcome back to Cloverhill. But you must excuse me, for I am about to go out for the afternoon."
"Then may I join you on your outing, unless a gentleman is not welcome to do that?"
He sounded like the Edward she once knew, happy to follow her about, knowing she enjoyed his company. But he presumed too much.
"Not unless he wants to be a pest," she retorted. Mrs. Moon gasped.
But Edward smiled. "I should enjoy that very much,"
He followed her down the stairs and out the door. Katharine started toward town but thought better of it, realizing the rumor mill would be thrumming with the news of their reunion. Instead, she turned toward the steps to the beach, where no one but the gulls would see them.
As they walked along in silence, only once did she toy with the idea of pushing him over the cliff. Soon they were on the stone steps, carved into the chalky bedrock centuries ago, and now weathered by wind and rain. Katharine was a woman of many talents, but even she could not descend and think about Edward at the same time; it was too arduous a task.
The tide was out, leaving shells and debris in its wake. Jellyfish dried in the sun, and gulls scooped up fish and crabs, a decen
t meal for people or birds. Katharine found a few tarnished coins and the bleached jawbone of a fairly large fish.
"I see not much has changed in all these years," Edward said.
Her back stiffened as she reluctantly turned to face him. "You are mistaken, my lord. It is quite the opposite, for everything has changed for me. I am no longer someone you know, and I certainly do not wish to know you."
"Kitty ..." he began, and reached for her arm.
She pulled away.
"That child no longer exists. She abandoned that sweet name along with her naive expectations." Katharine paused, waiting for an apology that did not come. "I am Miss Katharine Wharton now. It is not so stunning a transformation as to find oneself a peer, but it does reflect a certain amount of advancement."
"Miss Wharton," he said, bowing formally. "It is a pleasure to meet you, though I shall miss the Kitty who used to find fossils with me."
It was finally too much. The sluice gates opened with a torrent of words.
"You would not have missed her at all, if you behaved with any notion of honor on the day you were to marry her. You could have had baskets of fossils. Now, she can think of nothing that would give her more pleasure than to fling them at your head."
"I suppose I deserve that," he said.
"And you certainly could not have expected anything more, showing up in Cloverhill as if all could be forgotten," she retorted. "I somehow imagined I was prepared to forgive, but I am no longer certain of it."
"Is it not possible?"
Katherine was so angry, she could not articulate the words that came immediately to mind. Instead, she turned and walked away.
He deserved it. She could cut him up in small pieces and feed him to the gulls, and most people would think justice had been served. Why did he think he could return and expect any sort of forgiveness, let alone the possibility of winning her heart once more?
He watched her march up the beach, losing traction in the sand. But she held herself with much dignity, like a duchess. Or, perhaps, a countess. She would have been his countess.
But she deserved better. He had taken her heart and trampled it, believing himself obliged to another. He was only twenty when he'd run off with Delphina, a woman of wiles and a good deal more experience, but he still should have known better. He had been a fool and ruined two lives in the process.
But he would not leave Cloverhill until he explained himself, and the trap into which he fell eight years before. Only then could he have release and get on with the rest of his life. But perhaps Katharine would walk with him.
He could not let her go, not again.
He ran up the strand, the wind in his face, the sand shifting beneath his feet. Even though she had a lead, he was bigger and faster. "Katharine, please wait," he shouted, as he gained ground.
"I will never again wait for you, Edward."
"Please let me explain," he said, grasping her arm. He moved his fingers over the fabric of her dress and felt the delicate musculature beneath. The warmth of her skin sent a spark of keen awareness through his body, and he felt like a boy again, aching to kiss a beautiful woman for the first time.
"I ... I can't let you go," he said hoarsely. The deprivation he had brought to them both was bad enough to reflect upon through the years, but devastating when confronting her in the flesh.
She pulled from him again.
"You already have let me go. There is no going back to what we were, my lord. Once something is done, there are no second chances."
She, who once danced on the sand and splashed him in the sea, was now a sensible woman with a mature wisdom. He did that to her.
"Of course there are second chances, Miss Wharton. If one gets onto a horse and slips off, one immediately gets on and tries again."
"We are not speaking of an accident, my lord, but a willful deed that harms another." She glanced up at the escarpment. "If one pushes another off the cliff, it is no accident, and punishment is merited."
"I have been punished," he said. "Not only in the choices I made, but in the tragic losses of several who were dear to me."
"That is certainly not my affair," she said, and turned from him, blinking into the salty spray off the sea.
This time, he did indeed let her go.
THE OCTAGON LADIES PERSUADED Katharine that nothing would revive her spirits as much as attending the ball at Fairfields. Mrs. Wharton agreed and sent a lady's maid to the Octagon House, several ornate hair combs, and a parcel of dinner gowns from her sisters' closets.
While making a great show of resisting such attempts to bring her back into society, Katharine had to admit she rather enjoyed herself--and didn't look half bad. Indeed, she looked splendid in a gold gown overlaid with green sarsenet that set off the sun-touched tone of her skin.
"I should think a gold necklace would be quite the thing, miss," said the maid.
"So they might be, Nell. But I own but one necklace, and pearls will have to do for me."
"Oh, but pearls are splendid for ..." the maid broke off when Katharine reached into a box. "But what is that?"
"That," said Katherine, "is a shell. I had it added to the strand when the pearls were restrung. It is a little talisman, a reminder of a happiness that once was mine."
Nell frowned. "I don't know about wearing shells, Miss."
"But I do. And what is a pearl but a fortunate gift from an unwitting little oyster? This little shell served a useful purpose, as it shall again this evening." Katharine caressed it thoughtfully as Nell secured the clasp.
"You seem distracted, Lord Penfield," said a pretty young woman.
"I apologize, Miss Watson. I am overly curious to see those I might recognize. Lady DuChamp seems to have invited everyone in the county to her ball."
"And you are now among our number," said Miss Watson. "I understand you have taken Bellevue."
Edward's attention returned to the lady at his side. "I have only made the arrangements this afternoon, Miss Watson. Is the news already about?"
"Of course. Do not doubt it." She smiled.
He should not, for this was a taste of what his life would be like in Cloverhill. He had given society much to digest over eight years, and once his daughter arrived he would be serving a veritable feast.
"Bellevue is lovely, though not very grand," she said, sounding disappointed.
"But then, I am not a very grand earl. It should suit me well. I shall only bring a few servants with me, who shall be sufficient for my daughter and myself."
"Your daughter? How charming."
"My daughter is a young lady of eight, as beautiful and willful as are most girls who are born with every advantage." Pearl was indeed that, and more. Whatever the circumstances of her birth, he was a besotted father. "I am bringing her to Cloverhill to play in the waves and to see the cottage that is now hers."
And then he saw Katharine enter the hall, her skin glowing in the candlelight and altogether too much of it on show.
It would have been so much easier if Edward's muscular frame had turned paunchy or if he had fallen on desperate times, and wore an old threadbare jacket with the sleeves let out. But he had grown into a very fine figure, and clearly was a man with deep pockets, none let out. Nearly every woman in the room gravitated into his sphere, and he managed to charm them all. No doubt, some now saw his defection as romantic, an escape from a youthful bit of puppy love, wildly passionate instead of boring and predictable.
Katharine's friends and family remained loyal to her. She saw Portia chat briefly with Edward and stare into his eyes, but guessed that was in service to finding out information. It was not long before her supposition was substantiated, for she soon heard the full report.
"I hope you are not engaged for the next dance?" asked Edward, suddenly appearing before her.
"I have no intention of dancing," she answered succinctly.
"Not to dance at a ball? Or not to dance with me?" he persisted. "It is very odd to attend a ball and not parta
ke of the entertainment."
Katharine did not think him the person to take her to task on how to behave in public.
"Lord Penfield, it is not so much that I do not wish to partake of the entertainment. I simply do not wish to be the entertainment."
In an instant, his hand was on her arm, igniting a flame through her body that might have seared his flesh. She looked into his eyes, knowing he felt it and wanted it.
"The music begins, Miss Wharton. Please save me the awkwardness of finding another partner."
"You were not so ..." she began, and stopped. She knew perfectly well what she should say. He was not so concerned about her finding another partner eight years ago, when he left her standing at Cloverhill Church with her bouquet of flowers and shells. But somehow, the words mattered little now. He was not a stupid man, and knew perfectly well how he had harmed her.
"I was not so good a dancer, you were about to say?" he finished the sentence for her in his own way. Then he laughed out loud, guaranteeing they now had the attention of everyone in the room. Katharine was so warm she thought she'd burst into flames. "I was a dreadful dancer and must have trod on your poor toes until they bled. But you will find I am much improved."
He had. But then, so had she, for on those occasions when she chose to attend an assembly or a private ball, she had not wanted for partners.
"We are allowed to speak while dancing, I daresay," he murmured circling around her. "Your necklace reminds me that you were always fond of gifts from the sea."
"I have little to say to you," she said. But, in fact, she did. She wanted to know why he left her to start a life with another woman. She wanted to know if he had regrets. She wished to console him over the loss of his cousin and older brother. Indeed, she had a hundred things to say to him, including asking why he imagined he could suddenly reappear and act as if nothing had happened in eight long years. And because he did, she had a great desire to preserve some fragment of her own dignity and hold him in abeyance.