The Bishop's Daughter

  "What am I going to do, Papa?" Kate murmured. How could she end this torment? Even if she went away from Lytton's Dene, Harry could always follow her. How could she put herself forever beyond temptation?

  The answer came to her unbidden with the memory of Lady Dane's harsh words. It is your duty to marry. If she were betrothed to another man, Harry could no longer continue to tease her. He could not keep proposing to a woman who was pledged to another.

  The thought seemed to settle in her stomach like a lump of cold lead, but Kate had never been shy about embracing her duty, no matter how painful the prospect.

  However Lady Dane's suggestion of repairing to London for the Season would not do at all. No, Papa would never have approved of that. He had always said that the city was filled with naught but rackety young men like Harry.

  Kate was quick to suppress the unhappy thought, concentrating on the sort of man the bishop would have wished her to wed. A scholar, a man of sound moral principle, sober, steady, a man very like Adolphus Thorpe.

  The mere notion of the solemn vicar made Kate quail and long to dive back to her bedchamber and pull the covers up over head. She promptly felt ashamed of herself for this reaction.

  Why not Mr. Thorpe? Had not Julia strongly hinted that the vicar harbored an affection for Kate? Kate had never glimpsed any sign of such emotion upon Mr. Thorpe's impassive face, but Julia likely knew her own brother's heart far better than Kate.

  Adolphus was so handsome, so virtuous, so worthy. As the vicar's wife, her life would be filled with peace and respectability, fraught with useful purpose. But no love, no laughter, no breathless expectation of something delightful waiting just to happen.

  Kate pressed a hand to her brow as though to quell this dampening reflection. She must put all such nonsense out of her head. Her consolation must be that she was at last acting with wisdom.

  She knew that Julia and her brother would attend the assembly tomorrow night. Kate would also go, just as she had promised her grandmother. If she discerned any evidence of partiality in Adolphus Thorpe, Kate meant to offer the bashful clergyman every encouragement to ask for her hand.

  The resolution brought her little comfort, but at least she felt exhausted enough to return to her bed. Back within the confines of her room, she snuffed out the candle and burrowed wearily beneath the coverlet.

  Yet no sooner had she closed her eyes than Harry's face appeared to her with haunting clarity. He seemed to stare at her, but with no reproach, his laughing green eyes merely sad.

  "I have made the wisest decision for both of us. Indeed I have," Kate murmured. She rolled over and managed to dispel Harry's image from her mind. But it took her much longer to banish the feeling that her 'wisdom' was somehow betraying them both.

  Chapter Eight

  The night seemed spun from black velvet, the moon a silver disk suspended in the sky. The heady scent of the last of the summer roses drifted through the open windows of the assembly rooms that adjoined the Arundel Arms. Scarcely large enough to afford space for more than a dozen couples to stand up in comfort, the hall was thronged with its subscribers, mostly the gentry of the surrounding countryside.

  The candlelit scene bore none of the dazzling grandeur of a London ballroom, the gowns worn more often of muslin than silk, wreaths of flowers taking the place of flashing gemstones. Yet what was lacking in grandeur was made up for in enthusiasm as the orchestra began to tune their instruments.

  Only Kate was able to keep her toes from tapping at the first scrape of the violins. Never had she felt less like dancing, her dainty kid slippers seeming weighted with lead.

  "Smile, child," Lady Dane chided her. "You've come here to enjoy yourself, not pay a visit to the tooth drawer."

  Kate made an effort to appear more light of heart, all the while wishing herself at home snug in her bed. It had been one thing to form her noble resolve regarding Adolphus Thorpe in the security of her own parlor, quite another to actually prepare to act upon it.

  She felt shamefully relieved to note that the vicar and his sister were not yet present. Kate's gaze constantly strayed toward the arched doorway, her pulses fluttering with trepidation. But it was not the Thorpe's arrival that comprised her chief dread, but the possibility of a certain other gentleman's appearance. She had no reason to suppose Harry ever frequented the assembly, but he had a penchant for doing the unexpected, scattering her best-formed intentions like a hurtling ball toppling ninepins. One smile, one laugh, one touch of his hand and all her wisdom had a way of flying out the window.

  But not tonight, Kate promised herself. Even if Harry did come, she would greet him with the distance and decorum Papa would have expected of his daughter. Unconsciously she stiffened her shoulders. As she did so, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the window's night-darkened panes.

  Who was that strange young woman that hovered like some unhappy phantom behind the glass? Her grandmother's French maid had fussed and primped, decking Kate out in the new gown with its high waistline emphasizing the soft curve of her breasts. Instead of the simple flowers Kate was accustomed to wear for adornment, Lady Dane's diamond necklet glittered about her throat. Hortense had caught up Kate's hair from its loose flowing style and arranged it in a mass of curls pinned up to form a chignon, a gold diadem banding her forehead after the Greek fashion.

  Never had she looked so elegant, so stylish. Never had she felt so miserably self-conscious. But she did her best to smile at the young gentlemen who flocked to her side, begging to lead her into the dance.

  Other young ladies might have preened themselves at being so sought after, but Kate accepted the situation with gravity. She was not unused to such attention. She had never wanted for a partner at any of the sedate parties she had attended. But she had oft suspected that all those eager young clergyman had stood up with her out of duty or ambition to please her father. Now she supposed it was her fashionable new gown that attracted the gentlemen.

  Only Harry had ever sought her out for herself alone. To him she had not been the bishop's daughter, but simply Kate. And when he had danced with her, the world had seemed to fall by the wayside. Caught up by the night and music—

  Kate's fingers tightened about the fan, nearly crushing the delicate silk as she fought off the poignant memory. She needed no such recollections to haunt her for she would not, must not dance with Harry tonight. As though he had indeed risen up before her, reaching for her with that too beguiling smile, Kate began to promise her dances with a recklessness that bordered on panic, even engaging to waltz with Lieutenant Porter, a newly commissioned naval officer she scarcely knew. Should Harry arrive, he would find Kate with every dance already pledged.

  Feeling as though she had erected somewhat of a defense, Kate breathed out a deep sigh. She had actually begun to relax when the vicar and his sister arrived. Kate recalled her purpose in coming to the assembly, and her tensions coiled anew.

  The Thorpes edged forward into the hall, Julia and Adolphus resembling nothing so much as a magnificent pair of Dresden china figurines with their matching fair hair and celestial blue eyes. While Mr. Thorpe paused to greet the squire and several of the important landowners of the district, Julia's gaze swept the crowded room with icy disdain. When she caught sight of Kate, she bore purposefully down upon her.

  "Kathryn Towers! Such an agreeable surprise." Julia extended both her hands, catching up Kate's by way of greeting."You did not tell me you were coming here this evening."

  Julia's statement hinted of accusation as though Kate had a duty to keep Miss Thorpe informed of all her movements.

  "I did not realize that I would be here myself until the last," Kate said. Carefully she disengaged her hands from Miss Thorpe's possessive grip. Julia's eyes skimmed critically over Kate's attire. For once she nodded with approval.

  "You look quite a la mode. Such a pleasant change."

  Kate thanked her for the rather dubious compliment. She should respond in kind, but she doubted Julia needed
to be told how lovely she looked. She was easily the most beautiful woman present, attired in a gown of mauve and white silk, with a long train that proclaimed she had no intentions of dancing.

  "There is nothing more tedious than having one's toes trampled by a parcel of provincial clods," Julia said. "I only attend these dreary assemblies because they seem to amuse Adolphus. I do hope you have saved a dance for him?"

  Mindful of her plans regarding Mr. Thorpe, Kate had done just that, but she felt strangely reluctant to tell Julia so. Yet Julia did not wait for her reply. Miss Thorpe turned and beckoned imperiously to where her brother had lingered by the punch bowl to exchange a few words with the squire. "Adolphus, do come here and tell Kate how well she looks."

  Kate thought the vicar appeared a trifle vexed by Julia's summons, but if so, he concealed his annoyance behind a polite smile.

  As Mr. Thorpe approached, Kate unfurled her fan. She plied it nervously, wishing it were large enough to hide behind. She had never felt flustered in the vicar's presence before, but neither had she ever considered him as a prospective suitor.

  "Good evening, Miss Towers," he said.

  "Good evening," Kate murmured, at last daring to look up at him. Her pulses immediately stilled. There was nothing in Mr. Thorpe's mild blue eyes to make even the giddiest maiden feel all of a flutter. If the vicar adored her as Julia claimed, Kate thought dubiously, he certainly did not wear his heart on his sleeve.

  "Do say something about Kate's gown," Julia prompted her brother, "Does she not look lovely?"

  Mr. Thorpe said all that was required of him and Kate thanked him, her somber manner matching his own. The conversation threatened to lag until Julia said, "Adolphus, you must claim Kate's hand for the next dance before all her other admirers descend upon her."

  "Well, I—" Mr. Thorpe began.

  "And dearest Kate, you must accept him."

  "Well, I—" Kate began.

  "How charming. Then that is all settled."

  And so it seemed to be, although Kate's mind whirled, unsure who actually had made the invitation or who had accepted it. She felt a real sense of relief when Julia moved off to speak to another acquaintance, a relief Kate was astonished to catch reflected in the vicar's own eyes.

  They exchanged a half-guilty, half-embarrassed smile that vanished as quickly as the fleeting feeling of kinship. He offered her his arm to lead her to the head of the set that was forming.

  The vicar was such a stiff young man, Kate expected his movements to be as wooden as a marionette's. To her surprise, he proved quite a graceful dancer, although he was inclined to apologize for his skill.

  "I daresay you are thinking the worst of me," he said as they circled each other, "for taking such pleasure in so worldly an activity."

  "Not at all," Kate assured him. "Even my father was fond of an occasional quadrille."

  Heartened by receiving the late bishop's approval, Mr. Thorpe abandoned some of his formality. Away from Julia, he appeared to have no difficulty in carrying on a conversation. His manners were unaffected and gentlemanlike, his discourse as serious as Kate could require. Kate tried to listen earnestly, but her thoughts kept straying.

  She studied the vicar's face and caught herself looking for some resemblance to Harry. But the cousins could not have been more unlike. Kate supposed Adolphus would be judged the more handsome, his skin smooth and unblemished, yet Kate could not help thinking his face might be much improved by some of those fine lines that laughter had carved about Harry's eyes.

  Kate quickly dismissed such thoughts as frivolous. As she and Mr. Thorpe came together in the movement of the dance, she realized with dismay he must have asked her a question and patiently awaited her reply.

  "I beg your pardon," she said, “but I fear I did not quite hear you."

  "It does not matter." Mr. Thorpe heaved a melancholy sigh. "Julia says that I have a habit of forever prosing on."

  "Then Miss Thorpe is quite unkind," Kate retorted without thinking. In a flash of insight, it occurred to her that outside of the pulpit Mr. Thorpe was likely not given much encouragement to speak his views by his clever and sharp-tongued sister. Knowing how discomfited Julia frequently made her feel, Kate experienced a rush of sympathy for the vicar.

  "Pray do continue," she urged him. "I am most interested in what you have to say." Quite forgetting the notions of marriage that made her so awkward in his presence, Kate resolved that at least she would accord the poor man some attention. She gazed up at Mr. Thorpe, her smile inspired only by kindness.

  But the gentle expression did not escape Julia Thorpe's notice from her vantage point near the doorway. Having snubbed Lieutenant Porter's impertinent offer to dance with her, Julia had stationed herself where she could keep her brother and Kate under constant observation.

  Noting the way Kate hung upon Adolphus's every word, Julia's mouth thinned into a smile of triumph. Praise the Lord! Her brother was doing something right at last. She had been admonishing him forever to make an effort to charm Kate, despairing that he would heed her advice.

  At this distance, she could not tell what utterances fell from Adolphus's lips, but Kate was clearly captivated. Hereinafter, Julia supposed she must accord her brother a new respect. She had been quite right to believe that the sensible Kathryn needed only a little encouragement to forget her foolish infatuation with Lytton. Although Julia was not given to let her imagination run riot, she could not help calculating how long it might take before the banns of her brother's marriage to the bishop's daughter would be cried. A year perhaps for the wedding to take place, for Kate's powerful relatives to secure Adolphus a better position, for all three of them to be gone from this dreary little village.

  These agreeable reflections were disrupted as she was jostled by a latecomer arriving in the assembly hall. Julia turned to haughtily rebuke the oaf who was even now removing his high crowned beaver hat, revealing familiar waves of glossy coal dark hair. He flashed one of those lightning quick smiles that could send the surliest of lackeys scurrying to do his bidding.

  "Lytton!" Julia exclaimed in the same accents of dismay and bitter loathing she would have said 'Lucifer.'

  Her cousin tossed off his cloak to the porter tending the door before turning back to Julia with his customary infuriating good humor.

  "Julia, you must not act so overjoyed to see me. You know how people love to gossip."

  "What are you doing here?" she said, her face flushing with disappointment and rage.

  "You are forever asking me that," Harry complained. "I begin to think you are surprised to see me anywhere outside the regions of hell."

  "It is where you belong—" Julia choked off the retort, groping for the remnants of her frigid dignity.

  Harry chucked her lightly under the chin. "Don't put yourself into a taking, my dear coz. I have not come here tonight to dance with you."

  He smiled at Julia's gasp of outrage and moved on his way, fully aware of her looking such daggers at him, he fancied he could almost feel the sharp points pricking his back. He supposed he ought to be ashamed of himself for ruffling Julia's feathers, but he was surely entitled to a little amusement.

  It had been a most unamusing day. More dreary accounts to be gone over with Warren, more hysterics from Sybil over that Crosbie fellow, and once again no opportunity to see Kate. The only thing that had sustained him had been the missive he received from Lady Dane, commanding him to attend the assembly. Kate would be present, her ladyship assured him, and possibly in ‘a more receptive mind regarding the subject of marriage.’ Harry had his doubts on that score.

  Kate had looked far from receptive at their last parting when he had dragged Folly away before the blasted idiot could say anything more to affront her. Still Harry held enough confidence in Lady Dane that he conjured up an agreeable image of Kate awaiting him, seated demurely at her grandmother's side, refusing all invitations to dance until Harry should arrive. Her hair would be tumbled about her shoulders in those long si
lky ringlets, her dress one of those sweet flowing frocks that made her look as though she had stepped from a portrait by Gainsborough.

  Harry's spirits raised a trifle at these delightful imaginings, and he edged his way through the crowded assembly with impatient step. Taking no heed of the dancers or other acquaintances who greeted him, Harry sought out Lady Dane.

  Her ladyship was not difficult to find. Ensconced in one corner like a queen holding court, she kept the local ladies at an awed distance. When she espied Harry, she frowned and summoned him, her gesture rife with a most royal displeasure.

  Harry inched his way toward her and made his leg, but before he could speak, Lady Dane hissed at him, "Impudent rascal. Where have you been?"

  "I had some difficulty with my horse," Harry began. The old cobbie he had been obliged to employ now that his chestnuts were gone had raised great objection to being hitched to the curricle. As Harry had helped the groom to quiet the vile-tempered beast, the nag had given Harry's arm a savage nip that left him with quite a swelling bruise.

  "I am not talking about tonight," Lady Dane said with a rap of the ever-present cane. "I mean all this past week, sirrah!"

  "I have been buried up to my eyebrows, trying to set my properties to rights. You did bid me become more respectable."

  "I said respectable, not dull!"

  Harry felt his good humor slip a notch. It seemed unjust for her ladyship to rake him over the coals when he had simply been doing his best to follow her advice. He decided it might be better to let the subject drop.

  "Where is Kate?" he asked instead. "You told me she would be here."

  "No," her ladyship said in a voice of withering scorn. "I summoned you here to dance with me. Of course, Kate is here, you young cawker. And you'd best look sharp before she is snatched from under your nose."

  Her ladyship's acid remark made little sense to Harry, but when she prodded him with her cane and gestured toward the dancers, Harry turned obediently. He eyed the couples promenading in the center of the room, his gaze flitting from one pretty face to another without interest. He vaguely recognized most of the chits present except for the elegant dasher with the Grecian headdress.