The Bishop's Daughter

  "No. I intend to speak to Kate myself."

  An amused expression crossed Lady Dane's features, like a mighty eagle hearing a sparrow offering to take over the task of seeking out prey.

  "Then I suggest you get about it before Kate takes to wearing hair shirts as well." Her ladyship stalked to the door and opened it for Mrs. Towers. Lady Dane, of course, did not smirk, but the expression on her face was akin to it.

  Mrs. Towers had little choice but to accept the challenge. Gathering up her dignity, she rustled past. With Lady Dane's fierce gaze upon her, she mounted the stairs to the second floor, her heart fluttering with trepidation. She had never borne any influence with Kate before. What on earth was she going to say to her daughter now?

  At her timid knock upon the bedchamber door, Kate's lackluster voice bade her enter. She stepped inside the chamber to discover Kate seated upon a low stool by the fireside. She was bent industriously over a tambour frame, although Mrs. Towers had a strong suspicion the embroidery had only been snatched up with her entrance.

  Kate glanced up, her appearance neat and trim, but her wan smile and the hollows beneath her eyes were enough to break Mrs. Towers's heart. "Mama! I thought you would be taking your nap."

  "Not this afternoon, dear." Mrs. Towers closed the door behind her. "I came to see how you were feeling.”

  "A little better," Kate said with forced cheerfulness. She ducked her head, concentrating on her needle. Mrs. Towers noted that the delicate stitching had not progressed much from when she had last seen the work in Kate's hand. Gently, she removed the frame from her daughter's grasp.

  "I think it is time you got out a little."

  Kate flinched with dismay. "Oh, no, truly, Mama. You must not worry about me."

  It was the old evasion, but this time Mrs. Towers knew she could not accept it. She caught Kate's face between her hands so that she could look into her troubled eyes.

  "Worrying is a mother's prerogative, Kathryn. Now tell me what is wrong."

  "Nothing." Kate gave an overbright smile.

  "I don't believe you," Mrs. Towers said. "The day of the fête I expected Lord Harry to ask permission to pay his addresses."

  "Harry would never have thought of anything like that and c-certainly not now that I—" Her eyes filled with tears and suddenly she cupped Mrs. Towers's hand, holding it to her cheek. "Oh, Mama, I am s-so unhappy, I just want to die."

  She broke down completely, weeping. Mrs. Towers plunked down upon the carpet, her skirts billowing about her, gathering Kate into her arms as though she had been all of six years old.

  "N-no, Mama," Kate sobbed against her shoulder. "I—I shouldn't burden you."

  "Of course, you should," Mrs. Towers said, her own throat constricting. "Please. Tell mama what is hurting you."

  It was a most foolish thing to say, as though Kate were yet a babe with nothing but a skinned elbow. But her daughter nestled closer, entwining her arms about Mrs. Towers's neck. Maisie Towers closed her eyes, briefly recalling all those times she had allowed Kate to be borne away by the nurse or the governess for the sake of Mrs. Towers's delicate health.

  To have Kate at last turning to her for comfort was most bittersweet.

  Kate's words came haltingly, but gradually she poured out the entire story of her quarrel with Lord Lytton. "And I know I was being most unjust to b-blame him, but he should have seen how miserable I was. Then I just let him go. I suppose it is just as well."

  "Why, darling?" Mrs. Towers murmured against her daughter's silky curls. "If you love him---"

  "But Papa always said we would never suit. You know he did."

  Mrs. Towers sighed. "The bishop was full of wisdom, but sometimes even the cleverest men are less than wise when dealing with their daughters. I always thought your Papa a shade overprotective. I oft wondered whom he would have considered good enough to wed you."

  Kate drew away, regarding her with surprise. "But surely, Mama, Papa's fears were justified. Harry's reputation was so shocking. Marrying him would have been a great risk."

  "Any marriage is a risk. Your Papa and I went through quite a period of adjustment in our early days."

  "But Papa was never wild like Harry."

  A gentle laugh escaped Mrs. Towers. "Well, I do recall him telling me about a time before he had taken holy orders, one season when he went up to London. I fear he did some things that were quite scandalous for a future bishop."

  "Papa?" Kate gasped.

  Mrs. Towers nodded, although she could not quite meet her daughter's eye.

  "But he always seemed so perfect," Kate said.

  "He tried to be, perhaps rather too hard." Mrs. Towers smoothed a stray curl from Kate's petal-soft cheek. "It is a failing I fear you often share, my dearest Kate."

  Kate acknowledged the fact, her lips parting in a rueful smile.

  "Now, if you love your Harry as much as I think you do, you had best be giving him another chance."

  Kate's smile quickly faded. "I fear this time he has given up on me, Mama. He has asked me to marry him so many times. I do not think he will be asking again."

  "Then you must ask him."

  "Mama!"

  "There are ways, Kathryn, that a lady may arrange her proposal without being unmaidenly."

  They regarded each other for a moment and then Kate flung her arms about Mrs. Towers in a brisk hug, Mrs. Towers got to her feet, wincing at the stiffness in her joints. She was getting a little old for sitting upon the carpet. Shuffling toward the door, she took affectionate leave of her daughter.

  She had no notion if her words had had any lasting effect upon the child, but as she closed the door, Kate's eyes looked soft and luminous, the set of her brow extremely thoughtful.

  Mrs. Towers sighed. She had come to this mothering business rather late in her life. It was not simple by any means. She could only hope she had made an adequate job of it.

  As Kate fetched her cloak from the wardrobe, she felt suffused with a warm glow from the recent scene with her mother. It was most strange how one could live in the same house with one's parents for so many years and not truly know either of them.

  It saddened her to think, having at last become better acquainted with Mama, she was now thinking of leaving her. Of course, that rather depended on Harry.

  Kate stopped in the act of swirling her cloak about her shoulders, her courage nearly failing her. But she forced her fingers into brisk movement, fastening the braided frogs. Then she bolted from her chamber and down the steps lest she lose heart and change her mind.

  For the bishop's daughter was planning to do a very shocking thing. She proposed to call upon a gentleman, completely unchaperoned, without even a maid in attendance. Stepping round to the small coach house behind the cottage, Kate had the Towers' groom hitch the pony to the cart.

  In less than half an hour, she was tooling along the lane with all the expertise Harry had taught her. She cast an anxious glance skyward, the succession of bright days quite fled before the gray clouds gathering. She trusted she would manage to reach Mapleshade before the rain broke.

  Passing through the village did not prove the ordeal Kate had anticipated in the privacy of her room. No one regarded her as an anathema, Miss Lethbridge even cheerily waving her handkerchief from the door of her shop. It was a little difficult when she passed the squire on horseback and he shot her a knowing grin. Kate merely blushed and did not attempt to climb beneath the cart seat as she would like to have done.

  As she clattered between the great iron gates and down the winding drive, Mapleshade's familiar red brick greeted her, rather solemn and subdued beneath the overcast sky. One of Harry's efficient grooms came promptly to take charge of the pony cart and Kate was left facing the tall pillars, the whitewashed stairs leading to the imposing front door.

  She moistened her lips nervously. Suppose Harry refused to see her. She had denied being at home to him often enough. Taking a deep breath to calm her wildly thudding heart, Kate marched forward and
seized the huge brass knocker.

  Her summons was so timid, she wondered if anyone could have heard it, but the door swung open promptly, not answered by one of the footmen, but by Grayshaw himself.

  Remembering the last circumstances under which Harry's butler had seen her, Kate squirmed, unable to look past that redoubtable manservant's starched waistcoat.

  "Miss Towers! Thank God you have come!"

  The fervent greeting was so unlike the scornful disapproval Kate expected, she glanced up. The butler looked quite distraught.

  As Kate stepped past him into the marble tiled hall, apprehension clutched at her heart. "Is something wrong, Grayshaw?" she asked. "Pray, tell me. Nothing has happened to Lord Lytton?"

  "No, miss. That is, I trust not."

  What did he mean he trusted not! Kate's fingers froze in the action of being about to remove her cloak. "What is it? What is amiss?"

  "We are all at sixes and sevens here, Miss Towers, and that's the truth." His features contorted, and Kate could tell that he struggled with that natural reserve that prevented the elderly retainer from discussing the family with strangers. But it seemed a long time since Kate had been considered an outsider at Mapleshade.

  "It is Lady Lytton," he continued in a rush. "She has eloped with that Crosbie fellow."

  "Dear heavens! Are you certain?"

  "Yes, miss. Yesterday afternoon her ladyship ordered up her coach to go into the village. I thought it a little odd, for as you know, she never does so. By supper she had not returned and Lord Lytton found a note in her sitting room."

  The elderly butler shook his head. "There is no doubt, miss. The countess has most certainly run off."

  Kate bit down upon her lip. "And Harry—I mean Lord Lytton. What was his response to all this?" she asked, dreading Grayshaw's answer.

  "He rode out looking for her ladyship at once. The master searched all night, but he could not overtake her."

  Kate sighed with relief, at least rid of the apprehension of Harry being hung for the murder of poor Mr. Crosbie.

  "Where is his lordship now?"

  "He took his horse into the stables about an hour ago and then just walked off. No one quite knows where he went. The young master has taken all this very badly, Miss Towers. You see he was her ladyship's trustee. According to his father's will—"

  "I understand all that, Grayshaw, but you must not worry." She added softly, "I think I know exactly where his lordship has gone."

  Kate had not been near Harry's hill his since the day of the memorial service. Hitching up her skirts, she labored up the slope, peering at the distant summit. The Hill was a bleak place on this chill autumn day, scatterings of dead leaves whisking by on the wind, Harry's memorial appearing abandoned and forgotten.

  The site bore an aura of loneliness about it, a desolation that seemed centered in the man who hunched on the statue's base. Harry sat with his chin propped on his hand, staring vacantly across the sweep of his land, the woods with their half-bared branches stark against the leaden gray sky.

  As she drew closer, Kate marked the unshaven line of his jaw, the shadows darkening eyes dulled from lack of sleep. He seemed so pulled down, Kate had to curb the impulse to fling her arms about him and cradle his weary head against her breast. But she hesitated, uncertain of her reception.

  Harry did not notice her approach until she stood close enough that she could have stroked back the unruly dark strands the wind whipped across his brow. When he finally glanced up, his only reaction was one of mild surprise.

  None of the joy that usually lit up his eyes at the sight of her, no uttering of her name with unbounded delight, not a hint of that lightning smile. To Kate, it was as though the sun had indeed gone out of the world.

  "H-hello, Harry," she said.

  He bestirred himself, stretching his long limbs as he rose stiffly to his feet. "Miss Towers." He sketched a brief bow.

  Kate's heart sank. This was going to be worse than she had thought. Giving him no chance to question her sudden appearance, she blurted out. "I have been calling down at the house. I heard about Lady Lytton."

  "I dare say everyone will have by the time the day is out. It should provide more entertainment than the most roaring farce." Kate thought she had never heard his voice laced with such bitterness.

  He sneered. "Hellfire Harry for once tries to play propriety and keep his stepmother from making a fool of herself, but can't quite manage it." He expelled his breath in a deep sigh. "Damn! But that should come as no surprise to you. I never do seem to do anything right."

  Kate wished she could caress him under the chin, saying as he had done so many times to her. "You are taking this all too seriously, Harry."

  Instead she stood awkwardly, shuffling her feet. "It is a pity it had to come to this. But I fear the elopement was partly my fault."

  "Yours?"

  Although she shrank from his hard stare, she explained, "I promised Mr. Crosbie and Lady Lytton I would speak to you the day of the fete about their engagement. When I didn't quite get to it, I fear they became desperate."

  "You were going to act as emissary for that fortune hunter?" Harry did not appear angry as much as incredulous.

  "I believe he truly loves her. Why, the elopement itself makes it obvious Mr. Crosbie cares not for your threat to cut off her ladyship's allowance."

  "Even if that were true, it is a damned ridiculous match. He's a simpleton, and as for her! There has to be at least twenty years difference in their ages."

  Kate stared at the ground for a moment, then gathering her courage, she said, "I have had much time to think these past few days. My belief is when two people are truly in love, all those differences in age, station, and family simply don't matter." She dared to look deep into Harry's eyes, hoping he would understand what she was trying to tell him, that she was speaking of far more than Lady Lytton and Mr. Crosbie.

  But Harry looked away from her, the muscles along his jaw inflexible. "You don't understand at all, Kate. My father gave me the responsibility—"

  "Of managing Lady Lytton's money. But do you truly think he expected you to act as her chaperon for the rest of her life?"

  "No, but—"

  "Of course, I know how dreadfully you are going to miss her ladyship."

  An unwilling choked sound came from Harry. Kate felt hope stir. She had nearly broken through his grim barrier, made him laugh.

  She continued gently, "You have done wonderfully well with the trust your father left you. I am sure he would have been very proud."

  "You think so? I begin to harbor the fear the governor would think I have been making a great cake of myself, especially over this business with Sybil." A rueful smile touched Harry's lips. "Likely he would be right."

  He turned to Kate suddenly, his voice gone low, earnest. "I know the old earl had a dreadful reputation. But he wasn't a bad man, Kate. I still miss him. Only there were occasions that I rather wished . . ." He hesitated. "I wished that he had been a little less my friend and a little more my father."

  So rarely had Harry ever let his guard down, permitting her to see the pain, the more somber side of the handsome rakehell that Kate heard herself agreeing softly. "I know. There were times when I wished mine had been more my father and a little less the bishop."

  This admission astonished her as much as it did Harry. Their eyes met and in that instant Kate felt they had acquired a deeper understanding of each other than they had ever known before.

  He unfolded his arms and Kate held her breath, expecting to be drawn into his embrace. But he merely shrugged, returning back to the subject of Lady Lytton. "I suppose I will have to make the best of the situation and receive Crosbie at Mapleshade as Sybil's husband. Just as long as he doesn't inflict any more of his damned sculpture upon me."

  Harry tipped back his head, peering upward at the naked warrior that towered above them. "I intend to have that cursed thing carted off my hill as soon as may be."

  "No, don't." Kate said
. "I have rather grown to like it." Boldly she forced her gaze up that disturbingly lifelike representation of male flesh. She faltered, "Of course, perhaps we should contrive to get some clothes upon him."

  Harry's laugh did boom out then, hearty and deep. Kate thought she could feel it ring in her heart.

  "What I had better contrive," he said with a chuckle, "is to get you home before the storm breaks. I thought I heard a rumble of thunder."

  He tucked her arm within his, with a return of that familiar heart-stopping smile. As they hastened down the hill, Kate's pulses raced with anticipation.

  She was certain that at any moment he would ask her to marry him. Her answer, her lips, her heart were all eager and ready.

  But to her confusion and dismay, Harry whisked her into his curricle and they were soon on the way back through the village. Thus far he had not said a word, at least none that she was longing to hear. He appeared to be taking great care to avoid any mention of their quarrel or the episode at the fête. With maddening cheerfulness, he chatted of the most insignificant matters.

  Friends, Kate thought wretchedly. He now means for us to be no more than friends, just as she had always insisted. Would that someone had cut out her tongue.

  By the time Harry deposited her at the cottage, Kate trembled with her desperation. He did not even attempt to take her by the hand as he opened the gate for her.

  "I am glad to see you are looking better than when we last met," he said.

  "Yes." Kate agreed, regarding him hopefully. "Although I have decided I had better swear off the gin."

  Her jest provoked a grin from him, but he made no movement to follow her inside the fence. To her acute dismay, he vaulted back into the seat of his curricle. Did he truly mean to leave without saying another word?

  "Harry . . ." Kate began and then blushed. No, she could not do it. She could not be the one to ask him. Miserably, she stood, fidgeting with the latch on the gate.

  "Good day to you, Miss Towers. My regards to your mother and Lady Dane." Harry gathered up the reins. He paused, adding somewhat wistfully. "I don't suppose you want to marry me, do you?"