Page 9 of Loyalty (The Chaplain’s Legacy #5)

C athcart’s warning, well-meant as it was, had exactly the opposite effect from his intention. The suggestion that Katherine had developed a tendre for Kent was an intriguing one. He was used to young ladies eyeing him speculatively, and even flirting with him, but he had always suspected it was his status as the son of an earl which made him attractive to them.

Was it possible that Katherine genuinely liked him for himself… perhaps loved him? She blushed so dramatically in company that it was impossible to imagine that she preferred any one person above any other. But when he went riding with her… yes, she blushed, of course, and lowered her head in that sweetly shy way she had, but there were smiles, too. And such smiles! Eyes sparkling, she beamed at him so widely that he could not mistake her pleasure in his company.

For himself, he liked her, that much he would admit. Now that he had found a topic on which she was well-informed and interested, she was articulate and even blushed less readily. They had ridden together often enough that she was no longer shy with him, although he had not encountered her in formal society for some time. Perhaps at dinner engagements she would retreat into her shell again.

Was there anything beyond liking? He could not say. As for marriage, he had never thought much about it. Was love an essential prerequisite? His parents had always seemed to have the most casual affection, but now that their marriage was rendered invalid, Mother had gone away without a second thought, while Father quietly fell apart without her. His affection must be more deep-rooted than hers.

The other example at the castle, that of his Aunt Alice and the deceased Mr Nicholson, had been very different. Theirs was an abiding love which wrapped them so tightly in its embrace that they had little to spare, even for their own daughter. But then Aunt Alice had been blind since childhood, so her need for a supportive helpmeet was greater than usual.

Other married couples that came to his mind displayed little sign of any great affection beyond a friendly accommodation. Uncle George and Aunt Jane, Sir Hubert and Lady Strong and especially Lady Esther and Mr Franklyn were always polite to each other, and seemed to rub along pretty well, but was that love? Impossible to say.

Of Kent’s own brothers and sisters, only Josie had had the glow of love in her eyes when she married Woodridge. Izzy’s only glow had been for Farramont’s title and position in society, and Walter had been downright neglectful of Bea Franklyn when he was betrothed to her. To be fair, Walter was certainly in a glow now over Winnie Strong, which was odd when they had known each other forever, and even Izzy looked more settled with Farramont after rampaging all over the country to escape him.

But these thoughts led him to one inescapable conclusion — that love was not an essential requirement before marriage might be considered. In which case, why should he not marry Katherine Parish, if he were so minded?

So, by slow degrees, he began to wonder how his life might be improved if he had a gentle wife like Katherine, and children, in time, and a life that was not drifting away in idleness. Had his father not already proposed it?

He found his father in his study one day, standing by the window gazing unseeingly at the rain-heavy clouds, the trees tossed about with the first taste of autumn winds. The earl turned as he came in, and Kent was shocked at the bleakness in his father’s face. It was beyond sorrow, verging on despair.

But as his eyes fell on Kent, his expression lightened into a smile. “Ah, Kent! Come in, come in, my boy! Pour yourself a drink, and you can top up my glass, too, if you would be so kind. Have you come about the brandy? Our stocks are somewhat depleted.”

“We should have more in the next few days, and I will see that you get yours first. Father, I have been thinking about what you said to me once… that I should think about marrying.”

His father’s face lifted even more. “Excellent, excellent! It would be the making of you, you know, and you need not worry about money. You can bring your bride here. The guest suite could be made over to you, so she would have the tower room as a sitting room… a boudoir, as the ladies like to call it. And the nursery can soon be made ready for the little ones. How lovely that would be, to have children at the castle again.” He sighed heavily, twirling his brandy glass in his hand.

“I suppose there would be no possibility of a separate establishment… Langley Villa, perhaps, since Walter will not need it now?”

The earl raised his brows. “That would be expensive, and of course that house was intended for Walter and the Franklyn girl, with her forty thousand pounds. One can employ a great many housemaids and footmen with money like that. Whereas I… I am not sure that I can afford the expense of another house. Nicholson squirrelled away a great deal of money that should properly have been mine, and now no one can find it, so… You see how it is, my boy? But plenty of room for you and your bride here. Have you settled on the lady? One of your Cambridge friends has a sister you admired when you visited, as I recall.”

“I was thinking of Miss Parish.”

“Miss Parish?” The earl sounded as incredulous as if he had named one of the rector’s pudding-faced daughters, or Miss Prinkley, the village milliner. “Miss Parish, the girl who turns into a beetroot if anyone should happen to look at her and has not a word to say for herself? Miss Parish, who has not a penny to her name, and even the clothes on her back were paid for by her uncle? Is that the Miss Parish you mean? Not but what she is perfectly respectable, but I would have thought you might prefer someone more lively. She would be a shade too docile for my taste.”

Kent only laughed. “She is shy of strangers, it is true, but she is perfectly conversable when one gets to know her.”

“Is she, indeed,” the earl said, sounding unconvinced. “Perfectly conversable… well, I have seen not the least sign of it, and if she expects to marry into this family, she will need to stop being shy of strangers pretty quickly, that is all I have to say about it. But if you have already spoken, then I suppose we must make the best of it.”

“I am very far from having spoken, Father. Indeed, I have said not a word to her beyond the impersonal. The idea is in my mind, that is all, and so I mention it to you, but if you disapprove—”

“Do you like her?” the earl said, gazing intently at Kent.

An easy question to answer. “I do like her, yes.”

“Do you like her enough to spend the rest of your life with her? Do you love her?”

Much more difficult questions. “That is what I should like to find out.”

“Hmm. Let us have her here for dinner one night. Olivia is wild to start entertaining again, now that this Shapman fellow has confessed to the murder and your Aunt Alice has emerged from seclusion. We can have a few people to dine, and perhaps a bit of dancing afterwards, for those so minded. It will almost be like the old days, when your mother was here. I shall tell Alice and Olivia to start planning. And I shall expect to see some sign of this conversable Miss Parish, Kent, understand?”

Kent laughed. “I shall do my best, Father.”

***

E ustace had word that there was to be a delivery within the next day or two, given that the moon was nearly gone and the night sky was clear. Kent’s r?le on these occasions was more to support his brother than to participate directly, but he enjoyed keeping watch from the topmost room of the tower, peering eastward through the beautifully engineered telescope, admiring its elegant lines and wondering at the skill of its maker as the hours passed by.

One of the men came up shortly after midnight to bring Kent a pot of ale, cool from the cellar, and a plate of bread, cheese and ham for his supper.

“Lord, it’s hot up here! Don’t you find it stuffy, Mr Kent, sir?”

“It is a bit, but these windows are warped shut. Open the roof door, if you like. That will let a bit of air in.”

He rattled the knob. “It’s locked, sir.”

“The key is in the lock.”

“No, ’tisn’t, sir.”

“Really? Well, it should be.” Ambling over to the door, his hands full of bread and cheese, Kent peered at the lock, then frowned. “How strange! I wonder who could have taken it? Maybe it is downstairs.”

But no amount of searching discovered the missing key.

It was the second night before the train of pack ponies finally became visible on the horizon, winding their way across the moors from… well, Kent was not entirely sure where the barrels were first stored when they came ashore. Eustace probably had some idea, but he always said that the less everyone knew, the better.

“No one can let slip something unknown, after all,” he said. “We all play a small part in the operation, with no need to know anything more than our own duties.”

Kent had only asked once, and after that he simply did as Eustace bade him without comment. But it made him uneasy, all the same, and he wished once again that he could find some escape from Eustace’s crazy scheme.

***

K atherine was happier than she had been since the dreadful day when Papa had died. No, that was not the worst day — that was when Mr Gray, the attorney, accompanied by both his brothers as well as Mr Humber and Mr Wentworth from the bank, had come to tell her, very gently, that all the mortgages were to be called in, and Katherine was not merely penniless, but homeless, too. That had been her lowest moment.

But now, she felt optimistic for the first time. She had gradually become accustomed to her new home, and some of the wearisome aspects that had depressed her spirits when she first arrived no longer troubled her. Her riding afternoons meant that she missed most of the dreary morning calls which Mrs Cathcart and Aveline undertook. Sometimes she was even allowed to stay at home when the rest of the family went out to evening engagements. She had her own lady’s maid, and no longer had to wait for Jenny to attend to Susan and Lucinda first. Miss Harkness had realised she was not an uneducated peasant, and had stopped trying to instruct her. And to her great relief, Aveline no longer made pointed jibes at her, instead mostly ignoring her. They would probably never be great friends, but perhaps Aveline now saw that Katherine was not her rival in the quest for a husband.

Best of all, of course, she had the shivery joy of Mr Kent Atherton’s company sometimes as she rode. It was not a regular occurrence, for he had many other calls on his time, but perhaps once a week he would be there waiting at Westwick Heights with Emily and Lucas, and then her heart skipped about in delight.

At first, he had only wanted to talk about beam engines and mill management and how her father had dealt with his workers, almost as if he planned to become a mill owner himself. But after a while, the conversation turned to other channels.

“Tell me about your house at Branton,” he said one day. “It was very much smaller than Cathcart House, I imagine.”

“It was narrower, certainly, but taller, so the number of rooms was not so different. More old-fashioned, of course. But that is not the greatest difference. At Branton, there were never more than four of us living there, and latterly only my father and me. We managed with only five servants. At Cathcart House, there are nine of us in the family, and I have no idea how many servants. It is so noisy, Mr Atherton! Sometimes I retreat to my room just to escape the tumult.”

“Ah.” He seemed to ponder that for a while, before saying, “Corland is not noisy like that. Perhaps it was, once, when all my brothers and sisters were at home. Six children and my parents, Aunt Alice, Uncle Nicholson and Tess — that is eleven, but it never seemed… tumultuous. I suppose the castle is so much bigger than even Cathcart House that it never seemed to be overpoweringly noisy, although I confess we spent a great deal of time outside, roaming the estate, and the Strongs’ estate, too. But even indoors, one could always find a quiet corner to hide away, if one wanted, and now… the place feels empty.”

“All those rooms for just a handful of people.”

“True. More than thirty principal rooms, not counting ante-rooms, basements or attics. Would you enjoy living in such a place, do you think? If you had quiet corners to retreat to?”

She hesitated before answering. “I should not be comfortable in such a place, no. Cathcart House is not so very different from houses in Branton, and less imposing than some. The wealthiest mill owners and mercers and bankers lived in very large, ornate houses. But Corland Castle… that is a different matter. It is on an entirely different scale, as is fitting for his lordship’s position in society. I do not feel entirely at ease in my uncle’s house, for he is a gentleman and I am not a gentleman’s daughter, but I should find your father’s house overwhelming. I find the Franklyns’ house overpowering, too. It is so… grandiose, I suppose, but then Lady Esther is a duke’s daughter.”

“It sounds to me as if what overpowers you is not the scale of these houses but the rank of the occupants. You must not be overawed by Lady Esther, or my father, either. They are mere mortals, beneath the carapace of superiority that nobility brings them.”

“Oh, I know it, sir. Nevertheless, it is only fitting that I should respect their rank, and accord them due deference. For that reason, I do not like to be treated by my uncle and aunt as if I were another daughter. I should far prefer to make myself useful to them in some way — in the kitchens or the schoolroom, perhaps, but they will not hear of it. That is what overpowers me in society — that I am expected to be a lady , which I am not and never will be.”

Mr Atherton laughed out loud. “Why, Miss Parish, you must not so denigrate yourself. You are far more of a lady than— Well, perhaps it is better not to name names, but believe me when I say that there is nothing about you that is in the slightest bit unladylike.”

“Perhaps not, but one may behave in ladylike ways and still not be truly a lady, just as a man may behave in gentlemanlike ways even if he is not a gentleman.”

“And there are gentlemen who behave in very ungentlemanlike ways, too,” he said.

“Oh yes,” she said, suddenly serious. “I have heard of some cases— But it is not a matter of behaviour, or appearance, either, for I certainly look like a lady, I will concede that much. My aunt has ensured that. It is a matter of birth, Mr Atherton. One cannot leave behind the circumstances of one’s birth. Your father was born noble, my uncle was born a gentleman and that will never change. And I was born a mill-owner’s daughter, and that can never change, either.”

He halted his horse, so that Katherine was obliged to stop too. “Your logic is faulty,” he said with a frown. “I was born noble, too — the Honourable Kent Atherton. Walter was Viscount Birtwell. Olivia was the Lady Olivia Atherton and is now plain Miss Atherton, although it pleases me that most people still address her by her former title. And now we are nothing… fatherless, in the eyes of the law. I am not even a gentleman any longer, if one wishes to be pedantic about it. Whereas you, Miss Parish, could marry a duke and hold higher rank than any of us.”

That made Katherine laugh. “Yet I would still be a mill-owner’s daughter, would I not? And everyone would know that. They might bow deeply and call me ‘Your Grace’ , but they would know who I really am. Marry a duke! How absurd you are, Mr Atherton.”

“And why should you not marry as high as you please?” he cried with such vehemence that his horse started into sudden motion. “You must marry someone , so why not a duke?”

“I doubt I shall ever marry,” she said, rather breathlessly, for she had had to scramble to catch him up.

“But you would like to, one day, I am sure,” he said. “Is that not what all women want, a husband?”

“Most of them need one,” she said sharply. “The life of a spinster is not easy, and being a wife, particularly to a wealthy man—”

“Or a duke!”

“To a wealthy man, titled or not, is a more attractive prospect. What every woman wants, in fact, is financial security, which is what a husband provides.”

“It is not all he provides, surely? What about affection? Respect? Kindness? Generosity? Like-minded companionship? A comfortable home?”

“Certainly, but mostly a good character. That is vital, to my mind. A good husband is a man who has absolute integrity. He must be both honest and trustworthy, for there should be no secrets between husband and wife, and no shady corners of his public life, either. And more than that, he must be a good Christian, and accord God His proper place.”

He was silent for a moment, his face unusually serious. “Prayer… there must be prayer. That is what you mean, is it not?”

“Prayers, yes, on a daily basis, but also regular attendance at church, not merely the great festivals, and reading suitable works to improve one’s understanding of the church’s teachings. One should always strive to improve oneself, Mr Atherton. Do you not agree?”

“Yes. Yes, I do, Miss Parish. Heavens, Emily and Lucas are entirely out of sight. Shall we see if we can coax your mount to a little more speed?”

“We can try,” she said.