said, leaning his face closer, "You may kiss me and make it feel better. Then I shall be only too happy to turn the other cheek."
Kate shrank back. She wasn't feeling that stricken with remorse. "It was partly your fault, my lord," she said, biting down upon her lip. "Why did you not write to tell anyone what had become of you?"
Harry raised his shoulders in a shrug that was perhaps a shade too nonchalant. "I didn't suppose anyone would much care."
"There are a great many people who do." She swallowed. "I-I am quite fond of you, my lord."
"Kate!"
"And I trust we shall always be friends," she added primly.
Harry moved closer, stealing his arm about her waist. "I hope so, too. I know I am considered hopelessly unfashionable, but I think it much better when married people can remain friends."
He saw the flash of alarm in her eyes and knew he was rushing his fences. Though it took a great effort of will on his part, he withdrew his arm. "No need to look so panicked," he said. "That wasn't the beginning of another proposal. I never ask girls to marry me on Sunday."
When she cast him a doubtful glance, he drew himself up with feigned sternness. "It's supposed to be a day of rest, Miss Towers. As a bishop's daughter, you should know that."
An indignant gasp escaped her that turned into a most unwilling gurgle of laughter. "Oh, Harry, you really are abominable."
"That's better," he approved, turning his attention back to his restive horses, giving them the office to start up again. "I thought you were going to 'my lord' me to death.”
The team set off down the road, the jauntiness in their step that was reflected in the lifting of Harry's own spirits. True, Kate's response had not been all that he had hoped. She was not ready to cast herself into his arms, but at least he had got her to smile. And Harry had learned to be a trifle more patient than he had been two years ago.
Kate struggled to school her face into a more prim expression, but it was a losing battle. Harry had always been able to make her laugh when she tried too hard to be serious. He grinned at her and tossed the reins in her lap. Kate caught them in a gesture that was almost reflexive.
"Do you still remember?" he asked.
"Of course I do," Kate said, taking up the challenge, gathering up the leather in a firm, but graceful grip. It was Harry himself who had taught her to handle a team. He watched her critically for a moment, then relaxed back against the seat appearing satisfied with her performance.
It was not an accomplishment of which her Papa would ever have approved, but Kate could not help a glow of pride creeping into her cheeks. Harry did not permit just anyone to drive his chestnuts.
As the team followed the winding lane, sweeping past the hedgerows and fields, Kate sensed another distance being closed as well—the span of two years. The constraint she had expected to feel with Harry simply did not exist. It was as though all those lonely, empty days, weeks, months had never been.
She sensed that Harry felt it, too. He loosened his cravat, heaving a contented sigh.
"Lord, it's good to be home. I had nigh forgotten how green it all is here. Nothing has changed," he added softly, looking toward her. She knew from the warmth in his eyes he was speaking of more than his lands.
Her heart gave an answering flutter and she half started to agree with him. But memory intruded. Something indeed had changed since that spring. There was a freshly laid stone among all other aged memorials in the vast cold halls of Chillingsworth Cathedral.
Kate's shoulders sagged beneath a mixed weight of sorrow and guilt. Harry read the change in her expression all too well.
"I was sorry to hear about your father," he said.
He spoke with a quiet simplicity, and Kate knew that, despite the differences that had existed between him and the late bishop, Harry meant it.
"Thank you," she murmured. Although Harry had been away in London at the time of her father's death, a
Kate shrank back. She wasn't feeling that stricken with remorse. "It was partly your fault, my lord," she said, biting down upon her lip. "Why did you not write to tell anyone what had become of you?"
Harry raised his shoulders in a shrug that was perhaps a shade too nonchalant. "I didn't suppose anyone would much care."
"There are a great many people who do." She swallowed. "I-I am quite fond of you, my lord."
"Kate!"
"And I trust we shall always be friends," she added primly.
Harry moved closer, stealing his arm about her waist. "I hope so, too. I know I am considered hopelessly unfashionable, but I think it much better when married people can remain friends."
He saw the flash of alarm in her eyes and knew he was rushing his fences. Though it took a great effort of will on his part, he withdrew his arm. "No need to look so panicked," he said. "That wasn't the beginning of another proposal. I never ask girls to marry me on Sunday."
When she cast him a doubtful glance, he drew himself up with feigned sternness. "It's supposed to be a day of rest, Miss Towers. As a bishop's daughter, you should know that."
An indignant gasp escaped her that turned into a most unwilling gurgle of laughter. "Oh, Harry, you really are abominable."
"That's better," he approved, turning his attention back to his restive horses, giving them the office to start up again. "I thought you were going to 'my lord' me to death.”
The team set off down the road, the jauntiness in their step that was reflected in the lifting of Harry's own spirits. True, Kate's response had not been all that he had hoped. She was not ready to cast herself into his arms, but at least he had got her to smile. And Harry had learned to be a trifle more patient than he had been two years ago.
Kate struggled to school her face into a more prim expression, but it was a losing battle. Harry had always been able to make her laugh when she tried too hard to be serious. He grinned at her and tossed the reins in her lap. Kate caught them in a gesture that was almost reflexive.
"Do you still remember?" he asked.
"Of course I do," Kate said, taking up the challenge, gathering up the leather in a firm, but graceful grip. It was Harry himself who had taught her to handle a team. He watched her critically for a moment, then relaxed back against the seat appearing satisfied with her performance.
It was not an accomplishment of which her Papa would ever have approved, but Kate could not help a glow of pride creeping into her cheeks. Harry did not permit just anyone to drive his chestnuts.
As the team followed the winding lane, sweeping past the hedgerows and fields, Kate sensed another distance being closed as well—the span of two years. The constraint she had expected to feel with Harry simply did not exist. It was as though all those lonely, empty days, weeks, months had never been.
She sensed that Harry felt it, too. He loosened his cravat, heaving a contented sigh.
"Lord, it's good to be home. I had nigh forgotten how green it all is here. Nothing has changed," he added softly, looking toward her. She knew from the warmth in his eyes he was speaking of more than his lands.
Her heart gave an answering flutter and she half started to agree with him. But memory intruded. Something indeed had changed since that spring. There was a freshly laid stone among all other aged memorials in the vast cold halls of Chillingsworth Cathedral.
Kate's shoulders sagged beneath a mixed weight of sorrow and guilt. Harry read the change in her expression all too well.
"I was sorry to hear about your father," he said.
He spoke with a quiet simplicity, and Kate knew that, despite the differences that had existed between him and the late bishop, Harry meant it.
"Thank you," she murmured. Although Harry had been away in London at the time of her father's death, a
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