heart—now there was a treasure to fight for, to grasp, to keep forever.
Katie stepped back from the window where she’d been watching the reunion, curious at how the viscount would treat his heir. Her own father had been distant and cool, while the squire was oblivious to his sons. The blacksmith often cuffed his boys, and many of the farmers considered their offspring nothing but unpaid help. Forde loved his son.
Why that should bring tears to her eyes was a mystery to Katie, but it did. She wanted to despise Forde for bringing chaos into her life. She should resent him because he had the power to wreak havoc over her, and no female could admire her persecutor.
Katie did not hate him, though.
She doubted he would make her secrets public, despite his unspoken threats. If he had spoken to Mrs. Wellforde about Susannah’s birth, that overfed vixen would have been here with a pistol, reclaiming her precious cub. No, Forde was too much the gentleman to heap unearned dishonor on an innocent girl. He merely wanted to protect his family, the same way Katie had lied to protect her daughter.
She could not hate him. Not at all, to her regret.
Gerald rushed past his uncle without a greeting. “I am staying at Doddsworth’s place, where there are no females to natter and nag,” he called over his shoulder.
“I need to speak to you.”
“I need to hear about something other than dowries and dresses. Squire and his horses do not care if a chap is a few days late, or brings his mama. Or wants to wed a poor girl.”
“Will you be here at dinner?” Forde called to his nephew’s receding back, although it sounded as if Gerald already had enough trouble on his plate.
Susannah was crying again, angry at Gerald, his mother, her mother, and the wedding gown. “This is supposed to be the happiest time of my life!” she wailed on her way to her bedchamber to throw herself into a satisfying spate of woeful tears and worse temper. Forde could hear a door slam above when he entered the library.
“I am sorry. Am I calling at an awkward time?”
What could be awkward about having twelve people for dinner unexpectedly, a daughter suffering bridal nerves, a dirty-faced cherub she had nearly kidnapped from his overbearing family, and the most devastatingly attractive gentleman ready to denounce her over the dinner table? Oh, there was the matter of a gown whose hem would not stay turned and whose seams would not gather for Susannah’s narrow torso. No, nothing awkward about that at all. She set the gown aside for another try later.
“Welcome, and I do hope you will permit Crispin to stay on with us here. He has been a big help.”
It rankled Forde that she could not afford maids, when his own family was demanding service—and his son was being pressed into a footman’s role. He knew she would not take money from him, so he did not offer. “I could speak to the innkeeper about sending a few of his girls.”
“Thank you, but that is not necessary. Mrs. Tarrant’s nieces are already at work in the kitchens and will help serve. Crispin is going to make out the place cards for the table, aren’t you?”
“Mrs. Cole says my handwriting is perfect for the job, Father.”
“Excellent, my boy. Why do you not go practice? That is, somewhere else. I wish to speak to Mrs. Cole privately.”
Crispin stuck his jaw out, looking mulish. Or like his father. “You said I could stay.”
“As long as you behaved. Now go. We will be done shortly.”
How shortly? Katie wondered. Saying that the wedding was canceled would take no time at all. Mending Susannah’s broken heart might take forever, if it were possible. After all, the wedding gown seemed impossible to fix. Why not a heart?
The viscount was pacing the small room, lifting a book here, moving a paper there, until he was certain they were alone. Then he told Katie, “I have decided that I have to speak to Gerald. If he found out later, and it mattered to him that his
Katie stepped back from the window where she’d been watching the reunion, curious at how the viscount would treat his heir. Her own father had been distant and cool, while the squire was oblivious to his sons. The blacksmith often cuffed his boys, and many of the farmers considered their offspring nothing but unpaid help. Forde loved his son.
Why that should bring tears to her eyes was a mystery to Katie, but it did. She wanted to despise Forde for bringing chaos into her life. She should resent him because he had the power to wreak havoc over her, and no female could admire her persecutor.
Katie did not hate him, though.
She doubted he would make her secrets public, despite his unspoken threats. If he had spoken to Mrs. Wellforde about Susannah’s birth, that overfed vixen would have been here with a pistol, reclaiming her precious cub. No, Forde was too much the gentleman to heap unearned dishonor on an innocent girl. He merely wanted to protect his family, the same way Katie had lied to protect her daughter.
She could not hate him. Not at all, to her regret.
Gerald rushed past his uncle without a greeting. “I am staying at Doddsworth’s place, where there are no females to natter and nag,” he called over his shoulder.
“I need to speak to you.”
“I need to hear about something other than dowries and dresses. Squire and his horses do not care if a chap is a few days late, or brings his mama. Or wants to wed a poor girl.”
“Will you be here at dinner?” Forde called to his nephew’s receding back, although it sounded as if Gerald already had enough trouble on his plate.
Susannah was crying again, angry at Gerald, his mother, her mother, and the wedding gown. “This is supposed to be the happiest time of my life!” she wailed on her way to her bedchamber to throw herself into a satisfying spate of woeful tears and worse temper. Forde could hear a door slam above when he entered the library.
“I am sorry. Am I calling at an awkward time?”
What could be awkward about having twelve people for dinner unexpectedly, a daughter suffering bridal nerves, a dirty-faced cherub she had nearly kidnapped from his overbearing family, and the most devastatingly attractive gentleman ready to denounce her over the dinner table? Oh, there was the matter of a gown whose hem would not stay turned and whose seams would not gather for Susannah’s narrow torso. No, nothing awkward about that at all. She set the gown aside for another try later.
“Welcome, and I do hope you will permit Crispin to stay on with us here. He has been a big help.”
It rankled Forde that she could not afford maids, when his own family was demanding service—and his son was being pressed into a footman’s role. He knew she would not take money from him, so he did not offer. “I could speak to the innkeeper about sending a few of his girls.”
“Thank you, but that is not necessary. Mrs. Tarrant’s nieces are already at work in the kitchens and will help serve. Crispin is going to make out the place cards for the table, aren’t you?”
“Mrs. Cole says my handwriting is perfect for the job, Father.”
“Excellent, my boy. Why do you not go practice? That is, somewhere else. I wish to speak to Mrs. Cole privately.”
Crispin stuck his jaw out, looking mulish. Or like his father. “You said I could stay.”
“As long as you behaved. Now go. We will be done shortly.”
How shortly? Katie wondered. Saying that the wedding was canceled would take no time at all. Mending Susannah’s broken heart might take forever, if it were possible. After all, the wedding gown seemed impossible to fix. Why not a heart?
The viscount was pacing the small room, lifting a book here, moving a paper there, until he was certain they were alone. Then he told Katie, “I have decided that I have to speak to Gerald. If he found out later, and it mattered to him that his
Similar Books
