Blackmoore(10)

Delafield had been in London the past four months enjoying Sylvia’s first Season and were going to meet us at Blackmoore.

Henry shook his head. “Not a bit. There is plenty of room for one more.”

I shrugged, finally saying, “It is worth a try, at any rate. She cannot take away anything more important than my dearest dream.” I handed him the arrows. “I shall try at once, so that if this plan fails, we may still have time to try another.”

I took a dozen steps toward the house before I stopped and turned around. “Henry.” He had walked back to our shooting place but turned to look at me. “You are a good friend.”

He shook his head, nocking an arrow and lifting the bow. “Try again, Kate. You are ‘The Giver . . . ’” He pulled back on the string, then shot a look at me, as if waiting for me to continue.

I laughed. “Never. I shall never call you that.”

His grin flashed, and he turned back to send his arrow flying straight and true, finding easily the center of the target. He never did miss.

L

I found Mama in her bedchamber, sitting at her dressing table. She was already dressed for dinner, and her makeup containers were spread over the top of the table. She darted a glance my way as I walked through the door and began to speak before I had a chance to begin.

“Where have you been?” She asked, leaning forward to peer at her reflection. “I sent John to town to look for you. If you have been climbing out of your window again, I will have no choice but to have it nailed shut. And why have you not invited Henry Delafield to dinner during his mother’s absence? He should have been dining here at least twice a 27



J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n week, and now he is leaving tomorrow for Blackmoore, so we will have no further opportunity for his company. He has grown far too handsome not to have here, Kitty, and you must invite him for my sake, if you will not do it for your sisters’—”

“Mama, it is about my sisters that I have come to speak with you. In fact, I have come to offer you something you will want.” I took a breath, waiting to see if I had successfully stopped her in her rant. She raised one eyebrow but said nothing, which I took as a good sign. I went on, choosing my words with care. “You will agree, I believe, that Maria has been unbearable since Mr. Wilkes left the area. Surely you cannot enjoy yourself with her constant crying, and as long as she is here crying, she is not out meeting other eligible gentlemen.”

I paused. Mama leaned forward to look closely in the mirror while she rubbed rouge on her cheeks. I winced. She always wore too much rouge when company was coming for dinner. “Go on,” she muttered.

“Well.” I took a deep breath, then plunged in. “I am offering to take Maria off your hands and give her opportunities to meet new gentlemen . . . at Blackmoore.”

Mama paused in her application, and I saw one eyebrow lift with interest. “Who gives you the authority to invite your sister to Blackmoore?”

“Henry. It was his idea.”

“Hm.” I heard the note of interest in her voice. “So you have been with Henry.”

“Yes,” I admitted in a quiet voice, wishing I had not noticed the look on her face—wishing I had not seen the arch in her eyebrow, the twist of her mouth.

Quiet sat uncomfortably between us, and I shifted my weight from one foot to the other while she focused all of her attention on the application of a single beauty mark high on her cheek.

After leaning back to look at herself from a new angle, she said, “Now that you mention it, I am sure Mrs. Delafield will invite many of her 28



acquaintances to see the new wing she has had remodeled. It would be a nice opportunity to meet new gentlemen.”

More rouge, dabbed on her cheeks, and then, in an offhand voice, “I suppose I might allow you to go if you take Maria with you.”

I held perfectly still. I could not believe I had won so easily. “Do you mean it?”

She laughed. “Of course I mean it, you silly girl! Why should I de-prive you of this opportunity?”

And then, because she seemed to be in such a calm, reasonable mood, I decided to press my luck. “And may I also write Aunt Charlotte and accept her invitation to accompany her to India?”

She slapped her open hand on the dressing table. “No! You are supposed to marry. Not every woman has a chance to look like us, Kitty. It is a sin against nature to throw such beauty away.”

My face flushed with anger. I hated it when she compared my appear-ance to hers. We did not look exactly alike. True, we did have the same coloring—the dark, wavy hair and the dark eyes. She had aged well. Her hair had not gone grey yet. Her eyebrows were still those dark, dramatic slashes that they had been when she was young. My eyebrows. The ones I had tried to shave off. It was what linked us together the most strongly.

But in many ways I was not like her. In the most important ways, I was not like her at all.

“I am not going to marry, Mama. When are you going to believe me?”

She turned around on her stool to face me, her smile at odds with her steely gaze. “I will never believe such nonsense, Kitty. Because if I were to believe that, then I would have to admit that everything I have done for you has been a waste. A waste of my time and my attention and my resources. You would be a waste of a human being. Is that what you want to be?”