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“Are you hurt, Kitty?” he asked.

I shook my head. I could not explain to him why I was crying so and why

this kitten’s life was worth risking my own. I could not tell him about Mama 153



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and Eleanor. But I lifted my chin and said to him with a quivering voice, “I don’t want to be called Kitty anymore.”

A slow smile lifted his lips. “Very well. What do you want to be called

instead?”

“Kate.”

His smile widened. “Kate it is, then.”

The kitten meowed, a small, weak sound, and I felt it tremble from the

cold. Henry stood and grasped my elbow, pulling me to my feet. “Come. Let’s get you two home.” He walked me to his horse, which was standing near the bank of the river. He must have been riding into the village when he saw me jump into the river.

Stepping in front of me, he put his hands at my waist, ready to lift me

onto the horse. But I stopped him. With a hand on his shoulder, I said,

“Henry, wait. I must tell you something. It’s important.”

He paused.

“You must stay away from Eleanor.”

He studied my face for a moment before nodding and saying just as seri-

ously, “I will.” It sounded like a promise, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

He helped me up, then climbed on behind me, reaching his arms around

me to hold the reins. His chest was broad and warm, and I leaned against him as he took me home.

154







Chapter 20


Present Day


The birds flew high, crying and wheeling, drawing me back from my reverie. I watched their shapes until they settled back into their roost at the top of the next tower, and I thought of how to answer Henry’s question.

“Those are rooks, you know,” I finally said, nodding up at the top of the tower. “Rooks claim a place as their own, and they stay there for centuries. Generations ago, rooks were here, haunting this tower. The off-spring follow the habits of the parents.” I watched the birds settle, then fly again, then settle with another round of cries. “They do not question, do they?” I took a deep breath. “But I do.”

I looked at Henry now and found his gaze on me. “That day you rescued me from the river . . .” He nodded. “I was running away from my mother that day. She was in town, with a . . . captain . . . of the militia.” I blushed and looked away. Even in the dark, I could not look at Henry and tell this story. “She was . . . indiscreet. I saw her. I heard what they said to each other. He called her a kitten.” I spit out the word with distaste. “His kitten.”

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the first time I had witnessed such a thing. I daresay I had been blind before, or too na?ve. But I saw it that day.” Henry was still and quiet beside me. “I am not like her, Henry.” I whispered fiercely, clenching my hands into fists. “I am not. ”

“I know,” he said, his voice quiet.

Something calmed within me at his words. He knew. He knew. I breathed. My limbs stopped their trembling. We stood in silence for a long time, until the wind blew a chill through me.

“Is that all?” I asked. “Is that the secret you wanted to know tonight?”

“Yes. That is all.” Henry picked up the lantern and I followed him to the trapdoor. But before he began the climb down, he turned to me and said quietly, “Thank you.”

156







Chapter 21


“Oh! A letter from my dear friend Miss Louisa Wyndham!” Miss St. Claire’s cheerful voice brought me sharply awake. I had fallen into a brown study while sitting in the morning room with her and Sylvia after breakfast. Most of Mrs. Delafield’s guests were older, married women who took their breakfast in bed and did not come downstairs until hours after we had eaten. So only the three of us occupied the morning room, and I had quickly slipped into my own thoughts while Sylvia and Miss St.

Claire chatted. Sleep had not come easily to me last night after sneaking back into my room. I lay awake and thought of Henry taking my hand, of him kneeling before me, of him declaring his love for me.

And to look at Miss St. Claire and imagine him doing those things with her, but to have them be real, sickened me.

“You remember I introduced you to her in Town,” Miss St. Claire continued “Now that is a well-connected family. Too bad they do not have any more unmarried sons. For your sake.”

I glanced sharply at Sylvia, and she shot me a look of warning in return. Had she not told Miss St. Claire of her attachment to the elder Mr. Brandon?

“Yes, that is too bad,” Sylvia said, giving me another meaningful look.

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I smiled at her, letting her know she had nothing to worry about from me. And she smiled back, tremulously, with a hint of relief.

“I shall have to read her letter to you, Sylvia. You will be most interested in what she writes about some of our acquaintances from Town.”

She cast a glance at me. “Although I don’t know how interesting this cor-respondence would be to someone who had never been to Town . . .” She folded the letter. “How rude of me, Miss Worthington, to speak in front of you about things you cannot be a part of. I am so sorry. How you must long for a Season! And I understand your mother is not likely to give you one. Well,” she smiled brightly, “never mind. We shall speak of other things while you are here.”