A Lady by Midnight (Spindle Cove #3)(21)

She could only hope that there weren’t three girls pressing their ears to the parlor door this moment.

“Yes, of course,” Lord Drewe said, pausing a moment to consider. “We have a hearty dislike of gossip, too—one bred from familiarity, sad to say. As far as people outside this room are concerned, we are engaging your services as Lark’s personal music tutor. Will that suffice?”

Lark moved to her side. “In truth, I could use the lessons. I’m a disaster on the pianoforte, but perhaps I’d take to the harp.”

The young lady’s warm smile touched Kate’s heart. So did Harry’s reassuring nod, Lord Drewe’s confident demeanor, and the lingering taste of Aunt Marmoset’s spice drop on her tongue.

They were a family, and they wanted to spend time with her. To know her. Even if it only lasted a few days, that alone was worth anything—even suffering a bit more awkwardness with Thorne. Here was one benefit to his cruel rejection in the heather. Now she knew better than to imagine any feelings on his side.

“Well,” Kate said, turning a guarded smile from one Gramercy to the next. “I suppose it’s all settled.”

Settled.

As she crawled into bed some time later, Kate felt anything but settled.

When last she slept between these linen sheets, she’d been an orphan and a spinster. During the course of this wild day, she’d managed to accumulate four potential cousins, a mongrel puppy, and a temporary betrothed.

“Settled” did not describe her state. Quite the opposite. Her mind was abuzz with excitement, possibility . . .

And that kiss.

Even after all that happened with the Gramercys, she still couldn’t forget that kiss.

This was horrible. She was bone weary and mentally exhausted. She desperately wanted to fall asleep. But every time she closed her eyes, she felt the heat of his strong lips on hers.

Every. Time.

If only she’d kept her eyes open for the kiss, maybe she would have avoided this association. But no. The connection was drawn: eyes shut, kiss recalled. The instant her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks, her lips plumped and her whole body throbbed with heady, unwanted sensation.

She should have taken more pains to be kissed years ago, so the feeling wouldn’t be so novel now. Really, what self-respecting girl had her first kiss at the age of twenty-three?

She didn’t even like him. He was a horrid, unfeeling man.

Think of family, she admonished herself, staring wide-eyed up at the ceiling beams. Think of birthdays in February. Think of that unabashedly naked woman in the portrait, lovingly patting her swollen belly. She might have been your mother.

If she was going to lie abed sleepless, it ought to be these thoughts that kept her awake. Not a kiss that had meant nothing, given by a man who didn’t feel a damned thing for her, who saw engagement to her as a means of career advancement.

She would not think of him any longer. Would not.

She grabbed the pillow, put it over her face and growled into it. Then she clutched the same pillow to her chest and hugged it very tight.

“See the garden of blossoms so fair. Roses in bloom, orchids so rare.”

She whisper-sang the familiar words into the darkness, letting the melody curl around her like a blanket. The silly nursery song was Kate’s earliest childhood memory. The lilting tune always calmed her nerves.

“Lilies tall and sweet,” she continued. “Rounder mums, too. All of them dancing, dancing for you.”

As the last note faded, her eyelids slipped shut and stayed there.

She dreamt of a hot, stormy kiss that lasted all night long.

Chapter Seven

“Oh, Miss Taylor! I was so hoping you’d come in this morning.”

Kate froze in the entryway of the All Things shop.

Sally Bright, the village shopgirl and gossip, looked up from her ledger and cast her a sly smile. “I can’t wait to hear everything.”

Oh, please. Please, don’t let word have gotten around.

Kate herself could scarcely believe last night’s interview with the Gramercys, much less be pressed to explain it. “Hear everything about what?”

“Everything about you and Thorne, of course. Miss Taylor, you must tell me. I’ll forgive your entire line of credit, but I want to hear every detail. I heard you’re betrothed.” The girl hopped for emphasis. “Betrothed!”

Kate closed her eyes. Oh. That. The girl wanted to hear about her and Thorne. She was having a hard time crediting those events, too.

“Did you say betrothed?” In her peripheral vision she saw a lace cap swivel.

Kate adjusted the heavy basket on her arm. Mrs. Highwood, a matron in her middle years, stood at the far corner of the shop, accompanied by the eldest of her three daughters, Diana.

“Who is betrothed?” the older woman demanded.

Mrs. Highwood was a woman of advancing age—but when it came to the subject of matrimony, her hearing was positively canine in its acuity. Between her voracious interest in all things nuptial and Sally’s love of gossip . . .

Well, at least this would be over quickly.

“It’s Miss Taylor and Corporal Thorne,” Sally jumped to inform her. “It happened just yesterday, on their way home from Hastings.”

“How do you even know all this?” Kate asked, marveling.

“Your new music pupil came in the shop. Lady Lark, is it? She popped in first thing this morning for tooth powder and told me everything.”