Chapter
Five

Kate looked around the long dining room table at those assembled. There were her mother and father, of course, at either end. To the right of each were two people she’d never met before this evening and still only knew by name, Benedict and Rowena. Benedict was not much older than Kate, and she supposed some might find him handsome in a washed-out blond sort of way. There were enough commonalities between him and Rowena that Kate assumed her to be his mother. Kate found it strange that her father hadn’t given them a last name when introducing them to her, but then, she’d arrived downstairs so late, entirely missing the cocktail hour, for Agnes would keep fussing around her until Agnes was satisfied everything was perfect, that there’d only been time for the briefest of introductions before going in to supper.

In addition to her parents and the two mysterious strangers, there were also on the opposite side to Kate: Dowager Countess Hortense Clarke, Kate’s grandmother; Grace and Lizzy, of course; and Dr. Zebulon Webb. There was also her mother’s father, but since, after introducing himself to everyone, whether they’d met before or not—“George King; George, like the king, and King because of course”—he had a tendency to fall asleep wherever he was, even at the dinner table, it wasn’t like he mattered all that much. When awake, he could sometimes be counted upon to keep Kate’s grandmother on her father’s side in line, but only if he remembered who she was and that his final mission in life was to dislike her.

Although there was ample elbow room on her side, Kate couldn’t help but feel herself uncomfortably sandwiched between Raymond Allen to her right and Meriwether Young to her left. Regarding the latter, he was anything but what his name would imply, meaning that he was not young at all. Indeed, he looked even a smidgen older than Father, although it could just be that he was so portly. Kate fancied herself a person who knew how the world worked, and so she knew that sometimes, due to circumstance and for money and position—sometimes perhaps even for love—a young woman her age might find that life had landed her a husband far older than herself. Despite this knowledge, Kate was determined that that life should not become her life.

It was with relief, then, that when the soup course was completed and the Dover sole brought in on trays by footmen serving them with white-gloved hands, she turned her attention away from Mr. Young and all his nattering on about his various businesses in London. Now she could turn to Raymond Allen.

In his favor?

He was at least young and not merely by name.

Working against him?

He had an unfortunate pair of jug ears.

And carroty red hair.

One of those physical features might have been just barely tolerable, but both?

Oh well, she thought, at least I won’t be forced to practically shout my answers to him like I felt compelled to with half-deaf Mr. Young.

Not that he really seemed hard of hearing, but he was so much older, it was simply easier for her to imagine him so.

Despite this asset of youth, Raymond Allen just didn’t seem attractive to her in any way. For while it might be small-minded to dismiss a man for the regrettable size of his ears, it certainly was not a feature to recommend him.

Only good breeding and manners prevented her from sighing her dismay out loud. Honestly. If her parents were now going to parade suitors before her two at a time, one would think that would double the chances of her finding one to her taste. But these two?

Surreptitiously, she glanced around the room for at least some visual relief, and she did eventually find that. Sadly, the relief she found was in the form of the two footmen—whom she knew of only as the two footmen—standing at attention; unlike with the stable boy, she’d never felt any compulsion to learn their names. Not only were these two young, but each was handsome in a pleasing way, not like that stranger, Benedict. It was really too bad that neither could get her out of her financial pickle, but even though the way they held themselves in livery presented a good omen for how they might look in more proper formal dress, the idea of romance with someone from the serving class was laughable.

Before Kate could ponder this any further, Raymond Allen surprised her by actually saying something interesting.

“I took the train down from London today,” he said.

“How marvelous for you!” she replied. “I do love London. I should make it a point to get up there soon.”

“When I debarked, I heard the most interesting thing.”

“Do tell. I enjoy hearing about interesting things as opposed to those things that are not.”

“People were talking about a mysterious event that occurred in your village earlier today. Something about a dead man briefly coming back to life?”

“Oh!” Kate exclaimed, truly delighted now. “You have heard about our dead man walking!”

“I hate to contradict you, Lady Kate,” Dr. Webb interjected, “but that is not what really happened.”

Then he proceeded with a tiresome account of how what people had thought had happened in the first place had not really happened at all; that it had all been the result of hysterical grief on the part of the dead man’s widow and that no one dead had come back to life.

Even though Katherine had already guessed as much herself, and had said so earlier to her father and Mr. Wright, it would to her mind have made for more lively dinner conversation to have it the other way.

“What a shame,” Kate said, still smiling. “I did so prefer the first version better.”

“How can you make—what is the proper word—light of this?” her youngest sister spoke up, Lizzy’s brow furrowed in rare outrage. “A man has died! A man whose nephew is employed by this household!”

“I do feel dreadful for poor Will Harvey,” Grace added, although she did not meet Kate’s eyes when she said this.

There were times when Kate wished one sister more courageous (not if Grace was going to defy her, of course) and the other more intelligent (had Lizzy really struggled to find a word as simple as “light”?).

Not to mention, so much fuss on behalf of the stable boy—she promised herself she would not think of him in any other way anymore, however handsome. A part of her did wonder, even worry, over the pain he must be feeling at the loss of his uncle. But then she tamped that part of herself down. Her job was to go on being bright and vivacious for the suitors, however ghastly those suitors might be.

“How typical of you, Grace,” she said, “how typical and quaint to actually be bothered to know the name of the stable boy.”

But then Kate noticed that it was not just her sisters who were showing disapproval at her words. Raymond Allen, an appalled look on his face, had turned to strike up a conversation with the person on his other side, and it wasn’t even time to switch sides yet.

Was she really to be spurned by a carroty-haired man with jug ears?

It really was all too much, so it was with considerable relief when the whole sorry meal ended an hour later and it came time for the men to depart for their port—Grandfather had to be awakened first so that he could then go and drink—while the ladies retired to talk about the latest fashions and gossip among themselves.

Not that Kate was particularly looking forward to that.

Before the gender separation could occur, however, her father stopped her.

“Kate,” he called. “Won’t you come here?”

Standing with him were the two relative strangers.

“I’d like to properly introduce you to Benedict Clarke and Rowena Clarke,” he said.

“Clarke?” she echoed, for the first time realizing not only were these two relative strangers strange, but they were also quite possibly relatives.

“Yes,” her father said. “I received word late today of their existence. Benedict’s father was a far-distant cousin and, apparently, Benedict himself is a male heir with a future claim to Porthampton Abbey.”

As Kate shook hands with these new relations with as much grace as she could muster, already she could see her father’s wheels spinning: if Kate will only accept Benedict as her suitor, then all our problems will be solved!

Meanwhile, all Kate herself could think was, How dreary. Just like in Austen: Isn’t there always a male heir?