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“Oh, you’re back!”
Katherine started guiltily at hearing Euphemia’s voice. Yes, I’ve returned, and I’ve been thoroughly kissed. By the man you wish to capture for yourself.
Thankfully she did not say any of that. “Yes, I’m back, although I believe I have forgotten the ribbons.” She dug through her reticule, willing the heat in her cheeks to subside. Not that Effie would notice; Katherine could be on fire, and all she’d say was that she no longer felt the chill, so could Katherine put her shawl somewhere?
“Never mind them.” Effie glanced around in a theatrical manner reminding Katherine, as though she could forget, that the girl was only eighteen. Not that Katherine had ever been that dramatic, even at Effie’s age, but she supposed drama came with that much beauty. “Let’s go here so we can talk.” Effie dragged her by the arm into the earl’s little-used library; it was dark and cozy, and Katherine was probably its most frequent visitor, since she often stole down here to read when she couldn’t sleep.
“What do we need to talk about?” Did she know about the kiss? She couldn’t, not unless she was a mind reader, in which case the kiss was the least of what Effie might have gleaned from Katherine’s brain.
“Henry,” Effie said, uttering his name in a heartfelt sigh.
“Mr. Dawkins,” Katherine corrected, acutely aware that it would be more appropriate—if not at all correct—for her to call him “Henry” since she had, indeed, kissed him, and that would seem to put one on a Christian name basis.
“Isn’t he everything I said he was?” Effie continued, clasping her hands to her chest in a gesture definitely better suited for the stage.
At least it was reassuring to know that if Effie suddenly became less of an heiress she could make her living by acting.
Hopefully Katherine was good at subterfuge as well. She wished she could confide everything to the closest person she had to a friend, at least in near proximity; all her old school friends had married and gone to the country or somewhere.
And what did that say about her? Although that would have to rank after the fact that she’d kissed a man the day after she’d met him. Probably having a vainglorious debutante as a friend was slightly less awful than that.
“He is.” She turned to look at Euphemia, feeling her brows draw together. “But why did you leave, if you wished to resume your acquaintance with him?”
“Oh, that!” Euphemia said, flipping her hand in the air. “You see, I told Mother that I had hopes of pairing Mr. Dawkins off with you, which is why she agreed so readily to his coming here. She worries that you will remain unwed, even though she does wish you to take charge of the girls.”
That makes two of us, Lady Kilchester, Katherine thought.
“And I know that when you get to know Mr. Dawkins as I know him, you will be able to persuade him that he is indeed a suitable man for me to marry.”
Oh dear. This was precisely the kind of circuitous plot a young girl would hatch, and one that Katherine had been hired to circumvent. Only—
“Did he say he wished to marry you?”
Katherine couldn’t keep the skepticism out of her voice. Because a man who was in determined pursuit of one lady yet also convincing another to kiss him—well, that man would have to be a far better actor and definitely more polished than Mr. Dawkins was.
At this point, she should just purchase tickets to Drury Lane. Apparently she was desperate to see a theatrical production.
Effie shrugged in that delightfully artless way that seemed part of being a rare beauty. Katherine knew if she attempted the same she’d look confused rather than dainty. “He hasn’t yet, no, but he will. I am so much older than I was three years ago”—yes, three years older, Katherine wanted to point out
—“and he must see me as a woman now.”
“And so your plan is to pretend that he might become interested in me while you engage his interest?” Effie nodded in pleased satisfaction. “And then when he has proposed marriage you will tell your parents it was you he was interested in all along?” Effie nodded again, positively beaming.
“But don’t think my parents will take that to mean that you have not done your job properly,” Effie said earnestly. Even though that would be exactly what it meant. “They would know that even if Mr. Dawkins was interested in you initially, he would have no choice but to fall madly in love with me.” And then she sighed, as though picturing it.
Katherine closed her eyes, resisting the urge to shout. At herself, at her charge, or even, perhaps, at the adorably large Mr. Dawkins. Henry.
If she could just keep Effie from him until the girl lost interest—oh, very altruistic of you, Katherine, a sly voice said, keeping him occupied yourself. But she knew Effie well enough to know that eventually Effie would find one of her admirers to be more appealing than Mr. Dawkins.
It was just up to Katherine to keep Mr. Dawkins occupied until that time.
And if she succeeded in this, she could handle any number of feckless young ladies. As long as she didn’t break her own heart.
“It is nearly three o’clock. He did understand it was to be three o’clock today, didn’t he?” Effie glowered at Katherine, as though it were her responsibility to ensure Mr. Dawkins—Henry—knew where he was to be and when.
It had been four days since that day. The kissing day, which had reached such importance in Katherine’s mind that she now thought of it as The Kissing Day, just as important as Christmas, Boxing Day, and the Queen’s Birthday.
She didn’t know what she thought of herself, much less him, for having engaged in the activity. And even if she could take it back—which she knew full well she could not, it was not as though time traveling was one of her skills, she had enough trouble with embroidery—she didn’t think she would.
What if that was the only lovely kiss she ever received? She would have to honor The Kissing Day for the rest of her life, if that were so. To recall that day when a man, a very handsome, awkward, and totally adorable man, had wanted to kiss her. Her, Katherine, of the red hair and the curvaceous figure and the occasional sly wit.
It felt wonderful. To recall the moment, even as it drifted into the past, to hold the few memories of the day in her mind and know that for those moments, for that time, she was desirable, and desired, and not just for salacious purposes. Though that was certainly an element.
“Katherine?” Effie’s sharp tone snapped her from her thoughts. Her charge was still regarding her, now less glowering and more quizzical. If she were to ask just where Katherine’s thoughts had been
—well, she was going to have to think of a believable enough lie, since Effie was a very keen observer when she wanted to be. Although she and Effie had, much to Katherine’s dismay, had the same thing on their respective minds.
Effie had continued to explain her plan of getting Mr. Dawkins into her vicinity under the ruse of having him get interested in Katherine. It was awkward for Katherine the first three times Effie went through it; the remaining dozen or so iterations were downright painful. She would feel terrible about it if she didn’t know that the two of them would be a terrible match, that Effie’s parents would never allow it, and she was fairly certain Mr. Dawkins would never be coerced into loving someone.
Just coerced into kissing them.
“Katherine!” Effie said again, more stridently. She was not accustomed to being ignored.
Katherine straightened. “Oh, yes, I am so sorry.” She glanced at the clock, which was five minutes shy of three o’clock. “You sent Mr. Dawkins the note, and he did say he understood.” Katherine was hoping that Mr. Dawkins was just as prompt as he had been the first time, or she would have to speak of him and what he knew and what he understood for much longer.
Please let him be prompt. If not to see me again, at least to allow Effie to stop speaking of him.
They both heard the sharp knock on the door after a minute. She couldn’t help but look at the clock again; four minutes to three. She exhaled, not realizing she’d been holding her breath in the first place. He was here. Was he regretting their actions? Had he come to regard the day as worthy of capital letters?
Had he even thought of it?
What if he were so accustomed to kissing ladies that this was just another moment in his life? And it didn’t matter to him, not at all?
But she knew, from his reaction, that their kiss was not a usual circumstance for him either. Unless he was just as awkward each time he kissed a lady, and she doubted that anyone, even someone as awkward as he, wouldn’t have learned at least some finesse along the way.
She exhaled again, relieved to know she had talked herself out of believing that this was a habit for him. And wondering if their kissing would occur again, in which case it might indeed become habitual.
“Mr. Dawkins is here,” the butler said.
Henry stepped forward, nodding in greeting. “Good afternoon Lady Euphemia, Miss Grant.” His gaze lingered on her face for a moment longer than it did on Effie’s, and she felt the heat of a blush steal onto her face.
“We are so glad you are here, aren’t we, Katherine?” Effie’s smile was one of the blinding ones she used on her admirers, only now it was directed toward Katherine.
The girl could not be more obvious. Katherine restrained herself from wincing. “Well, you did make it very clear,” Mr. Dawkins replied wryly.
“Yes, I did, didn’t I?” Apparently Effie was incapable of recognizing when someone was less than delighted by her persistence, judging from her tone. “Let us proceed to the ballroom. I am attending a party in a few days and I do not want to be shown up by any of the other ladies.”
“I doubt that would happen,” Mr. Dawkins said as he waited for Effie to walk past him.
Katherine followed Euphemia, a sharp pang of jealousy at his words. But it was only the truth; there was no possibility of any other lady being as beautiful or charming (when she wanted to be) as Lady Euphemia.
“She is not aware of anyone but herself, is she?” Mr. Dawkins murmured as he walked beside her. Katherine felt his fingers touch her elbow, just briefly, but long enough to warm her thoroughly inside. “It is not outward beauty that attracts, but something that shines from within,” he continued, but then he turned to her, an aghast look on his face. “Not that you are not beautiful, it is just—”
She trailed her fingers on his forearm and smiled at him. “I know what you mean.”
And she did. She knew just what he meant, and what he really meant to say, which was that he found her more attractive than Euphemia, incredible though that might seem. And the fact that she knew that, even more than that he thought that, made her even warmer inside, making her feel as though it might not be her permanent lot to be alone.
Not that she was counting on Mr. Dawkins to remedy her alone situation; they had only kissed once, and she wasn’t given to the same flights of fancy other young ladies were. For one thing, she couldn’t afford them, either in terms of her peace of mind or in actual fact. Flights of fancy, when it came to romance, were for ladies who didn’t have to worry about where they would be living or if they would have enough to eat.
It did not escape Katherine’s notice, however, that it was Euphemia’s own flight of fancy regarding Mr. Dawkins that had allowed Katherine to meet him.
“Just as before, Katherine, you can play while Hen—Mr. Dawkins and I dance,” Effie said in her usual peremptory tone. Mr. Dawkins looked pained for a moment, and Katherine had to repress a grin at just how uncomfortable he seemed to be.
She pushed that aside, stepping to the piano, which had now seen more use in the past week than it had during the entire time she’d been here. Effie scorned doing anything that didn’t involve seeing and being seen, and it was Katherine’s job to accompany her. And not on the piano.
She searched her mind for what she could play; she hadn’t thought that music would be one of her duties in the Kilchesters’ household, so she hadn’t brought her music with her. Not that there was much music to be had in the first place. Her parents’ house, once they were gone, had been handed to her father’s heir, a distant cousin whose youth and general foolish exuberance gave Katherine pause. It wouldn’t have been appropriate for her to live with him—not that he’d offered. He’d been too delighted at the prospect of setting up house in London to worry about where his newly-discovered cousin was going to live.
She could have stayed with him, she supposed, but it would have been awkward. And not in the deliciously adorable way Mr. Dawkins was awkward, but truly awkward—in the week or so before she quit the house, her cousin had already brought home two women with suspect professions and a half dozen inebriated men from his club, a few of whom had regarded Katherine with that look that made her skin prickle unpleasantly.
Thinking of that week, however, reminded her of a song that one of the women had sung to entertain her cousin and his friends—a simple tune that she had played for practice. She placed her fingers on the keyboard and began to play, casting a few surreptitious glances at Mr. Dawkins as he and Effie danced.
He really was terrible. Perhaps he wouldn’t have been so bad if it hadn’t been obvious—painfully obvious—that he was absolutely uncomfortable with his size, and that he might crush a random passerby if he stumbled.
But he wouldn’t crush her, would he? She was—quite literally—made of stronger stuff. And the thought of having him pressing on her, all that muscle pushing against her, was enough to make her—
“Miss Grant!” Effie’s tone interrupted her thoughts just as they were taking a very dangerous turn.
She jumped, banging out an unpleasant-sounding chord.
“Pardon?” Katherine turned to look at Mr. Dawkins and Effie, both of whom had stopped moving (in his case she couldn’t precisely call it dancing) and were looking at her.
“Your playing. It is nearly as bad as Henry’s dancing,” Effie said, sniffing disdainfully to emphasize her point.
“It is definitely not as bad as all that,” Henry added, a rueful grin on his face.
“I think you should practice a bit. Both of you,” Effie said, gesturing to the two of them. “Katherine, you can work on your scales and Henry, you can practice the waltz. I have to go look in on my mother to see if she needs anything.” She ran out of the room, leaving them alone.
And this was where Mr. Dawkins, would know that Effie was up to something, if he really knew Euphemia. She hoped he didn’t know her that well. Although if he did, that would guarantee he would never fall in love with her—not that Katherine didn’t want him to fall in love with her, only—oh, hush, Katherine. You don’t want him to fall in love with her. For so many reasons.
“Do you suppose Effie is up to something?”
Well, he might have been awkward, but he was definitely not unobservant. And he did know Effie fairly well after all.
Katherine rose from the piano stool and smoothed her skirts. She had no desire to practice her scales, of all things, just because she’d been distracted by thoughts of Mr. Dawkins. Besides which, he was still here, which meant he would only distract her further.
It was best to face the source of her distraction, never mind that facing it—facing him—was far more pleasant than playing piano. Or eating ice cream on a hot summer day. Or doing anything that wasn’t speaking with him, or looking at him, or anything to do with him.
Pythagoras, I’m doing it again!
She started to giggle at the thought, and his lips curved in an answering smile.
“What is amusing you?” he asked in that low tone. The one that made her get all shivery. She waved her hand. “Nothing, really.”
“Is it really nothing?” He spoke in a tone that blended hesitancy with confidence. As though he knew the effect he had on her, but didn’t want to presume he knew.
She shook her head as she stepped toward him, walking into the circle of his arms. “Not entirely,” she murmured, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Not at all, in fact.” She felt herself start to blush and thought she probably ought to change the subject before she blurted out everything she was thinking. “I think we should start slowly. Perhaps practice preparing to dance rather than actually do it.”
One eyebrow rose up over his spectacles. “You mean to pose in a sort of pre-dancing position?
Like this?” He put one hand—his large, strong hand—on her waist and took her hand with the other.
She was grateful for his relatively low occupation, since it meant he wasn’t required to wear gloves, and she wasn’t able to because of her piano-playing. So their hands touched, bare skin touching bare skin, and the contact made her Parts—those Parts she shouldn’t even be thinking about
—spark up, as though he were actually touching her there.
“Are you all right?” he asked in a concerned tone of voice. Apparently her thinking about her Parts made her face go all odd and her knees buckle.
“Fine,” she said, taking a deep breath. “How does this feel?”
She meant the pre-dancing position, but she knew right away that it was ambiguous enough to possibly mean something else, something she shouldn’t be saying to him.
Now who was the awkward one? She felt her cheeks flush, and hoped she was not quite as red as she felt.
“It feels marvelous,” he replied, his eyes focused on hers with a meaningful gaze. “Oh.”
“How did it go? Did he speak of me?” Euphemia had popped out from wherever she’d been hiding as soon as the door closed behind him.
They’d spent another twenty minutes in the room with Mr. Dawkins perfecting his pre-dancing position, although both of them knew it was just an excuse to touch one another in a nearly acceptable way.
He’d left at a quarter to four since he had an appointment. Otherwise they might still have been in the ballroom standing together and holding hands.
Why weren’t they still together in the ballroom holding hands?
“Uh—well, no, but he didn’t speak at all, actually.” And Katherine willed herself not to turn red again, since that was the truth, but the additional truth—if there could be truth on top of truth—was that they’d just spent the time looking at one another, moving occasionally, both of them silent except for when they laughed.
It felt marvelous, and Katherine knew he wasn’t silent because he was concerned about saying something awkward, but the opposite—because they were so comfortable with one another.
How could two people be so comfortable with one another after only a few days’ acquaintance? “Oh.” Effie looked disappointed, but still adorable. Her expression quickly changed, however, as
did her focus. “I was going through the most recent invitations with Mother, and there is a benefit performance at the theater, I have no idea what they will be performing.” Hadn’t she just been thinking about going to the theater? Perhaps another of her dreams would also come true. “And then we began discussing what we would wear,” Euphemia continued. “I cannot be seen in the same gown more than once.” Her lips curved into a sly smile. “Which means we will go to Felicity’s shop to order some items.” She glanced at Katherine, one perfect eyebrow lifted in appraisal. “And you will accompany me, of course, so we will order a gown for you, I believe.”
All of Katherine’s other thoughts—including her memories of The Kissing Day—fell away at those words. A gown for you. Something that would fit her, that might suit her, that wouldn’t be brown or scratchy, something she could wear that would make his eyes light up as he saw her. Not that they didn’t seem to light up already; she trusted that he did find her attractive, but in a new gown—a gown designed by his sister—he might find her breathtaking.
And then he would do things that would leave her breathless. A fair trade. Something that would right the accounts. She nearly snorted at her thinking in terms of his profession, but had to stifle herself, aware that now Lady Euphemia was regarding her with a quizzical expression on her face.
“Uh—yes, that would be lovely, but I cannot afford it,” Katherine replied, quashing any hopes of breathtaking or breathgiving or any kind of breathing at all.
“Pish,” Effie said, waving her hand in dismissal. “It won’t do to have you garbed less than perfectly.” She raised her chin. “After all, you are my companion; if you do not look your best, I might not look my best.”
Katherine wanted to laugh at how aghast Euphemia sounded at that prospect—unlikely though it was—but didn’t, merely going over to embrace the younger woman, who seemed uncomfortable at the gesture.
It was far, far better than another miniature horse.
“You are too generous, Lady Euphemia,” Katherine said, knowing that there was a kind person buried somewhere inside the narcissistic young girl.
“Yes, well, I want to look my best,” Euphemia replied. “Which means you should, too.”
“Oh goodness.” Had she thought about being breathless with him? Because he was most definitely not here, and she wasn’t certain she would ever catch her breath again.
She stood on the small platform in Follette’s dressing area, directly in front of strategically placed mirrors. Lady Euphemia was seated on a chair just behind her, while Miss Felicity fussed with the hem of the gown.
“You like it.” Felicity said as she shook out a piece of the crimson fabric.
“Oh goodness,” Katherine said again. Would she ever be able to say anything else? But truly, the gown was outstanding. An evening gown, it had tiny puffed sleeves that hung just barely on her shoulders. It was cut daringly low—at least in Katherine’s eyes—in the front, allowing the swells of her breasts to show. The fabric encased her like a thoughtful glove; not too tight, so as to make things look pinched in and unpleasant, but not so loose as to be sacklike. The gown had the high waistline currently in fashion, which often made Katherine look shapeless, since her bust and hips were so curved. But in Miss Felicity’s hands, her figure was stunning. Almost too much to look at, with every curve hinted at, but not exploited.
She looked beautiful, she could admit that. If only to herself.
“You look lovely.” Apparently Miss Felicity could admit it as well. “Thanks to you,” Katherine said, unable to take her eyes off her reflection.
“And it complements my gown so well,” Effie said in a satisfied tone of voice. Her gown was a light pink trimmed with darker pink ribbons, and it would indeed look good next to Katherine.
Katherine was grateful that Effie was so confident, in fact, that the thought of her companion outshining her would never cross her mind. There was a lot to be said for the kind of person Effie was; she was not petty or jealous. She demanded her due attention, of course, but she didn’t begrudge others getting it. Which was why she was so insistent that Katherine have new clothing, even though she had perfectly adequate gowns for whatever event she was required to accompany Effie to.
“I’ll just need to make a few minor adjustments,” Miss Felicity said, crossing her arms over her chest and scrutinizing Katherine.
Katherine resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest as well; experience had taught her that her arms were just not large enough to obscure everything, and besides, Miss Felicity would likely be annoyed that Katherine was wrinkling the fabric.
“You’ll have the gown to us by Friday, though?” Euphemia asked. Her tone made it clear that she wasn’t asking a question.
“Friday, yes,” Felicity replied. “Are you attending the benefit? My client Lady Marjoribanks has generously offered the use of her box that evening, so my brother and I will be in attendance as well.”
But now it did feel as though the gown was tight, too tight, since she couldn’t seem to breathe again. And after she had regained it so well just a few moments before.
Her brother. What would Henry say—more importantly, what would he do?—when he saw her?
She must have made a sound, since Miss Felicity was looking at her with a concerned expression on her face. “Did I poke you with a pin?”
“No, no, it’s”—it’s just that the thought of your brother seeing me in this gown is making me light-headed—“it’s nothing to be concerned about. Merely something catching in my throat.”
Felicity frowned in confusion, since Katherine hadn’t eaten anything since arriving at the shop, but thankfully Effie had a question about feathers for her hair or something, and Katherine’s inability to breathe was forgotten.