The brandy was flowing well, and guests were beginning to take their leave. I had thought the evening interminably long, yet now that our moment was here it felt as if it had arrived all too suddenly.
I moved to Ichabod’s side in the parlor. “I must speak with you,” I said in a low voice. “In private. Before you speak to my father.”
Glancing around to see if anyone would notice, Ichabod nodded once, then left the room. I left a moment later, following him to the music room.
I closed the door behind us. “I … there is something you need to know,” I said hurriedly. I had only just decided on this course of action, and now that I had embarked upon it, I could not go back. “I … I am with child.”
Ichabod staggered back, as though physically struck. He stared at me in disbelief, the blood draining from his face. “You…”
“Of course I … did not mean for this to happen,” I said, suddenly unable to look at him. “I had been trying to prevent it. But … anyway, it doesn’t matter now. No matter what happens tonight … you needed to know.”
A hesitant smile broke out on his face. “I will admit the timing is not opportune,” he said. “And I would have preferred our first child be conceived in the marriage bed. But…” He trailed off and kissed me, deeply. “It is wonderful news all the same.” He tried to smile again as we broke apart, but looked only nervous.
I could hardly blame him.
“Very well,” I said. “I suppose the time has come, then.”
“I suppose it has,” he said. “All too soon and not soon enough.”
After one last kiss, I turned and left the music room, returning to the parlor. Ichabod appeared soon after, strolling casually to my side.
“Now,” I murmured to him, watching as my father bade farewell to Master Stanwyck.
Squeezing my hand once, swiftly, he crossed the room to my father. “Master Van Tassel,” he intoned, somewhat formally.
My father spun around. “Ah, Mr. Crane!” he cried jovially. “A delight to see you, sir, an absolute delight. I hope you have enjoyed the party?”
“Very much, sir,” Ichabod said, still sounding a bit stiff. “Your generosity truly knows no bounds.”
“Not at all, my dear boy, not at all,” my father said, clapping him on the back.
Ichabod spoke again, hurriedly. “I wondered if I might have a private word with you, sir.”
My father looked somewhat startled, but recovered quickly. “But of course,” he said. “Here, take a glass of brandy”—he motioned for Cook, who was nearby, to pour Ichabod a glass—“and come with me into my study.”
Ichabod took the proffered glass and followed my father out of the room.
I felt like I might faint as I watched them go.
Charlotte materialized at my side. “Is it time already?” she whispered.
I nodded, reaching down and clutching Charlotte’s hand in mine. “Oh, Charlotte,” were the only words I could muster.
“Never fear,” she assured me. “Do not worry. All will be well, I am sure of it.”
Before I could ask whether she was speaking simply to ease my mind or had some other, more definite knowledge of what was to come, Brom was suddenly looming over us. “What is all this whispering about, ladies?” he slurred, breath reeking of drink.
“Nothing that concerns you,” I said.
“Ah contrary,” he said, butchering the French phrase. “I have the feeling it does concern me.”
“Well, it does not,” I snapped. “As shocking as it must be for you to realize, a great many things in the world do not concern you at all.”
“Katrina,” Brom said, and I was startled to hear a genuine note of hurt in his voice, a bit of pleading. “Why can’t you—”
But I didn’t want to hear whatever nonsense he had to say. “Leave us be, Brom,” I said, and dragged Charlotte away, into the now empty dining room.
When he did not follow us, I whispered to Charlotte again. “I … I am going to wait outside the study. I cannot bear it. I…”
Charlotte hugged me tightly. “Do whatever you feel you need to,” she said. “I shall be waiting here to congratulate you.”
I flashed a thankful smile at her, then darted off to lurk outside my father’s study.
And lurk I did, for quite some time, pacing nervously a ways down the hall from the door. What could be taking so long? Surely if it was good news, Ichabod would have emerged by now? Surely this meant Ichabod had been forced to reason, to persuade, perhaps to plead?
They had likely been closeted together for half an hour when Ichabod finally emerged. I froze mid-pace as he came toward me, his face ashen, stricken. “No,” I whispered.
“He … refused me,” Ichabod said. “He will not give his permission for us to wed.” Every word was spoken in a stiff, solid, even tone, as though it was costing him dear.
“What?” I demanded, my voice shrill. I grabbed his hand and dragged him down the hall, into the music room again. “What did he say?” I asked, once we were both shut inside. I screwed my eyes shut. “My God, I am going to faint.”
Ichabod gripped my arm tightly. “Do not faint, Katrina, I beg of you,” he said. “Listen to me. Please calm down—”
“Calm?” I shrieked. “Our whole future has crumbled around us and you wish for me to be calm? How are you managing to be so calm, might I ask?”
“Because one of us has to be!” he exploded at last.
His outburst startled me. I took a deep, shuddering breath, closing my eyes. “Yes. I am sorry. You are right. Please, tell me what my father said.”
He took a deep breath of his own. “He refused,” he said, his tone again stark and cold. “He said that I … that he knew me to be a fine and upstanding fellow, and intelligent, but he was concerned I cannot provide for you. Concerned that I cannot give you the life that you most deserve.” He lifted his eyes to mine, and the depth of sadness—and resignation?—I saw in them almost shattered the tenuous control I had over my emotions. “He’s not wrong.”
“Ichabod.” His name came out in an anguished gasp. “You know that is not true. You know that does not matter to me.”
“I tried to convince him otherwise,” he went on. “I told him I know your heart, and that we love each other. He … he was unmoved. Apologetic, but unmoved. He told me it is because he has your best interests at heart that he cannot give his consent.”
Tears slid down my face. “He is wrong,” I whispered. “Oh, he is so wrong. Did you … did you tell him about the child?”
Ichabod looked thunderstruck at the very suggestion. “Of course not.”
“Why not?” I demanded, frustrated even as a small bud of hope blossomed again in my heart. “If he knew … why, if he knew, he could not refuse! He must let us marry now!”
“I could not admit to him that we … that I … that I had dishonored his daughter,” Ichabod said. “Not after he had refused me. I could not admit I had been a fool and wastrel enough to get you with my child. How could I?”
“How could you not?” I cried. “How could you not claim your child, and the woman meant to be your wife? This child was conceived in love; there is no dishonor in that!”
“Oh, Katrina,” he said, placing his hands on my shoulders.
“We … we must tell him!” I said, struggling to move away. “We must tell him the truth, and then he’ll have to let us marry!”
“The disgrace—”
“I don’t care!” I cried, weeping now. “I just want to be with you! Don’t you want to be with me?”
He embraced me tightly before answering. “Yes,” he said. “But, Katrina, it is not so simple as that. I wish it were.”
“But it can be,” I said, pulling away so that I could see his face. “If you do not wish to tell my father about the child, then let’s run away together. Tonight.”
“Now?”
“Tonight,” I repeated. “Before anyone can know we’re gone. We’ll leave them all behind and start a life together, whether anyone else approves or not.” I brought his hand to my mouth and kissed his palm. “Run away with me, Ichabod. Please. It is our best hope. It is our last hope.”
There was a moment of terrible silence.
“No, Katrina,” he said at last.
“But…” Tears began to well in my eyes again. “Why—”
“Hear me out,” he said, grasping my shoulders again. “Please. Let us not make any rash decisions tonight. We are both upset and weary. Let us wait until morning, when we will see things more clearly. Then we can decide the best and wisest thing to do.”
I wanted to rail at him, to reject his sound logic, demand that he leave with me that night, right then. But while our time was limited, we certainly had the luxury of a day or two to step back and evaluate our options.
I remained silent for a good long while, until I felt more in control. “Very well,” I said. “If you insist.”
“I do,” he said. “It is the right course. You know that as well as I do, Katrina.”
Childishly, I refused to agree.
“I love you,” he whispered. He kissed me. “Never doubt that.” He sighed and stepped back. “I should take my leave now.”
Involuntarily, my hands tightened on his sleeves. “No, don’t!”
“I must, Katrina; I certainly cannot stay here tonight,” he said gently. “I will send word tomorrow, through Charlotte, to arrange a time when we might speak further.” He kissed me again. “Do not despair, my love. Please, I beg you, do not despair.”
I nodded, though I did not see how that was possible.
As we left the music room, I saw Brom at the opposite end of the hallway, lurking, watching us. His eyes narrowed, then he turned and was gone. But I was so shattered by the events of the evening that I could not bring myself to care.
I followed Ichabod to the front door, not caring who else might see us. He turned to look at me one last time. “All will be well,” he promised me. And with that, he disappeared into the chilled All Hallows’ Eve night.