“Thank you, Dawson. Yes, the journey was fine. And it is always good to be back.” Dawson helped Henry out of his cloak, taking his gloves and hat, while I handed my bonnet and coat to a waiting footman.
Footsteps sounded, sharp on the tile, and then a familiar voice came from behind us. “Is that you, Henry? Have you finally arrived?” I turned around, forming my mouth into a polite smile for Mrs. Delafield, who looked more elegant than she had ever looked before. She must have ben-efited from the dressmakers in London, I assumed. But before I could greet her—before I could thank her for finally inviting me to Blackmoore, she froze mid-step and stared at me. Even in the flickering, dim light, I could see the surprise and dislike in her eyes.
“Katherine.” Mrs. Delafield’s voice was as chilly as the ocean wind.
“What are you doing here?”
I looked in confusion from her to Henry, who stood close by my side.
“Yes, Mother, we have come sooner than expected. I thought Kate would enjoy a day here with Sylvia before the rest of our guests arrived.”
Her expression was set in a look of distaste, and before she could answer, more footsteps sounded, and Sylvia and a young lady I had never met appeared at her side, almost seeming to materialize out of the darkness. At the same instant, a gust of wind shook the doors and the candles flickered and threw their erratic shadows again. My heart jumped.
“Kitty?” Sylvia asked, peering at me as if she did not recognize me.
I smoothed down my hair, feeling self-conscious under the weight of Sylvia’s stare. But after a heartbeat’s awkward pause, she stepped forward and pulled me into an embrace. “I am so happy you’re here!” She squeezed me tightly.
49
J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n I relaxed with a sigh of relief. There was nothing amiss here. Mrs.
Delafield had never favored me. That was nothing new. I had nothing to worry about.
“And are you surprised to see me, Mr. Delafield?” A laugh followed the words.
I pulled out of Sylvia’s embrace, shooting a quick glance from Henry to the young lady who had entered the room with Sylvia. The young lady was not looking at me. Her hands were clasped together, and her gaze was steadfastly, affectionately, settled on Henry’s face.
“Miss St. Claire,” Henry said with warmth in his voice. “I did not know you had arrived already.”
“Your mother was kind enough to bring me here herself. From London.”
My eyes narrowed. So this was Miss St. Claire. The one Henry in-tended to marry.
Mrs. Delafield moved into my line of sight, and when I glanced at her, she smiled at me. If there was one thing she and Mama had in com-mon, it was their arsenal of weapons. They both used smiles to hurt, to deceive, to injure. The smile she used on me at this moment was sharp and cruel, cutting at me like a quick knife.
“Miss St. Claire, this is Miss Katherine Worthington. An old friend of the family. Katherine, this is Miss Juliet St. Claire.”
Miss St. Claire turned her gaze to me for the first time. That was when I saw the full measure of her beauty, with her deep auburn hair, her eyes, large and green, set apart just a bit wider than average. Her face narrowed in a heart shape, her mouth small, her nose straight and long. I felt my chest constrict. Taken altogether, the combination of her features was breathtaking. Otherworldly, even. As if she had been whisked to this place from some elfin realm. I shook myself, wondering where such a fantastical idea had come from. It must have been the shadows and the moors and the wild ocean wind that were making nonsense of my thoughts.
50
“Miss Worthington. Welcome to Blackmoore,” the elfin queen said, her voice clear and confident. “We are so happy to have you here.”
I stared at her for a shocked moment before shutting my mouth and swallowing my surprise. She was happy to have me? She welcomed me to Blackmoore? That was the duty of a hostess. I looked quickly from her to Mrs. Delafield, who was watching with approval, to Henry, who wore a completely guarded expression, keeping me from guessing his thoughts.
Was something settled between them, then? Had Henry already proposed to Miss St. Claire? Was it decided that she was going to be mistress of Blackmoore?
I finally managed to nod and smile faintly. “Thank you. I am happy to finally be here.” I could not keep myself from faintly stressing the word finally. I wanted Miss St. Claire to know that she might have visited here first, but my heart had belonged here longer than hers. I was ten when Henry and she had met for the first time. I knew him long before she did, and better, too. I had loved Blackmoore long before she had even heard of it.
“Dawson, please have Miss Worthington’s things taken to her room,”
Mrs. Delafield said, taking charge. She glanced around the room. “Mrs.
Pettigrew! What do you do here?”
The old nurse had finally put her knitting away and was standing a few paces away from our group. “Master Henry invited me to come along. As a chaperone.”
Mrs. Delafield cast a sharp glance at Henry. “It seems Henry is full of surprises this evening.”
Henry’s jaw was tight, his eyes steely as they met his mother’s. They looked as if they were at silent war with each other, and I had to guess that Henry won when Mrs. Delafield looked away with a sigh, glancing around the room as if looking for something she had misplaced.
“Katherine.” She sighed again. “Where is your maid?”
“I—I didn’t bring one.” My mother had a lady’s maid, but my sisters 51
J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n and I shared a maid among us, and Mama had not wanted to lose a servant to this trip.
Mrs. Delafield raised one haughty eyebrow and examined me as if I were a strange insect she did not remember stepping on. I had seen her look at me like that before. But this time I was all too aware of Miss St. Claire’s watchful gaze and Henry standing close behind me. My face burned.
With another heavy sigh, she said in a bored voice, “Dawson, find someone from town to come here first thing in the morning to be Miss Worthington’s maid. We must not allow her to run around like a wild thing here. Not with our guests coming.”
“Yes, Mrs. Delafield,” Dawson said, bowing.
“Sylvia, a word.” Mrs. Delafield walked a few steps away, pulling Sylvia with her. They spoke with lowered voices, but I heard their words anyway. I was very good at eavesdropping. “No extra rooms in the east wing. She will have to be in the west wing.”
“Can’t someone share a room—”
“No. I won’t inconvenience one of my guests for her sake. I told you so when you . . .” Her voice dropped to a murmur, and I strained to catch the stream of their conversation again without looking as if I was listening.
Another moment passed, and then Sylvia returned to my side and looped her arm through mine.
“Come. Let me show you to your room.” She took a candle from a side table and tugged me toward the arched opening at the other end of the room. It appeared Henry had forgotten all about me. He was completely engrossed in whatever Miss St. Claire was saying to him in soft tones as they stood before the fire.
Before we passed through the archway, I could not keep myself from glancing back. Miss St. Claire had moved closer to Henry, and the fire-light flickered over her hair, casting it copper. She laid a graceful hand on his arm and looked up into his face. The last thing I saw before turning away was Henry smiling down at her.
52
Chapter 7
“Mama told me to put you in the west wing,” Sylvia said, looking at me with a flash of nervousness in her eyes. “The other guests will be in the east wing. You know Mama has spent the past year decorating it, and she has invited all of her friends here to show off her work. But Mama was not counting on you, and we have no extra bedrooms over there. So you will be alone in the west wing. You will not mind, will you?”
“But . . .” I stumbled over the top stair and caught myself on the banister. “But what do you mean? Surely your mother was expecting me.”