O stay, sweet warbling woodlark, stay Nor quit for me the trembling spray, A hapless lover courts thy lay, Thy soothing, fond complaining.
Again, again that tender part, That I may catch thy melting art; For surely that wad touch her heart Wha’ kills me wi’ disdaining.
Thou tells o’ never-ending care; O’ speechless grief, and dark despair: For pity’s sake, sweet bird, nae mair!
Or my poor heart is broken.
I held the paper gently after I had finished reading. “That is so beautiful,” I murmured.
“His heart is broken,” Grandfather said, looking out the window.
“That is why he loves the woodlark.”
I stared at him. “Who? Whose heart is broken?” I asked in a whisper.
He turned his face to me, and I saw the clarity in his grey eyes. He was present. He was sure of what he was saying. He opened his mouth to speak.
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“What are you doing here?”
I jumped at the sound and whirled around to face the door. Mrs.
Delafield came stalking into the room, ready for battle.
I stood quickly and edged away from the chair I had occupied. She looked from me to her father. I saw her gaze take in the seashells and the flowers.
“I was just . . . reading to him,” I said, knowing it was not an adequate excuse. I knew I was not supposed to be here. The sleeping guard attested to that fact.
She gestured for me to come to her, which I did with a pounding heart and dread pouring through my veins. She backed into the hall and closed the door soundly before facing me. I stepped back a pace.
“What did you say to my father? Did you talk about his will?”
My mouth fell open. “No!”
“It can’t be changed, Kitty. I don’t care what he said to you or what you said to him. The will can’t be changed. So if that was your design in visiting him—”
“No!” I was appalled. “I never said a word about his will!” I stared at her as realization dawned on me. She knew that I knew about the will.
My heart pounded. I thought back to that evening eighteen months before, at the Delafield ball. I thought back to that dark room, and the drapes that I thought hid me from view, as I listened to a conversation I had not been invited to. “Why would you think that?” I asked, my voice quiet. Scared. The smell of peonies was so strong in my mind I looked around to see if they were nearby. “Why would you suspect me of talking to him about his will?”
Her eyes were all cold blue suspicion. “My father is unwell. Whatever he said to you cannot be believed. And no usurper is going to come here and change my plans for my son.”
“Mama!” It was Sylvia. Her call sounded urgent. She came walking around the corner of the hall, moving faster than I had ever seen her 199
J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n move. When she saw me standing by her mother, she stopped suddenly, a look of dread on her face.
“What is it?” Mrs. Delafield went to her. “What’s wrong?”
Sylvia looked at me when she answered. “It’s your mother, Kitty. She is here. She has brought Maria.”
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Chapter 29
“No. No no no no no,” I muttered to myself as I hurried through the halls and down the stairs. When I reached the entry hall, the butler was standing alone with several traveling trunks piled around him.
“My mother?” I asked.
He bowed. “In the drawing room, miss.”
I ran to the drawing room, my feet sliding on the marble floor, and entered the room breathless.
Her laugh rang through the room—husky and sultry. She sat right next to the younger Mr. Brandon on the settee. She was sitting so close to him her leg was pressed up against him and her bosom rested on his arm.
My gaze darted around the room, finding Miss St. Claire with her mouth open in surprise, and Mr. Pritchard with a scathing look of reproach, and Herr and Frau Spohr, and that older couple whose name I kept forgetting, and the Delafield cousins, and more. At least half the guests were here. At least half the company was witnessing my mother practically sitting on Mr. Brandon’s lap.
“Mama!” I hurried to her. “I was not expecting you. At all.”
She looked up at me, but for a startled moment I had the strange sensation that she didn’t recognize me. Her gaze went right through me.
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J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n Then she said, “Kitty! My dearest girl! I missed you too much to stay away.”
Her hand wrapped around Mr. Brandon’s arm and squeezed. He was not looking at me.
I tried to calm my racing heart. “Oh, did you? How silly. But where is Maria?”
She waved a hand. “Upstairs getting changed. But I could not spare a moment away from this marvelous company, and now I see how right my instincts were.” She looked at Mr. Brandon, and their faces were so close together they appeared to be breathing the same air. She licked her lips.
“Mama.” The panic in my voice made it louder than I intended. “I must speak with you. Immediately.”
She turned her gaze on me slowly, and there, in her eyes, was that dull gleam of determination that I had seen countless times before. “Don’t be silly, Kitty.”
“Kate,” I said, clenching my fists.
She laughed lightly. “Don’t be silly, Kitty. I am going to sit here with Mr. Brandon.” She turned her gaze back to him. “You were telling me about your estate. Do go on.”
Mr. Brandon flicked a glance at me. It was full of pity. My stomach turned at the sight. He was probably, right at this moment, thanking his good fortune that he had not connected himself to me.
He edged over slightly, moving his arm away from Mama, and said politely, “My father’s estate is in Surrey, Mrs. Worthington.”
“Surrey! I must hear all about it.”
He smiled politely at her but looked at me as he said, “I am happy to oblige.”
Mama followed his gaze and seemed surprised to see me. Her brow creased in a frown. “What are you doing still standing there, Kitty? Go and see to your sister.”
Frustration and fear and helplessness filled me, and I looked about 202
the drawing room, and back to Mama. Finally I turned and hurried from the room.
L
“What are you and Mama doing here?” I yelled as I entered my room, which was where the butler told me Maria had been deposited.
Her boots and stockings and bonnet were strewn all over my lovely plum-colored bed, which she was lounging on.
She looked up and scowled at me. “Why should we not be here? You were the one who thought to invite me in the first place.”
“Yes, but then you were ill! And you were not going to come!”
She propped her chin in her hand, and her gaze slid over me with a vague curiosity. “I was not ill. What gave you that idea?”
I stared at her. “Mama said you were ill with a fever the morning I left for Blackmoore.”
She snorted. “I was not ill.”
“Then why did Mama say you were?”
She waved a hand. “I don’t know! She told me that we were invited here but that we had to wait a few days before we could join you.” She laughed. “Did she really tell you I was ill? And this is all a great surprise for you? Oh, that’s rich. Mama is so clever.”
“Maria!” Panic had me in its grip. I grabbed everything of hers that was on my bed and threw it to the floor. “This is no laughing matter!
Mrs. Delafield does not even want me here. How do you think she feels about Mama being here?”
“I’d wager she’s ready to spit nails.”
“Exactly!” I grabbed Maria’s arm and pulled on it.
“Ow! What are you doing that for?”
“You have to leave. Immediately. Put your shoes back on.”
She pushed me away, and when I did not let go, she used her foot to 203
J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n send me sprawling backwards across the room. “I am not going anywhere, Kitty. Why should you be the only one to have any fun?”
I caught myself against the wall and advanced on her again, grabbing a foot this time and pulling. “This. Is. Not. Fun!”
She scrabbled for something to hold onto and ended up pulling all the bedclothes off the bed with her as she landed in a heap on the floor.