“No. No, it was something else altogether.” Kate sniffed and dabbed at her cheeks. “I must speak with Evan right away. This morning, if possible. I need to explain to him about last night.”
“Oh, no.” Harry’s eyes flew wide. “Kate, you can’t. You can’t tell Evan anything about last night. He’ll go into one of his . . . episodes.”
“His episodes?”
“You’ve seen the man seethe. But you haven’t seen him explode. And nothing sets him off like knowing one of his female relations has been compromised. It wasn’t only for your sake that I lied last night. I’ve grown fond of this little village, and I should hate to see it laid waste.”
Laid waste? Surely Harry had to be exaggerating.
“You’d believe me if you’d been there when Calista was discovered with Parker,” Harry said. “Good Lord, it was like something from a didactic medieval tapestry. One duel, two outbuildings burnt to the ground, at least a half-dozen valuable horses running wild on the moors. Took the grooms days to retrieve them all.” She shook her head. “It made Evan’s efforts on behalf of my honor look like a few friendly bouts at the club.”
“And what about Claire?” Kate couldn’t help but ask.
“The less said about Claire, the better. Let’s just say there’s a gentleman somewhere who’s missing parts. Vital parts.”
Goodness. Kate tried to reconcile these accounts with the Evan Gramercy she knew and had come to admire. He seemed so collected and elegant. When they’d played together that night, she had sensed the depth and intensity of emotion beneath the surface. But violence?
“I must risk it anyway,” she said. “In truth, my virtue has not been compromised. My conscience is clean.”
“Kate,” Harry said sternly. “I am not one for social convention. But even I know, if you spent the night with Thorne, you are compromised. It doesn’t matter what happened or didn’t happen.”
That was exactly what Thorne had said. If two human beings as completely opposite as Thorne and Harry agreed on something, Kate could only conclude it must be true.
Harry squeezed her hand. “I beg of you. Unburden your heart to me, if you wish—or find a way to tell Evan part of the truth. But unless you wish true harm upon Corporal Thorne, do not let Evan know about last night. And for the love of everything, change your frock before you speak with him.”
There was a knock at the door.
Kate sucked in a deep breath and hastily dabbed at her eyes. “Who is it?”
“It’s me.” The door opened a crack, revealing Lark’s sweet countenance. When she laid eyes on Kate, she flung the door open wide. “Kate, what is it? Are you still ill?”
Kate shook her head. “No. I’m fine.”
“I’ve just been telling her a very sad, tragic story,” Harry said, rising to her feet. “And she was deeply moved by the moral of the tale.”
“Harriet. Don’t provoke her so. At least not until she’s stuck with us for good.” Lark turned to Kate and smiled. “Evan has visitors at the tavern. The solicitors, I think. He’s asking to see you.”
Chapter Sixteen
As many times as she’d been in the public room below, Kate had never visited the rooms above the Bull and Blossom.
At Fosbury’s direction, she made her way up a narrow staircase and emerged into a long, windowless corridor. She froze, struck again by that same familiar image.
She was in an endless, shadowy tunnel, and her future lay at the other end. Pianoforte music came up through the floor, tingling in the soles of her feet. She closed her eyes, and blue flashed behind her eyelids.
“Kate, is that you?” Evan’s voice carried out from the first room on the left.
“Yes.” She shook herself and smoothed a hand over the skirt of her fresh sprigged muslin before entering the room.
“Come in, come in.” Evan waved her forward. “I trust you’re feeling better this morning.”
She stepped into a small yet comfortably furnished sitting room. She knew at once it had to be the Fosburys’ private parlor. They must have vacated it to offer Evan a full suite of rooms, worthy of a marquess.
“Miss Kate Taylor, I’d like you to meet two of the family solicitors, Mr. Bartwhistle and Mr. Smythe.”
“How do you do.” Kate curtsied to the two men, who were dressed in brown coats so similar as to be nearly identical.
“And this”—Evan turned her attention to an older woman in a faded indigo day dress several years past its peak of fashion—“is Mrs. Fellows.”
Kate smiled and nodded, but was dismayed when Mrs. Fellows made no acknowledgment in return. Instead, the older woman remained seated in the tufted armchair, facing the window and staring straight ahead.
“Cataracts,” Evan whispered in her ear. “Poor old dear’s nearly blind.”
“Oh.” Understanding the remoteness of her demeanor now, Kate moved forward to take the woman’s hand. “Mrs. Fellows, it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”