Page 22 of Return to Satterthwaite Court

Conversation floated out from the drawing room; the sounds of deep male voices and the answering softness of feminine laughter.

Kate recognized one of those voices—a dark, rich, baritone. It had the same immediate effect on her that it had had when she’d first heard it in Bond Street. Her heartbeat quickened with anticipation.

“Mr. Beresford and Lady Katherine Beresford,” the butler announced.

Kate entered the drawing room along with her brother.

It was a graceful room, comfortably worn, with silk-papered walls, blue brocade draperies, and sofas and armchairs upholstered in faded velvets and soft-striped damasks. At the heart of it, a small family was seated, completely at their ease, around the crackling flames in an enormous marble fireplace. A tinsel-covered Christmas tree towered behind them and a motley assortment of dogs lay at their feet, stretched out on the carpet in various states of repose.

The dogs stirred to life as the drawing room’s occupants stood to receive their guests.

There were four people altogether. Two were beautiful auburn-haired ladies: one older and one younger. Mother and daughter, Kate guessed. They both shared the most extraordinary feature: eyes that didn’t match, one blue and one brown. Kate had never seen the like of it.

The other two were men. The more senior—a stern, raven-haired gentlemen with silver at his temples—rose from his seat with the aid of a cane. Not far from him, his back to the fireplace, stood Lieutenant Heywood.

A flush of warmth spread through her.

He was as handsome as she recalled, though no more welcoming.

His posture was rigid, his face impassive. Only his gray eyes betrayed any feeling, and then merely the barest flicker. A flash of surprise, followed swiftly by a flare of… Good Lord, it was annoyance!

Kate’s spirits sank.

Thank goodness for Jack. He had the natural Beresford ability to rise to any occasion.

“Forgive the presumption,” he said. “We were in the neighborhood and thought we may as well pay our respects. My sister and Lieutenant Heywood met briefly in London, I believe.”

The older, auburn-haired lady looked at her son with gentle curiosity. “Are you acquainted with this young lady, Charles?”

There was a long silence.

A pit of anxiety formed in Kate’s stomach. It was in Lieutenant Heywood’s power to humiliate her. To disavow the connection, thus making her appear ridiculous. She hadn’t considered the possibility. She’d thought—

But heaven knew what she’d thought anymore.

All her girlish ideas of flirtation had vanished the moment they’d entered the drawing room and she’d seen the look on his face.

He may have been annoyed with her in Bond Street, but he’d also been fascinated. She’d recognized the signs. She had seen them often enough during her London season. But there was nothing of fascination about the way the lieutenant was looking at her now.

“Yes,” he said at last. “Though we’ve yet to be properly introduced.”

Kate exhaled a breath. Whatever his feelings for her, it seemed he was disposed to play the gentleman.

“Lady Katherine, is it?” he asked.

“It is.” She pasted on a brilliant smile. “We have a mutual friend in Mr. Gilbert Trumble. A schoolmate of yours at Eton, I understand.”

Lieutenant Heywood’s brow arched in sardonic acknowledgement of Kate’s over embellishment. He forbore to point out that Gilbert was many years below him at school or that the two of them had barely qualified as acquaintances, let alone friends.

Another gentlemanly courtesy.

Kate could have done without it, frankly.

Christine had called Lieutenant Heywood rude, and she hadn’t been wrong. Perhaps Kate had misremembered his brief look of masculine interest in Bond Street? The way he’d turned gruff and solicitous as he’d handed her his handkerchief to bind her hand?

It wouldn’t be the first time she’d over-romanticized an event. One had to on occasion. Life was so dull and dreary otherwise. Still…

She was beginning to regret having come here.