Page 27 of Return to Satterthwaite Court

“How did you meet her, Charles?” Hannah asked as the black lacquered carriage rolled away down the drive.

Charles ushered his sister back into the warmth of the house. “Unexpectedly,” he said.

Indeed, the entirety of his brief acquaintance—or whatever it could be called—with Lady Katherine Beresford had been unexpected. Her brashness. Her kindness. The abject impropriety of her behavior. At every turn, she’d subverted his expectations.

Such that he had expectations.

The lady was still nine tenths a stranger to him.

“Yes, but how?” Hannah looked back at him impatiently. “Was it at a—”

“Go back to the drawing room, little one.” Charles urged his sister toward the staircase. “I need to speak with Sara.”

The housekeeper was just emerging from the servant’s door to the kitchens. Originally his mother’s lady’s maid, Sara’s once hard features had been softened by the years, and her formerly slight figure replaced with a comfortable plumpness. She paused, hearing her name.

Hannah mounted the steps “Very well, but you must join us as soon as you’re done. Mama and Papa will be as curious as I am.”

Charles suppressed a grimace. He had no doubt he’d been spending the next half hour explaining who Kate was and—more importantly—who she was to him. He didn’t relish the prospect.

“You have need of me, Master Charles?” Sara asked.

“Just a question,” Charles said. “That Christmas package that arrived for me in the post had a card attached to the top of it. Did you, by any chance, put it there?”

“Weren’t they from the same person?” Sara asked. “Only I thought they must be, which is why I stuck them together. Did I do wrong, sir?”

An inexplicable surge of relief went through him.

So, Kate had been telling the truth. She hadn’t sent the letter.

“No,” he assured Sara. “You haven’t done wrong.”

If anyone had erred, it was him. He’d levied an accusation at Kate, one she hadn’t deserved.

He’d already offered a qualified apology. “If I’ve been mistaken…” It wasn’t anywhere near good enough. When he saw her again—when she made good her threat to invite them to Beasley Park—he’d apologize properly.

Unless, of course, he saw her before then.

Did she mean what she’d said about traveling to Tiverton on her own?

The interfering little baggage.

He wished to God he hadn’t shown her that letter. The last thing he wanted was someone meddling in his family’s affairs. It was bad enough that his mother’s name should be mentioned in connection with some mysterious injustice. Charles wouldn’t have gossip about her being spread all over the West Country.

As for the letter itself—

“I couldn’t tell who sent it,” Sara said. “There was no return direction on the envelope.”

“No,” Charles acknowledged. “Its origins are a bit of a mystery.”

Sara’s eyes went round. “Never say so, sir.”

Charles couldn’t fathom why she’d appear so alarmed. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“It may be so, but don’t let your parents hear of it. They wouldn’t like to know we’re receiving anonymous letters again.”

He gave her a sharp look. “Again? Do you mean to say they’ve received letters like this before?”

“One,” Sara said. “A great many years ago, before you were born. It were a threat, like. Your father and mother haven’t forgotten.”