Page 40 of Return to Satterthwaite Court

“Because I had the indelicacy to mention that he was interested in my money.”

“Ah. That.”

“Yes, that. It’s no secret that most gentlemen who come to London for the season are looking to better their financial situations. And even if they aren’t—even if they already have a fortune of their own—no man wishes to marry an impoverished lady.”

“You believe Catmull wants you for your fortune?”

“Among other things,” she said. “Though it isn’t for lack of his own. As far as I understand it, he’s handsomely situated.”

“Is he, indeed.”

“Well connected, too. His uncle is a viscount, apparently.”

“Yet you dislike him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“No,” Lieutenant Heywood replied. “You’ve only said he’s been chasing you. And hasn’t caught you, presumably.”

“Nor will he,” Kate muttered. “Despite his best efforts.”

He studied her face. “What is it you object to about him?”

“To his being a snake,” she said frankly.

A flare of repressed laughter danced in the lieutenant’s eyes. It wasn’t enough to soften his mouth into a smile. Indeed, the rest of his face was composed in the same mask of soldierly sternness as it always was. But he was laughing all the same.

Laughing at her.

Kate stiffened. She despised being laughed at.

“You don’t mince words, do you?” he said.

She resumed gazing out the window, on her dignity. “I speak as I find.”

The carriage rolled on over the isolated road that curved around the park. Lieutenant Heywood joined her in admiring the passing landscape. There were acres of rolling brown fields and fenced pastures. A lush woodland was visible in the distance, a long, ragged scattering of oak trees marking the boundary to it as distinctly as a row of soldiers standing guard.

One of the trees was far larger than the rest. Older, too. It stood taller and wider than the others, its massive gnarled branches curved downward in a vast, sheltering arch.

Lieutenant Heywood pounded once on the ceiling of the carriage. “Stop the coach!”

The coachman immediately brought the carriage to a halt.

“What is it?” Kate asked in alarm. “Did you see someone you recognize?”

“Not someone,” Lieutenant Heywood said. “Something.” He opened the carriage door. “I know that tree.”

* * *

The moment the carriage was stationery, Charles leapt out. He turned to assist Kate down, gripping her gloved hand tightly. “Mind your step. It’s muddy.”

Kate jumped out of the carriage without hesitation, her boots sinking into the wet earth. A lopsided smile tilted her mouth. “I’m a country girl. Mud doesn’t scare me.”

Charles stared down at her a moment, briefly diverted. Her riding habit was rumpled, her bodice and skirt streaked with dirt. She didn’t seem to regard it. On the contrary, she looked eager and unpretentious. The kind of girl who could find pleasure in every situation. One who would fit in anywhere.

It was a rare quality in any living creature, especially if that creature was a fashionable young lady.

She’d warned him not to think of her in those terms, but it was difficult to stop. Everything about her outward appearance—from her clothing, to her accent, to the elegance of her carriage—proclaimed her a lady. It would take more than a few wrinkles and a bit of mud to change that.