He’d no sooner departed than Christine entered the room. She offered Kate an apologetic smile. “I didn’t like to interrupt.”
“I wish you would have done,” Kate said feelingly.
“What did he want?”
“Me.” Kate turned back to the window. “Heaven knows why. I’ve conveyed my dislike for the man by every possible method.”
“He is an odd fish,” Christine allowed, “but one of considerable fortune. I’ve heard he claims a viscount for an uncle.”
“I’ve heard the same,” Kate said. “From him.”
“He wants to impress you.”
“With petty boasts?” Kate made a dismissive noise. “I’d rather a man prove his worth with deeds, not words.”
“Many of your suitors have tried,” Christine said.
“Yes, but they’re so painfully obvious about it.” She wrapped her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “If I could find but one worthy gentleman—a man of noble character and firm convictions—who would be a hero rather than acting the part for personal advantage… that’s the man I’d wed.”
Christine’s lips pursed with ready disapproval. “I pray you’re not referencing that rude fellow in Bond Street again.”
Kate frowned. In truth, she hadn’t even been thinking about the man. But now Christine mentioned it… The gentleman’s actions had been heroic. And he certainly hadn’t been performing for Kate’s approval—or anyone’s, for that matter.
It didn’t hurt that he was dashingly handsome. Or that his deep, commanding voice had sent a delicious tremor down her spine.
If only she’d had the presence of mind to ask his name.
“No,” Kate said. “I’m merely referencing my ideal. A man that hasn’t yet appeared at any society event, I might add. If he had, I’d be happily engaged like you instead of a perpetual disappointment to everyone who knows me.”
“You’re not a disappointment.” Christine joined Kate at the window. “You mustn’t take my mother’s scolding to heart.”
“How should I take it? She’s right, anyhow. I’m always doing something to make myself infamous.”
“It wasn’t entirely your fault,” Christine said. “It was that other lady who created the worst of the scene; waving her umbrella about and shouting until half the street was staring. When she left us, I thought we were done with the business. I’d no idea my mother would hear of it.”
“Neither did I,” Kate said glumly.
They’d gone no more than a few steps farther up Bond Street before Aunt Jane had emerged from the milliner’s shop. At once ascertaining the situation, she’d quickly shepherded them into the carriage and ordered the coachman to drive them home.
“She blames herself,” Christine said. “In the brief time we were out of her sight, you were attacked by a feral dog, you exchanged words with a strange man in the street, and you attracted the unfavorable notice of a crowd.”
“Scandal upon scandal,” Kate muttered under her breath. “It seems I can’t help but be embroiled in them.” She leaned her hip against the window embrasure. “I suppose I must be grateful the story hasn’t yet reached my parents.”
“As to that…” Christine touched Kate’s sleeve in consolation. “I’m afraid my mother is even now writing to yours, conveying all the unfortunate details. Her letter will doubtless precede you to Somersetshire.”
“Oh.” Kate’s already-flagging spirits fell even further.
Her parents wouldn’t censure her overmuch for her behavior. They rarely did. But Kate knew when she had erred. And she knew when they despaired of her.
“I don’t expect it matters in the end.” She lifted her throbbing finger. The gentleman’s handkerchief was still tied snugly around it. “It isn’t as if I could keep the story secret from them. Not with this to explain.”
Christine’s face contorted in a sympathetic grimace. “I’m amazed Mr. Catmull didn’t insist on summoning a surgeon.”
Kate snorted. “It would never occur to him. He only ever looks at my face and figure. The remainder of my person doesn’t merit noticing.”
“Foolish man. We should go down to the kitchens and ask Cook to look after you. She’ll fit you up with a proper bandage.”
Kate didn’t intend to give up the handsome stranger’s tribute so easily. “Bosh. This handkerchief is the height of propriety.” She slowly unwound it, wincing as the dried blood on the fabric tugged free of her wound. “The linen is exceedingly fine.” She examined it more closely. “And look—there appears to be a monogram.”
Christine drew closer. “C.H.,” she read. “What exceptional embroidery.”
“Some lady’s done it,” Kate said. “His wife, I daresay.”
“Does it matter?”
Kate fell silent.
A dawning look of suspicion clouded Christine’s brow. “Good Lord, I knew it! That insolent gentleman has stolen your heart away!”
Kate was surprised into a laugh. “Hardly. You should know by now that my heart isn’t so easily won.”
Christine gave her a long look. “No, I suppose not. Nor how could it be? You’ve set the bar so high no man can hope to meet it. Not when measured against the standard set by your brothers.”
Kate smiled at the mention of her overbearing, overprotective, and frequently irritating older brothers James, Ivo, and Jack. Despite their constant interference in her life, she was excessively fond of the three of them. “What have they to do with anything?”
“They’re all of them dashing and well favored. Like three golden princes out of a fairy tale. My mother says James is the image of your father at that age.”
“They’re all the image of my father,” Kate said distractedly. She traced the pad of her thumb over the letters of the monogram. “Though Jack does have Mama’s temper.”
“As do you, my dear,” Christine pointed out gently.
Kate’s mouth quirked. “A lady needs a bit of temper. She’d lose herself otherwise.” She turned from the window, the bloodstained handkerchief still twined in her fingers. “And you’re wrong to say that no man can measure up to my brothers. Not that I’m blind to their finer points, but…I’m not looking for some masculine ideal. I’ve never sought it.”
“Then what?”
“I told you, I want a hero.”
Christine smiled dryly at the impossibility of it. “Is that all?”
“Very well then,” Kate said, goaded. “If that’s too much to ask, I at least require a gentleman who will provide a bit of a challenge. I can’t abide being bored.”
It was the unfortunate truth of it; one Kate had finally come to accept after her lackluster season in London. She knew now that she could never spend her days stitching silently in a drawing room, content to be admired by some respectful adoring spouse. She was made for the storm. For braving the mad currents of life, not sheltering in the shallows.
“Life can’t always be exciting,” Christine said. “Sometimes we must put our heads down and get on with the business of a lady’s day-to-day. There’s happiness to be found in the quiet moments. In being industrious and obliging mothers and wives.”