Chapter Sixteen

Graham wasn’t of much use other than a body to haul things, so he helped carry the dishes down the stairs and then hauled buckets of water in and out of the kitchen. He spent most of the time staying out of the way and anticipating possibly getting to dance with Kit.

The woods, the library, the London ballroom, there’d been so many moments with her, moments when he’d felt like his whole world was getting ready to shift, but then hadn’t.

He wanted to know what was waiting for him on the other side, what would happen if he actually opened himself to the idea of a woman like Kit. Or rather, what would happen if a woman like Kit opened herself up to the idea of a man like him.

While it was true he didn’t know a lot about the actual labor of an estate, he could learn. Although he’d be much more likely to hire people than do the work himself.

The setting sun was blazing through the large window, lighting the music room up in shades of red and gold as the children piled in, grabbing instruments and arguing good-naturedly over what song to sing.

Jess circled the room, lighting lamps to ward off the encroaching darkness.

Graham found a seat in the corner and settled in. His musical abilities were limited to keeping the rhythm while dancing.

It was amusing to watch the first few songs, as the children traded off instruments and Daphne went around offering instruction. Most of them were rather hopeless, even more so than Graham would have been, but they all tried.

It was another piece to the puzzle, another glimpse into the women and children. It was frustrating, having to dig and scrape and pull pieces together to form an accurate picture, but he’d pushed as much as he dared in the library earlier. Kit was a skittish filly, wanting to be near him but ready to bolt at the snap of a twig. At least, she seemed to want to be near him. It would have been easy enough to avoid him, yet she kept coming back.

Still, he wondered about her, about this house, about the children. Did they know what they could have had? The world they could have been born into? If their blood truly ran as blue as his did, what did it mean that they were destined for work as servants or tradesmen or possibly worse?

Aaron was illegitimate. It hadn’t stopped him from claiming the life his birth had destined him for, but even Graham had to admit it placed restrictions on his future. Graham had never really considered that before. Aaron had always just been Aaron and his life was his life. He wasn’t in line for a title, even though his father held one. If Graham’s guess was correct, the same could be said for some of the children in this room.

So why them and not him? All of his life Graham had been told that his birth was a blessing from the Lord, his station a gift from God bestowed upon those who deserved it.

But that same blood was running in the veins of the children before him.

The ones who needed to be forgotten.

The idea didn’t sit comfortably with Graham. Because it meant his way of thinking, of viewing the world . . . was wrong. Or at the very least, flawed.

Slowly the noise settled into something that could be described as music as one by one the children abandoned the instruments until only two remained playing.

Sarah was at the pianoforte and Reuben played the violin. The gangly, quiet boy who seemed all arms and legs had found some sort of grace with a bow in his hand, while Sarah’s fingers plucked over the piano as well as any young lady Graham had ever seen exhibit in London.

And she was still a child.

Daphne went to join Sarah at the piano, and together they played a lively tune that had the children back on their feet, skipping and laughing and singing. Graham glanced around and found that Jess had slipped away at some point, and Kit was sitting in the corner, tapping her toe to the music.

With a grin, Graham made his way to a trio of potted plants in the corner and knelt to scoop one of them into his arms before crossing to Kit’s side. He placed the plant in front of her and smiled.

She looked from the plant to his face and back again, confusion covering her features. Good. Kit was much more pliable when he managed to surprise her. “My friend here says you owe him a dance. You promised him one in London and never followed through.”

Her lips quivered as if trying not to smile and failing. “That is hardly the same plant. My partner in London was a tree.”

Graham pretended to give the plant a quizzical inspection. “Ah, so it was. I suppose this next dance will simply have to go to me, then.”

He extended his hand, knowing it was a gamble, but wanting to do something to draw her further out of her shell. The more he pried away her cold and calculating outer layers, the more glimpses he managed to get of the woman beneath the prickly exterior, which only served to intrigue him more. He thought that appeasing his curiosity would be enough to make him willing to forget her, but the opposite was happening. Every answer unearthed three more questions about a girl born into his world, yet different than any other woman he’d ever met.

Graham liked different.

The song shifted until only Daphne was playing, and her abilities were impressive enough to distract Graham for a moment until he realized the song she was playing was perfect for a quadrille.

A glance at her sitting at the pianoforte revealed a wide grin. It made her plain round face almost pretty. And it was happy. How was it that Daphne didn’t seem to carry the same darkness that Kit did? It was one more secret to uncover.

But first, he wanted to get Kit to dance.

When her hand slid into his, triumph surged through him, followed quickly by a burst of attraction. The warmth of her palm sliding across his without any gloves in the way made him want to curl his fingers tightly around hers and never let go.

She stood, using her free hand to smooth the skirts of her sprigged muslin gown. “It’s going to be awfully difficult to dance a quadrille with only two people.”

Graham lifted a brow. “You mean you have not been teaching these children how to dance?”

Kit frowned, and Graham had a feeling she was thinking it wasn’t a skill they were likely ever to need since none of them would be gracing the same ballrooms as their parents. For some reason, that was where Kit was drawing the educational line.

He knew from the books he’d seen strewn about and listening to the children talk that she was giving them a considerable education for what she expected their station in life to be, but to not be teaching them to dance?

He lowered his head toward her ear. “Even the poorest people I’ve seen in my travels like to dance. It is the freest entertainment available.”

Her cheeks stained pink as her blue eyes met his gaze.

Graham didn’t wait for her to respond. He simply hauled her to the middle of the room and loudly asked, “Who wants to learn to dance?”

This was a bad idea. Kit could feel it in her middle as it clenched. But the sensation didn’t quite feel like dread or even fear.

It felt like anticipation.

Which made this an even worse idea than she’d originally thought.

Memories and longings battered the wall behind which she’d placed everything she’d left behind. Was Daphne suffering the same pangs? Did this feel too much like old times? So many times in London Daphne would be banished to the keys so that others could dance. Every country assembly. Many of the smaller gatherings in London.

Eventually Daphne had stopped waiting to be asked, declaring that volunteering to play felt better than being told in polite, veiled terms that no one wanted to dance with her, so she might as well play for others.

But the smile on Daphne’s face was genuine. There was joy in her eyes as she swayed in her chair and played. Her laughter was easy and pure as she watched the children rush forward to join Lord Wharton’s lesson.

Then she caught Kit’s eye. And winked.

Winked.

As if she approved of this ridiculous . . . well, flirtation, for lack of a better word. Yes, somehow in the middle of a lost estate in the middle of nowhere in the middle of a group of rowdy children, Kit was having a flirtation.

The wall in her mind cracked a little.

Lord Wharton lined up the children in rows, pairing them off by height instead of anything else. Little Pheobe kept falling on her chubby two-year-old legs and her eyes were blinking slowly, but before Kit could use it as an excuse to leave the dance, Eugenia scooped up the small child and declared that she would take her as a partner.

It was such a touching, loving, familial act that Kit almost lost her composure right then and there. That one action was more thoughtful than anything her father had ever done for her. It had been just him and her for as long as she could remember, but there had been cousins, too. Had any of them wondered where she’d gone when she disappeared? Had any of them noticed? Or cared?

Lord Wharton returned to his spot in front of her, a beaming smile on his face as he took a deep breath. “I think we’re ready. Let’s keep it simple, shall we?”

Daphne began to play a tune that niggled at more of Kit’s memories, a song they’d danced to during their days in London. She played it as if her fingers knew the notes on their own. But she hadn’t played any music like that in years.

Kit glanced Daphne’s way. Or had she? Had she waited until Kit was out of the house, worried that the old tunes would upset her?

“Kit?” Lord Wharton asked softly.

She snapped her head back around, getting snagged in his golden-brown eyes and caught by his quizzical, teasing expression. “Yes,” she stammered out. “Simple.”

Lord Wharton directed everyone in how dances went, laughing when he had to pause and think about how to explain things. He’d probably learned to dance as a young boy and hadn’t really had to think through the process much since then, certainly not to explain it to someone else.

Kit skipped and turned and tried to remind the children which way to go, but it quickly descended into chaos, with everyone whirling about the room, laughing, holding hands, and having a generally good time.

Alice and Henry clasped hands and swung themselves in a circle until they fell over in a fit of giggles. Benedict threw his arm over Kit’s shoulder and guided her around the room, doing some sort of strange walking kick that made her laugh so hard her side hurt.

And through it all was Lord Wharton, being just as ridiculous as the children, if not more so.

When it was time to stop, the children fell into bed with exhausted smiles on their faces. When was the last time she’d seen them so happy?

No one was particularly unhappy at Haven Manor, at least she didn’t think they were, but had she become so focused on survival that she’d forgotten they were children? If it hadn’t been for Daphne, Kit wasn’t even sure she’d have known what it was to be a child even when she had been one. She would have made it all the way to adulthood without taking her nose out of a book.

That strength had made her capable of doing what needed to be done when their world had fallen apart, what made it possible for her to keep Haven Manor going.

But now that she’d heard the house ring with laughter, she had to wonder if she’d been doing the best for everyone, after all.

Kit’s head hurt with the conflicted thoughts as she made her way down the stairs after seeing the children settled for the night.

Life had been simple before Lord Wharton stumbled his way into it.

She could only hope it would return to that simplicity when he left.

With no other valid reasons to delay, Kit pushed open the rough wooden plank they’d used to replace one of the back doors and went out onto the porch. Daphne and Jess were already there, watching for her as if they knew she’d considered going straight to bed.

Neither said anything when she arrived. Jess lowered herself to the step and looked out into the night while Daphne closed her eyes and swayed back and forth, humming.

“We should do that more often,” Daphne said as Kit came over to lean on the railing.

“Do what?” Kit asked.

“Dance. I’d forgotten how much fun it could be.” Daphne whirled around in a circle before leaning one shoulder against the tall columns at the top of the stairs.

Kit’s mouth gaped open a bit, and she dropped onto the step beside Jess, unable to trust her legs to hold her up. “Daphne, you sat at the pianoforte all night.”

She shrugged. “It’s fun to watch.” Her mouth curved into a grin. “Especially when our visitor got you all flustered.”

Jess sat up a bit straighter. “What’s this?”

Daphne sat on the other side of Kit and leaned across as if she were imparting a great secret to Jess. “He brought a plant over to her, which is a story I desperately want to hear about later, and then asked her to dance.”

Jess laughed. “And she agreed?”

“He didn’t give me much of a choice,” Kit mumbled, though she wasn’t sure that was true. She’d wanted to dance with him.

“I remember watching you dance for hours before we moved to Marlborough,” Daphne said with a sigh.

Kit wrapped her arms around her knees and pulled them close to her chest, hoping the pressure would still the unsettled fluttering inside. They never spoke about their life before Marlborough.

Daphne plunged on, ignorant of Kit’s internal struggle. “It’s so much fun to see the people whirling around, moving to whatever music I create. I could make them go faster or slower or anything I wished. I can’t believe we haven’t thought of dancing with the children before now.”

“I told you she didn’t miss it,” Jess said quietly in Kit’s ear.

Was that true? Did Daphne really prefer this life to her old one? Had she avoided talking about it for Kit’s sake instead of her own?

“Dancing doesn’t bring back bad memories for you?” Kit asked softly. She was almost afraid to know the answer. If Daphne didn’t miss London, didn’t miss society and the life they’d had, what did that mean? Did that mean she’d forgiven Kit?

Was that enough if she did?

Daphne lifted one shoulder. “Dancing here is so different from dancing in London. Even the country assemblies were all about who was partnered with whom and who had the prettier dress. No, I liked it much better when I would play the pianoforte at your father’s house and you could make the dolls dance around.”

Kit’s guilt rolled over in her gut, growing and sharpening until she wouldn’t have been surprised to look down and find herself bleeding. All Daphne had ever wanted was to be a country wife, to live a simple life. It was Kit who’d been drawn to the sparkle and glitter of London, to the parties and the opera. And Daphne had gone with her because that was what Daphne had always done.

“Do you know my favorite memory from London?” Daphne clasped her hands together and leaned forward onto her knees, staring out into the night. “I remember going to the park early in the morning, when the only people there were the ones exercising their horses for the joy of it. No one was looking at anyone else, no one cared who else was there. And you and I would go as deep into the park as we could and find a tree and pretend we weren’t in London anymore. I would sew and you would read until we got too hungry or thirsty to stay.”

Kit had forgotten those times. They’d occurred when they first went to London. As the Season had gone on, they’d happened less and less, Kit insisting on staying out so late that she had to sleep through those early-morning hours.

And Daphne had stayed out with her. Standing on the edge of ballrooms, talking to other wallflowers, watching just like she always had.

What had Kit done to her friend?

Daphne yawned. “It’s been a long day. We need sleep if we’re taking these children down to the glen tomorrow.” She shook her head. “I still can’t believe he talked you into a picnic. I think Lord Wharton may be just what you needed, Kit.”

Then Daphne rose and went inside.

Kit couldn’t move.

Jess swayed, bumping her shoulder into Kit’s. “I knew you were hiding something about London. What didn’t you tell us about the house you took a shortcut through?”

Kit had to rather admire Jess’s restraint in waiting until now to pin Kit down. “He was in the ballroom. I met him behind a potted plant. He brought me lemonade.”

Jess’s eyebrows rose. “You were in a ballroom? I assume this was between the garden and the back corridor?”

Kit nodded.

Jess stared out over the lake for a few silent moments. “I’ve learned a funny thing about the past,” she finally said. “The ghosts that haunt you the most are the ones you refuse to acknowledge. The past you try to bury has the most power to hurt you.”

Kit snorted. “You aren’t usually so cryptic.”

“I was trying to be philosophical. Like those books you’re always reading.”

A laugh burst out of Kit’s mouth. “I hardly think plays, poetry, and novels qualify as philosophical.”

Jess gave a delicate shrug. “I’ll be blunt, then. Face your past. Stop trying to bury it. Or one day it’s going to eat you alive.”

“And what about your past, Jess?”

“Just because I’m running from it doesn’t mean I haven’t faced it. It just means I know how dangerous it is. There’s a difference.”

Then Jess rose, gave Kit’s shoulder one solid pat, and followed Daphne inside.

Kit sat in the dark, watching the sliver of moonlight rippling on the lake. She had faced her past, hadn’t she? Wasn’t that what she did every day with the children? What was she doing if not living down her past?

The past she tried never to think about, never to talk about.

What if Jess was right?

Kit stumbled back to her room and lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling as she did every night, but this time instead of thinking about household accounts or how to fix the roof, she let her mind wander back. And she cried.