Chapter Nineteen

Graham felt a little panic and a lot of frustration as Kit’s eyes met his and then fell away once more. He knew he was at risk of losing this conversation, of having her join Daphne in whatever game the children were playing now, but he didn’t want her to go.

So he changed the subject. “It’s beautiful here.”

“It is. I still remember the first time I came out here. The idea of Haven Manor was nothing but that. An idea. A desire with no practicality. But this place, it was an answer to all the prayers I hadn’t the courage to voice. That first night I sat on the steps up there, staring down at this lake for as long as the moon’s reflection could be seen. It seemed so large then, so impossible.” She reached out to snag a wayward hoop and send it back toward the playing children. “Now it’s home.”

So she would talk about now, talk about the children, talk about what he could see with his own eyes. But her past, the details he hadn’t learned on his own, those were forbidden.

And those were what he wanted so desperately to learn.

“What’s your favorite color?” he asked instead.

She blinked at him. “Green.”

Like the dress. Only he wasn’t going to mention the dress again. He didn’t want her thinking about those things. “Best food you’ve ever tasted?”

“White soup.”

He laughed. White soup was so common to him, it was hard to imagine it being the food that lingered in someone’s memory. “Truly?”

She nodded. “I’d never had it before going into London society. But it was served at the first dinner party I went to and I loved it so much that I asked a servant for another bowl of it later in the evening.” She smiled, but shadows quickly encroached upon her happy expression.

“Favorite book?”

Her bark of laughter chased the shadows away and made him feel like a conquering hero. “You can’t ask a book lover such a question. It’s like asking a mother who her favorite child is.”

He waggled his eyebrows at her. “Who’s your favorite child?”

One side of her mouth lifted in a smirk as she shook her finger in his direction. “I’m not falling for that one, Lord Wharton.”

“Call me Graham,” he said, surprising himself. “It feels strange being the only one in the house being formally addressed. Why, I don’t even know your last name.”

The offer felt right. It made them equal, somehow, which hopefully made him a little less intimidating. It was why he, Oliver, and Aaron had decided to go by given names instead of titles. Neither Graham nor Oliver had wanted Aaron feeling like he was less important.

“I’m simply Kit now,” she said, instead of giving him the information he’d hoped for. “To everyone.”

“Then I insist on being Graham. For you, Daphne, and Jess at least. The children have fallen into calling me Wharton already, which I’ve no problem with.”

She winced. “I should have taken the opportunity to force more lessons on proper address.”

He waved his hand. “They’ll figure it out. It will be easier to learn when everyone around them is doing the same thing.” At least, he hoped it would. Either way, he didn’t want them practicing their formality on him.

“I suppose.”

Silence fell between them, and Graham wasn’t sure what to do with it. Kit pushed up from the blanket and went to join the children before he could come up with another question she would be willing to answer. He loved talking to her, wanted to talk to her more. But what could he do if she refused to tell him things? If she continued to hide everything she was?

But then again, wasn’t he doing the same? What had he offered her while he dug for her secrets, while he searched for her vulnerabilities?

Nothing. He’d offered her nothing. Nothing real, anyway. Yes, he’d made her laugh and smile, and he was convinced those were important, but they wouldn’t make a woman like her feel like her secrets were safe. He was going to have to give her a piece of himself.

The only question was, what? His life had been easy compared to what he knew of hers. The only secrets he had were the ones relating to Oliver’s family, and he couldn’t share those until he knew more about them. And even then, those secrets weren’t really his to share.

His life really hadn’t been riddled with dark moments. It was something he’d never considered regretting before.

The night slid like a soft blanket over the manor house. Even after more than a dozen years, Kit still marveled at the quiet of the country. Growing up, she’d only known city life, where the nighttime was only a slightly dimmer and quieter version of the daytime.

She smiled. Of course the country hadn’t been very quiet this afternoon. They’d have to remember to take picnics more often, or at least take the afternoon to play in the glen.

Of course, next time Lord Wharton—Graham—wouldn’t be a part of the festivities. He wouldn’t be there to haul the large baskets around, wouldn’t be there to chase the children and throw them into the air or show them a better way to climb trees, wouldn’t engage her in conversation over an apple tart.

There were men who came to the estate on occasion, a few trusted friends of Nash who brought their plows and donkeys to assist with the spring planting or to help replace the windowpane Blake had accidentally broken with a rounders ball. All of those men were polite to the children they happened to see, but for the most part they came, did their job, and left.

Nash would occasionally interact with the children more, but he never stayed long. He had a family to see to and a business to run, with clients who actually paid him for his services, unlike Haven Manor, which he did for free since he’d been a part of the project from the beginning.

But Graham gave the children attention they didn’t know they’d been missing. They clamored for it now.

They still did their chores and tasks, although they’d all discovered how much fun it was to watch Graham bumble his way through a menial task with good-natured laughter over the past two days.

He’d done well enough when it came to hanging out the linens to dry, but folding them had been another situation entirely.

And then there was the time he’d tried to fix the stuck hinge on one of the stable doors and made a complete mess of it. Daphne and the children had fallen over laughing about it while Graham had simply stood there, holding an oil can and talking to it as if the can were at fault. They’d all laughed until they were gasping for breath, tears in their eyes.

But soon he would be leaving.

He knew it, she knew it, and yet, she didn’t know how she felt about it. She liked having him here, but his presence was dangerous. He was like having a taste of her old life mixed in with her new one. He made her remember. Not just the bad and horrible circumstances that had fueled her desire to live out here away from everything she’d once known, but the good parts, too, what she’d loved about London and being the daughter of a baron.

His stay was temporary. She was afraid her yearning for what she could no longer have was going to be a bit more permanent.

She stood on the porch, waiting for Jess and Daphne, clutching a mug of tea that was quickly losing its heat to the cool of the night. Before long it wouldn’t be worth drinking, though she would anyway. Tea was an indulgence, one she had tried to break herself of many years ago and failed. No matter how cold, she’d finish the cup.

A sip of the still-hot liquid slid down her throat as the door opened behind her.

“Daphne fell asleep putting Sophie to bed,” Jess said as she padded quietly across the porch. “I just tucked the blankets around her and left her there.”

“I suppose the picnic wore everyone out,” Kit said. Her body certainly felt weary, even if her mind wasn’t yet ready to succumb to sleep.

She glanced at Jess, who didn’t look at all wilted from the day’s activities. When did she go to bed? She was always the last of the women to retire yet never seemed to lack for energy during the day.

“It’s a pleasant night,” the younger woman said, stepping up to Kit’s side so that the scent of the ever-present coffee overpowered the subtle aroma of Kit’s tea. There was always a pot of the bitter brew simmering on the stove. Sometimes Kit thought the woman must run on coffee and sarcasm. Her quick wit was legendary around the house, though she rarely targeted the children with it. Kit was by far her favorite foil.

“I can see the stars.” Kit took another large drink of her tea.

Jess nodded and took a sip of her own drink. “It’s not like the city.”

One of Kit’s hands dropped to her skirt, sliding the folds through her fingers as she contemplated how to phrase her next question. She thought they might be continuing their earlier conversation about facing the past but in some form of code. Jess had been a spy. Wasn’t talking in code something they did?

Still, Kit couldn’t help but wonder if Jess felt the same way she did sometimes, a little bit trapped by the peace that surrounded them. “Do you miss it? The city?”

A slight shrug of Jess’s shoulders seemed to be the only answer Kit was going to get for several moments. Then Jess started speaking. “I learned very young that where I am matters little. When all you want is to survive, the view is the least of your concerns.”

Kit didn’t know much about Jess before they’d met in a London alley, other than that her life had been rough enough that Jess knew how to save Kit from a group of drunken gentlemen making their way home from their club on St. James’s Street. Still, there was a polish about her, a refinedness that spoke of higher birth. “And now?” Kit asked.

Jess looked at Kit over the edge of her mug. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re safe here now, right?” Kit shifted. Jess was safe here, wasn’t she? Yes, she’d been planning on fleeing London when Kit met her, or more accurately, got in a fight with her over whether or not Kit was more than a foolish nitwit of a debutante who should know better than to wander the back alleys near the clubs by herself in the middle of the night. Eventually Jess had offered to teach Kit how to defend herself, and Kit had offered Jess a refuge away from whatever she was running from in London.

Kit had just never had the courage to ask what that something was. Now that she thought about it, though, Jess usually avoided the men from town who occasionally came out to the manor. Kit cleared her throat when Jess didn’t answer. “I mean, Nash, Margaretta, and Mrs. Lancaster are the only ones who know you’re here.”

“And our unexpected guest.”

Kit winced. “Yes. But surely he gives you nothing to fear.”

Jess eyed her. “There are different kinds of survival, Kit. And while yes, I’ve spent more than enough time running for my actual life, I’ve discovered that far more dangerous things exist in this world.”

Like looking into one’s past. Like learning to live with mistakes. Like waking up every day torn between knowing your friend wouldn’t be in this place if not for you, but then again neither would the children.

“Like love,” Kit murmured.

Jess smirked. “You fancying yourself infatuated with the gentleman snoring on a pallet in the pantry?”

Kit’s eyes widened, and she hoped the darkness hid the sudden heat in her cheeks. “What? No. I meant . . . I meant that love makes us act on or choose what might not seem to be in our best interest, but we do it anyway because we can’t help it.”

That was what she’d meant, wasn’t it? That she’d loved Daphne enough to make sure she didn’t suffer the consequences alone? Of course, if she’d loved Daphne more to begin with, none of it would have happened. And a dozen other women and children would have been left to fend for themselves. Kit rubbed a hand over her chest as if that would settle her heartbeat and allow her to pick one single emotion to feel.

But one thing that Jess had forced her to face was that she couldn’t keep pretending she’d been dropped down onto the planet at age eighteen with a mission to save the women society would rather discard, the ones with nothing to their credit except a good name and a sterling reputation that, once marred, made them worse than worthless.

Because when she thought about her life that way it seemed so noble.

And Kit was anything but noble.

Jess shrugged. “I suppose that’s what I mean. Love is a weakness. It causes us to make foolish choices.”

“Is that what we are?” Kit asked with a sideways smile. “A foolish choice? Is staying here a weakness?”

A half-laugh escaped Jess as she looked down into her coffee. When she looked up again, humor was evident in the soft glimmer of moonlight shining on her face. “What makes you think I care one jot about you? Could be it’s just a good place to hide.”

“Could be,” Kit said, trying to match Jess’s nonchalance. That had probably been the truth at one point. Once they’d finished yelling at each other in that alleyway, Kit had seen Jess only as a woman in trouble. Perhaps it was the fact that she’d just come from having the father of Pheobe’s mother sign the payment contract, but Kit hadn’t been able to leave Jess to whatever she was running from. She’d invited Jess to come with her, and they’d both been on the stage out of London within an hour.

But Kit would bet their last shilling that life had changed for the young woman. She’d tried to stay removed from Kit, Daphne, and the children, but even in a house this large it was hard to do. “But I’m not the one who takes the time to remember everyone’s favorite dishes and cook them on their birthdays.”

“We don’t celebrate birthdays,” Jess mumbled quietly.

“Which makes it all the more amazing that you make them feel special that day.”

A movement to their left had both women falling into silence. A large shadow separated from the side of the house and drifted out toward the walled garden. It was far enough away that Kit knew he hadn’t been listening in on their conversation, had in fact probably just exited the kitchen door from that side of the house, but it still made her breath catch and her heart pound against her ribs to know he was out there.

“It would seem someone else is having trouble sleeping,” Jess murmured.

Kit lifted her mug and took two long swallows of tea, trying to settle the itch to wander across the damp grass and join him.

“Someone should see what he’s up to,” Jess continued. “Make sure it truly is midnight wanderings and not something more nefarious.”

Kit blinked. More nefarious? Graham? Had Jess met the man? While yes, he’d spent a great deal of time prodding into matters she wished he wouldn’t, he seemed much more interested in making them all laugh. “Like what?”

“He could tamper with the livestock. Muck up the vegetable garden.” Her eyes found Kit’s. “Perhaps come across a stash of papers hidden beneath the floorboards of the milking stall?”

Tension raced across Kit’s shoulders with such speed that she jerked her arms and sent a splash of tea to the stones at her feet. How did Jess know about the papers under the floor in the stable?

“How did you—”

“Kit.” There was such derision in the single word that Kit squeezed her eyes shut. Of course Jess had found Kit’s stash of insurance.

Jess sipped her coffee. “I found it the second day I was here.”

And today was Graham’s third. Of course, he wasn’t a spy or whatever it was Jess had been. The chances of him finding the loose floorboards were incredibly low.

“I suppose we should walk with him, then,” Kit said slowly.

“We?” Jess snorted. “I’m not wearing any shoes.”

Kit glanced down, and sure enough, Jess’s bare toes peeped out from beneath her skirts. “Why on earth aren’t you wearing shoes?”

The tilt of Jess’s head suggested Kit was a bit of a simpleton for asking such a question. “Because I want to save you from your boring sacrificial existence and make you go for a walk in the moonlight with a handsome gentleman.”

Kit sighed. “Very subtle, Jess.”

“Tact takes too long. Besides, I used up all my subtlety talking about the city earlier.” She turned back toward the house and waggled her fingers in a little wave. “Have fun!”

Kit spluttered as she watched Jess disappear back into the house. Save her from a boring existence indeed. And sacrificial? Well, how else was she supposed to serve penance for the wrong she’d done to Daphne?

No, Kit didn’t need saving from anything except well-to-do gentlemen with nothing to do but snoop. It didn’t seem to matter that all Graham was doing right now was walking through a garden. Jess had planted the idea, and now Kit couldn’t shake the thought that he was looking for her most secret secrets.

And if he found them, he’d know she had much more to do with his friend’s missing sister than she’d let on.