Katharine put aside her pen and scowled. "Please tell him I am not receiving this day."
But as she watched Mrs. Moon disappear down the spiral of the staircase, she realized Edward would not leave unless she pushed him out the door herself. So she ran after her housekeeper.
"I am busy today," Katharine said, as soon as she saw him at the bottom of the stairs.
"But I am most impatient to deliver this," he said. He set a package on a large table and pulled off string and paper to reveal an atlas of natural history. Without a word, he reverently opened the book. Mrs. Moon gave an exasperated sigh and left the room, but Katharine moved closer, her curiosity aroused.
"I will not be seduced, Edward," she said softly. "Though I am sorely tempted."
He looked up, smiling, and she was lost. "Then yield to temptation, my dear, and accept it. It is only a book."
It was not only a book.
And so, when his lips sought hers, she yielded completely, abandoning all thoughts of propriety or resentment. She only thought of him, achingly aware of everything about him. Her fingers roamed the landscape of his face, guided by sweet memory. But he was no longer her youthful lover, for he was more demanding and insistent. And she was now a woman and had learned a great deal in conversation at the Octagon Salon. She knew precisely what she wanted.
"I apologize, Katharine," he said, finally pulling away.
"It is only a kiss, Edward," she said hoarsely.
"I do not apologize for a kiss. I apologize for everything, for the great wrong I have done you, for being too cowardly to explain my actions. But I needed to protect someone else, and acted in haste." He paused. "My wife died seven months into our marriage."
"Delphina forced your hand." It was an explanation, if nothing more. Edward would not have had to marry unless he had relations with her while betrothed to another.
Edward pulled himself up, but the strength of the gesture was belied by the shadow that fell across his face.
"I married her willingly, Katharine, even as I left you most unwillingly. I can say no more."
"You have said enough. You loved her in a way you did not love me, for she was worldly, wise. I hope you had much joy with her."
"She was worldly," Edward agreed, as that truly explained it all. In any case, he offered nothing more.
SEVERAL WEEKS LATER, THE ladies of the Octagon Salon received invitations to a May Day ball at Bellevue, to be hosted by Edward's mother. As her friends chattered about what they would wear and who would attend, Katharine reflected that she scarcely remembered Mrs. Danforth. Though she had been present all those years ago in Cloverhill, she rarely socialized with anyone but a small circle of friends. That she would now host such an event marked either a change in her own sensibilities or an acceptance of the change in her son's position in society. She, who was not the widow of an earl, was now the mother of one.
"I have not been to Bellevue in many years," Estella mused. "It is an elegant house, if not a very grand one."
"Do you think many friends will arrive from town?" Deirdre asked, and they all looked at Katharine.
"I have no idea what Lord Penfield intends. You seem to know more than I about his business," said Katharine.
"I know his daughter arrived yesterday with his mother. Isabel Anders was walking along the road when their carriage slowed for her. Isabel said the little girl was quite unexpected," said Portia.
"Unexpected?" Katharine asked. "Lord Penfield told everyone he would bring her to Cloverhill. I believe he leased Bellevue for her pleasure."
"I suspect Isabel meant there was something unusual about the child herself," murmured Portia. "She did not offer anything beyond that."
"And, in any case, I rather think Lord Penfield leased Bellevue for his own pleasure," said Estella, while the others giggled.
Katharine sighed, unwilling to admit that possibility. Since Edward's return, she had not been herself. Utterly distracted from the business of her life, of salon discussions and reading and writing, she could think of little else but him. When she walked on the strand, she wondered if she would meet him there. When she heard the sound of hooves along the drive, she looked to her window, hoping to see him arrive. He was in every dream and waking thought.
"I cannot say. Certainly, I scarcely think about him at all."
"Well, my dear," said Estella. "You shall think about many things now, including what you shall wear, and how many times you will accept his invitation to dance. He intends to impress you, and you must at least give him the opportunity to right a great wrong."
Katharine was not sure she ought to give Edward any such opportunity, and yet she already forgave him. She knew the truth in that, for everything she learned in the past few weeks suggested he was a man not entirely in control of his actions eight years ago. Honor and concern for his child dictated he would not admit to making a mistake, but even now, she knew him well enough to sense his regret.
Her own honor proved something of a facade once she realized she still loved him. Though able to distract herself and find good company at the Octagon House, she had never met a man to match him--and likely never would. She loved him, and it was as painful a truth as his desertion of her at Cloverhill Church.
She walked along the edge of the cliff toward the chalk steps in the rock face, keeping her eyes averted, so she would not trip over a root or stone and find herself hurtling to the bottom. She guessed that the well-worn path she trod was not always so close to the edge but had become so through the ages, as rain and wind hammered away at the cliff. Someday, perhaps in her lifetime, there would be nothing left of it.