She picked up the front of her dress and began to run back down the path, placing her feet and angling her body in such a way that she would not hurtle downward out of control.
He took a few steps after her but then stopped. He watched her go until she was at the bottom of the hill and turning in the direction of her aunts’ cottage. He noticed that her steps slowed to a walk before she arrived there.
He stood where he was for several minutes longer, a faint and painful hope coming alive in him again.
Aunt Hetty and Aunt Martha were both in the parlor. Aunt Hetty opened the door when Kate came into the house, still half panting and horribly disheveled. She had no choice but to go into the parlor herself. She smiled at them both.
“The wind,” she said, laughing. “There is never any point in spending time on one’s hair, is there?”
“Perhaps you should have worn a bonnet, Kate,” Aunt Hetty said. “Especially when stepping out with a gentleman.”
“He is a wondrously handsome man, Kate dear,” Aunt Martha said, “and a marquess. I can scarce believe a marquess would come here. He had eyes for no one but you during tea. I noticed it and Mrs. Morris remarked on it after you had left.”
“It was kind of Mrs. Morris to call,” Kate said lamely.
Aunt Martha was smiling and nodding. “Perhaps he has leased Ty Mawr for a few months, for the spring and the summer. I am sure it would not be surprising if his admiration for you grows into a tendre. It would be a splendid thing. Your dear mama, may God rest her soul—”
“It would not do,” Aunt Hetty said firmly but not unkindly. “He is a gentleman of ton, Martha. We must remember that Kate’s reputation has been ruined with the ton.” Aunt Hetty was not one to mince words.
“But it was a very long time ago,” Aunt Martha said, smiling reassuringly at her niece. “And I am sure it could not have been so very dreadful. Your papa did not give any details, Kate, my love. But knowing you—”
“If the Marquess of Ashendon does become particular in his attentions,” Aunt Hetty said, “you have a choice of two courses, Kate. You can discourage him, or you can tell him the full truth. You must not try to hide it from him.”
“But—” Aunt Martha began.
“No,” Aunt Hetty said, holding up a staying hand. “It is the only course, Kate. You must see that. There is only heartbreak and humiliation for you in trying to hide the truth, only to have it come out later. It will come out, whatever it is. The ton does not forget. Your mama always used to tell us that. They never forgot that your papa married beneath him. They had a way of looking at her, she told us, a way of holding their heads, a way of smiling.”
Kate had not known that of her mother.
“Perhaps,” she said, “it is time you knew something of what happened.”
“We would never pry, Kate,” Aunt Hetty said.
“We love you as you are, dear,” Aunt Martha said. “It really does not matter to us what you did to cause your papa to send you to us. For our own sakes we are glad he did.”
Kate was not usually a watering pot. But for the second time that afternoon she felt tears well into her eyes. “And I bless the day he punished me by sending me to you,” she said. “I have a previous acquaintance with the Marquess of Ashendon.”
They both looked at her in some surprise.
“I was unwise enough to encourage a half-pay officer whose ambition was to marry a fortune,” she said. “I was young and very silly and even more headstrong, and when Papa and Ernest and Algie forbade me to have anything to do with him and when the Marquess of Ashendon warned me against him, I flirted with him all the more. I was exhilarated by a feeling of power over him. Then I...I eloped with him.” She did not feel inclined to give them anything but the official version of what had happened. The truth was just too shameful. “We were two days on the way to Scotland by the time the Marquess of Ashendon caught up to us. He paid off my faithful officer and then took me back to London. We were two days and two nights together and of course we were seen. He offered for me the day after we returned. I would not have him.”
“Oh, my dear.” Aunt Martha broke the silence that followed, her hands clasped to her bosom in a characteristic gesture. “Why? He is so very handsome. And he must have loved you dearly.”
“No,” Kate said. “He has no feelings at all. He merely did what was right, for which I should honor him, I know. I can only hate him.”
“Hatred, Kate,” Aunt Hetty said, “is a sin.”
“But what a strange coincidence,” Aunt Martha said, “that he has rented Ty Mawr, Kate dear, when you live so close.”
“Oh, Aunt Martha,” Kate said, “it is no coincidence. He has come here deliberately. He is such a very honorable and dutiful man that he still feels he has an obligation to me. He has come again to persuade me to marry him. I met him this mourning in the woods when I was trespassing. And this afternoon he tricked me into walking with him.”
“It sounds to me as if he has been constant in his regard for you, Kate,” Aunt Hetty said, “It sounds to me as if he is not deserving of your hatred.”
“Oh, Kate,” Aunt Martha said. “this is more romantic than any book. For five years he has carried a torch for you, and now he has come like a knight in shining armor to sweep you off your feet. Our dear Kate a marchioness. And he is so splendidly handsome. I always did have a soft spot for tall men with dark hair. And blue eyes.”
“He has no feelings,” Kate said again, “and there is no romance. I told him a short while ago that I would rather be dead than married to him. I will not see him again. If he comes to the house, you must both tell him that I am out or ill or—or anything you like. I have begged him to go away, but I am not certain he will go.”
“If he stays after your telling him that, Kate,” Aunt Hetty said, “I will be even more confirmed in my opinion of the constancy of his feelings.”
