“Mr. Kingston, youdog,” he murmured to himself.
Still holding the coach door, his driver said, “My lord?”
“Stay with the coach. You can wait inside it to keep warm,” Matthew instructed before he made to the front door of Buxton House, silently scolding himself for what he was about to do.
The butler answered the door far more quickly for him than he had for Catherine.
“Good morning. This may seem… untoward, but I wondered if a Mr. Kingston might be in residence?”
Blinking, the servant regarded him with suspicion, his gaze going from his boots to his hat before he said, “Who should I say is calling?”
“Lord Wingfield. I don’t wish to disturb him, though.”
The butler stepped aside. “Do you wish to wait, my lord?”
“No. If you could be so good as to deliver him a written note, though?” He reached into his waistcoat pocket and extracted a calling card. “I’ll write the note and pay a call on him at his place of residence. Might you have a pencil?”
Quick to offer one from his pocket, the butler indicated a caryatid in the hall he could use.
Turning over the calling card, Matthew wrote a quick note on the back. “See to it he gets this, please? And if you’ll not mention this to your mistress, I would appreciate it.” He fished one of the coins he still had in his pocket and handed it to the servant.
“Uh, of course, my lord.” When the butler noticed Matthew’s gaze had gone to the top of the stairs, he added, “Mrs. Buxton’s caller insisted she be allowed to wait for Mrs. Buxton in the parlor, my lord.”
“As long as Miss Kingston is safe,” Matthew murmured. “I’ll take my leave now.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Matthew finally tore his gaze from the top of the stairs and took his leave of Buxton House.
With any luck, Mr. Kingston would be at his home at three o’clock that afternoon. Although he desperately wanted to meet with the man that very moment, Matthew didn’t want to cause him any undo embarrassment.
Especially since he would be requesting to be the man’s son-in-law.
Chapter Twenty-Five
One Heartsick Woman, One Worried Friend
Meanwhile, in the parlor of Buxton House
Catherine paced infront of the fireplace, happy a maid had seen to setting a fire in it at some point that morning. The Rococo clock on the mantel chimed, and she winced at seeing it was only ten o’clock in the morning—far too early to be paying a call on anyone on a Sunday.
Eliza was breathless when she joined Catherine, a silk dressing gown tied at her waist and her brunette hair loose and hanging well past her shoulders. “Oh my, what has happened?” she asked, hurrying to embrace her friend.
Their last parting had not occurred on the best of terms, but Catherine was quick to return Eliza’s hug. “Oh, Eliza. Please forgive my early arrival. I—”
“You’re forgiven, of course,” Eliza interrupted. “Johnson is seeing to some tea for us,” she added. “Whatever has happened?” Her eyes suddenly rounded. “Oh, dear. You’re probably wondering why your father wasn’t at home last night.” A look of dismay crossed her face.
Catherine furrowed her brows. “I, uh, I didn’t even notice, truth be told,” she replied. Although she had considered her own presence might be missed at Kingston House, apparently there hadn’t been anyone there to miss her. “I take it he is… upstairs?” she guessed, well aware her cheeks were displaying a blush, andnot from the cold she had experienced since leaving Matthew’s house.
Eliza waved her to the settee, and she reluctantly left the warmth of the hearth to join her friend there.
“He is. We had dinner here last night, and with the way the snow was falling…”
“You needn’t explain. I know you are in love with him,” Catherine said. “That you’ll be married soon. I am happy for you,” she added.
Dipping her head, Eliza’s sigh sounded of relief. “I’ve been so worried. So upset with what happened a few days ago.”
“You needn’t be,” Catherine assured her. “Much has happened since.”
