Page 78 of Return to Satterthwaite Court

Kate raised her teacup to her lips, her fingers clenching tight on the handle. She wasn’t interested in Mr. Catmull’s strictures about a man’s dominion over women, the swine. But there was something about him that interested her.

An idea struck her all at once.

“Mr. Catmull,” she began. “It’s recently come to my attention that you—”

“You there!” Mr. Catmull snapped his fingers at the shop’s proprietor. “Another pot of tea, and be quick about it!”

The proprietor hastened to oblige him. “Apologies, milord.” He brought them a fresh pot, steam swirling from its spout. “Is there anything else—”

“That’s all.” Mr. Catmull waved the man off with a flick of his hand.

Kate lowered her teacup very precisely back to the table. It took all her strength not to remark on Mr. Catmull’s behavior. She abhorred rudeness to servants and shopkeepers.

Her parents had always said that one could tell a lot about a person by how they treated those they perceived to be beneath them. Papa knew this firsthand, having begun his life in a less than elevated position.

Did Mr. Catmull not realize Kate’s own paternal grandmother had been—at best—a scullery maid?

He waited while Christine dutifully poured out his tea. “That will do,” he said to her before she’d finished.

“Kate?” Christine held up the pot.

“Yes, please.” Kate permitted Christine to freshen her half-empty cup.

Mr. Catmull’s gaze returned to Kate’s face. “You arrived back in town on Tuesday last?”

Kate bristled. Naturally he knew the day. She wouldn’t be at all amazed if he knew the precise time of her arrival as well. “I did.”

“I trust your visit to Somersetshire was of a pleasant variety.”

Kate added milk and sugar to her steaming cup, stirring it slowly. She’d meant to question him outright, but perhaps a roundabout method was better? She had little choice when he wouldn’t let her get a word in edgewise.

“It was, thank you.” She brought her cup to her lips. “And you, sir? How did you spend your Christmas?”

“I remained in town for the holiday. Sir Lawrence and I had business to attend to. However, in January, personal inclination briefly took me to the West Country.”

Her brows lifted. “Oh?”

“I have a property in Devonshire that’s being readied for sale,” he said. “Satterthwaite Court it’s called. Perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

Kate nearly choked on her tea. Mr. Catmull had visited Satterthwaite Court last month? Good Lord. It was a minor miracle he hadn’t happened upon her wandering about the grounds, masquerading as Mrs. Heywood!

“Satterthwaite Court,” Christine repeated thoughtfully. “Do you know the place, Kate?”

“The name is familiar,” Kate acknowledged. “My parents’ estate isn’t too far away, I believe.”

“Rather close by, in fact,” Mr. Catmull said. “I contemplated calling on you there, but as I haven’t yet been formally introduced to your parents, I thought it best to refrain.” He paused, adding, “For the time being.”

Kate suppressed a shudder at the thought of Mr. Catmull venturing anywhere near Beasley Park or her parents. “A pity you didn’t. Though I daresay it was for the best. I was much engaged during my visit home.”

“There will be other opportunities for us to meet,” he said. “One of them in the not-too-distant future.”

“The Chesham’s ball. Of course.” Kate had forgotten he would be attending.

“I regret we can no longer expect an appearance by Her Majesty,” he said. “She’ll undoubtedly be too grieved to make merry after the Duke of Coburg’s death.”

“Yes, so I’ve heard,” Kate murmured.

Ernest I, Duke of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, had been both Prince Albert’s father and Queen Victoria’s uncle. His death a fortnight ago had sent the royal household into mourning, all but assuring that neither the Queen nor any in her retinue would be attending Lady Chesham’s ball.