Page 4 of To Follow her Heart

“Whatever do you mean?” she asked, laughing at his enthusiasm.

“I mean, what if I got a bible, and a ring and we said the words? I know it wouldn’t be legal, not really, but… we’d know in our hearts it was real, that it was done.”

Kitty caught her breath. “Truly?” she said, hearing the tremor in her voice.

Luke squeezed her hands and nodded. “Truly. Right now, today.”

He shifted beside her, going down on one knee and looking to her like the most chivalrous knight of old as his blue eyes met hers. “Kitty Connolly, my own Kitten, will you marry me?”

“I will,” she said, her throat growing tight. “I already told you so.”

He beamed and got to his feet. “Then don’t move from this spot,” he said, laughing.

“But where are you going?” she asked, laughing too, for his delight was infectious.

“Why, to get a bible and a ring, of course!” he exclaimed, and ran away, back through the orchard and out of sight.

Chapter 1

My dearest friend,

Tonight is the firework display at The Green Park. I am so looking forward to it, especially as I am going with Matilda. I think she is lonely now Aashini is married, so she has invited me to stay with her until we go to St Clair’s house party. That too I am excited for. There is much to enjoy in life if one is inclined to look for it, and it is not in my nature to mope as you well know.

I have found some lovely friends during this last season, yet beneath all this excitement and happiness my spirit is torn asunder. Everything is coloured by your absence and I don’t know how to mend the tear in my soul.

My heart is still yours, you see, and always shall be, just as we promised that lovely day in September. The ring you gave me is too small now, but I have it still along with the vows we made each other. Please come back to me, dear Luke. I feel my heart grows a little emptier each day that we are apart.

―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Kitty Connolly to Mr Luke Baxter… never sent.

Ten years later.

1st August 1814, South Audley Street, London.

Kitty smoothed her gown, feeling unaccountably nervous. The Marquess of Montagu was escorting both her and Matilda to the fireworks at The Green Park tonight and the man scared her half to death. She was bound to do or say something outrageous—she always did when nerves got the better of her—and then he would despise her even more than he already did. Why he’d invited her at all, she couldn’t fathom, except she suspected it had more to do with Matilda than her. That too was a worry.

At least Mr Burton would also be there. He was a handsome, sensible sort of fellow, a self-made man, which meant the ton despised him despite his great wealth.

What nonsense. Matilda would do well to marry a man like that, one who’d made his fortune through his own cleverness and industry, rather than having been born to it.

Kitty’s own family was an illustrious one, though her Irish heritage meant she may as well have been born in a bog and raised by wolves as far as the ton were concerned. Their fortunes had floundered for a while until the linen trade had flourished, and the family’s wealth with it. Her father owned hundreds of acres of flax and three mills now, and he had plans for another.

Her parents, eager for her to snare a titled husband, had sent her to stay with her aunt and uncle. Aunt Clara Henshaw had wed an English gentleman and had become so thoroughly English herself most people had forgiven or even forgotten her Irish heritage. Her aunt had tried hard to erase her accent but Kitty refused to lose it, though she was aware it had lessened over the past years with her aunt and uncle forever correcting her. Still, she clung to it, as stubborn as ever. What did it matter? She had no intention of catching herself an English husband. She already had one.

She’d just… temporarily misplaced him.

The thought made her heart ache, and she pushed it away. She would not allow herself to sink into the dismals. For the first time in a long time, she had hopes of finding him. Matilda’s brother had promised to ask about, and Nate Hunter knew everyone.

“Are you ready, dear?”

Kitty looked up as Matilda called out to her and then poked her head around the door.

“Oh, you do look lovely, Kitty,” she said, smiling and looking Kitty over. “That shade of blue is very becoming.”

Kitty smiled and thanked her, not mentioning that she’d chosen it as it was the exact shade of Luke’s eyes. She noted then that Matilda wore a beautiful soft silver-grey gown and fought back a surge of misgiving.

“I understand the Earl of St Clair will be with the marquess this evening?” Kitty said, trying to quell her nerves.

Matilda at least looked as cool and composed as ever, so hopefully the event would go without a hitch.