Page 66 of A Daring Desire

“You couldn’t do that,” she replied, wishing he would come.

“A sweet sentiment, but quite untrue, little wife,” he said dryly.

Cat gave a sigh. “I shall spoil it for myself, no doubt, fretting about what Papa will say when he discovers I came to Holbrook and did not visit Dern, too.”

“Your father adores you,” he said, his voice soft. “He will hold nothing against you for long. I don’t see how anyone could,” he added with a smile.

“That’s a nice thing to say.” She gazed up at him, wishing he would kiss her, and then finding her wish granted as he bent his head and pressed his mouth to hers, despite the bustle of people around them.

“Oh,” she said with a sigh. “I needed that.”

He chuckled and slid his arm around her waist. “I need rather more than a kiss, but I suppose it will have to suffice or I shall be driven out of Sussex for lewd behaviour.”

She laughed, leaning into him and watching as the postilion brought the carriage to a halt beside them.

“You know, if you wanted to see you parents, perhaps stay the night, I’d understand,” he said, opening the door for her.

Cat’s heart gave a little jolt, a niggle of doubt sliding past her defences. She squashed it. He was not trying to get rid of her but being kind and thoughtful. “I know you would, but I don’t think my father is ready to hear anything I have to say yet. It will take time for him to realise you’ve changed. I cannot force the issue. I will write to him when I get home and we’ll see.”

He nodded and handed her up, waiting until she was settled comfortably.

“I will see you later, then. Have a pleasant visit with Mrs Martin.”

“I will.” Before he could close the door, Cat grasped hold of his lapels, pulling him into the carriage to give her a kiss goodbye. “Now you can go,” she said, smoothing down his coat collar again.

“Dreadful girl. Behave yourself,” he said, but with such fondness in his voice that she smiled all the way to the vicarage.

14th January 1850, Butterwell Lane, near Holbrook

Kilbane rode around to the neat little cottage just outside the village of Holbrook, dismounting and handing his horse into the care of an aged gardener. The cottage was a reasonably proportioned property, not large, but well maintained and with a beautiful garden that in the spring and summer was a riot of colour. Even now, in the starkest months of the year, it was tended with enough greenery to make even a dreary January day feel a little brighter. Pushing open the gate, Kilbane strode down the path and knocked. A few moments later, a young woman dressed in the garb of a maid came to the door and bobbed a curtsey.

He handed over his card, and the girl looked at it, her eyes growing big and round as she gaped at him, a panicked expression upon her face. “Is Mrs Clifford at home?” he asked politely, trying to keep his impatience at bay. The faster this was done, the happier he would be.

The girl just stared at him.

“Perhaps you might go and ask her,” he suggested mildly, suspecting any show of irritation would terrify the poor creature.

She darted off without asking him in to wait, which would have been infuriating if he hadn’t seen the funny side of it. Poor Louisa would have a fit when she realised he’d been left to kick his heels on the doorstep.

As he suspected, the maid reappeared a moment later, scarlet and breathless. “This way, my lord,” she said hurriedly.

Kilbane ducked under the low lintel and followed the girl down the hallway and into a bright parlour where a fire blazed merrily. It was a charming room, furnished elegantly, but with comfort in mind. Sitting in a chair beside the fire, dressed in a gown of Pomona green taffeta trimmed with pink velvet, was Louisa Clifford.

She was an attractive woman, comfortably plump and in her late thirties. An abundance of mahogany curls surrounded a sweet face with laughing blue eyes and, upon seeing him, she gave an exclamation of delight.

“My lord,” she said happily. “Oh, how pleased I am to see you. It’s been such a long time. I am so sorry for leaving you on the doorstep. Honestly, you cannot get the staff. Mary is a dear little thing, but not terribly bright, you know.”

She extended her hand to him, disturbing a small lapdog that curled upon her lap.

Kilbane took her hand and bowed over it, eyeing the dog with distrust as it curled its lip at him.

“Oh, Bonbon, don’t be cross. He’s a friend, you silly creature,” Louisa scolded as the dog, a pug of some description, settled back to sleep. “Do sit down. Will you take tea?”

“No, I thank you. I am not staying for long, Louisa,” he said, not unkindly, but he did not wish to get drawn in and Louisa could talk for hours if she was feeling nostalgic.

She gave him an impish smile. “Oh dear. I expect you’re wishing me to the devil, aren’t you? I am sorry, but I had forgotten all about it and when I came upon it… well, you must see it is most improper in me to have kept it for so long.”

“Don’t give it another thought. I certainly haven’t.”