Page 82 of Kathryn

It was as though she’d stepped into another world. Although the path itself was well-trammeled, massive yews, lush ferns, and thick bracken ruled beyond its edges, trees and plants jostling with each other for the scarce beams of sunlight that found their way to the forest floor.

A sense of calm settled over her, all the more noticeable for being so unusual—so rare these days. Indeed, when was the last time she had truly felt at peace? Could it really be since she’d lived at Queen’s Bower? Five long years. While her siblings had got on with their lives, Katie had calcified into a rigid lump of discontent, accreting layer upon unhappy layer of reserve until she’d isolated herself inside a shell too thick to crack.

She laughed at the dramatic metaphor. It must be the rarified forest air that was leading her to such fanciful thinking.

The sun beckoned not far ahead, a bright light at the end of a cool, crepuscular tunnel. Even Robin seemed to feel the difference in the air, his step hastening as if he was emerging from equine torpor. Katie blinked against the brightness of the day, shading her eyes with one hand.

The first thing she saw was a lovely Elizabethan Era house just ahead. It was composed of white plaster, exposed dark beams, and a charming thatched roof. The only jarring element was the structured, manicured, and—yes—symmetrical hedges that surrounded it, the very antithesis of the sort of natural garden that would have suited the manor. Did her husband impose his need for order even upon his tenants? For this house was, she was certain, part of the estate. Who lived in such a—

The arched front door opened, and Mrs. St. Clare emerged. “Good afternoon, Your Grace.”

“I apologize if I was gawking at your house, but it is simply so delightful.”

The woman smiled and came toward her. “Thank you. I think it delightful, too. I am Mrs. Amelia St. Clare.”

“Ah, so this is the Dower House,” Katie said, absently patting Robin’s neck.

The other woman’s cheeks stained a delicate pink. “Yes, it is.” She hesitated before saying, “That is a lovely horse—the color is so unusual. If I’m not mistaken, he is a Friesian.”

“You are correct, he is a Friesian. He is a gift from my husband.”

Mrs. St. Clare’s eyebrows shot up. “Is he indeed?”

Katie thought the comment was rather odd, but just smiled.

“Would it be terribly forward if I invited you in for a cup of tea?”

“I should love to join you,” she said, more interested in the woman herself than food or drink.

Mrs. St. Clare beamed. “Let me just summon my—ah, there he is,” she said as a man in the garb of a groom came from around the side of the house. “Come and take Her Grace’s mount, Lake. She will be staying for tea.”

Katie dismounted with the servant’s assistance before following her hostess into the cool, dim interior of the house which, strangely, reminded her a bit of the ancient woods she’d just ridden through.

The sitting room was decorated in soothing shades of green and brown, just like Echo Forest. It took Katie a moment to realize why it felt so familiar: because everything in the room was in pairs—from the paintings on the walls to the chairs and tables. It was almost exactly like the sitting room at Briarly, although much smaller.

How…interesting.

Katie could not help wondering why she and Betje had not called on Mrs. St. Clare during their flurry of visits.

Mrs. St. Clare spoke briefly to a female servant before taking the seat across from Katie. Up close Katie could see that her hostess’s face was deeply lined, her tanned complexion that of a person who’d spent a good deal of time out of doors. She was not beautiful, but handsome in a dignified way that aged far better than mere pretty.

“How are you enjoying Briarly, Your Grace?”

“The grounds are delightful, and the house is perfect for the two of us.”

“You are from Hampshire, originally, so we are neighbors.”

“I’m from Hampshire, but my family’s home is close to one hundred miles away.” Katie smiled kindly. “So, perhaps very distant neighbors.”

“Yes, yes, of course. I just meant—” An unreadable expression flickered across the other woman’s face, and she sighed. “I’m sorry, but I find that I cannot engage in polite chit-chat.

Katie was not sure what to say to such a bizarre announcement. If she’d not wanted company, then why had she invited Katie to tea?

Mrs. St. Clare’s narrow face darkened as if Katie had spoken aloud. “I have been trying to contrive an excuse to see you since you arrived at Briarly.” She smiled ruefully, but there was something else behind it. Shame? “I—I am pleased that you came by today.

“I am sorry I did not visit before now, especially given that you are so very close. My mother-in-law and I have been paying calls and we should—”

Mrs. St. Clare laughed, although it sounded more like hysteria than amusement. “The dowager would never have called on me, Your Grace.”