Page 64 of Gambling with the Earl
Rosalind put her head back and shrieked with pleasure. “You did it.”
“Mercy upon us.” Lizzie clutched her crucifix. “I never thought I’d see those jewels again. Nor you, dear Kitty. I feared we had lost you to that terrible man.” She blinked back tears.
Kitty bit back her instinctive defence of Guy. What could she say?
“It was easy, in the end. They were there for the taking.”
“We can repair the roof,” Rosalind enthused, “and hire new help. You won’t have to work so hard now, Kitty. You’ve earned the right to a rest.”
“No,” Kitty protested. “The jewels are for your dowry.”
Rosalind and Lizzie exchanged a look which she was too tired to try and decipher.
“Let’s say no more of that now,” Lizzie said firmly. “This is a day to celebrate. The roof can wait. It can all wait.”
Such an air of gaiety hadn’t been known at Shoreston for many years. Alfred fetched out his old penny whistle and Rosalind danced around the kitchen, occasionally swinging a mildly protesting Lizzie into her arms along with her. They all cajoled Kitty to sing, but she rebuffed the calls as lightly as she could. Singing would always remind her of that time in the solar with Guy. When they had laughed together and happiness had been truly within her reach, if only she’d known. Now, sadness had lodged itself deep within her heart and she felt as if she might never sing again.
It was a relief when Lizzie noticed her yawns and sent her off to bed. Kitty had believed she would lay awake restless, remembering all she had lost, but weariness had overcome her.
She straightened her back, tuning into the familiar sounds of Shoreston. Snatches of conversation floated up from the parlour below. Outside, the steady clip clop of horse’s hooves announced a passerby or a visitor.
Glory be, she’d hoped she would be spared visitors for some time yet. Kitty sighed. As much as she longed to hide in the half-light of her bedchamber, she would have to face them all at some point.
Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself up from the bed and reached for her stockings.
*
A bunch offreshly-picked wildflowers had been abandoned to wilt on a hall table. Kitty picked them up and inhaled deeply. At Rossfarne Castle, every sense had been tinged with sea salt andbracing winds, but here at Shoreston, the smells were homely and comforting: newly baked bread and dried lavender. The fresh fragrance of cornflowers and honeysuckle.
She must put the flowers into water. But who had brought them?
She glanced around. The hallway was empty, the house apparently deserted. She walked through to the sun-filled kitchen.
“Hello?” she called, but there was no response.
She poured water from a jug into a small vase and positioned the flowers so the smallest were at the front. They brought a splash of summer colour to the bare windowsill and plastered walls.
Kitty rubbed her arms. This kitchen had once been as familiar to her as her own hands, but now it felt quiet and strange. She missed the constant bustle and steam of the castle kitchen. The fussing of Cook and even the muted complaining of Agnes.
Where was everyone?
“Lizzie?” she tried.
They must be out of earshot. She left the kitchen and headed for the parlour, pushing away memories of how she and Rosalind had hidden behind the heavy drapes, surrounded by the wreckage of the room just a few weeks earlier. Tentatively, she pushed at the heavy door, bracing herself for unwelcome reminders of that fateful night. But the room had been put in good order. Mother’s cabinet had been mended, by Alfred no doubt. And the candlesticks looked to have been recently polished. More surprisingly, the room bore the air of recent celebration.
Kitty put her hands on her hips and looked around. A pewter jug and four goblets stood on a silver tray on the centre of the table. She stepped closer and sniffed. The jug still carriedthe scent of mead. But neither Lizzie nor Alfred were fond of intoxicating drink. And Rosalind most certainly wasn’t.
A stifled giggle came through the window. Kitty paced over and flung back the drapes, but there was no one there, only the swinging of the wooden gate disturbed a glorious summer afternoon.
“Rosalind?” she called. The giggle had a girlish quality, which could only be her sister’s.
From the other end of the house, the back door banged shut. Kitty raced back through to the kitchen, to find Rosalind smoothing down her skirts. She’d thankfully removed her apron and was dressed in a pretty pale blue gown with wide sleeves and a demure neckline.
“What’s going on?” Kitty demanded.
“Nothing, why?” Rosalind asked innocently, but a pink flush warmed her cheeks and her hair had partially come unbraided.
“Where have you been?”
