and Derbyshire they stopped at a village tavern, taking bread and the crumbling white local cheese on a bench outside. It was chilly, but there was no private parlour, and neither Kate nor Virgil wished to endure the curious eyes of the locals in the tap room who had greeted their appearance with a stunned silence.
As they continued on into Derbyshire the scenery changed. The land became softly undulating, the higher, rolling hills of the Peaks casting shadows over the valleys through which they drove. It seemed wetter and greener here. The limestone villages huddled into the creases and folds of the hills, or stretched out along the banks of the fast-flowing rivers such as the Dove, which they followed for some time, where the water mills turned.
It was beautiful, though incredibly isolated, each hamlet seeming to exist in its own world, unconnected and self-contained, Virgil thought. ‘Why aren’t you married, Lady Kate?’
The question startled her, for her hands jerked on the reins, pulling the horse to a walk. ‘Why do you ask?’
Why? He hadn’t realised, but now he thought about it he saw that her remarks over dinner last night had been niggling at him. He could not reconcile what she’d said of herself with the little he knew of her. ‘You said you were a social pariah, though I saw no evidence of it.’
‘Josiah’s guests are my friends but they are not what my father would consider high society. Were you to see me in that milieu you would have evidence aplenty.’
The horse took advantage of her lapse in attention to stop and crop at the grass verge. Virgil took the reins and looped them round the brake. ‘Why? I know I joked about you being a revolutionary, but …’
‘Oh, it is naught to do with that. I have always been outspoken, but the daughter of the influential Duke of Rothermere, you understand, is given rather more latitude than, say, a mere Miss Montague.’ Her voice dripped sarcasm. She threw her head back and glared at him, her eyes dark and bleak, the colour of a winter sea. ‘The fact is, I am a jilt.’
Virgil searched her face for some sign that she was joking, but could find no trace in her stern expression. ‘That’s it? You changed your mind about getting married?’
‘A mere two weeks before the ceremony, and the engagement was of very long standing. I had known Anthony all my life. I did not quite leave him at the altar, but I may as well have, according to my aunt.’
The husky tones of her voice were clipped. There was hurt buried deep there. Had she loved this Anthony? Virgil didn’t like to think so. ‘What made you change your mind so late in the day?’
‘We didn’t suit.’
‘But …’
‘I know what you’re going to say, if I knew him so well why did it take me so long to change my mind? I knew him as a friend of the family. I thought we would suit, and when I tried to think of him as a husband I found I could not.’
The anger in her voice was raw, fresh. ‘How long ago did this happen?’ Virgil asked.
‘Five years.’
‘Did you love him?’ He should not have asked such a deeply personal question. He could not understand why he had done so, for he was usually at pains to keep any conversation, especially with a woman, in neutral channels. But he knew all about the pain of loss.
He covered her tightly clasped hands with one of his own, but Kate shook him off. ‘Don’t feel sorry for me, there is no need. I am not wearing the willow for Lord Anthony Featherstone.’
Rebuffed and baffled, Virgil said nothing. All his instincts told him to drop the subject, which was obviously extremely sensitive and extremely painful, but there was something in her voice, in the way she had closed herself off, that he recognised and could not ignore. She was hurt and determined not to show it. He gently unfolded her fingers and took one of her hands between his. ‘Then tell me,’ he said. ‘What happened?’
She hesitated. He could see the words of refusal forming, but for some reason she swallowed them. ‘Do you really want to know?’
When he nodded, she took a deep breath. ‘Anthony was—is—the son of one of my father’s close friends. His family has a bloodline which can be traced back to the Norman Conquest, according to my father. Our betrothal was the result of a bargain struck by our parents when I was still in my cradle. What you have to understand is that as far as my father is concerned, my only value is in making the best marriage which can be arranged. I knew from a very early age that I was destined to marry Anthony, and since I had not met any other man I preferred after almost two full Seasons, I agreed. Anthony was far from repulsive,’ Kate said, determined to be scrupulously fair. ‘In fact, he was considered to be something of a beau.’
‘But you were not in love with him?’
‘I have never been in love with anyone. I doubt it is in my nature to feel so strongly, and in any case, love has nothing at all to do with marriage. At least, not for a Montague. People of our sort make alliances, not love matches,’ she said bitterly.
Falling in love was the one thing Virgil had been free to do. He had loved Millie. He would have married Millie. Were there other forms of chains he didn’t understand? Duty had weighed heavily with Lady Kate. It was not a comparison she would dream of making, but he made it. ‘So you agreed to the marriage because it was what your family wished, even though you were not sure?’
‘I wasn’t unsure, it would be unfair to say that. I was resigned. No, it was not even that. I simply didn’t question it, I suppose.’
Virgil smiled. ‘I find that hard to believe. You seem to question everything.’
‘As I said, life would be less painful if I did not. Would that I had questioned this match earlier. Or had the strength of will to say no when I knew what—knew my own mind better.’
‘What about your mother?’
‘Mama died when I was a child. My Aunt Wilhelmina is her sister, and she was most—most anxious for the match to take place. Even more so than my father, in the end. When I tried to discuss my reservations about Anthony she—she did not— She said that I …’
Her hand curled into a fist within his clasp. Her jaw clenched, her eyes were bright with tears. This was obviously the source of her hurt, or one of them. Virgil felt a momentary spasm of anger at the unknown aunt.
‘And the duke?’
Kate laughed bitterly. ‘My father’s word is law. He made the match. As far as he was concerned, there was no question of my changing my mind, whatever the circumstances.’
‘And yet you did change your mind?’
‘I had to.’
I had to. It was a curious choice of phrase, Virgil thought, but the tightness in her voice, the way she held herself, as if she was afraid she might shatter, and the sheen of tears which he was fairly certain she would be mortified to shed, made him cautious. ‘So you called it off?’
She nodded. ‘My aunt said that I would be ruined, and she was right. Papa refused to put the notice in the paper. He left it to Anthony to do so. “Lord Anthony Featherstone wishes it to be known that his betrothal to the Honourable Lady Katherine …” You can imagine how that looked.’
What
