And they did just that. Drank a bottle of fine wine, becoming tipsy together as Kitty shared everything with her sister, who listened without condemnation.
…
Another week passed since Kitty’s return to London, and she had waited in dread for an announcement from the duke to appear in the papers. “The engagement of Miss Katherine Danvers and His Grace, the Duke of Thornton is invalid.” That was what she’d expected to read about and she had vowed fiercely to face the scandal with courage.
The only announcement had been the engagement of one Miss Annabelle Danvers and Baron William Lynton in the Times, Gazette, and Morning Chronicles. Of course the more sordid papers had also run their headlines, speculating on the suddenness of the engagement with lurid and outrageous suggestions. But nothing had been able to dim the happiness of her sisters and their mother, and that was all that mattered to Kitty.
Wedding plans were made with swift economy, and Anna would marry her love only three weeks from today at St. George’s Hanover Square. Her gown had already been commissioned, and the modiste worked tirelessly with her team of seamstresses so it would be ready in time.
Mamma and the girls excitedly chatted about the type of flowers Anna required for the day and where she and the baron would honeymoon. The majority vote was for Italy, and Kitty could not help the ache that bloomed in her heart whenever she looked upon her sister’s radiance. Then she felt entirely wretched for even feeling a moment of envy for her happiness.
Excusing herself from the breakfast room and their lively rowdiness, Kitty headed toward her room to collect her bonnet and shawl. A long walk to clear her head and a visit to her friends were well in order and were sure to help with the awful sadness that had been plaguing her. In the hallway she paused, momentarily startled at the exquisite arrangement of flowers in the footman’s hand.
“These arrived for you, Miss Kathe
rine,” he said, walking toward her.
Kitty frowned. “For me and not Anna?”
“Yes, miss. The delivery boy said Miss Katherine Danvers.”
She approached it cautiously, as if expecting one of the beautiful arrays of yellow roses with one white in the center to come alive and attack her. Kitty had never received flowers before, and she was entirely uncertain how to feel about the matter. A note was attached, and she plucked it from among the stems with trembling fingers.
Miss Danvers,
I regret I did not ask you of your favorite flowers. I have a particular fondness for the primrose.
Alexander.
Kitty stared at it, astonished. Her heart pounded with uncertainty, for she could not decipher his intentions. The note was decidedly unromantic. There were no expressions of apology or remorse for his hurtful words that had deeply wounded her heart and pride. Why had he sent her flowers? She pressed them to her face and inhaled the fragrance deep into her lungs.
She smiled at the footman. “Thank you, Morton.”
With a short bow, he made his way to the servants’ staircase. Heading toward the smaller parlor, Kitty placed the flowers on the walnut table by the window. She walked over to the writing desk, withdrew a sheaf of paper, dipped the quill into the inkpot, and scrawled:
Dear Alexander,
I like bluebells and lilacs.
Kitty.
There, it was just as flat and uninspired as his note. Polite, even. Yet she was quite aware she shared a small bit of her that he had not known.
Kitty desperately wanted to ask after his health and recovery, but he had not mentioned it, even knowing she might worry. She sensed he did not want to be defined by his injury or be inundated with sympathy, and she would respect that, though she desperately wanted to know how he fared. Surely Penny or Eugene would have written had Alexander’s prognosis worsened.
Kitty added the wafer and summoned a maid to instruct the butler to ensure her letter was posted immediately. And without dwelling for long on the matter, she vowed to visit her friends and not think of the duke at all.
A few days later, three to be precise, another beautiful bouquet of flowers and a small leather-wrapped book arrived for Kitty. Grateful her mother and sisters were at the gardens with Lady Darling, she took them from the butler with a tight smile and hurried to her room. Hating that her fingers trembled and her heart raced with such terrible uncertainty and anticipation, she closed the door behind her and leaned against it for several seconds.
Kitty ambled over to the padded window seat and opened the note.
Dear Katherine,
I enjoy the rain, and I oftentimes stand at the edge of the cliff that abuts my estate and allow its fierceness to pound against my skin. I hope you enjoy this volume of poetry by John Donne.
Alexander.
“You wretched man!” she cried. Kitty hardly knew what to make of it, but anger started to brew in her heart. Why did he toy with her emotions so cruelly? Nothing was resolved between them, yet he sent her flowers and ridiculous notes…ones that she read over and over until their papers were a wrinkled mess.