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Authors: Kateand the Soldier
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brought nothing suitable with you.”
Kate watched in dismay as David’s anger spread visibly across his thin cheeks.
“Oddly enough, my lady,” he snapped, “my plans for this visit did not include attending my father’s last services.
“Nonetheless, I shall try to dredge up something suitable from my wretchedly inadequate wardrobe, so that I shan’t bring shame upon the noble Falworth name.”
At this, Lawrence set his wineglass on the table with such force that several drops spilt onto the tablecloth.
“By God,” he cried. “If that ain’t the outside of enough! Since you have nothing to do with the noble Falworth name, do you think we care what you wear?” He paused for a moment as a new and apparently pleasurable thought struck him. “For that matter, I think we would be much better off if you did not attend the funeral at all. In fact—” he shot a sidelong glance at his mother—”you may depart the premises first thing tomorrow morning,” he concluded regally. He settled back in his chair, sending a second, more belligerent stare at his half brother.
David sat motionless for a moment, his face white. Lucius placed a hand on his arm and murmured something inaudible. Kate, who had been dreading this moment, half rose as though to shield David from Lawrence’s childish malevolence.
David opened his mouth to reply, but Kate’s motion caught his attention. His eyes flicked to hers, and he relaxed suddenly. He turned to contemplate Lawrence’s glowering countenance.
“But, my dear brother,” he said calmly, “I fully intend to leave. Right after Father’s funeral.” He spoke the last sentence slowly, with a deliberate pause between each word.
“Look here,” Lawrence fairly squeaked in his rage, “I’m running things here now, and I say ...”
“Lawrence!”
Regina’s voice sliced through her son’s incipient tirade, but she continued in a mild tone.
“While I’m pleased to see you take the reins of Westerly into your own hands so promptly, I think we must make allowances for appearances.”
“Of course, my dear fellow,” interposed David lazily. “Do you intend to throw me out bodily? Think how it would look! But, never fear,” he continued, his eyes glittering behind shuttered lids, “directly after Father is laid to rest in the earth of Westerly, I shall depart.”
Regina put a handkerchief to her mouth and rose from the table. Lawrence, too, took his departure. Mother and son fled the room in mutual commiseration, leaving those remaining to pass the remainder of the meal in an awkward silence.
Thus it was, some three days later, as the last of the carriages of the guests who had come to partake of the funeral meats was wending its way down the long driveway, Lucius Pelham’s smart traveling coach could be seen approaching the house from the stable. Inside the manor, David descended the wide staircase into the entrance hall, where Kate awaited him.
After a sleepless night, agonizing over his departure, she had resolved not to plague him by pleading with him to stay. She knew that nothing she could say would stay him. Why did she feel such a sense of loss at his imminent departure? He was no longer, she told herself for the hundredth time, the David she had loved as a child. But, no! The silent cry came from deep within her. She felt that in the last few days she had begun to crack the shell of bitterness in which he was imprisoned. And now she was not to be given the time to try to free him completely.
Observing her wide, anguished gaze, David’s heart lurched within him. Lord, he hadn’t realized it would be so hard to leave Westerly again. No, that wasn’t it, of course. He was finding it difficult beyond his imaginings to leave Kate. How could she have become so important to him in just a few days? His affection for her had always been strong, as it had for Philip, and seeing her again, he told himself, had brought the happier days of his childhood back to
Kate watched in dismay as David’s anger spread visibly across his thin cheeks.
“Oddly enough, my lady,” he snapped, “my plans for this visit did not include attending my father’s last services.
“Nonetheless, I shall try to dredge up something suitable from my wretchedly inadequate wardrobe, so that I shan’t bring shame upon the noble Falworth name.”
At this, Lawrence set his wineglass on the table with such force that several drops spilt onto the tablecloth.
“By God,” he cried. “If that ain’t the outside of enough! Since you have nothing to do with the noble Falworth name, do you think we care what you wear?” He paused for a moment as a new and apparently pleasurable thought struck him. “For that matter, I think we would be much better off if you did not attend the funeral at all. In fact—” he shot a sidelong glance at his mother—”you may depart the premises first thing tomorrow morning,” he concluded regally. He settled back in his chair, sending a second, more belligerent stare at his half brother.
David sat motionless for a moment, his face white. Lucius placed a hand on his arm and murmured something inaudible. Kate, who had been dreading this moment, half rose as though to shield David from Lawrence’s childish malevolence.
David opened his mouth to reply, but Kate’s motion caught his attention. His eyes flicked to hers, and he relaxed suddenly. He turned to contemplate Lawrence’s glowering countenance.
“But, my dear brother,” he said calmly, “I fully intend to leave. Right after Father’s funeral.” He spoke the last sentence slowly, with a deliberate pause between each word.
“Look here,” Lawrence fairly squeaked in his rage, “I’m running things here now, and I say ...”
“Lawrence!”
Regina’s voice sliced through her son’s incipient tirade, but she continued in a mild tone.
“While I’m pleased to see you take the reins of Westerly into your own hands so promptly, I think we must make allowances for appearances.”
“Of course, my dear fellow,” interposed David lazily. “Do you intend to throw me out bodily? Think how it would look! But, never fear,” he continued, his eyes glittering behind shuttered lids, “directly after Father is laid to rest in the earth of Westerly, I shall depart.”
Regina put a handkerchief to her mouth and rose from the table. Lawrence, too, took his departure. Mother and son fled the room in mutual commiseration, leaving those remaining to pass the remainder of the meal in an awkward silence.
Thus it was, some three days later, as the last of the carriages of the guests who had come to partake of the funeral meats was wending its way down the long driveway, Lucius Pelham’s smart traveling coach could be seen approaching the house from the stable. Inside the manor, David descended the wide staircase into the entrance hall, where Kate awaited him.
After a sleepless night, agonizing over his departure, she had resolved not to plague him by pleading with him to stay. She knew that nothing she could say would stay him. Why did she feel such a sense of loss at his imminent departure? He was no longer, she told herself for the hundredth time, the David she had loved as a child. But, no! The silent cry came from deep within her. She felt that in the last few days she had begun to crack the shell of bitterness in which he was imprisoned. And now she was not to be given the time to try to free him completely.
Observing her wide, anguished gaze, David’s heart lurched within him. Lord, he hadn’t realized it would be so hard to leave Westerly again. No, that wasn’t it, of course. He was finding it difficult beyond his imaginings to leave Kate. How could she have become so important to him in just a few days? His affection for her had always been strong, as it had for Philip, and seeing her again, he told himself, had brought the happier days of his childhood back to
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